‘But I’m all in a tremor after sich a frightful accident,’ replied Nannie: ‘an’ I want to get a few minutes’ quiet before we engage upon our undhertakin.’
This was very natural, and Saveall accordingly took his usual seat at a little windy in the gable of the mill, that faced the miller’s house; an’ from the way the bench was fixed, he was obliged to sit with his face exactly towards the same direction. There we leave him meditatin’ upon his own righteous approximations, till we folly Suil Gair Maguire, or fool Paddy, as they called him, who practicated all that was done.
Maguire and Nannie, findin’ that no time was to be lost, gave all over as ruined, unless somethin’ could be acted on quickly. Suil Gair at once thought of settin’ the mill a-goin’, but kept the plan to himself, any further than tellin’ her not to be surprised at any thing she might see. He then told her to steal him a gun, but if possible to let it be Saveall’s, as he knew it could be depended on. ‘But I hope you won’t shed any blood if you can avoid it,’ said she; ‘that I don’t like.’ ‘Tut,’ replied Suil Gair, makin’ evasion to the question, ‘it’s good to have it about me for my own defence.’
He could often have shot either Balgruntie or Saveall in daylight, but not without certain death to himself, as he knew that escape was impossible. Besides, time was not before so pressin’ upon them, an’ every day relief was expected. Now, however, that relief was so near—for Simpson with a party of royalists an’ Maguire’s men must be within a couple of hours’ journey—it would be too intrinsic entirely to see the castle plundhered, and the lady carried off by such a long-legged skyhill as Saveall. Nannie consequentially, at great risk, took an opportunity of slipping his gun to Suil Gair, who was the best shot of the day in that or any other part of the country; and it was in consequence of this that he was called Suil Gair, or Sharp Eye. But, indeed, all the Maguires were famous shots; an’ I’m tould there’s one of them now in Dublin that could hit a pigeon’s egg or a silver sixpence at the distance of a hundred yards.[1] Suil Gair did not merely raise the sluice when he set the mill a-goin’, but he whipped it out altogether an’ threw it into the dam, so that the possibility of saving the Hog of Cupar was irretrievable. He made off, however, an’ threw himself among the tall ragweeds that grew upon the common, till it got dark, when Saveall, as was his custom, should take his evenin’ smoke at the windy. Here he sat for some period, thinkin’ over many ruminations, before he lit his cutty pipe, as he called it.
‘Now,’ said he to himself, ‘what is there to hindher me from takin’ away, or rather from makin’ sure of the grand lassie, instead of the miller’s daughter? If I get intil the castle, it can be soon effected; for if she has any regard for her reputation, she will be quiet. I’m a braw handsome lad enough, a wee thought high in the cheek bones, scaly in the skin, an’ knock-knee’d a trifle, but stout an’ lathy, an’ tough as a withy. But, again, what is to be done wi Nannie? Hut, she’s but a miller’s daughter, an’ may be disposed of if she gets troublesome. I know she’s fond of me, but I dinna blame her for that. However, it wadna become me now to entertain scruples, seein’ that the way is made so plain for me. But, save us! eh, sirs, that was an awful death, an’ very like a judgment on the Hog of Cupar! It is often a judgment for the wicked to die in their sins! Balgruntie wasna that’—— Whatever he intended to say further, cannot be analogized by man, for, just as he had uttered the last word, which he did while holding the candle to his pipe, the bullet of his own gun entered between his eyes, and the next moment he was a corpse.
Suil Gair desarved the name he got, for truer did never bullet go to the mark from Saveall’s own aim than it did from his. There is now little more to be superadded to my story. Before daybreak the next mornin’, Simpson came to the relief of his intended wife; Crummle’s party war surprised, taken, an’ cut to pieces; an’ it so happened that from that day to this the face of a soger belongin’ to him was never seen near the mill or castle of Aughentain, with one exception only, and that was this:—You all know that the mill is often heard to go at night when nobody sets her a-goin’, an’ that the most sevendable scrames of torture come out of the hopper, an’ that when any one has the courage to look in, they’re sure to see a man dressed like a soger, with a white mealy face, in the act, so to say, of havin’ his legs ground off him. Many a guess was made about who the spirit could be, but all to no purpose. There, however, is the truth for yez; the spirit that shrieks in the hopper is Balgruntie’s ghost, an’ he’s to be ground that way till the day of judgment.
Be coorse, Simpson and Miss Graham were married, as war Nannie Duffy an’ Suil Gair; an’ if they all lived long an’ happy, I wish we may all live ten times longer an’ happier; an’ so we will, but in a betther world than this, plaise God.”
“Well, but, Tom,” said Gordon, “how does that account for my name, which you said you’d tell me?”
“Right,” said Tom; “begad I was near forgettin’ it. Why, you see, sich was their veneration for the goat that was the manes, undher God, of savin’ Miss Graham’s life, that they changed the name of Simpson to Gordon, which signifies in Irish gor dhun, or a brown goat, that all their posterity might know the great obligations they lay undher to that reverend animal.”
“An’ do you mane to tell me,” said Gordon, “that my name was never heard of until Oliver Crummle’s time?”