Red Cap Tales Part 12

"That was all owing to a mistake," I explained hastily (for really this had nothing to do with Scott); "it was only because your parent happened to be wearing the same kind of hat as a certain well-known smuggler, a very desperate character."

"HUM-M!" said Sir Toady Lion, suddenly developing a cold in the nose.

"Well, anyway, they do smuggle--though not much in this country now," said Sweetheart, "and I'm glad father knew a man who smuggled in Spain. It makes this book so much more real."

"Getting put in prison instead of him made it almost _too_ real," said Sir Toady. He is a most disconcerting and ironical boy. One often wonders where he gets it from.

So to shut off further questioning, I proceeded immediately with the telling of the second tale from _Guy Mannering_.

THE SECOND TALE FROM "GUY MANNERING"

I. HAPPY DOMINIE SAMPSON

IT was seventeen long years after the murder of Frank Kennedy and the disappearance of little Harry Bertram when Guy Mannering, now a soldier famous for his wars in the East, penetrated a second time into Galloway.

His object was to visit the family of Ellangowan, and secretly, also, to find out for himself in what way his random prophesies had worked out.

But he arrived at an unfortunate time. He found that, chiefly by the plotting and deceit of a rascally lawyer, one Gilbert Glossin, the Bertrams were on the point of being sold out of Ellangowan. All their money had been lost, and the sale of the estate was being forced on by the rascally lawyer Glossin for his own ends.

The old man G.o.dfrey Bertram also was very near his end. And indeed on the very day of the sale, and while Mannering was paying his respects to his former host, the sight of Glossin so enraged the feeble old man that he was taken with a violent pa.s.sion, falling back in his chair and dying in a few minutes.

Mannering, whose heart was greatly touched, was most anxious to do all that he could to a.s.sist Lucy Bertram, the old man's daughter, but he was compelled by an urgent summons to return into England. It had been his intention to save the estate of Ellangowan from the clutches of the scoundrel Glossin by buying it himself, but the drunkenness of a postboy whom he had sent with a letter to Mr. Mac-Morlan, the lawyer in charge of the sale, defeated his intentions, so that Ellangowan became the property of the traitor. So young Lucy Bertram and Dominie Sampson (who refused to be separated from her) became for the moment inmates of Mr.

Mac-Morlan's house. The Dominie found a pupil or two in the neighbourhood that he might not be chargeable to his dear Lucy or her friend Mr. Mac-Morlan. And so, in the twenty-first year after the birth of an heir, and after Mannering's prophecy concerning him, there seemed an end to the ancient house of the Bertrams of Ellangowan.

During these years, Colonel Mannering also had a tale to tell. Wedded early to the wife of his youth and his heart, he had gone to India in the service of the Honourable, the East India Company. There by his valour and talent he had rapidly acquired both wealth and position. But during the twenty-first year an event occurred which gave him a distaste for the land of his adoption, and he had come back to his native country with the idea of settling down, far away from old memories and new entanglements.

In a duel which he had fought in India with a young man named Brown--a brave youth of no position, who had offended Mannering by his attentions to his daughter, and by establis.h.i.+ng himself in his house as a friend of the family--he had left Brown for dead on the field, hardly escaping himself with his life from a sudden attack of the armed banditti who, in the India of that day, were always hovering round desert places. The shock of that morning had so told on the health of Mannering's wife that she died shortly afterwards, leaving him with one daughter, Julia--a proud, sprightly, sentimental girl, whom he had brought home, and placed under the care of a friend named Mervyn, whose house stood upon one of the c.u.mberland lakes.

So it came about that when Mannering was in Scotland, he received a letter from his friend which took him to Mervyn Hall as fast as horse-flesh could carry him.

His friend wrote, as he was careful to say, without his wife's knowledge. Mr. Mervyn told Colonel Mannering that he was certain that his daughter Julia was receiving secret visits from some one whom she did not dare to see openly. Not only were there long solitary walks and hill-climbings, but on several occasions he had heard up the lake at midnight, as if under her windows, a flageolet playing a little Indian air to which Julia Mannering was partial. This was evidently a signal, for a boat had been seen hastily crossing the lake, and the sash of Julia's window had been heard to shut down at the first alarm. Mr.

Mervyn said that, little as he liked playing the part of tale-bearer, he felt that Julia was under his care, and he would not deserve his old name of Downright Dunstable if he did not inform her father of what he had discovered. Julia, he said, was both a charming and high spirited girl, but she was too much her own father's daughter to be without romantic ideas. On the whole, concluded Mr. Mervyn, it behooved the Colonel to come at once to Mervyn Hall and look after his own property.

