Read Ebook: Narrative of the Battle of Cowan's Ford February 1st 1781 and Narrative of the Battle of Kings Mountain by Henry Robert Vance David

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Ebook has 600 lines and 66680 words, and 12 pages

"Did you ever hear o' a young woman bearing the name o' May Walker?" said she.

"I think I hae," said I, hesitatingly, as if trying to recollect mysel; and, lookin suspiciously at her, for I thocht she had heard o' my misfortune, and was suspicious o' every individual that mentioned that charmed, dear, yet terrible name.

"I think I hae," repeated I, drawing my hand owre my weel-shaved chin, as if to try my beard; and, satisfied o' the ignorance and innocence o' the creature, wishin to keep my secret.

"Did ye ever see her, or speak to her?" continued Mrs Kennedy. "Is she bonny?--has she a sweet voice?--is she like--like me?" And she burst into tears.

My answer increased the weepin o' the jealous wife, and we baith grat thegither.

"Has she muckle siller?" said she, calming a little.

This new cause o' sorrow increased my paroxysm to a perfect buller.

"Ye are a maist sympathetic creature," said Mrs Kennedy, "to greet that way for anither's misfortunes."

"It's just my way," said I; "we canna restrain our heart or our stamach."

The mention o' the last word made the puir creature blush. It even stopped her tears. On hoo little springs do our passions depend!

MY TALENTS BROUGHT STILL MORE IN REQUISITION.

"There he's--there he's passing the very window--comin in, nae doubt, to gie in the names. Ah, traitor!"

"How do you do, Mr Willison?" said a man, with large, black, routhy whiskers, and a prominent nose, o' the aquiline, or romantic cut.

It was the very apparition o' the fever I caught in the Warlocks' Glen. He pretended never to have seen me before; but a blue mark on my forehead tingled the moment it caught his eye; and, as I unconsciously raised my hand to gie it the relief it asked, he smiled--a fair detection; but I said naething to shew that I recognised him.

"As weel as can be expected," answered I, without mair significancy or intelligence than a babe or suckling would have exhibited.

"That is the answer of a lying-in wife in Scotland," said he, still smiling.

"Unfortunately, nane o' us hae ony experience o' that yet," said I, "if I can guess your errand to a parish clerk."

"You do guess rightly," said he. "I came here to request you, sir, to publish these banns, on the next three successive Sabbaths."

I received the paper he held out. It contained the names and designation o' the twa parties--George Webster, residing at Burnfoot; and May Walker, dochter o' Gilbert Walker, residing at Langacres.

He handed me a certificate, signed and attested wi' apparent regularity, but which I was predetermined to doubt, wi' a' the obstinacy o' a guid dogmatic sceptic.

He started, at the very least, three guid thumb-measured inches, frae my floor. The stroke was nearly as pithy as that he applied to me in the Warlocks' Glen.

"That is my name in the certificate, there," said he, recovering.

"I have neither wind nor time to spend in this foolery," said he. "That is my name in the paper, and there are your fees."

"I dinna want to quarrel wi' you, Mr Kennedy," said I, "because I hae owre muckle respect for Mrs Kennedy--Lucy Graeme, the dochter o' Arthur Graeme o' Sunnybrae, on Tweedside--and her bonny bairn, to get into a dispute wi' the husband o' the ane and the father o' the other. But I can keep a secret, man. What are ye alarmed about? Though ye knocked me doun in the Warlocks' Glen, I hae nae ill-will to ye. I dinna object to cry ye next Sabbath, wi' May Walker; but ae gude turn deserves anither--ye can do me a service."

This statement utterly confounded Mr Kennedy. He tried first to bluster and swear, denied the truth of my assertion, calmed, blustered again; in short, gaed through a' thae useless and affected turns and movements that a hooked salmon taks the unnecessary trouble to do before it turns up the white o' its wame.

He fell back again into a rantin fit--swore he didna understand me--threatened to lick me--seized me by the cravat--took awa his hand again--gaed to the door--returned--calmed--rose, and calmed again.

"What is't ye want, then?" roared he, at last, in a voice higher than Stentor's, while the fire flashed frae his ee in almost palpable scintillations o' fury.

