CHAPTER II.
Walter was hardly used in prison for some time, but at last Drummelzier found means of rendering his situation more tolerable. Several of his associates that were conducted with him from Dumfries died in jail; he said they seemed to have been forgotten both by the council and their friends, but they kept up so good a heart, and died with such apparent satisfaction, that he could scarcely be sorry for their release by death, though he acknowledged, that a happiness beyond the grave was always the last kind of happiness that he wished to his friends. His own trial was a fire-side theme for him as long as he lived, but he confounded names and law terms, and all so much through other, that, were it given wholly in his own words, it would be unintelligible. It came on the 12th of November, and Sir George Lockhart and Mr Alexander Hay were his counsel. His indictment bore, that he had sheltered on his farm a set of the most notorious and irreclaimable rebels in the whole realm; that sundry of his majesty’s right honest liege subjects had been cruelly murdered there, very near to the prisoner’s house, and a worthy curate in the immediate vicinity. It stated the immense quantity of victuals found in his house, and the numbers of fugitive whigs that were seen skulking in the boundaries of his farm; and also how some false delinquents were taken and executed there.
Clavers was present, as he had a right to be when he desired it, and gave strong and decided evidence against him. The time had been, and not long agone, when, if the latter had manifested such sentiments against any one, it had been sufficient for his death-warrant; but the killing time was now nearly over, and those in power were only instituting trials in order to impose heavy fines and penalties, that they might glean as much of the latter vintage of that rich harvest as possible, before the sickle was finally reft from their grasp. Several witnesses were examined to prove the above accusations, and among the rest Daniel Roy Macpherson, whose deposition was fair, manly, and candid. As soon as his examination was over, he came and placed himself near to Walter, who rejoiced to see him, and deemed that he saw in him the face of a friend.
Witnesses were next called to prove his striking Captain Bruce with his fist, and also tripping the heels from Ingles, and tossing him over a steep, while in the discharge of his duty, whereby he was rendered unable to proceed in the king’s business. Walter, being himself examined on these points, confessed both, but tried to exculpate himself as well as he could.
“As to Bruce, my masters,” said he, “I didna ken that he was a captain, or what he was; he pu’d up his bit shabble of a sword an’ dang aff my bonnet, when I was a free man i’ my ain ben-end. I likit nae sic freedoms, as I had never been used wi’ them, sae I took up my neive an’ gae him a yank on the haffat till I gart his bit brass cap rattle against the wa’. I wonder ye dinna ceete me too for nippin’ Jock Graham’s neck there, as he ca’d himsel, that day, an’ his freend Tam Liviston—There’s nae word o’ that the day!—Nah! but I could tell an’ I likit what I hae been put to a’ this plague for.”
Here the advocate stopped him, by observing that he was wandering from the point in question, and his own counsel were always trembling for him when he began to speak for himself. Being asked, what defence he had to offer for kicking and maltreating a king’s officer in the discharge of his duty?
“If it was that drunken dirt Ingles that ye mean,” said Walter, “I dinna ken what ye ca’ a man’s duty here, but it surely coudna be a duty, when my hands war tied ahint my back, to kick me i’ the wame; an’ that’s what he was doing wi’ a’ his pith, whan I gart him flee heels-ower-head like a batch o’ skins.”
Sir George MacKenzie and Dalrymple of Stair both laughed outright at this answer, and it was some time before the business could proceed. Sir George Lockhart, however, compelled them to relinquish these parts of the indictment, on account of the treatment offered to the prisoner, and the trial proceeded on the charges previously mentioned, which were found relevant. Walter was utterly confounded at the defence made for him by Sir George Lockhart. He was wont to say, “Aih but he’s a terrible clever body yon Geordie Lockie! od he kend mair about me, and mair that was in my favour, than I did mysel.”
