Wilson's Tales of the Borders and of Scotland Volume V Part 7

Having said this, he rose from the kneeling posture to which his employment had reduced him, and, as we have already said, resumed his march through the Middlemas wood.

Leaving Willie to prosecute his journey, we request the reader to return with us to Whinnyhill, where we shall find a circ.u.mstance occurring which is intimately connected with the denouement of our tale.

Shortly after the former's departure from the place just named, another stout carle of a mendicant appeared at the laird's gate. It was the dinner hour, and, as was then customary in the country, and is so still, we believe, in some places, the doors were all carefully secured, and no egress or ingress permitted, till the conclusion of the meal. To this exclusion, however, the person now seeking admission to the laird's did not seem willing to submit; for he began to thunder at the gate with an impetuosity and vehemence that scarcely beseemed his very humble calling; and, as if this was not enough, he shouted out at the top of his voice to the inmates to open the gate to him.

Yet, however unbecoming his conduct, or however insolent it may be thought, it had the desired effect of procuring him the service he wanted.

The laird himself answered the call, though certainly more for the purpose of letting out his wrath on the noisy intruder, than to let him in.

"My feth, friend," he said, his anger greatly increased when, on opening the gate, he found that it was a common vagrant who sought admittance, "but ye're no blate to rap at folk's doors this gaet. An' ye had been the best man in the land, ye couldna hae been baulder. My certy, it's come to a pretty pa.s.s, when beggars bang at yer door like lords!"

"The devil's in the old churl!" replied the undaunted beggar. "Dost not see that I'm knocked up with fatigue, man, and didst think I was to stand here starving of hunger, if a few knocks at your gate was to bring me a little nearer to some refreshment? Come, Whinnyhill," continued the free and easy beggar, at the same time slapping the former familiarly on the shoulder, "I know ye, man, I know ye to be a good honest fellow, and one who grudges n.o.body either bite or sup. So, let's have something to eat directly." And he bestowed another hearty smack on the laird's shoulder.

"By my feth, sirrah?" replied the latter, amazed and irritated at the singular ease and impudence of the mendicant, and above all at his presumptuous familiarity, "but that's a new way to seek awmous. 'Od, freen, an' ye lack onything, it 'ill no be for want o' askin't."

"Why, Whinnyhill, how should I get, if I didn't ask?" said the mendicant. "Take my word for't, Whinny, when you want a thing there's nothing like asking. Your modest fool always comes off with an empty hand, and maybe an empty stomach too. Why, man, dost think people will run after one offering one what one wants without solicitation? No, no; and, besides, a thing that's worth having is always worth asking."

"Ye're maybe no far wrang there, freend," said the laird; "but ye'll allow me to say that ye're ane o' the bauldest, no to say ane o' the impudentest beggars, I hae seen for a while. Nevertheless, ye may step into the kitchen there, and get a mouthfu' o' what's gaun; but mind ye, dinna kick up such a stramash at my yett again, when ye come seekin an awmous, or I'll maybe let ye cool your heels awhile or ye win in, and thankfu' if I dinna set the dog on ye."

"The beggar man he thumped at the yett Till bolt and bar did flee, O, And aye he swore, as he thumped again, That denied he wadna be, O.

Fal de ral, al al al, reedle al de ral, Fal de ral, al al al, de reedle ee di.

"The beggar man he thumped at the yett Till bolt and bar did flee, O, When wha should come out but the laird himsel, And an angry man was he, O.

Fal de ral," &c.

Such was the reply, chaunted with great vociferation and glee, which the st.u.r.dy beggar vouchsafed to the laird's more candid than courteous remarks; and it would have been much longer, to the extent probably of a score of verses, had not Whinnyhill impatiently broken in with--

"Wow, man, but ye're an ill-mannered graceless loon as ever I saw atween the twa een. The greatest person in the land, man, is mair humble and respectfu' than you, when he's gaun about the country as ye're doin, and micht weel be an example to you and the like o' you."

"What mean ye, laird?--of whom do ye speak?" said the st.u.r.dy beggar, evidently somewhat disconcerted by the former's remark.

"Mean!" replied the laird, sharply--"I mean, sirrah, that the king himsel, when he ca's at ony decent man's house for a nicht's quarters, in his rambles through the country, is far mair civil and discreet than ye are."

"Indeed," said the mendicant. "Dost know the king personally, Whinny?

Didst ever see him in the guise thou allud'st to?"

"Wad ye be the better if ye kent?" replied the laird, angrily; then adding, in better humour, as if recollecting it was something to boast of--"To be sure I do, sirrah! and weel I may, seein that he sleepit here a' last nicht, and's no three hours awa yet."

"What, Whinny!--the king! The king here last night!" exclaimed the mendicant, now exhibiting in his turn, symptoms of surprise and amazement. "Surely you are jesting, laird?"

"Jestin, sir! I'm jestin nane," said Whinnyhill, angrily. "The king _was_ here last nicht, sirrah!"

"Impossible, Whinny!"

"Confound ye, sir!--wad ye make me a leear to my face?"

"Oh, no, no, laird," replied the former, laughing; "but you may be mistaken in your man. At any rate, if it is not impossible, it is certainly odd, Whinny."

