Redgauntlet: A Tale of the Eighteenth Century by Walter Scott (books for students to read .txt) 📖

dizziness in his head and pains in his limbs, that he could not raise himself without assistance. He heard with some pleasure that they were now running right for the Wampool river, and that he would be put on shore in a very short time. The vessel accordingly lay to, and presently showed a weft in her ensign, which was hastily answered by signals from on shore. Men and horses were seen to come down the broken path which leads to the shore; the latter all properly tackled for carrying their loading. Twenty fishing barks were pushed afloat at once, and crowded round the brig with much clamour, laughter, cursing, and jesting. Amidst all this apparent confusion there was the essential regularity. Nanty Ewart again walked his quarter-deck as if he had never tasted spirits in his life, issued the necessary orders with precision, and saw them executed with punctuality. In half an hour the loading of the brig was in a great measure disposed in the boats; in a quarter of an hour more, it was landed on the beach, and another interval of about the same duration was sufficient to distribute it on the various strings of packhorses which waited for that purpose, and which instantly dispersed, each on its own proper adventure. More mystery was observed in loading the ship’s boat with a quantity of small barrels, which seemed to contain ammunition. This was not done until the commercial customers had been dismissed; and it was not until this was performed that Ewart proposed to Alan, as he lay stunned with pain and noise, to accompany him ashore.

It was with difficulty that Fairford could get over the side of the vessel, and he could not seat himself on the stern of the boat without assistance from the captain and his people. Nanty Ewart, who saw nothing in this worse than an ordinary fit of sea-sickness, applied the usual topics of consolation. He assured his passenger that he would be quite well by and by, when he had been half an hour on terra firma, and that he hoped to drink a can and smoke a pipe with him at Father Crackenthorp’s, for all that he felt a little out of the way for riding the wooden horse.

‘Who is Father Crackenthorp?’ said Fairford, though scarcely able to articulate the question.

‘As honest a fellow as is of a thousand,’ answered Nanty.

‘Ah, how much good brandy he and I have made little of in our day! By my soul, Mr. Fairbird, he is the prince of skinkers, and the father of the free trade—not a stingy hypocritical devil like old Turnpenny Skinflint, that drinks drunk on other folk’s cost, and thinks it sin when he has to pay for it—but a real hearty old cock;—the sharks have been at and about him this many a day, but Father Crackenthorp knows how to trim his sails—never a warrant but he hears of it before the ink’s dry. He is BONUS SOCIUS with headborough and constable. The king’s exchequer could not bribe a man to inform against him. If any such rascal were to cast up, why, he would miss his ears next morning, or be sent to seek them in the Solway. He is a statesman, [A small landed proprietor.] though he keeps a public; but, indeed, that is only for convenience and to excuse his having cellarage and folk about him; his wife’s a canny woman—and his daughter Doll too. Gad, you’ll be in port there till you get round again; and I’ll keep my word with you, and bring you to speech of the laird.

Gad, the only trouble I shall have is to get you out of the house; for Doll is a rare wench, and my dame a funny old one, and Father Crackenthorp the rarest companion! He’ll drink you a bottle of rum or brandy without starting, but never wet his lips with the nasty Scottish stuff that the canting old scoundrel Turnpenny has brought into fashion. He is a gentleman, every inch of him, old Crackenthorp; in his own way, that is; and besides, he has a share in the JUMPING JENNY, and many a moonlight outfit besides. He can give Doll a pretty penny, if he likes the tight fellow that would turn in with her for life.’

In the midst of this prolonged panegyric on Father Crackenthorp, the boat touched the beach, the rowers backed their oars to keep her afloat, whilst the other fellows lumped into the surf, and, with the most rapid dexterity, began to hand the barrels ashore.

‘Up with them higher on the beach, my hearties,’ exclaimed Nanty Ewart—‘High and dry—high and dry—this gear will not stand wetting. Now, out with our spare hand here—high and dry with him too. What’s that?—the galloping of horse! Oh, I hear the jingle of the packsaddles—they are our own folk.’

By this time all the boat’s load was ashore, consisting of the little barrels; and the boat’s crew, standing to their arms, ranged themselves in front, waiting the advance of the horses which came clattering along the beach. A man, overgrown with corpulence, who might be distinguished in the moonlight panting with his own exertions, appeared at the head of the cavalcade, which consisted of horses linked together, and accommodated with packsaddles, and chains for securing the kegs which made a dreadful clattering.

‘How now, Father Crackenthorp?’ said Ewart—‘Why this hurry with your horses? We mean to stay a night with you, and taste your old brandy, and my dame’s homebrewed. The signal is up, man, and all is right.’

‘All is wrong, Captain Nanty,’ cried the man to whom he spoke; ‘and you are the lad that is like to find it so, unless you bundle off—there are new brooms bought at Carlisle yesterday to sweep the country of you and the like of you—so you were better be jogging inland.

‘How many rogues are the officers? If not more than ten, I will make fight.’

‘The devil you will!’ answered Crackenthorp. ‘You were better not, for they have the bloody-backed dragoons from Carlisle with them.’

‘Nay, then,’ said Nanty, ‘we must make sail. Come, Master Fairlord, you must mount and ride. He does not hear me—he has fainted, I believe—What the devil shall I do? Father Crackenthorp, I must leave this young fellow with you till the gale blows out—hark ye—goes between the laird and the t’other old one; he can neither ride nor walk—I must send him up to you.’

‘Send him up to the gallows!’ said Crackenthorp; ‘there is Quartermaster Thwacker, with twenty men, up yonder; an he had not some kindness for Doll, I had never got hither for a start—but you must get off, or they will be here to seek us, for his orders are woundy particular; and these kegs contain worse than whisky—a hanging matter, I take it.’

‘I wish they were at the bottom of Wampool river, with them they belong to,’ said Nanty Ewart. ‘But they are part of cargo; and what to do with the poor young fellow—’

‘Why, many a better fellow has roughed it on the grass with a cloak o’er him,’ said Crackenthorp. ‘If he hath a fever, nothing is so cooling as the night air.’

‘Yes, he would be cold enough in the morning, no doubt; but it’s a kind heart and shall not cool so soon if I can help it,’ answered the captain of the JUMPING JENNY.

‘Well, captain, an ye will risk your own neck for another man’s, why not take him to the old girls at Fairladies?’

‘What, the Miss Arthurets! The Papist jades! But never mind; it will do—I have known