The conclusion of this trial must be given in Walter’s own phrase. “I pretendit to be very crouse, an’ no ae bit fear’d—aha! I was unco fear’d for a’ that—I coudna swally my spittle for the hale day, an’ I fand a kind o’ foost, foost, foostin about my briskit that I coudna win aneath ava. But when the chield MacKenzie began to clink thegither the evidence against me, gude faith I thought it was a’ ower wi’ me then; I saw nae outgate, an’ lost a’ hope; mair than aince I tried to think o’ auld Maron Linton an’ the bairns, but I could think about naething, for I thought the house was heaving up i’ the tae side, and gaun to whommel a’ the judges an’ jurymen on the tap o’ me. He revertit aye to the evidence of Clerk the curate, wha had said that I had a private correspondence wi’ the whigs, an’ then he brought a’ the ither proof to bear upon that, till he made my guilt perfectly plain; an’ faith I coudna say that the chiel guessed far wrang. Then my Lord Moray, wha was head judge that day, was just gaun to address the jurymen, an’ direct them to hang me, when up gat Geordie Lockie again for the hindmost time; (he had as mony links an’ wimples in his tail as an eel that body,) an’ he argyed some point o’ law that gart them a’ glowr; at last he said, that it was hard, on a point of life an’ death, to take the report of a man that wasna present to make oath to the information he had gi’en, which might be a slander to gain some selfish end; and he prayed, for the satisfaction of the jury, that his client might be examined on that point, (he ca’d me aye a client, a name that I abhorred, for I didna ken the meaning o’t, but I trowed it meant nae good,) for, says he, he has answered very freely, and much to the point, a’ that ye hae speered at him. I was just considering what I should say, but I could get nought to say ava, when I was startit wi’ a loud Hem! just amaist at my elbow. I naturally liftit up my een, very stupit like, I dare say, to see what it was; and wha was it but the queer Highland chap Roy Macpherson, makin’ sic faces to me as ye never saw. I thought he was wanting to mak me recollect something, but what it was I coudna tell. I was dumfoundered sae, that when the judge put the question to me about Clerk I never answered a word, for I was forefoughten wi’ another thought. At length I mindit the daft advice that honest Macpherson gae me at parting with me in Dumfries, which was sic a ridiculous advice I had never thought o’t mair. But now, thinks I to mysel, things canna be muckle waur wi’ me; the scrow’s come fairly to the neb o’ the miresnipe now; an’ never had I better reason to be angry than at the base curate whom I had fed an’ clad sae aften. Sae I musters a’ my wrath up into my face, and when the judge, or the advocate, put the question again, I never heedit what it was, but set up my birses an’ spak to them as they had been my herd callants. What the deil are ye a’ after? quoth I. G‑‑d d‑‑n the hale pack o’ ye, do ye think that auld Wat Laidlaw’s a whig, or wad do aught against his king, or the laws o’ his country? They ken little about him that say sae! I aince fought twa o’ the best o’ them armed wi’ swords, an’ wi’ nought but my staff I laid them baith flat at my feet; an’ had I ony twa o’ ye on the Chapelhope-flow thegither, if ye dared to say that I was a whig, or a traitor to my king, I wad let ye find strength o’ arm for aince. Here the wily chap Geordie Lockie stappit me in great agitation, and beggit me to keep my temper, and answer his lordship to the point, what defence I had to make against the information given by Clerk the curate? He be d‑‑d! said I: he kens the contrair o’ that ower weel; but he kend he wad be master an’ mair when he gat me away frae about the town. He wantit to wheedle my wife out o’ ilk thing she had, an’ to kiss my daughter too, if he could. Vile brock! gin I war hame at him I’ll dad his head to the wa’; ay, an’ ony twa o’ ye forby, quo’ I, raising my voice, an’ shaking that neive at them,—ony twa o’ ye that dare set up your faces an’ say that I’m a whig or a rebel.—A wheen d‑‑d rascals, that dinna ken what ye wad be at!
