Part 14

"Was there naebody beside him?" inquired David.

"No ane, sir; and there's naebody yet--for he's lyin doon at the east end o' the rampart, whar never a shot was kent to come before, as neither town's folk nor Englishers is ever in that quarter."

"Is he sair hurt?" said David.

"I'm thinking he is," replied the boy. "But I maun awa up to St. Anthony's, and get ane o' the brethren." "Ye needna fash, my man," said mine host of "The Ship." "Hae, there's a groat to ye. There's ane o' the brethren in my house, and I'll send him up immediately to the puir man."

The boy, well enough satisfied with this conclusion to his mission, went his ways, seeking to have nothing farther to do with the matter.

Now, good reader, would you suspect it, that our friend David Wemyss was at this moment acting under the influence of one of the most wicked temptations that ever led an unhappy wight from the paths of righteousness? You would not; yet it is true--too true. Tempted by the exhibition of the bequests confided to brother Drinkhooly by the two wounded French officers, David Wemyss, beguiled by the devil, conceived the atrocious idea of arraying himself in the hat and gown of the unconscious churchman, and of officiating as father confessor to the dying gentleman on the ramparts, in the hope that he too would leave something to the preceptory, and make him the interim recipient of the bequest. Circumstances, David thought, were favourable to the adventure. The night was dark, and the wounded man was lying at a remote part of the rampart, where there was no great chance of his being annoyed with many witnesses. The whole affair, besides, he calculated, would not occupy many minutes.

Encouraged to the sacrilegious undertaking by this combination of happy circumstances, David Wemyss hastened, on tiptoe, to the chamber of the sleeping brother, and, in a twinkling, had himself bedight in the gown and hat of the latter.

Thus arrayed, he stole out by the back door, and, taking all the by-ways he could, hastened, as fast as his legs could carry him, towards the south-eastern extremity of the ramparts, where, as described to him, the wounded man was lying. David was thus pushing along, when he suddenly felt himself slapped on the shoulder by some one behind. He turned round, and beheld a man closely muffled up in a cloak, who thus addressed him:--

"Your pardon, holy father, for this somewhat uncourteous interruption; but the urgency of my case must plead my apology. An expiring sinner, holy father, claims your instant attendance. I will conduct you to her. Will you have the goodness to accompany me?"

"Impossible--impossible," replied the counterfeit monk, in great perturbation at this most unexpected interruption, and threatened expose. "I'm juist gaun on an errand o' the same kind enow, and canna leave ae sinner for anither."

"You will oblige me by accompanying me, good father," said the stranger, in a mild tone, but with a firmness of manner that was rather alarming. "You will oblige me by accompanying me, good father," he said, _looking_ a little surprised at the style of the holy father's language, but making no remark on the subject.

"Canna, sir--canna, canna, canna, on ony account," repeated the unhappy brother of St. Anthony, with great volubility, and endeavouring to push past the stranger, who stood directly in his way, and who kept dodging in his front to prevent his succeeding in any attempt of this kind.

"Nay, now, good father, if you please--now, if you please, and without more bandying of words; for the case is urgent, and there is not a moment to lose."

"Man, it's oonpossible--utterly oonpossible," replied David, with desperate energy. "I tell ye it's oonpossible."

"Do not compel me to use force, good father," said the stranger, calmly but determinedly.

"Force--force!" reiterated the horror-stricken monk. "Wad ye use force to a holy brither o' the preceptory? That wad be an awfu like thing."

"I must; you drive me to it," said the stranger--"Heaven knows how unwillingly. My orders were peremptory. They were to accost the first of your brethren I met; to entreat him to accompany me; and, if he refused, to compel him. The first I have done; the latter I must proceed to do; but, rest assured, no personal injury shall be done you; and you shall, moreover, be well rewarded for your trouble."

Having said this, the stranger gave a low whistle, when he was immediately joined by two men, who had been concealed in a dark passage close by, and who the unhappy monk saw were well armed.

