‘And my friend,’ said Alan Fairford, ‘for whose sake I have run myself into this danger, what is to become of him? Dark and dangerous man!’ he exclaimed, raising his voice, I will not be again cajoled by deceitful promises’—
‘I give you my honour that your friend is well,’ interrupted Redgauntlet; ‘perhaps I may permit you to see him, if you will but submit with patience to a fate which is inevitable.’
But Alan Fairford, considering his confidence as having been abused, first by Maxwell, and next by the priest, raised his voice, and appealed to all the king’s lieges within hearing, against the violence with which he was threatened. He was instantly seized on by Nixon and two assistants, who, holding down his arms, and endeavouring to stop his mouth, were about to hurry him away.
The honest Quaker, who had kept out of Redgauntlet’s presence, now came boldly forward.
‘Friend,’ said he, ‘thou dost more than thou canst answer. Thou knowest me well, and thou art aware that in me thou hast a deeply injured neighbour, who was dwelling beside thee in the honesty and simplicity of his heart.’
‘Tush, Jonathan,’ said Redgauntlet; ‘talk not to me, man; it is neither the craft of a young lawyer, nor the SIMPLICITY of an old hypocrite, can drive me from my purpose.
‘By my faith,’ said the captain, coming forward in his turn, ‘this is hardly fair, general; and I doubt,’ he added, ‘whether the will of my owners can make me a party to such proceedings. Nay, never fumble with your sword-hilt, but out with it like a man, if you are for a tilting.’ He unsheathed his hanger, and continued—‘I will neither see my comrade Fairford, nor the old Quaker, abused. D——n all warrants, false or true—curse the justice—confound the constable!—and here stands little Nanty Ewart to make good what he says against gentle and simple, in spite of horse-shoe or horse-radish either.’
The cry of ‘Down with all warrants!’ was popular in the ears of the militia of the inn, and Nanty Ewart was no less so. Fishers, ostlers, seamen, smugglers, began to crowd to the spot. Crackenthorp endeavoured in vain to mediate. The attendants of Redgauntlet began to handle their firearms; but their master shouted to them to forbear, and, unsheathing his sword as quick as lightning, he rushed on Ewart in the midst of his bravado, and struck his weapon from his hand with such address and force, that it flew three yards from him. Closing with him at the same moment, he gave him a severe fall, and waved his sword over his head, to show he was absolutely at his mercy.
‘There, you drunken vagabond,’ he said, ‘I give you your life—you are no bad fellow if you could keep from brawling among your friends. But we all know Nanty Ewart,’ he said to the crowd around, with a forgiving laugh, which, joined to the awe his prowess had inspired, entirely confirmed their wavering allegiance.
They shouted, ‘The laird for ever!’ while poor Nanty, rising from the earth, on whose lap he had been stretched so rudely, went in quest of his hanger, lifted it, wiped it, and, as he returned the weapon to the scabbard, muttered between his teeth, ‘It is true they say of him, and the devil will stand his friend till his hour come; I will cross him no more.’