Tak the pan an’ break his head—
Tooraladdy, tooraladdy;
That’s a’ as fac’ as death—
when a wild loon, that had been lookin’ on wi’ a greedy e’e an’ a watery mouth at the figures a’ nicht, unable ony langer to resist temptation, made a dart at “Tooral,” and vanished wi’ him oot o’ the show. This created an unco commotion, for when the folk begoud to rise up in the gallery—it was a’ gallery thegither—as Joe rushed out after the thief, cryin’ “Polish! polish! polish!—catch a thief! catch a thief!” the whole rickety concern cam doun wi’ a great crash. But they didna fa’ far; for it wasna muckle mair than five or six inches frae the ground a’thegither. But the thief was never gotten that nicht, tho’ it’s a consolation to ken that he was banished shortly afterwards for stealin’ a broon tammy an’ a quarter o’ saut butter frae a puir widdy woman, as she was comin’ out o’ a provision shop in the Canongate.
But Joe was thrown into sic a state wi’ rinnin’ through the toun after the thief, that next day he was delirious wi’ a ragin’ fever. My mither lived but an’ ben wi’ Joe; an’ it was while gaun in noo an’ then to see how the puir body was doing, that a strange interest in Joe’s history was awakened in her breast. For he had cam oot wi’ some very strange expressions when lyin’ in the delirious state. Ance or twice he cried, “Me nebber shoot massa—me nebber shoot massa. Major murder him broder—me see ’im do it. Got pistol yet—me tell truth—me no tell lie;” an’ sae he wad gang ravin’ on at this gait for hours. When at last the fever had abated, an’ Joe was able to come ben an’ sit doun by my mither’s fireside, she asked him, in her ain canny way, if he wadna like to gang back again to his native country. But the black fell a tremblin’, an’ shook his head, sayin’ “Nebber—nebber—nebber more!” This roused my mither’s curiosity to the highest pitch, for she was convinced noo, mair than ever, that some dark history was locked up in the African’s breast. Ae day, a while after this, Joe cam ben an’ sat doun by the fireside, as usual; for though the day was scorching hot, being in the heat o’ simmer, the cratur was aye shiverin’ and cowerin’ wi’ the cauld. Takin oot his cutty pipe, as usual, he began to fill’t, sayin’—“Missy, me no lib long; me no strength—me weak as water—me no happy—wish ’im was dead.”
“What way that?” asked my mither; “by my faith, ye’ll live mony a lang day yet. Deein’! deil the fear o’ ye!”
But Joe aye shook his head.
“Joe,” says my mither, takin’ his puir wasted hand in her ain, “there’s something mair than weakness the matter wi’ ye. I ken that, whatever ye may say; and the best thing for ye to do’s to mak a clean breast o’t. Whatever ye may say to me, I promise shall be as secret as the grave. Ye ken me ower weel to doot that.”
Joe lookit earnestly in her face, an’ syne at the door. My mither cannily closed the door, an’ sat doun beside him. Then the nigger, cautioning her to mind her promise, telt her a story that sent her to her bed that nicht wi’ a gey quaking heart. But as this story wadna be richtly understood to gie’t in the nigger’s strange broken English, I’ll tell’t in my ain way.
Ten years before Joe cam to Edinburgh, baith him an’ his wife were slaves on Zedekiah Gilroy’s plantation in Jamaica. This Zedekiah Gilroy was the second son o’ Colonel Gilroy, o’ Hawkesneb Hoose. I mind o’ the place mysel’ as weel as if it were yesterday; for mony a time I’ve passed it on the road to my aunty’s at Cockleburgh. It’s a gude fourteen hours’ journey frae Edinburgh—try’t ony day ye like. Aweel, the eldest son o’ this Colonel Gilroy had gotten a commission in the East India Company, an’ had risen to the rank o’ major in ane o’ the native regiments; but brocht himsel’ into disgrace there by causing the death o’ ane o’ his servants wi’ his merciless cruelty, an’ was obliged to sell oot, an’ come hame in disgrace. He hadna been lang hame, when a letter cam frae his brither, requesting him to come oot an’ look after his estate, for he had been twice attacked by yellow fever, an’ was utterly incompetent to look after’t. His overseers, he said, were rivin’ him oot o’ hoose an’ ha’, an’ a’thing was gaun wrang thegither. His wife had been struck doun by the same fell disease, an’ a lowness o’ spirits had ta’en possession o’ him, that a’ the luxuries o’ high life an’ plenty o’ siller couldna diminish. His only wish was to see his brither oot beside him, an’ tak for a while the oversicht o’ his affairs, till health an’ strength blessed him ance mair. Aweel, under a’ thae circumstances, the auld colonel advised his son to gang oot an’ do his best to help his brither in his sair extremity. Sae the major, wi’ an unco show o’ reluctance, at last consented, an’ aff he gaed to Jamaica, to play the deevil there, as he had done before in the East Indies.