“Hout!” says Sandie, “this is the Lord’s judgment surely, and be damned to it,” says he.
“Maybe ay, and maybe no,” says my grandfaither, worthy man! “But have you a mind of the Procurator Fiscal, that I think ye’ll have foregaithered wi’ before,” says he.
This was ower true, and Sandie was a wee thing set ajee.
“Aweel, Edie,” says he, “and what would be your way of it?”
“Ou, just this,” says grandfaither. “Let me that has the fastest boat gang back to North Berwick, and let you bide here and keep an eye on Thon.
If I cannae find Lapraik, I’ll join ye and the twa of us’ll have a crack wi’ him.
But if Lapraik’s at hame, I’ll rin up the flag at the harbour, and ye can try Thon Thing wi’ the gun.”
Aweel, so it was agreed between them twa. I was just a bairn, an’ clum in Sandie’s boat, whaur I thoucht I would see the best of the employ.
My grandsire gied Sandie a siller tester to pit in his gun wi’ the leid draps, bein mair deidly again bogles.
And then the as boat set aff for North Berwick, an’ the tither lay whaur it was and watched the wanchancy thing on the brae-side.
A’ the time we lay there it lowped and flang and capered and span like a teetotum, and whiles we could hear it skelloch as it span.
I hae seen lassies, the daft queans, that would lowp and dance a winter’s nicht, and still be lowping and dancing when the winter’s day cam in.
But there would be fowk there to hauld them company, and the lads to egg them on; and this thing was its lee-lane.
And there would be a fiddler diddling his elbock in the chimney-side; and this thing had nae music but the skirling of the solans.
And the lassies were bits o’ young things wi’ the reid life dinnling and stending in their members; and this was a muckle, fat, creishy man, and him fa’n in the vale o’ years.
Say what ye like, I maun say what I believe.
It was joy was in the creature’s heart, the joy o’ hell, I daursay: joy whatever.
Mony a time I have askit mysel’ why witches and warlocks should sell their sauls (whilk are their maist dear possessions) and be auld, duddy, wrunkl’t wives or auld, feckless, doddered men; and then I mind upon Tod Lapraik dancing a’ the hours by his lane in the black glory of his heart.
Nae doubt they burn for it muckle in hell, but they have a grand time here of it, whatever!—and the Lord forgie us!
Weel, at the hinder end, we saw the wee flag yirk up to the mast-heid upon the harbour rocks.
That was a’ Sandie waited for.
He up wi’ the gun, took a deleeberate aim, an’ pu’d the trigger.
There cam’ a bang and then ae waefu’ skirl frae the Bass.
And there were we rubbin’ our een and lookin’ at ither like daft folk.
For wi’ the bang and the skirl the thing had clean disappeared.
The sun glintit, the wund blew, and there was the bare yaird whaur the Wonder had been lowping and flinging but ae second syne.
The hale way hame I roared and grat wi’ the terror o’ that dispensation.
The grawn folk were nane sae muckle better; there was little said in Sandie’s boat but just the name of God; and when we won in by the pier, the harbour rocks were fair black wi’ the folk waitin’ us.
It seems they had fund Lapraik in ane of his dwams, cawing the shuttle and smiling.
Ae lad they sent to hoist the flag, and the rest abode there in the wabster’s house.
You may be sure they liked it little; but it was a means of grace to severals that stood there praying in to themsel’s (for nane cared to pray out loud) and looking on thon awesome thing as it cawed the shuttle.
Syne, upon a suddenty, and wi’ the ae dreidfu’ skelloch, Tod sprang up frae his hinderlands and fell forrit on the wab, a bluidy corp.
When the corp was examined the leid draps hadnae played buff upon the warlock’s body; sorrow a leid drap was to be fund! but there was grandfaither’s siller tester in the puddock’s heart of him.
* * * * * Andie had scarce done when there befell a mighty silly affair that had its consequence.
Neil, as I have said, was himself a great narrator.
I have heard since that he knew all the stories in the Highlands; and thought much of himself, and was thought much of by others on the strength of it.
Now Andie’s tale reminded him of one he had already heard.
“She would ken that story afore,” he said. “She was the story of Uistean More M’Gillie Phadrig and the Gavar Vore.”
“It is no sic a thing,” cried Andie. “It is the story of my faither (now wi’ God) and Tod Lapraik.
And the same in your beard,” says he; “and keep the tongue of ye inside your Hielant chafts!”
In dealing with Highlanders it will be found, and has been shown in history, how well it goes with Lowland gentlefolk; but the thing appears scarce feasible for Lowland commons.
I had already remarked that Andie was continually on the point of quarrelling with our three MacGregors, and now, sure enough, it was to come.
“Thir will be no words to use to shentlemans,” says Neil.
“Shentlemans!” cries Andie. “Shentlemans, ye hielant stot!
If God would give ye the grace to see yoursel’ the way that ithers see ye, ye would throw your denner up.”
There came some kind of a Gaelic oath from Neil, and the black knife was in his hand that moment.
There was no time to think; and I caught the Highlander by the leg, and had him down, and his armed hand pinned out, before I knew what I was doing.
His comrades sprang to rescue him, Andie and I were without weapons, the Gregara three to two.
It seemed we were beyond salvation, when Neil screamed in his own tongue, ordering the others back, and made his submission to myself in a manner the most abject, even giving me up his knife which (upon a repetition of his promises) I returned to him on the morrow.
Two things I saw plain: the first, that I must not build too high on Andie, who had shrunk against the wall and stood there, as pale as death, till the affair was over; the second, the strength of my own position with the Highlanders, who must have received extraordinary charges to be tender of my safety.