"Now, good father," resumed the person by whom the latter had been first accosted, "I trust you will see the folly of any attempt at resistance, should you--which God forfend!--be indiscreet enough to entertain any such idea. Excuse me hinting farther, holy father, that any attempt at outcry, or at giving the slightest alarm of any kind, will be attended with unpleasant consequences."

"But--but--but"--exclaimed the distracted innkeeper, with rapid utterance.

"No buts, if you please, good father, but follow me," interrupted the stranger; and, saying this, he moved off, while his two companions placed themselves one on either side of their charge, and requested him to proceed.

Scarcely knowing what he did, but seeing very clearly that there would be imminent personal danger in farther remonstrance or resistance, the unlucky monk obeyed. This, however, he did only until he should have had time to reflect on his best course of proceeding--that is, until he should have taken it into due consideration whether he had not better brave exposure, and at once avow himself as no brother of St. Anthony, but David Wemyss, landlord of "The Ship," on the Coal Hill of Leith--reserving to himself, however, the right of keeping the secret of his purpose in assuming the garb of the brotherhood. Having weighed the matter well, and taken all probable and possible consequences into account, David finally determined on making the confession above alluded to--hoping by this means to put an end to the awkward proceedings now in progress and to accomplish, of course, at the same time, his own liberation. Having come to this resolution--

"Hey! hey!" he exclaimed, in a slightly raised voice, to draw the attention of the principal of his three guards or captors, who was still walking a little way in advance.

The person thus hailed stopped until David came up. The latter took him aside a little way, and whispered in his ear--

"I say, man, this is a' a mistak thegither. I'm no a monk. I'm no ane o' the brotherhood at a', man."

The man stared at him with surprise for a few seconds, without saying a word. At length, a satirical, or perhaps rather incredulous smile playing on his countenance--

"Come, come, now, father; that will never do," he said. "But I excuse your attempt, though a clumsy one, to impose on me; for the duties of your office have now become dangerous, and I do not wonder that you should seek to avoid them as much as possible. I was prepared for this--I was prepared for reluctance; and hence the precautions I took to compel, in case of failing to persuade."

"But I assure ye, sir, most seriously, that it's true I hae tell't ye," exclaimed David, with desperate eagerness, "I'm nae mair a monk than ye are."

"And, pray, who the devil are you then?" exclaimed the stranger.

"'Deed, to tell you a Gude's truth, I'm juist plain Davy Wemyss o' 'The Ship,' on the Coal Hill."

"Umph! oh! Don't know such a person; never heard of him."

"Od! that's queer," here interposed David, hastily. "I thocht everybody kent me."

"Not I for one," replied the stranger drily; "but, to cut this matter short, in the first place, I am not bound, good father, or hosteller, or whatever you are, to believe you; in the next, my orders were peremptory: I was instructed to accost the first person I met in clerical garb, and entreat him to accompany me; and, if he did not do so willingly, to compel him, as I told you before. So, there's an end of it. If you really be not what you appear to be, I can't help it. That's a point you must settle with others, not with me; I have nothing to do with it. My duty's done when I have brought you along with me; and that duty I am determined to do."

Saying this, the speaker, without waiting for farther remark or remonstrance, walked on, having previously made a sign to his two assistants to look to their charge.

What mine host of "The Ship's" feelings or reflections were, on finding himself thus cut off from all chance of escape from his awkward predicament, it would be rather tedious to describe. The reader will believe that they could not be very pleasant; and that is enough.

Whatever these feelings were, however, they did not hinder David Wemyss from entering, or rather attempting to enter, into conversation with the two men to whose charge he was confided.

"Od, men," he said, on their resuming their march, "this is an awkward sort o' business. I'm sure ye ken me weel aneuch--dinna ye?"

The only reply was a shake of the head.

"Davy Wemyss o' the Coal Hill? Ye canna but ken me, I should think," added the latter.

"No voord Ainglish," at length replied one of the men.

"Oh, ye're Frenchmen; ye belang to the Queen's Guard?" said David, now enlightened on the subject of their silence. "Weel, this is waur and mair o't," he continued. "Sma chance noo o' makin oot my case."