“The hale court was thunnerstruck, an’ glowred at ane anither like wullcats. I gae a sklent wi’ my ee to Daniel Roy Macpherson, an’ he was leaned ower the back o’ the seat, and fa’n into a kink o’ laughing. The hale crowd ahint us got up wi’ a great hurra! an’ clappit their hands, an’ I thought the fock war a’ gaen mad thegither. As soon as there was a wee quiet, my lord the Earl o’ Moray he speaks across to Clavers, an’ he says: ‘This winna do, my lord; that carl’s nae whig, nor naething akin to them. Gin that be nae a sound worthy man, I never saw ane, nor heard ane speak.’ An’ wi’ that the croud shoutit an’ clappit their hands again. I sat hinging my head then, an’ looking very blate, but I was unco massy for a’ that. They then spak amang themsels for five or sax minents, and they cried on my master Drumelzier, an’ he gaed up an’ crackit wi’ them too; an’ at last the judge tauld me, that the prosecution against me was drappit for the present, an’ that gin I could raise security for twa thousand merks, to appear again if cited before the first of June, 1686, I was at liberty to go about my business. I thankit his lordship; but thinks I to mysel, ye’re a wheen queer chaps! Ye shoot fock for praying an’ reading the Bible, an’ whan ane curses an’ damns ye, ye ca’ him a true honest man! I wish ye be nae the deil’s bairns, the halewort o’ ye! Drumelzier an’ Lockie cam security for me at aince, an’ away I sets for hame, as weel satisfied as ever I was a’ my life, that I mind o’.
“Weel, when I came out to the closs at the back o’ the prison, a’ the fock croudit about me; an’ he shook hands wi’ me; an’ he shook hands wi’ me; an’ the young chaps they hurra’d an’ waved their caps, an’ cried out, Ettrick Forest for ever!—Auld Braid-Bonnet for ever,—hurra! An’ I cam up the Lawn-Market, an’ down the Bow, wi’ sic an army at my tail, as I had been gaun away to fight Boddell-Brigg owre again.
“I now begoud to think it wad be as weel to gie the lads the slip, for my army was gathering like a snaw-ba’, an’ I little wist how sic a hobbleshue might end; sae I jinkit into Geordie Allan’s, at the West-Port, where I had often been afore, when selling my eild ewes and chasers; an’ I whispered to them to keep out my sodgers, for there were too many of them for the house to haud; but they not perfectly understanding my jest, I was not well entered ere I heard a loud altercation at the head o’ the stair, an’ the very first aith that I heard I knew it to be Macpherson.”
“Py Cot’s preath, put she shall pe coing in; were not she her friend and couhnsel?”
“You his counsel? A serjeant of dragoons his counsel? That winna do. He charged that nae sodgers should get in. Get aff wi’ your Hieland impudence—brazen-faced thief!”
“Fat? Tief? Cot t‑‑n y’ mack-en dhu na bhaish! M’Leadle!—Trocho!—Hollo! Cresorst!”
“I ran to the door to take the enraged veteran in my arms, and welcome him as my best friend and adviser, but they had bolted the inner door in his face, through which he had run his sword amaist to the hilt, an’ he was tugging an’ pu’ing at it to get it out again, swearing a’ the time like a true dragoon. I led him into my room, an’ steekit the door o’t, but there he stood wi’ his feet asperr, and his drawn sword at arm’s length ahint his back, in act to make a lounge at the door, till he had exhausted a’ his aiths, baith in Gaelic an’ English, at the fock o’ the house, and then he sheathed his sword, and there was nae mair about it.
“I speered what I could do to oblige him?”
“Hu, not creat moach at hall, man; only pe kiffing me your hand. Py Cot’s poy, put if you tit not stonish tem! Vas not I peen telling you tat him’s hearty curse pe te cood?”