"Just get yer sweetheart, May Walker," said I, softly, "to write twa lines to Simon Begley, or Beagle, as they ca' him, the fiscal o' the shire, passin frae her charge against me; and ye'll be cried on Sabbath, afore the congregation meets, and Mrs Kennedy will never hear o't."

"I'll admit naething aboot Mrs Kennedy," said he, as doggedly as a mule--"it's all an invention of the brain of a subtle dominie; but I'll get ye the line ye want, on condition that these idle fancies are lodged again safely in the addle-noddle where subtlety or folly engendered them, and when self-interest brought them to aid ye in a bad cause."

"It's dune," said I; "but mark ye, nae cryin till I get the discharge; at least, if I'm forced, as I may be, to do my duty, and ca' the names, there'll be somebody in the front seat o' the gallery to answer me. Ye understand, Mr Kennedy?"

Dartin a furious look at me, no unlike what a person might fancy o' the minotaur, he flew oot o' the hoose. As he passed the window, the yells o' Mrs Kennedy resounded through the house, and even, I believe, followed hard on the heels o' her husband, if they didna owretak him a'thegither, as he birred through the neeborin plantin like an incorporated personification o' fear. The moment he was oot o' sight, I liberated the puir, unfortunate woman frae her place o' confinement.

"Whar is my husband?" she cried--"whar is that dear man, wha, in spite o' a' his guile and treachery, I maun see ance mair, though it were only to hauld up in his face this bairn, and then drap doun at his feet, and dee?"

"Calm yersel, my bonny woman," said I, dautin her on the back like a bairn. "It's time enough to talk o' deein--a subject my faither likes better than I do--when I hae renounced my endeavours to get ye back yer husband. It's a' in a fair way. He's got the shot. Ye may see by the way he ran, he's got something better than sparrow hail. Be assured he'll come doun. A deevil couldna flee wi' the weight o' cauld lead he carries under his wing."

"God bless ye!" said she, "and prosper yer efforts! I'll wait yer time."

In twa hours after this, a man on horseback, bespattered wi' the red loam o' the Warlocks' Glen up to the chin, arrived at my door. He cam frae Langacres, and carried a letter, he said, for the session-clerk o' St Fillan's. I snatched the letter frae his hands in an instant; tearin it open wi' a' the anxiety o' a creature strugglin for his precious reputation. It was just what I wanted. I asked the man to come in and get some refreshment; and the very instant I had him fairly within the house, I shut the door on him, and, mountin his swift, roan-coloured mare, flew like lightnin to Simon Begley's. He was at hame. I handed him the letter. He said it was just the very thing he wanted, for he acknowledged that the public authorities had no wish to prosecute a case involvin the ruin o' a puir man; but, until they got out the discharge o' the private prosecutor, they had nae power to relinquish their proceedins. He assured me that everything was now at an end, and the sough o' the country would dree the fate o' a seven days' wonder.

A SUCCESSFUL ISSUE TO THE EFFORTS OF MY GENIUS.

Next day, I tauld Mrs Kennedy to dress hersel, and be ready, wi' her bairn and her marriage-lines, to accompany me to a neighbour's house. We departed thegither. We took the road to Langacres. I felt the necessity here o' the maist inordinate caution--for I never could have been answerable for the effects o' my bein seen at a distance, walkin in my ordinary, erect, bauld, and somewhat martial manner, upon the house o' a jaundiced invalid, wha possessed the idea that I had already assaulted, and endeavoured to abduct his dochter. He might, in the first place, either be placed in a situation o' intense fear and alarm--prejudicial, if not fatal, to an invalid--or he might fire upon me from the windows, wi' ane o' his auld sportin guns, for he was ance a great sportsman. At same time it was necessary to conceal Mrs Kennedy, in case she might hae been recognised by her faithless spouse. We took, therefore, a circuitous route, under the cover o' a wood, that led up to the kitchen door. The moment I entered, the women in the kitchen began to scream and flee awa; but I soon shewed them I was perfectly canny, and even got the length o' bein allowed to daut ane o' them on the back. I was nae langer impeded in my endeavour to see Mr Gilbert Walker, whom I discovered in an arm-chair, as yellow as saffron, and as cankered as a nettle. He tried to start up when I entered; but, heaven be praised! his jaundice sune brought him to his seat again.

