Read Ebook: Jaunty Jock and Other Stories by Munro Neil

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Ebook has 793 lines and 47142 words, and 16 pages

"You made a shabby flight, by all accounts, from the lady's brother."

"Humph!" said he, for the first time disconcerted; indeed, it was a story no way creditable to Clan Macdonald. "I think," said he, "we'll better let that flea stick to the wall," and looked across the room to where his cousin sat glowering in a manifest anxiety.

"Oh, Barrisdale, Barrisdale, can ye no' be a good man?" said Miss Duthie, in a petty lady-like concern, and unable to keep her eyes from that unlucky nose.

He put up his hand and covered it. She flushed to the neck that he should so easily have divined her, and he laughed.

"It's no use trying, ma'am," said he. "Let me be as good as gold and I would never get credit for it from your sex, that must always fancy that a handsome face never goes but with a handsome heart."

She rose with an air of vexation to leave him, very red below her mask; the last dance was on the point of ending, the dowagers were coming in with their Paisley plaids on their shoulders. "I would never hurt any person's feelings by allusion to his personal appearance," she said, as she was turning away.

"I am sure of it, ma'am," said he; "you are most considerate."

MACDONALD and his cousin Jock walked to their lodging in Halkerston's Wynd without a lanthorn. The watch cried, "Twal o'clock, twal o'clock, and a perishin' cauld nicht"; they could hear the splash of his shoes in the puddles of the lane although they could not see him. The town now rose above the haar that brooded in the swampy hollow underneath the citadel; the rain was gone, the stars were clear, the wind moaned in the lanes and whistled on the steep. It was like as they were in some wizard fortress cut from rock, walking in mirk ravines, the enormous houses dizzy overhanging them, the closes running to the plains on either hand in sombre gashes. Before them went sedans and swinging lanterns and flambeaux that left in their wake an odour of tow and rosin not in its way unpleasant.

"Yon was a dubious prank upon the lady," said Macdonald, and his cousin laughed uproariously.

"Upon my word, Donald," said he, "I could not for the life of me resist it. I declare it was better than a play; I have paid good money for worse at a play."

"And still and on a roguish thing," said Macdonald, hastening his step. "You were aye the rogue, Jaunty Jock."

"And you were aye the dullard, Dismal Dan," retorted the other in no bad humour at the accusation. "To be dull is, maybe, worse. You had the opportunity--I risked that--to betray me if you liked."

"You knew very well I would not do that."

"A most discerning young person!" said Macdonald.

"She knew your history like a sennachie, lad, and rogue as she made you, I believe she would have forgiven you all but for that nose of yours."

"Oh, damn my nose!" cried Macdonald. "It's not so very different from the common type of noses."

"Just that! just that! not very different, but still a little skew. Lord! man, you cannot expect to have all the graces as well as all the virtues. Madam picked you out at all events, and I was not in the key to contradict her. She paid you the compliment of saying you were not at all like her idea of a man with the repute of Barrisdale."

"Very likely! Indeed, I could guess she was more put out at that than at finding herself speaking to a scamp who laughed at his own misdeeds. You made a false move; Jock, had you admitted you were the man, she would not have been greatly mortified. In any case, she thought to improve the occasion with advice. She told me to be good!"

Barrisdale could hardly speak for laughing. "You kept up the play at any rate," said he, "for when I saw her to her chair, 'Yon's an awful man, your cousin,' said she. What do you think of her?"

"Something of a simpleton, something of a sentimentalist, and a very bonny face forbye to judge by her chin--that was all of it I saw."

"She kept too tight a mask for even me to see her face. Man, ye've missed her chief charm--she has twa thousand a year of her own. I had it from herself, so you see I'm pretty far ben. With half a chance I could make a runaway match of it; I'm sure I took her fancy."

"Tuts! Jock. I thought you had enough of runaway matches; take care she has not got a brother," said Macdonald.

Jaunty Jock scowled in the dark, but made no answer.

Their lodging was in a land deep down in the Wynd. Flat on flat it rose for fourteen stories, poverty in its dunnies , poverty in its attics, and between the two extremes the wonderfullest variety of households bien or wealthy--the homes of writers, clerks, ministers, shopkeepers, tradesmen, gentlemen reduced, a countess, and a judge--for there, though the Macdonalds did not know, dwelt Lord Duthie with his daughter. In daytime the traffic of the steep scale stair went like the road to a fair, at night the passages were black and still as vaults. "A fine place the town, no doubt," said Jaunty Jock, "but, lord, give me the hills for it!"

They slept in different rooms. The morning was still young when one of them was wakened by the most appalling uproar on the stair. He rose and saw his window glowing; he looked from it, and over on the gables of the farther land he saw the dance of light from a fire. He wakened Jaunty Jock. "Get up," said he, "the tenement's in blazes." They dressed in a hurry, and found that every one in the house but themselves had fled already. The door stood open; on the landing crushed the tenants from the flats above, men and women in a state of horror, fighting like brutes for their safety. The staircase rang with cries--the sobbing of women, the whimper of bairns, and at the foot a doorway jammed. Frantic to find themselves caught like rats, and the sound of the crackling fire behind them, the trapped ones elbowed and tore for escape, and only the narrowness of the passage kept the weaker ones from being trampled underfoot. All this Macdonald could define only by the evidence of his ears, for the stair was wholly in pitch darkness.

