Wilson's Tales of the Borders and of Scotland Volume V Part 14

"They _are_ sure of the _spark_," replied the Prince. "But we give it here only as a medicine whereby we recover our patients that they may be the more able to feel our torments. The moment thou drinkest, the pincers will be applied."

"Then I beg leave to decline the liquor," said Duncan Schulebred, "I see nae use for fire baith ootside and in; besides, I hae renounced the practice o' drinkin at another person's expense--a tred I followed owre lang in the upper regions, to my sad cost this day."

"Thou hast paid for this with the money thou gavest me," said the actor.

"That's mair than I ever did upon earth," said Duncan with a leer which he could not restrain.

Now, it will have been seen that the truth had for some time been dawning upon the mind of Duncan Schulebred. He looked round and round him, and every look added fresh proof of the delusion under which he laboured. Peering into the face of Satan, he even was bold enough to smile, accompanying the act with one of his inimitable leers. It was impossible to resist this look of sly humour; and the whole company broke out into a fit of laughter, which made all the cone ring again.

Then seizing the whisky he looked round upon all the parties, and, bowing, said--

"Gentlemen, I'm obleeged to ye for the trouble ye hae taen on my account. I see now how the land lies; but though I ken the haill extent o' this awfu delusion, dinna think that the part ye hae played is a piece o' mere fun and humour, to form afterwards the foundation o' a guid story. Ye hae dune mair this mornin for the regeneration o' a puir sinner than was effected by a' the sermons I ever heard frae the pulpits o' Scotland. I've confessed my crimes to ye, and I canna expect that this cone is to confine for ever my evil reputation. It maun gae abroad and condemn me, and ruin me; but" (lowering his voice seriously) "I will defy it to prevent me frae following the course I hae this day determined to pursue. Frae this hour henceforth, to that moment when it may please Heaven to tak me frae this warld, I shall be an upright, a sober, and a religious man; the folk I hae injured, cheated, and robbed, I will try to benefit to the utmost extent o' my puir ability; every day o' my life will be dedicated to the service o' the Almighty, and the guid o' his craturs. My first step will be to gang to Edinburgh, and pay back to Andrew Gavin the price o' the damaged linen he purchased frae me, and to settle the tavern bill at The Barleycorn, to a.s.sist me whereunto ye will dootless gie me back my siller. This resolution I confirm thus." And he flung the whisky into the furnace, which blazed up, a kind of holocaust, as a thanksgiving for the regeneration of a sinner.

Duncan Schulebred's money was paid back to him honestly, and the actors were well pleased that they had, out of their amus.e.m.e.nt, wrought so extraordinary a miracle. The regenerated man departed from the gla.s.s-works, and proceeded, according to his intention, direct to Edinburgh. He called first at Andrew Gavin's house.

"Is Mr. Gavin within?" said he to Mrs. Gavin.

"My husband," said the disconsolate wife, "has not been at home all night. The last time I saw him was when he departed with you. What have you done with him? I fear some sad mischief has befallen him; for unless he is at a proof or after a _fugy_, he never stays out of his own house at night. But what kind of linen was that ye sold him?"

"It was a piece o' _rotten_ linen I sauld him," replied Duncan Schulebred.

Mrs. Gavin looked at him in amazement.

"Ay, and," he continued, "your husband is dootless locked up in The Barleycorn, because he couldna--puir man!--pay the lawin that I should hae paid, and ran awa and left him to pay."

Mrs. Gavin's amazement was increased.

"Ay, and," continued he, "I hae cheated thoosands besides you and yer husband--a greater sinner than I hae been, ye wadna find between the Mull o' Galloway and John o' Groats. If I had got my due, I wad hae been hanged, or at least sent to Botany Bay."

"Are you mad, or do you glory in your wickedness?" said Mrs. Gavin.

"Nane o' the twa," said Duncan. "I am as wise as ye are; and, in place o' gloryin in my wickedness, I am as repentant as a deein martyr."

"Repentance is nothing without works," replied she.

"Warks!" e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed Duncan. "Bring, bring me the rotten linen."

The astonished woman went and brought the article.

"There's the siller," said Duncan, "I got fra yer husband for that wab.

I'll sell it noo for what it is--a piece o' vile deception. Need ye a commodity o' that description?"

"I think I could find use for it," said Mrs. Gavin. "It has one good end, but you will come to an ill one when you"----"roll it down," she would have said, but Duncan caught her:--

"When ye cheat yer neighbour," added he. "Ye're quite right, madam; a rotten-hearted wab is just like a rotten-hearted man--they baith come to an ill _end_. Oh, hoo gratefu I am to thae gla.s.s-blawers, wha hae blawn awa my crimes, and converted and reformed me!"

