for he relaxed his pace upon hearing it, and, suffering me to close up to him, observed, “There wasna muckle sense in riding at sic a daft-like gate.”
“And what did you mean by doing so at all, you self-willed scoundrel?” replied I; for I was in a towering passion,— to which, by the way, nothing contributes more than the having recently undergone a spice of personal fear, which, like a few drops of water flung on a glowing fire, is sure to inflame the ardour which it is insufficient to quench.
“What’s your honour’s wull?” replied Andrew, with impenetrable gravity.
“My will, you rascal?— I have been roaring to you this hour to ride slower, and you have never so much as answered me — Are you drunk or mad to behave so?”
“An it like your honour, I am something dull o’ hearing; and I’ll no deny but I might have maybe taen a stirrup-cup at parting frae the auld bigging whare I hae dwelt sae lang; and having naebody to pledge, nae doubt I was obliged to do mysell reason, or else leave the end o’ the brandy stoup to thae papists — and that wad be a waste, as your honour kens.”
This might be all very true,— and my circumstances required that I should be on good terms with my guide; I therefore satisfied myself with requiring of him to take his directions from me in future concerning the rate of travelling.
Andrew, emboldened by the mildness of my tone, elevated his own into the pedantic, conceited octave, which was familiar to him on most occasions.
“Your honour winna persuade me, and naebody shall persuade me, that it’s either halesome or prudent to tak the night air on thae moors without a cordial o’ clow-gilliflower water, or a tass of brandy or aquavitae, or sic-like creature-comfort. I hae taen the bent ower the Otterscrape-rigg a hundred times, day and night, and never could find the way unless I had taen my morning; mair by token that I had whiles twa bits o’ ankers o’ brandy on ilk side o’ me.”—
“In other words, Andrew,” said I, “you were a smuggler — how does a man of your strict principles reconcile yourself to cheat the revenue?”
“It’s a mere spoiling o’ the Egyptians,” replied Andrew; “puir auld Scotland suffers eneugh by thae blackguard loons o’ excisemen and gaugers, that hae come down on her like locusts since the sad and sorrowfu’ Union; it’s the part of a kind son to bring her a soup o’ something that will keep up her auld heart,— and that will they nill they, the ill-fa’ard thieves!”
Upon more particular inquiry, I found Andrew had frequently travelled these mountain-paths as a smuggler, both before and after his establishment at Osbaldistone Hall — a circumstance which was so far of importance to me, as it proved his capacity as a guide, notwithstanding the escapade of which he had been guilty at his outset, Even now, though travelling at a more moderate pace, the stirrup-cup, or whatever else had such an effect in stimulating Andrew’s motions, seemed not totally to have lost its influence. He often cast a nervous and startled look behind him; and whenever the road seemed at all practicable, showed symptoms of a desire to accelerate his pace, as if he feared some pursuit from the rear. These appearances of alarm gradually diminished as we reached the top of a high bleak ridge, which ran nearly east and west for about a mile, with a very steep descent on either side. The pale beams of the morning were now enlightening the horizon, when Andrew cast a look behind him, and not seeing the appearance of a living being on the moors which he had travelled, his hard features gradually unbent, as he first whistled, then sung, with much glee and little melody, the end of one of his native songs —
“Jenny, lass! I think I hae her
Ower the muir amang the heather,
All their clan shall never get her.”
He patted at the same time the neck of the horse which had carried him so gallantly; and my attention being directed by that action to the animal, I instantly recognised a favourite mare of Thorncliff Osbaldistone. “How is this, sir?” said I sternly; “that is Mr. Thorncliff’s mare!”
“I’ll no say but she may aiblins hae been his honour’s Squire Thorncliff’s in her day — but she’s mine now.”
“You have stolen her, you rascal.”
“Na, na, sir — nae man can wyte me wi’ theft. The thing stands this gate, ye see. Squire Thorncliff borrowed ten punds o’ me to gang to York Races — deil a boddle wad he pay me back again, and spake o’ raddling my banes, as he ca’d it, when I asked him but for my ain back again;— now I think it will riddle him or he gets his horse ower the Border again — unless he pays me plack and bawbee, he sall never see a hair o’ her tail. I ken a canny chield at Loughmaben, a bit writer lad, that will put me in the way to sort him. Steal the mear! na, na, far be the sin o’ theft frae Andrew Fairservice — I have just arrested her jurisdictionis fandandy causey. Thae are bonny writer words — amaist like the language o’ huz gardeners and other learned men — it’s a pity they’re sae dear;— thae three words were a’ that Andrew got for a lang law-plea and four ankers o’ as gude brandy as was e’er coupit ower craig — Hech, sirs! but law’s a dear thing.”
“You are likely to find it much dearer than you suppose, Andrew, if you proceed in this mode of paying yourself, without legal authority.”
“Hout tout, we’re in Scotland now (be praised for’t!) and I can find baith friends and lawyers, and judges too, as weel as ony Osbaldistone o’ them a’. My mither’s mither’s third cousin was cousin to the Provost o’ Dumfries, and he winna see a drap o’ her blude wranged. Hout awa! the laws are indifferently administered here to a’ men alike; it’s no like on yon side, when a chield may be whuppit awa’ wi’ ane o’ Clerk Jobson’s warrants, afore he kens where he is. But they will hae little enough law amang them by and by, and that is ae grand reason that I hae gi’en them gude-day.”
I was highly provoked at the achievement of Andrew, and considered it as a hard fate, which a second time threw me into collision with a person of such irregular practices. I determined, however, to buy the mare of him, when he should reach the end of our journey, and send her back to my cousin at Osbaldistone Hall; and with this purpose of reparation I resolved to make my uncle acquainted from the next post-town. It was needless, I thought, to quarrel with Andrew in the meantime, who had, after all, acted not very unnaturally for a person in his circumstances. I therefore smothered my resentment, and asked him what he meant by his last expressions, that there would be little law in Northumberland by and by?
“Law!” said Andrew, “hout, ay — there will be club-law eneugh. The priests and the Irish officers, and thae papist cattle that hae been sodgering abroad, because they durstna bide at hame, are a’ fleeing thick in Northumberland e’enow; and thae corbies dinna gather without they smell carrion. As sure as ye live, his honour Sir Hildebrand is gaun to stick his horn in the bog — there’s naething but gun and pistol, sword and dagger, amang them — and they’ll be laying on, I’se warrant; for they’re fearless fules the young Osbaldistone squires, aye craving your honour’s pardon.”
This speech recalled to my memory some suspicions that I myself had entertained, that the Jacobites were on the eve of some desperate enterprise. But, conscious it did not become me to be a spy on my uncle’s words and actions, I had rather avoided than availed myself of any opportunity which occurred of remarking upon the signs of the times.— Andrew Fairservice felt no such restraint, and doubtless spoke very truly in stating his conviction that some desperate plots were in agitation, as a reason which determined his resolution to leave the Hall.
“The servants,” he stated, “with the tenantry and others, had been all regularly enrolled
