The wind blew higher, and like a hurricane; the rain began to fall in perfect spouts; the auld kirk rumbled, and rowed, and made a sad soughing; and the bourtree tree behind the house, where auld Cockburn, that cuttit his throat, was buried, creakit and crazed in a frightful manner; but as to the roaring of the troubled waters, and the bumming in the lum-head, they were past a’ power of description. To make bad worse, just in the heart of the brattle, the grating sound of the yett turning on its rusty hinges was but too plainly heard. What was to be done? I thought of our baith running away; and then of our locking oursels in, and firing through the door; but wha was to pull the trigger?
Gudeness watch ower us! I tremble yet when I think on’t. We were perfectly between the deil and the deep sea—either to stand and fire our gun, or rin and be shot at. It was really a hang choice. As I stood swithering and shaking, the laddie ran to the door, and thrawing round the key, clapped his back till’t. Oh! how I lookit at him, as he stude, for a gliff, like a magpie hearkening wi’ his lug cockit up, or rather like a terrier watching a rotten.
“They’re coming! they’re coming!” he cried out; “cock the piece, ye sumph,” while the red hair rose up from his pow like feathers; “they’re coming, I hear them tramping on the gravel!” Out he stretched his arms against the wall, and brizzed his back against the door like mad; as if he had been Samson pushing over the pillars in the house of Dagon. “For the Lord’s sake, prime the gun,” he cried out, “or our throats will be cut frae lug to lug, before we can say Jack Robinson! See that there’s priming in the pan!”
I did the best I could; but my hale strength could hardly lift up the piece, which waggled to and fro like a cock’s tail on a rainy day; my knees knockit against ane anither, and though I was resigned to dee—I trust I was resigned to dee—’od, but it was a frightfu’ thing to be out of ane’s bed, and to be murdered in an auld session-house, at the dead hour of night, by unyearthly resurrection-men—or rather let me call them devils incarnate—wrapt up in dreadnoughts, wi’ blackit faces, pistols, big sticks, and other deadly weapons.
A snuff-snuffing was heard; and through below the door I saw a pair of glancing black een. ’Od, but my heart nearly loupit aff the bit—a snouff and a gur—gurring, and ower a’ the plain tramp of a man’s heavy tackets and cuddy-heels amang the gravel. Then cam a great slap like thunder on the wall; and the laddie quitting his grip, fell down, crying, “Fire, fire!—murder! holy murder!”
“Wha’s there?” growled a deep rough voice; “open—I’m a friend.”
I tried to speak, but could not; something like a halfpenny roll was sticking in my throat, so I tried to cough it up, but it wadna come. “Gie the pass-word, then,” said the laddie, staring as if his een wad loupen out; “gie the pass-word!”
First cam a loud whussle, and then “Copmahagen,” answered the voice. Oh! what a relief! The laddie started up like ane crazy wi’ joy. “Ou! ou!” cried he, thrawing round the key, and rubbing his hands, “by jingo! it’s the bethrel—it’s the bethrel—it’s auld Isaac himsel!”
First rushed in the dog, and then Isaac, wi’ his glazed hat, slouched ower his brow, and his horn bowet glimmering by his knee. “Has the French landit, do ye think? Losh keep us a’!” said he, wi’ a smile on his half-idiot face (for he was a kind of a sort of a natural, wi’ an infirmity in his leg). “’Od sauf us, man, put by your gun. Ye dinna mean to shoot me, do ye? What are ye aboot here wi’ the door lockit? I just keppit four resurrectioners louping ower the wa’.”
“Gude guide us!” I said, taking a long breath to drive the blude frae my heart, and something relieved by Isaac’s company. “Come now, Isaac, ye’re just giein’ us a fright. Isn’t that true, Isaac?”