In the meantime, the party, who had taken their way by the quietest and most circuitous routes, were rapidly approaching the wooden bridge over the Water of Leith, which, in these days, formed the only communication between the opposite sides of the river.

Having gained the bridge, they proceeded alongst it; and, thereafter, made for a certain outlet in the ramparts situated in this quarter. This outlet, as might be expected, seeing that the town was at this moment under siege, was strongly guarded, and no egress or ingress permitted excepting to persons properly accredited.

Of such, however, seemed to be the person who had captured the unlucky hero of our story; for, on David and his escort coming up to the gate, they found the way prepared for them by the former, who, keeping still in advance, had arrived there before them.

Without word or question, then, they were permitted to pass through.

At this point, David was strongly tempted to make his case known to the guard at the gate; but, perceiving that they too were all Frenchmen, he thought it would be of no use, as they would not understand him. So he held his tongue.

The guard--who, we need hardly say, were staunch Catholics to a man--were, in the meantime, sadly annoying David with reverences to his clerical character. They formed themselves into two lines, that he might pass out at the gate with all due honour, and kept touching their caps to him, with the most respectful obeisance, as he walked on between their ranks.

Having gained the outside of the wall, Wemyss' escort, still led on by their principal, conducted him, by circuitous routes, towards the mills of Leith, at the distance of about a quarter of a mile from the town.

Here, under a shed, they found four horses ready saddled and bridled, in charge of a groom, who seemed to have been waiting their arrival. So soon as the party came up, the latter, without waiting for orders, disappeared for an instant; and, in the next, presented himself leading forth the four horses, two by each hand. On one of these David, notwithstanding his most earnest entreaties to the contrary, which he backed by earnest assurances that "he was nae horseman," was immediately mounted. His guards mounted one a-piece of the others; and the whole cavalcade now proceeded, at a round trot, towards Edinburgh--poor Wemyss bouncing terribly with the roughness of the motion, to which he had been but little accustomed.

On approaching the city, the leader of the party, who, on horseback as on foot, still kept in advance, suddenly drew bridle, and waited the coming up of the holy brother and his escort.

On the former drawing near--

"Our route, father, lies through Edinburgh," he said. "Now, as these are troublesome times for persons of your cloth, I would recommend your conducting yourself, for your own sake, as warily as possible. We shall take the quietest routes, in order to avoid observation; and I beg that you will neither say nor do anything while we are passing through the city calculated to defeat our caution or attract notice."

Having said this, and without waiting for any reply, the speaker rode on, leaving his charge to follow with his escort.

The party had now passed the village of Broughton, when, turning in an easterly direction, they passed round the eastern base of the Calton Hill, descended to the south back of the Canongate, traversed its whole length, and finally entered the city by Leith Wynd.

For some time, the horsemen passed along without attracting any particular notice; and, very probably, would have continued to do so, had it not been for an idle boy, who, catching a glimpse of the brother of St. Anthony's flowing gown and slouched hat, just as the party had turned into the High Street, set up a loud cry of--

"Prelacy's mounted! prelacy's mounted! Hurra! hurra! Prelacy's mounted! and riding to----."

Continuing to follow the cavalcade, and continuing his clamour also, the mischievous little rascal soon had a crowd at the heels of the horsemen. The boy's exclamations spoke the spirit of the times; so that others of a similar character soon arose from twenty different quarters, and from as many different voices.

"Doon wi' the limb o' Satan!" shouted one.

"Doon wi' the man o' sin!" shouted another.

"Pu' Papery frae its throne o'iniquity!" exclaimed a third.

"Strike your spurs into your horse's sides, and let us shew them clean heels for it," said the leader of the party, addressing his unhappy charge, by whose side he was now riding, and speaking in a low but firm and earnest tone.

"But, man," began the latter, who appeared to be in great trepidation.

"You'll be murdered else," said the former, interrupting him sharply, and, at the same moment, striking the spurs into his horse's sides--a proceeding which instantly carried him clear of the crowd, and, shortly after, out of sight and out of danger.