"Two landings farther up," said the fellow, "in Lord Duthie's flat."

"Lord Duthie's flat!" cried Macdonald; "and is he safe?"

"He's never hame yet; at least, I never heard him skliffin' on the stair, but his dochter cam' back hersel' frae the assembly."

"Is she safe?" asked Macdonald.

"Wha' kens that?" replied the man, and threw himself into the stair, the more able now to fight because of his rest in the eddy.

"It looks gey bad for your runaway match, Jock," said Macdonald. "Here's a parcel of the most arrant cowards. My God, what a thin skin of custom lies between the burgess and the brute beast. That poor lass! It's for you and me, Jock, to go up and see that she's in no greater danger than the rest of us."

He spoke to deaf ears, for Jock was already fighting for his place among the crowd. His cousin did the same, but with another purpose: his object was to scale the stair. He pushed against the pressure of the panic, mountains were on his shoulders, and his ribs were squeezed into his body as if with falling rocks. His clothes were torn from his back, he lost his shoes, and a frantic woman struck him on the face with the heavy key of her door that with a housewife's carefulness she treasured even when the door it was meant for was burned, and the blood streamed into his eyes.

He was still in the dark of the stair; the fire at least was not close enough to stop his mounting, so up he felt his way in a hurry till he reached Lord Duthie's flat. A lobby that led to the left from the landing roared with flame that scorched him; a lobby on the right was still untouched. He hammered at the only shut door but got no answer, plied the risp as well with the same result, then threw it in with a drive of the shoulders. He gave a cry in the entrance and, getting no response, started to go through the rooms. At the third the lady sat up in her bed and cried at the intruder.

"The land's on fire, ma'am," said he quietly in the dark.

"Fire!" she cried in horror. "Oh, what shall I do? Who are you?"

"Barrisdale," said he, remembering his role and determined to make this his last appearance in it. "You have plenty of time to dress, and I'll wait for you on the landing."

He went out with a sudden project in his mind, ran down the stair with its litter of rags and footwear and found it almost vacant, the obstruction at the bottom being cleared. "Take your time, my friends," said he, "there's not the slightest danger; the fire will not get this length for half an hour yet."

His cousin came back from the crush. "As sure's death, I'm glad to see you and sorry I never bided," said he. "You never came on her; I knew very well she must have got out at the outset."

"Indeed!" said Barrisdale. "As it happens, she's yonder yet, and I had the honour to wake her; I fancy she's taking her hair from the curl-papers at this moment. You never had a better chance of getting credit for a fine action very cheaply. It was in the dark I wakened her; I told her I was Barrisdale and would return when she was dressed. You may go back to her."

"Man, I wouldn't mind," said the cousin; "but what's the object?" he added suspiciously.

"Only that I'm tired of being Barrisdale to suit you. If you like to be Barrisdale and carry your own reputation, you'll have the name of saving her life--one thing at least to your credit that'll maybe make her forget the rest. With a creature so romantical, I would not wonder if it came to the runaway match after all."

"Faith, I'll risk it," said Jaunty Jock, and ran up the stair. He came down with the lady on his arm, and took her to a neighbour's.

"And did you confess to your identity?" asked his cousin when they met again.

"I did," he answered gloomily.

"Surely she did not boggle at the Barrisdale; I was certain it would make little odds to a lady of her character."

"Oh, she was willing enough, but it's not a match," said Jaunty Jock. "After this, I'll always see the mask off first; she had a worse nose than yourself!"

YOUNG PENNYMORE.

OF the half-dozen men of Mid-Argyll condemned on one account or another for their part in the Rebellion, the last, and the least deserving of so scurvy a fate, was young John Clerk of Pennymore. He had been out in the affair more for the fun of the thing than from any high passion of politics; he would have fought as readily for the Duke as for the Young Pretender if the Duke had appealed to him first; he was a likeable lad to all who knew him, and the apple of his mother's eye.

The hanging of young John Clerk seemed at the time all the more harsh a measure since he was not charged directly with rebellion, but with being actor or art and part in the death of the Captain of Clonary, who was shot on his way from Culloden by a gang of lurking Jacobites of whom the lad was one, and maybe innocent. The murderers scattered to the mist and to the sea. For six years Clerk sequestered in the land of France, and was caught at last in a tender filial hour when he had ventured home to see his folk. A squad of the Campbells found him skulking in the wood of Pennymore on the very afternoon of his return; he had not even had the time to see his people, and the trinkets and sweetmeats he had meant for his mother were strewn from his pockets among the bracken as he was being dragged before the Lords.

They looked at him--these dour and exigent gentlemen--with eyes that held no pity, not men at all for the nonce, but bowelless, inexorable legal mechanism; and Elchies, squeaking like a showman at a fair, sentenced him to the gallows.

"John Clerk," he said, "you have had an impartial trial; you have been defended by an able advocate, who has made the most of a wretched cause; the jury has found you guilty as libelled, and it only rests with this court to pronounce sentence accordingly. You may yet, during the brief period you have to live, best serve your country and your friends by warning them against those pernicious principles which have brought you to this untimely end, and may the Lord have mercy on your soul!"

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