This was the letter which, put into his hands at a seaport town in Scotland, lost Mannering the estate of Ellangowan, and threw the ancient seat of many generations of Bertrams into the clutches of the scoundrelly Glossin. For Colonel Mannering instantly posted off to the south, having first of all sent despatches to Mr. Mac-Morlan by the untrustworthy postilion--the same who arrived a day too late for the sale.

When Colonel Mannering first went to Mervyn Hall, he could make nothing of the case. Of course he believed Brown to have died by his hand in India, and he could find no traces of any other man likely to be making love to his daughter. Nevertheless he had brought back a plan with him from Scotland, which, he thought, would put an end to all future difficulties. The helplessness of Lucy Bertram had moved his heart.

Besides, he was more amused than he cared to own by the originality of the Dominie. He had easily obtained, by means of Mr. Mac-Morlan, a furnished house in the neighbourhood of Ellangowan, and he resolved for a time at least to repose himself there after his campaigns. His daughter Julia would thus have a companion in Lucy Bertram, and it was easy to provide the Dominie with an occupation. For the library of an uncle of Mannering's, who had been a learned bishop of the Church of England, had been willed to him. The Dominie was the very man to put the books in order. So indeed it was arranged, after some saucy remarks from Miss Mannering as to the supposed Scottish accent and probable red hair of her companion.

Then Colonel Mannering, accustomed to do nothing by halves, sent down his directions about Dominie Sampson, whose heart indeed would have been broken if he had been separated from the young mistress over whom he had watched from childhood.

"Let the poor man be properly dressed," wrote the Colonel to Mr.

Mac-Morlan, "and let him accompany his young lady to Woodbourne!"

The dressing of Dominie Sampson was, however, easier said than done. For it would hurt the pride of the Dominie to have clothes presented to him as to a schoolboy. But Lucy Bertram soon settled the matter. The Dominie, she said, would never notice the difference, if they put one garment at a time into his sleeping room and took away the other. This was what her father had always done when the wardrobe of his dependent needed renewing. Nor had the Dominie ever showed the least consciousness of the change.

So said, so done. A good tailor, having come and looked Mr. Sampson over, readily agreed to provide him with two excellent suits, one black and one raven grey, such as would fit the Dominie as well as a man of such an out-of-the-way build could be fitted by merely human needles and shears.

The Dominie, when completely equipped, made no remark upon the change--further than that, in his opinion, the air of a seaport town like Kippletringan seemed to be favourable to wearing-apparel.

It was the depth of winter when the Mannerings arrived at Woodbourne.

All were a little anxious. Even Dominie Sampson longed to be at his books, and going repeatedly to the windows demanded, "Why tarry the wheels of their chariot?" But when at last they came, Lucy and Julia Bertram were soon friends, while the Dominie stood with uplifted hands, exclaiming, "Prodeegious! Prodeegious!" as, one after another, the thirty or forty cart-loads of books were deposited on the library floor ready to his hand. His arms flapped like windmills, and the uncouth scholar counted himself the happiest man on earth as he began to arrange the great volumes on the shelves. Not that he got on very quickly. For he wrote out the catalogue in his best running-hand. He put the books on the shelves as carefully as if they had been old and precious china. Yet in spite of the Dominie's zeal, his labours advanced but slowly. Often he would chance to open a volume when halfway up the ladder. Then, his eye falling upon some entrancing pa.s.sage, he would stand there transfixed, oblivious of the flight of time, till a serving-maid pulled his skirts to tell him dinner was waiting. He would then bolt his food in three-inch squares, and rush back to the library, often with his dinner napkin still tied round his neck like a pinafore.

Thus, for the first time in his life, Dominie Sampson was perfectly content.

[Ill.u.s.tration: "HIS eye falling upon some entrancing pa.s.sage, he would stand there transfixed, oblivious of the flight of time, till a serving-maid pulled his skirts to tell him dinner was waiting."]

II. DANDIE DINMONT

But the story now turns to the young man Brown, or, to give him his full t.i.tle, Captain Vanbeest Brown, whom Colonel Mannering had left for dead on an Indian field. He did not die, but he had been compelled to undergo a long captivity among the bandits before he found his way back to his regiment. The new Colonel whom he found in Mannering's place had been kind to him, and he soon found himself in command of a troop of dragoons. He was at present on leave in England, and, as he was conscious that Mannering had no reason for his ill-will and apparent cruelty, Brown felt that he on his part had no reason for standing on ceremony with such a man. He loved Julia Mannering, and, to say the least of it, she did not discourage him. So it was he who had played the Hindoo air upon the lake--he with whom Julia had talked at her window, even as Mervyn had related in his letter to his friend Colonel Mannering.