"He is surely mad, after all," muttered Mrs. Gavin, to herself--"who ever heard of gla.s.s-blowers converting sinners? I have always understood that gla.s.s-blowers are free livers, and need repentance themselves as much as other folk. How could they convert you, man?"

"There are strange mysteries i' the warld," said Duncan; "but we will better let that subject alane. We only, after a', see 'as through a gla.s.s darkly.' Stick to the linen--what is it worth?"

Mrs. Gavin stated a price, Duncan accepted her offer, and the damaged linen was sold.

"Noo," said Duncan, "I'll send ye yer husband."

"I will be obliged to you," said Mrs. Gavin; "and if you can get the gla.s.s-blowers to give him a blast, your kindness would be increased far beyond my poor powers of recompense."

"Ah, madam," said Duncan, "writers are owre well accustomed to _blasts o' the horn_, to care for ordinary wind-fa's. I ken nae better thing for an ill husband (no sayin that Andrew is liable to that charge) than a blast o' a wife's tongue. G.o.d be praised, Janet Schulebred will hae nae mair cause to lecture me! We will now live happily durin the remaining portion o' the time o' oor pilgrimage. I hae aye taen something hame to her. Last year I took some whisky bottles--probably made at the gla.s.s-warks o' Leith; this time I intend to tak a family Bible. Guid day, madam, I'm awa to The Barleycorn; and frae that I gang to a Bible repository, and then hame."

He repaired to The Barleycorn. He saw the landlord standing at the door, with a sombre face. He had the key of the room in his hand, and looked the very picture of a jailor. He knew Duncan instantly, and was proceeding to seize him, when the latter surrendered himself with so much good humour that the publican gave up his purpose and smiled at the prospect of getting his money.

"You forgot to come back last night," said the man. "Mr. Gavin says that you were the princ.i.p.al debtor to me for my drink, and that he was merely surety or cautioner. Is that true?"

"Perfectly true," replied Duncan. "I promised to pay the bill, and should hae paid the bill; but I was determined I wadna pay the bill.

Accordingly, I ran awa for nae ither purpose than to avoid payin it."

"A trick ye'll no play a second time," said the publican seizing him.

"No," said Duncan, taking out the money, "seein I am come to pay ye plack and farthin. Let us adjourn to Mr. Gavin's prison."

"The vera place I intended to tak ye to," said the man.

They proceeded to the room where Andrew was confined, and found him sitting in a sombre fit of melancholy. As they entered, he looked at Duncan with an appearance of mixed anger and satisfaction. The latter feeling predominated, as his mind suggested that the poor weaver had been prevented by drunkenness from returning immediately to pay the bill, and had now come to make amends.

"I have been angry at you, Duncan," said he; "but I might have had more faith in your honour, than to doubt you, without better proof of dishonesty than not returning (when you were not able) to pay your debts."

"Ye couldna hae a better proof o' my dishonesty," replied Duncan, sternly; "for, last nicht, when I ran awa withoot payin the lawin, I had nae mair intention o' comin back than I had o' gangin doun to the bottomless pit."

Andrew looked at the speaker with the same amazement as was exhibited by his wife.

"How comes it, then," said the writer, "that thou hast returned here this morning?"

"I hae got some new _licht_," replied Andrew. "Ye ken--

'So long's the lamp hold's on to burn The greatest sinner may return.'

I hae returned, no only to this tavern to pay my debt, but to a proper sense o' what is due to Heaven and to my fellow-creatures. I am a changed man, sir. Nae 'vision o' judgment,' penned by Southey or Byron, ever transcended that o' the bottle-blawers o' Leith."

The writer considered him mad, and trembled for the payment of the bill, which could not be extorted from a maniac. The tavern-keeper took a calmer view, and thought he was still drunk.

"What are ye starin at?" said Duncan. "Did ye never before see a repentant sinner? Bring yer bill, sir. And, Mr. Gavin, I refer ye to Mrs. Gavin for some information, regarding a wab o' rotten linen I sauld ye yesterday, bought back again, and sauld again to her this mornin."

The tavern-keeper brought the bill, which Duncan discharged.

"I cheated ye, Mr. Gavin, also o' the price o' the stirrup-cup."

"Let us drink it now," said Mr. Gavin--"Bring us a gill"--to the tavern-keeper.

The whisky was brought, and the writer took cleverly his morning dram, a practice which the craft has latterly renounced, but which they should have recourse to again, as a gla.s.s of whisky is a good beginning to a day's roguery, and has, besides, sometimes the same effect upon the conscience that it produces on the toothache--stills the pain. A gla.s.s was next filled out for Duncan. He took it up and held it in his hand.