The prudent example of their leader was quickly followed by the other two men, who, also, clapping spurs to their horses, soon found themselves out of the tumultuous throng by which they were surrounded, to whose tender mercies they left their unhappy charge, who being, as he said himself, no horseman, was unable to extricate himself from the now fast-thickening crowd.

Despairing of being able to effect his escape by any effort of horsemanship, the poor innkeeper, though with little hope of being believed, determined on divulging the facts of his case to the mob--always, however, of course, reserving to himself the original purpose for which he had assumed the unfortunate dress he now wore, the cause of all his trouble.

Having come to this resolution, he began to address the mob, some of whom had already laid hands on him, for the purpose of dragging him from his horse.

"Guid folks," began David, "I'm nae mair a munk than ony o' ye. I'm"----

At this moment, a well-aimed brick-bat took the unfortunate speaker on the right temple, and tumbled him senseless from his horse.

The mob, somewhat appalled by the suddenness of this catastrophe, and imagining that the unhappy man was killed outright, stood aloof for a few seconds, when David, almost instantly recovering from the stunning effect of the blow, which had unhorsed him, started to his feet, and, finding the press around him not very dense, pushed his way through it, and took to his heels.

This proceeding was the signal for a general chace, and it instantly took place. Relieved from the apprehension of having a murder to answer for, the mob, with shouts of exultation, started after the fugitive at full speed. Down Leith Wynd went David, instinct taking him in the direction of home; and down after him, like an avalanche, or raging torrent, went the mob, whooping and yelling as they rushed along.

Maddened and distracted with terror, David's progress was splendid, and, had nothing occurred to interrupt it, would soon have carried him out of the reach of his enemies; but the steepness of the street, which had aided his velocity, also increased its perils. For a long while he kept his feet on the abrupt declivity, like a winged Mercury; but a treacherous inequality in the pavement brought him suddenly, and with dreadful violence, down on his face, while, partly over and partly on him, went half-a-dozen of the foremost of the pursuers, tripped up by his abrupt and unlooked-for prostration.

Those who fell on the unhappy victim of popular fury, now instantly, and, as they lay, betook themselves to avenging their fall by tearing and worrying at the unlucky cause of their accident; while others coming up, added to his punishment by an unmerciful infliction of kicks and buffets, that quickly deprived him of all consciousness.

It was at this critical moment that a person, apparently of consideration, approached the crowd, and asked some of those who were hovering around it, what was the meaning of the uproar.

"They're bastin a Papist--a fat priest o' Baal, they hae gotten hand o'," said a burly fellow who, from the leathern apron he wore, appeared to be a shoemaker. "Giein him a taste o' Purgatory before they send him to ----, just by way o' seasonin."

"What, is this more of the accursed doings of the spoilers and persecutors of the church," exclaimed the stranger, in a tone of deep indignation. "Are they about to add murder to robbery;" and, drawing his sword, he rushed into the crowd, calling out--"Stand aside, ye caitiffs! shame on ye; would ye murder a defenceless man? Would ye bring Heaven's wrath upon your heads by so foul a deed?"

The crowd, either awed by the bold bearing of the stranger, or taken by surprise by the suddenness of his assault, readily opened a way for him, so that, in an instant, he stood by the bruised, battered, and senseless body of our unhappy brother of St. Anthony.

Seeing that the latter was in a state of utter unconsciousness, though still living, the stranger, after clearing a circle around the prostrate man, addressing those near him, said--

"Ten crowns will I give to any three or four amongst ye who will bear this unfortunate person whither I shall conduct them. It is not far: only to the southern side of the city."

For a few minutes there was no answer to this invitation; but it was heard with a silence which shewed that it had made an impression--that religious zeal and hatred were giving way to cupidity.

At length, a brawny-armed smith, with shirt rolled up to his shoulders, stepping out of the crowd, said--

"Well, I'm your man for one. I say, Bob, and you Archy," he continued, turning round, and selecting two persons from the mob, "will ye no join us in giein a lift to the carrion? Ten croons are no to be fand at every dike-side."

