“Fod, she has nae time, noo!” cried John. “Fod, but she hears ta pipes ’tis blesset moment. Hoot, toot!—Hurry, hurry!—Fod, but ta Hillantmens comin’ noo!” and snatching a blanket from the bed, he threw it over his mistress, and whipping her up in his arms ere she wist, he strode down stairs with her in a moment.
“Where are you carrying me? Where are you carrying me to, John Smith?” cried the Pensassenach, much alarmed.
“Dis she no hear ta pipes?” cried John. “She be carrying her to hide her in ta auld killogie to be sure. Dinna be fear. She mak’ her safe eneugh, she swarrants her o’ tat.”
John accordingly ran with the Pensassenach to the old kiln, as fast as his legs could carry him and his burden. He found it already occupied by the great sow and her numerous progeny, who, from their unwillingness to quit it, seemed to consider it, both by birthright, and by long possession, as their own particular castle, from which no one could lawfully remove them. John Smith used no great ceremony with them, but serving them all with an instantaneous process of ejectment, delivered by divers rapid and severe blows of his hazle cudgel, he forthwith dislodged them from the pend, or fire-place of the kiln, where they were used to find a dry and snug lair, and from which both mother and children retreated with manifest dissatisfaction, and with all manner of sounds and signs of extreme ire. To these John Smith gave but small heed, but, shoving the Pensassenach, blanket and all, with as much tenderness and delicacy as he could, into this their vacant bed-chamber, he concealed her as much as possible by covering her up with straw, and he had hardly accomplished all this, and made his retreat good from the killogie, when a large body of armed Highlanders, under the command of a certain Captain M’Taggart, appeared filing over the neighbouring brow, and with what intent might easily be guessed, from the numerous horses they brought with them, some harnessed in rude carts, and some fitted with panniers or crooked saddles, for carrying off plunder. The men themselves displayed infuriated countenances, and ceased not, as they drew nearer, to give vent to the most horrible denunciations of vengeance against the Pensassenach.
“Ta Pensassenach! ta Pensassenach!” cried the same stern voice that had spoken from amid the darkness that surrounded the blazing bonfire of the preceding night. “She sall soon ken fat it is to trink confusion to ta reypells! Far be ta Pensassenach?—ta Englis wife?”
“Ta Pensassenach!—ta Pensassenach!—ta heart’s blott o’ ta Pensassenach!—hang her!—purn her!—troon her!—far is she?—her heart’s blott!—her heart’s blott!” vociferated some thirty or forty rough and raging voices, coming from men that thirsted revengefully for her blood.
The poor woman’s heart almost died within her through fear, as these murderous sounds reached her, where she lay half suffocated under the straw in the killogie. Most active and particular was the search which the Highlanders then commenced. First of all, the captain and some of them proceeded to examine the dwelling-house, and there they were met at the very door by Mr. Dallas the packman. This worthy having been altogether overpowered by his last night’s debauch, had thrown himself down in his clothes on the bed hospitably provided for him by his hostess in the room, contained in the little out-shot behind, and there he had slept, with his pack as usual under his head, until awaked by the noise made by John Smith and the Pensassenach. He had then witnessed enough to make him aware of the place where the lady was secreted. Seeing that the Highlanders came so suddenly upon them as to make it quite hopeless for him to attempt a retreat, with his lame leg, he hurried away out to the kail-yard and hid his pack under a goosberry bush, an operation which John Smith, as he was flying with his mistress on his back, chanced, with the tail of his eye, to observe him performing. After having done this, Mr. Dallas returned into the house, and, making a virtue of necessity, he stepped boldly forth to meet the leader, when the party came to the door.
“Muckle prosperity till you and your cause, noble captain,” said he, making his reverence. “There’s a bonny mornin’.”
“Who the devil are you, sir?” said Captain M’Taggart, sharply.
“Troth, captain, I’m a poor travellin’ chapman,” replied Dallas. “I chanced to come here last night, and the gudewife gied me ludgings for charity’s sake.”