"Odd, sir. What's odd about it? Do ye think the king wad think himsel demeaned by takin a nicht's quarters frae me?"

"Nay, nay; not at all--by no means, laird," replied the mendicant eagerly, as if anxious to do away the offensive impression--"by no means. The man would be unworthy of being a king who should think there was any degradation in sitting beneath the roof-tree, and partaking of the hospitality, of an honest and respectable man like you, Whinny. My surprise, laird, was at finding that the king had been here; for I was informed that he was in an entirely different part of the country. Pray, Whinny, what like a fellow was this king you speak of?"

"What like a _fellow_, sir!" replied the laird, in extreme wrath. "My feth, ye're no blate to speak o' yer sovereign in thae disrespectfu'

terms. Fellow, in troth! Repeat that word again, sir, in the same breath wi' the king's name, and if I dinna teach ye better manners, blame me!

Ye've muckle need o' a lesson, at ony rate."

"Very good, Whinny--very good," said the st.u.r.dy beggar, laughing heartily at the angry earnestness of the laird. "I meant no offence, man--none whatever. I've as great a respect for the king as you can possibly have."

"It doesna look like it," interrupted the laird.

"But it is so, nevertheless, I a.s.sure you," replied the former; "and I like you all the better, believe me, for your loyalty."

"Ye like me a' the better!" said the laird. "And wha the deil cares whether ye like me or no? By my troth, but ye're very condescendin!"

"Well, well, Whinny," replied the mendicant, again laughing. "But tell me, how did you know the king in his disguise? Are ye sure it was him, after all?"

"Sure enough," said the laird gruffly; "he mair than half confessed it himsel."

"Oh, he did!--then, there can be no doubt of it--none. I should like to see his Majesty, laird. Pray, can you tell me which way he has gone?"

"Ye're very inquisitive, freen," replied the latter; "and to be plain wi' ye, I like neither that nor your familiarity. The king's awa to Braehead--and that's the last ye'll hae frae me; sae step into the kitchen and get a mouthfu', and then tak yersel aff as sune's ye like."

And with this the laird was about to walk off, when the mendicant, who continued to stand still where he was, called him back and said--

"Laird, harkee--canst keep a secret?"

"If it's worth keepin, maybe I can."

"Well, then," rejoined the former, "although not very nice in these matters, I'm not altogether reconciled to taking my refection in your kitchen, though, I confess it, most particularly hungry; and therefore ask you what would you think now, if I was the king, and that person, whoever he is, whom you took to be the king, was an impostor?"

"Wow, man, but that's a clumsy trick," replied the laird, chuckling at his own ready sagacity and penetration. "I'm owre far north, lad, to be come owre that way."

"Well, laird," said the mendicant (who--we need conceal the fact no longer from the reader--was indeed no other than James himself), "well, laird," he said, smiling, "I a.s.sure you your penetration is at fault this time; for I tell you I am the king, Whinny!"

"And I tell you," replied the laird, "that I dinna believe a word o't; and mair, for your impudence in attempting to impose upon me, ye shanna get bite or sup here this da Tak my word for that."

Dropping here the dialogue, we relate the sequel in simple narrative. It was in vain that James endeavoured to pacify the irritated laird, and to prevail upon him to believe that he really was the king, or to induce him to let him have the refreshment of which he stood so much in need.

Obstinate at all times, Whinnyhill was particularly so on this occasion; and not all that the good-humoured monarch could say could move him from his purpose of denying him admittance to his house, or affording him the slightest hospitality.

Finding his efforts in vain, James at length gave up the task as hopeless; but, though not a little disappointed--for he felt both fatigued and hungry--he saw that he could not be displeased, since his churlish treatment by the laird, singularly enough, proceeded from his love and respect for himself. It greatly puzzled James, however, to conceive who it could possibly be that had taken up his incognito (for that some one had done so he felt a.s.sured), and seemed so successful in the use of it. The trick was a new one to him, and he could not help being tickled with the ingenuity of the impostor in hitting on so novel an idea. His curiosity, too, to see his rival, was great; so great that, on finding he could make nothing of the laird of Whinnyhill, he determined on setting out immediately for Braehead, a distance of about six or seven miles, whither he had been told his counterpart had gone; and, acting on this resolution, he started directly for that destination.

On pa.s.sing through the Middlema.s.s wood, which was the direct and shortest route to the place he was going to, the king's attention was arrested by the dead bodies which Willie had left behind him, and which were still lying as they had fallen.

"Ha!" exclaimed James, suddenly stopping on perceiving them, "what's this? Here has been some lawless work, which I must inquire into when I return to Falkland." A hollow groan at this moment fell on the king's ear, and directed him to the spot, at a little distance, where lay the man who had been so severely wounded on the face by the back stroke of Willie's rapier. King James stooped over the dying man, and inquired who he was, and what was the meaning of the horrid scene around him. The mutilated wretch fixed his gla.s.sy and almost sightless eyes on the face of the king, and said, speaking at long intervals, and as distinctly as his little remaining strength would permit.

"I am a dying man, stranger; but I deserve my fate."

"Indeed!" said James--"then thy iniquities must have been great, for thou'rt in very bad case. What hand dealt thee that cruel blow, man?"

"The king's," replied the wounded man.