Without making any reply in words to this appeal, the two persons named came forward, although with a somewhat dogged and sullen air, and were about to seize limbs a-piece of the still unconscious victim of popular hatred, with the view of thus transporting him, as if he had been a dead dog, to the destination proposed for him, when the person who had now taken the unfortunate man in charge, objected to the unseemly and inhuman proceeding, and offered an additional crown for a bier or litter on which to place him.

The activity of the smith, stimulated by the increased reward, quickly produced the conveniency wanted. It was but a coarse and clumsy article; being nothing more than a few rough boards hastily put together; but it answered its purpose indifferently well.

On this latter, then, the body of our unlucky brother was now placed--his face dreadfully swollen and disfigured; and the procession moved off, with a shouting and laughing mob at its heels.

Leaving David thus disposed of, we will return to Leith for a space, to see how Drinkhooly came on, denuded as he was of his shovel hat and his gown.

On awaking from his nap, the worthy churchman, not well pleased that David had not come to rouse him as he promised, started up in great uneasiness, lest the gates of the preceptory should be shut, and his character as a regular living man be thereby injured.

What was the surprise of the good man, however, to find that he had been stripped of his gown while he slept, and left in his shirt sleeves. Alarmed at the circumstance, brother Drinkhooly began searching the apartment for the missing garment, and also for his hat, which he now found had likewise gone astray.

Being able to discover no trace of the missing articles, he commenced rapping on the door to bring some one to his assistance, although very unwilling to expose himself in his present predicament to any but his well-beloved crony, David Wemyss. He could not help himself, however. His gown and hat he must have. He could not leave the house without them, and without assistance they could not be got.

The worthy brother's rapping on the door being unattended to, he commenced with his heel on the floor, a proceeding which he had often found, as it has been facetiously termed, an "_effectual calling_."

In the present instance, it brought mine host's wife into his presence. On her entering--

"Good woman, good Mrs. Wemyss, I would say, know ye anything of mine outer garment? My gown, know ye where it has been deposited? I likewise lack my hat, good Mrs. Weymss; know ye what has become of it?"

"Truly, your reverence, I dinna ken," replied Mrs. Weymss, beginning to bustle about the apartment in search of the desiderated articles; "but they canna be far aff, surely. Does your reverence no mind whar ye laid them?"

"My hat, I recollect perfectly--there being no reason why I should not recollect it--I laid on this chair by the bedside here. Now it is gone. My gown I laid nowhere, but kept on me. So, of that garment I must have been denuded even while I slept. It is strange. Is my good friend David not in the way? He would, doubtless, explain all, and help me to mine outer covering and head-gear?"

"Indeed, no, your reverence, David's no in the way; and I canna tell whar he is. He's been missing oot o' the house thae three hours; and gaed aff without telling ony o' us whar he was gaun, or what he was gaun aboot. Indeed, nane o' us kent when he gaed. Sae he maun hae slippit aff unco cannily."

In the meantime, the search for the missing articles of dress went on vigorously, but without any good result. They were nowhere to be found.

"What's to be done?" said the good father in a despairing tone, as he threw himself into a chair. "I cannot go through the streets in this indecent condition, and, if I remain longer, I will be deemed a disregarder of canonical hours. What is to be done?"

"Deed it's an awkward thing, your reverence, and how ye are to gae hame in your sark sleeves, and your bald head to the win, I dinna see."

"I'll tell you what you'll do for me, my good Mrs. Weymss," said the worthy father, after thinking a moment: "You'll send up your little girl to the preceptory, and I'll give her a message to Brother Christie. I think he'll oblige me in a strait. He'll send me down a gown and hat wherewith I may hie me home, and your good husband, and my good friend, David, will, doubtless, find me mine own garments when he returns."

"Surely, your reverence, surely; Jessy'll be but owre prood to do your reverence's biddin," replied Mrs. Weymss, and she hastened to call her daughter.

On the girl making her appearance, the worthy brother gave her her instructions.