“Sae lang, that I could weel tak a dram.”
“Gudewife, bring the gill stoup.”
Here some compliments passed fitting the occasion, when my host of the Golden Candlestick, having, as he thought, opened his guest’s heart by this hospitable propitiation, resumed his scrutiny.
“Ye’ll no hae mickle better whisky than that aboon the Pass?”
“I am nae frae aboon the Pass.”
“Ye’re a Highlandman by your tongue?”
“Na; I am but just Aberdeen-a-way.”
“And did your master come frae Aberdeen wi’ you?”
“Ay; that’s when I left it mysell,” answered the cool and impenetrable Callum Beg.
“And what kind of a gentleman is he?”
“I believe he is ane o’ King George’s state officers; at least he’s aye for ganging on to the south, and he has a hantle siller, and never grudges onything till a poor body, or in the way of a lawing.”
“He wants a guide and a horse frae hence to Edinburgh?”
“Ay, and ye maun find it him forthwith.”
“Ahem! It will be chargeable.”
“He cares na for that a bodle.”
“Aweel, Duncan—did ye say your name was Duncan, or Donald?”
“Na, man—Jamie—Jamie Steenson—I telt ye before.”
This last undaunted parry altogether foiled Mr. Cruickshanks, who, though not quite satisfied either with the reserve of the master or the extreme readiness of the man, was contented to lay a tax on the reckoning and horse-hire that might compound for his ungratified curiosity. The circumstance of its being the fast day was not forgotten in the charge, which, on the whole, did not, however, amount to much more than double what in fairness it should have been.
Callum Beg soon after announced in person the ratification of this treaty, adding, “Ta auld deevil was ganging to ride wi’ ta duinhé-wassel hersell.”
“That will not be very pleasant, Callum, nor altogether safe, for our host seems a person of great curiosity; but a traveller must submit to these inconveniences. Meanwhile, my good lad, here is a trifle for you to drink Vich Ian Vohr’s health.”
The hawk’s eye of Callum flashed delight upon a golden guinea, with which these last words were accompanied. He hastened, not without a curse on the intricacies of a Saxon breeches pocket, or “spleuchan,” as he called it, to deposit the treasure in his fob; and then, as if he conceived the benevolence called for some requital on his part, he gathered close up to Edward, with an expression of countenance peculiarly knowing, and spoke in an undertone, “If his honour thought ta auld deevil Whig carle was a bit dangerous, she could easily provide for him, and teil ane ta wiser.”
“How, and in what manner?”
“Her ain sell,” replied Callum, “could wait for him a wee bit frae the toun, and kittle his quarters wi’her skene-occle.”
“ ‘Skene-occle!’ what’s that?”
Callum unbuttoned his coat, raised his left arm, and, with an emphatic nod, pointed to the hilt of a small dirk, snugly deposited under it, in the lining of his jacket. Waverley thought he had misunderstood his meaning; he gazed in his face, and discovered in Callum’s very handsome though embrowned features just the degree of roguish malice with which a lad of the same age in England would have brought forward a plan for robbing an orchard.
“Good God, Callum, would you take the man’s life?”
“Indeed,” answered the young desperado, “and I think he has had just a lang enough lease o’ ’t, when he’s for betraying honest folk that come to spend siller at his public.”
Edward saw nothing was to be gained by argument, and therefore contented himself with enjoining Callum to lay aside all practices against the person of Mr. Ebenezer Cruickshanks; in which injunction the page seemed to acquiesce with an air of great indifference.
“Ta duinhé-wassel might please himsell; ta auld rudas loon had never done Callum nae ill. But here’s a bit line frae ta Tighearna, tat he bade me gie your honour ere I came back.”
The letter from the Chief contained Flora’s lines on the fate of Captain Wogan, whose enterprising character is so well drawn by Clarendon. He had originally engaged in the service of the Parliament, but had abjured that party upon the execution of Charles I; and upon hearing that the royal standard was set up by the Earl of Glencairn and General Middleton in the Highlands of Scotland, took leave of Charles II, who was then at Paris, passed into England, assembled a body of Cavaliers in the neighbourhood of London, and traversed the kingdom, which had been so long under domination of the usurper, by marches conducted with such skill, dexterity, and spirit that he safely united his handful of horsemen with the body of Highlanders then in arms. After several months of desultory warfare, in which Wogan’s skill and courage gained him the highest reputation, he had the misfortune to be wounded in a dangerous manner, and no surgical assistance being within reach he terminated his short but glorious career.
There were obvious reasons why the politic Chieftain was desirous to place the example of this young hero under the eye of Waverley, with whose romantic disposition it coincided so peculiarly. But his letter turned chiefly upon some trifling commissions which Waverley had promised to execute for him in England, and it was only toward the conclusion that Edward found these words: “I owe Flora a grudge for refusing us her company yesterday; and, as I am giving you the trouble of reading these lines, in order to keep in your memory your promise to procure me the fishing-tackle and crossbow from London, I will enclose her verses on the Grave of Wogan. This I know will tease her; for, to tell you the truth, I think her more in love with the memory of that dead hero than she is likely to be with any living one, unless he shall tread a similar path. But English squires of our day keep their oak-trees to shelter their deer parks, or repair the losses of an evening at White’s, and neither invoke them to wreathe their brows nor shelter
