Charlie himself, being next in point of seniority, was called on for his tale.
"I hae been thinking hard what tale I should tell you," said Charlie; "but I find I can tell nought but the thing I hae seen, and I'll be pinched sair eneuch to make sense o' that. Therefore, gin ye like, I'll tell ye my first adventure in war,—for I aye mind it the best, and will do as lang as I live."
Charlie Scott's Tale.
It was under the command of Hab Elliot that I made my first raide; a gay rough spun cout he was, and nae cannie hand for a southland valley. Weel, you see, there was a chap came to my father's house at Yardbire ae morning, and he says to my father, "Wat," says he, (that was my father's name, what he ca'ed me Charlie for I dinna ken, for I never spier'd,) "Wat," says the chiel, "ye maun raise your lads, and tie on your wallets, and meet the warden the morn at the Hawk-Hass, there's gaun to be a stoure on the east border."
"An there be a stoure on the east border I's be there for ane," said my father; "but the de'il ae man hae I left but auld Will Nicol and the callant Charlie. There hae seven men o' Moodlaw and Yardbire fa'en sin Beltan. I canna mak men, but I shall fight wi' them I have. As for Charlie, he disna want spirit, but he's unco young and supple, and will mak but a weak stand in a strong blast: Auld Will he kens brawly how to take care care o' himsel; and, atween the twa, I may be ill bestedde. But, gae as it will, I'll be there."
I was a massy blade that day when I gaed o'er Craik-Corse riding at my father's side. I was sae upliftit I could hardly sit on my yaud; and I saw my father was proud o' his callant, as he ca'ed me,—that made me ten times waur. The first men we came at were the lang-shankit Laidlaws o' Craik; and then the Grahams o' Drife they came up wi' us; and when we came to Howpasley, my father got the laird's right hand, and we gaed ower Skelfhill-swire seven score and ten, but there were only fifty o' us had horse, and mine was ane o' the best."
"Wha's this stripling that rides the good dun mare," said the laird o' Howpasley.
"That's my bit niff-naff of a callant," says my father: "That's my Charlie, cousin John."
"He's a twig of a good tree," said Howpasley: "I like the spark gayan weel, if he wad ride a little evener up, an' no haud forrit his head like a woodcock. But, my word, he has a lang arm!"