"I am come, sir," said I, "in a matter o' the maist interest in nature to you and your dochter May."

"How, sir," screamed he, "can ye dare to sully the name o' that innocent creature, by makin't run the gauntlet o' thae treacherous lips! Awa wi' ye, ye vile Nicanor! ye wolf that carries woo on your back in place o' hair! Alas! what a warld is this! 'Baith prophet and priest are profane; yea, in my house have I found their wickedness.'"

"Gilbert Walker," said I, calmly, "my intentions towards your dochter were honourable, and I am come here this day--little thanks to me!--to put you on your guard against one whose intentions are false, treacherous, and abominable. When I made love to May Walker, I wasna a married man; but I was scorned, knocked down, and nearly prosecuted, for merely bein owre warm and lovin in my chaste embrace; while the husband o' anither woman comes in and carries awa the prize frae the scorned though honourable Coelebs. May Walker may, if she likes, despise me, her faithfu lover. Ninety-nine out o' a hunder would, for that mad act, convict her o' a vitiated and corrupt taste; but, if she had ane to side wi' her, she may, in a sense, be justified. But wha, save a Turk, could justify the taste o' a bonny maiden, wha married anither woman's man? There's no ane, there's no a leg o' ane, frae Buchaness to Ardnamurchan, frae the Mull o' Galloway to John o' Groat's, that would justify that taste in ane o' the chaste dochters o' virtuous Scotland."

"What is this?" cried May Walker, openin a side-door, and strugglin, in the arms of Mr Hugh Kennedy, to get forward. "What do I hear? Who says that George Webster is a married man?"

"Your greatest enemy!" cried Mr Hugh Kennedy; pointin theatrically with his outstretched hand. "Ha! ha! ha! Your spoiler, your rejected, dejected, envious, poisonous, adder-tongued lover, is he who has dared to spurt his venom on the meat destined for his rival. This is gratitude. He solicited me to get him discharged from your just vengeance, and now he endeavours to gnaw the fingers of the hand that awarded him his safety."

"I see, I see it a'," cried May. "I ken the fox, or rather wolf, i' the auld. I hae met him in the Warlocks' Glen. He can sneak under broom bushes like the hairy adder, or lurk in the green moss like the yellow-wamed ask. It's no i' the wud alane that thae creatures carry their poison. They dinna cast it aff at the threshold o' the farmer's ha, whar they can crawl, an' spit, an' wound, an' kill, as weel as in the green wud. Dinna trouble yersel wi' the reptile, dear George. I gie him nae faith noo, ony mair than I did when he attacked me in the Warlocks' Glen."

I sadna a word. I turned, and ran out, and, as I departed, I heard spinnin after me, frae a' their lips at ance--

"Ay, ay, awa wi' ye!--it is your time, fause, treacherous dog; never shew your face in this house again."

In three minutes, I opened the door again, wi' my peculiar gentleness and calmness o' touch, and, wi' a jaunty manner, tinged wi' a kind of native etiquette, handed in, bowin the while amaist to the very carpet, Mrs Hugh Kennedy, wi' her bairn in her arms and her marriage-lines in her pouch.

"I beg leave to introduce to you," said I, "Mrs Hugh Kennedy, the lawfu wedded wife o' this man, whase real name is Hugh Kennedy, and no George Webster, which is a mere cover--a vile deceit, and an imposition."

"Save the man frae strangulation," cried Gilbert Walker.

"Haud the young Kennedy, May," said I, throwin the bairn into her arms, squallin wi' a great noise.

I flew to save the man's life. Gettin behind him, I unclosed the woman's hands, which were fixed as if in the grasp o' death. The moment she was deprived of her hold, she fell senseless on the ground, and Kennedy, staggerin back, leaned on the wa', and tried to recover himsel. In a short time, the puir woman cam to hersel.

"Hugh, dearest Hugh," she cried, strugglin to get to her knees, "can it be possible that ye hae tried to desert me for anither--me, wha left, for yer sake, my dotin father, my hame, an' a' the comforts o' hame; the bonny holms o' Sunnybrae, whar we courted sae lang in secret; the scene o' my youthfu' pleasures and my maiden loves--for ay and for ever?"

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