‘Aye, aye, sir; she sails for’—
‘I did not ask you WHERE she sailed for, Job,’ said the old gentleman, interrupting him. ‘I thank my Maker, I know nothing of their incomings or outgoings. I sell my article fairly and in the ordinary way of business; and I wash my hands of everything else. But what I wished to know is, whether the gentleman called the Laird of the Solway Lakes is on the other side of the Border even now?’
‘Aye, aye,’ said Job, ‘the laird is something in my own line, you know—a little contraband or so, There is a statute for him—But no matter; he took the sands after the splore at the Quaker’s fish-traps yonder; for he has a leal heart, the laird, and is always true to the country-side. But avast—is all snug here?’
So saying, he suddenly turned on Alan Fairford the light side of the lantern he carried, who, by the transient gleam which it threw in passing on the man who bore it, saw a huge figure, upwards of six feet high, with a rough hairy cap on his head, and a set of features corresponding to his bulky frame. He thought also he observed pistols at his belt.
‘I will answer for this gentleman,’ said Mr. Trumbull; ‘he must be brought to speech of the laird.’
‘That will be kittle steering,’ said the subordinate personage; ‘for I understood that the laird and his folk were no sooner on the other side than the land-sharks were on them, and some mounted lobsters from Carlisle; and so they were obliged to split and squander. There are new brooms out to sweep the country of them, they say; for the brush was a hard one; and they say there was a lad drowned;—he was not one of the laird’s gang, so there was the less matter.’
‘Peace! prithee, peace, Job Rutledge,’ said honest, pacific Mr. Trumbull. ‘I wish thou couldst remember, man, that I desire to know nothing of your roars and splores, your brooms and brushes. I dwell here among my own people; and I sell my commodity to him who comes in the way of business; and so wash my hands of all consequences, as becomes a quiet subject and an honest man. I never take payment, save in ready money.’
‘Aye, aye,’ muttered he with the lantern, ‘your worship, Mr. Trumbull, understands that in the way of business.’
‘Well, I hope you will one day know, Job,’ answered Mr. Trumbull,—‘the comfort of a conscience void of offence, and that fears neither gauger nor collector, neither excise nor customs. The business is to pass this gentleman to Cumberland upon earnest business, and to procure him speech with the Laird of the Solway Lakes—I suppose that can be done? Now I think Nanty Ewart, if he sails with the brig this morning tide, is the man to set him forward.’
‘Aye, aye, truly is he,’ said Job; ‘never man knew the Border, dale and fell, pasture and ploughland, better than Nanty; and he can always bring him to the laird, too, if you are sure the gentleman’s right. But indeed that’s his own look-out; for were he the best man in Scotland, and the chairman of the d—d Board to boot, and had fifty men at his back, he were as well not visit the laird for anything but good. As for Nanty, he is word and blow, a d—d deal fiercer than Cristie Nixon that they keep such a din about. I have seen them both tried, by’—