When the Colonel and his daughter went away to Scotland, Captain Brown, having no relatives in the country, resolved to follow them. He set out on foot, having for sole companion a little terrier named Wasp. On the way he had to pa.s.s a long and weary waste of heath and mora.s.s. One house alone broke the monotonous expanse. It was little better than a shed, but was sheltered by an ash tree, and a clay-built shed alongside served for a rude stable. A stout pony stood tethered in front of the door, busy with a feed of oats. Stillness brooded all around. It was a poor place, but Captain Brown had wandered too far and seen too much to care about appearances. He stooped his head and entered at the low door. In a few minutes he found himself attacking a round of beef and was.h.i.+ng it down with home-brewed ale in company with the owner of the pony tethered outside, a certain Mr. Dandie Dinmont, a store-farmer on his way home from a c.u.mberland fair. At first only pleasant nods pa.s.sed between them as they drank to each other in silence.

Presently Brown noticed, seated in the great chimney, a very tall old woman clad in a red cloak and a slouched bonnet, having all the appearance of a gipsy or tinker. She smoked silently at her clay pipe, while the doubtful-looking landlady went about her affairs.

Brown's terrier Wasp was the means of his striking up an acquaintance with the st.u.r.dy farmer opposite, who, hearing that he had never seen a blackc.o.c.k, invited him forthwith to Charlies-hope, the name of his farm, where he promised him he should both see blackc.o.c.k, shoot blackc.o.c.k, and eat blackc.o.c.k. Dandie Dinmont was going on to tell Brown of his wanderings, when the old crone in the red cloak by the side of the fire suddenly broke silence by asking if he had been recently in Galloway, and if he knew Ellangowan.

"Ellangowan!" cried the farmer, "I ken it weel! Auld Laird Bertram died but a fortnight ago, and the estate and everything had to be sold for want of an heir male."

The old gipsy (who, of course, was no other than Meg Merrilies) sprang at once to her feet.

"And who dared buy the estate, when the bonny knave-bairn that heirs it may any day come back to claim his ain?"

"It was, I believe," said Dandie Dinmont, "one of these writer bodies that buy up everything,--Gilbert Glossin by name!"

"Ay, Gibbie Glossin," said the old witch-wife, "mony a time I hae carried him in my creels. But maybe ye'll hae heard o' Derncleugh, about a mile frae Ellangowan?"

"And a wild-looking den it is," said the farmer; "nothing but old ruined walls."

"It was a blithe bit once," said the gipsy, as if talking to herself; "did ye notice if there was a willow tree half blown down, that hangs over the bit burnie? Mony is the time hae I sat there and knitted my stockin'."

"The deil's in the wife," cried Dandie; "let me away! Here's saxpence for ye to buy half-a-mutchkin, instead o' claverin' o' auld-world tales."

The gipsy took the money from the farmer, and tendered in return this advice: "When Tib Mumps brings ye out the stirrup-cup, and asks ye whether ye will gang ower Willie's brae or by the Conscowthartmoss, be sure to choose the road ye _dinna_ tell her."

The farmer laughed and promised. But to Brown he said that after all he would rather that Tib Mumps kenned where he was going than yon gipsy queen, so he would e'en hold on his way.

Captain Brown soon followed on foot, but at the door he found himself stopped by Meg Merrilies, who, with much earnestness, asked his name and from whence he came.

"My name is Brown," he answered, a little impatiently; "I come from the East Indies."

[Ill.u.s.tration: "HE had not gone very far, and was still in the heart of the mora.s.s, when he saw his late companion of the ale-house engaged in deadly combat with a couple of rascals, one of them armed with a cutla.s.s, and the other with a bludgeon."]

The old gipsy appeared disappointed by his answer, and Brown put a s.h.i.+lling into her hand as he took his leave. However, he had not gone very far, and was still in the heart of the mora.s.s, when he saw his late companion of the ale-house engaged in deadly combat with a couple of rascals, one of them armed with a cutla.s.s, and the other with a bludgeon. Brown's terrier Wasp ran forward, barking furiously, but before Brown could come to his a.s.sistance the ruffians had got Dandie Dinmont down, and the man with the bludgeon bestowed some merciless blows upon his head. Then with a shout they turned their attention to Brown, crying that "the first one was content." But Brown was a staunch antagonist, and they soon found that they had met more than their match.

Whereupon the leader bade him follow his nose over the heath, for that they had nothing to say to him.

But, since to do this was to abandon Dandie Dinmont to their mercy, Brown refused point-blank. Affairs were at this pa.s.s when Dandie, staggering to his feet, his loaded whip in his hand, managed to come to the a.s.sistance of his rescuer, whereupon the two men took to their heels and ran as hard as they could over the moor.