“My certy,” quo’ I, “but ye did do that, or I wad never hae thought o’t; ye’re an auld-farrant honest chiel! I am sorry that I canna just now make ye sic a present as ye deserve; but ye maun come out an’ see me.”
“Present! Poo, poo, poo! Teol more, take te present tat pe coing petween friends, and she may have sharper works tan pe coing visits; put not te more, she pe haifing small favour to seek.”
“Od, man,” says I, “ye hae been the mean o’ preserving my life, an’ ye sanna ax a thing that I’ll refuse, e’en to my ain doughter. An’ by the by, serjeant, gin ye want a good wife, an’ a bonny ane, I’ll gie ye sic a tocher wi’ my Keatie, as never was gi’en wi’ a farmer’s lassie i’ the Forest.”
“Hu! Cot pe plessing you! She haif cot wife, and fery hexcellent boddach, with two childs after him.”
“What is it then, serjeant? Gin the thing be in my power, ye hae naething ado but to say the word.”
“Do you know tat her nainsell pe coosin to yourself?”
“Od, man,” quo’ I, “that’s hardly possible, or else the taen o’ us has come o’ the wrang side o’ the blanket.”
“Now do you just pe holding your paice for a fery less time, for you must halways pe spaik spaiking, without knowing fat to say, unless I were putting it into your haid. I haif tould ould Simon Glas Macrhimmon, who knows all the pedigrees from the creation of the world, and he says that te Lheadles are all Macphersons; for, in the days of Rory More of Ballindalloch and Invereshie, tere was te Gordons, who would pe making grheat prhogress on te Sassenach, and tere went down wit Strabogie of te clan Ahnderson, and te clan Grhaham, and one Letulloch Macpherson of Strathneshalloch, vit as bould a clan after her as any and mhore; and they would pe toing creat might upon the Sassenach, and they would pe killing her in tousands, and ten she cot crheat lhands out of King Robert on te Bhorder, and Letulloch he had a whoule country to himself. But te people could not pe putting her nhame into worts, and instead of Letulloch tey called her Leadlea and te Sassenach she called her Little, so that all tese are of Macpherson, and you may pe te chief, and te forward son of te crheat Strathneshalloch himself. Now tat I would pe te tog, and te shame, and te tisgrhace, not to help my owhn poor clansman and prhother out of te evil, tat would pe worse eneuch; and te ting tat I would pe asking of you is tis, tat you will always look upon a Macpherson as a prhother until te end of te world, and pe standing py her as long as tere is peing one trop of plood in your whole poty.”
“Gude faith, serjeant,” says I, “I never was sae happy as to find, that the man to whom I hae been sae muckle obliged is sic a noble disinterested chiel; an’ there’s my hand, I’ll never gie up the cause of a Macpherson, if he’s in the right.”
“Hu! Cot t‑‑n your right! a clansman speak of the right! Any man will stand py me when I am in te right, put wit a phrother I must always pe in te right. No right or wrong tere, py Cot!—Poo, poo!”
“Od, man,” quo’ I, “that’s a stretch o’ billyhood that I was never up to afore but sin’ ye say’t, may I never see the Hermon Law again gif I winna stand by it. Come, then, we’ll hae a stoup o’ brandy, or a bottle o’ wine thegither, for a parting cup.”
“Hu!—no, no! None of your prandies or your wines for me!—I must pe on duty in less than an hour, and I would not pe tasting any of your tamn prandies or wines. No, no!—Cot pless you!—And should she never pe seeing your face again, you will pe——”
“He could say nae mair, for the muckle round tears were coming hopping down owre his weather-beaten cheek, but he gae my hand a hard squeeze an’ a shake, an’ brak out at the door; an’ that was my last sight of honest Daniel Roy Macpherson, a man that I hae met few like! I was tauld lang after, that he fell fighting like a lion against the Campbells, at the battle o’ Killiekranky, and that, to the last day o’ his life, he spake o’ his kinsman, ould MacLeadle.”