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

satellite, Cristal Nixon, who replied to his signal with a prompt nod; and with one or two of the attendants approached Fairford in such a manner as to make him apprehensive they were about to lay hold of him.

At this moment a noise was heard from withinside of the house, and presently rushed forth Peter Peebles, pursued by Nanty Ewart with his drawn hanger, and the worthy Quaker, who was endeavouring to prevent mischief to others, at some risk of bringing it on himself.

A wilder and yet a more absurd figure can hardly be imagined, than that of Poor Peter clattering along as fast as his huge boots would permit him, and resembling nothing so much as a flying scarecrow; while the thin emaciated form of Nanty Ewart, with the hue of death on his cheek, and the fire of vengeance glancing from his eye, formed a ghastly contrast with the ridiculous object of his pursuit.

Redgauntlet threw himself between them. ‘What extravagant folly is this?’ he said. ‘Put up your weapon, captain. Is this a time to indulge in drunken brawls, or is such a miserable object as that a fitting antagonist for a man of courage?’

‘I beg pardon,’ said the captain, sheathing his weapon—‘I was a little bit out of the way, to be sure; but to know the provocation, a man must read my heart, and that I hardly dare to do myself. But the wretch is safe from me. Heaven has done its own vengeance on us both.’

While he spoke in this manner, Peter Peebles, who had at first crept behind Redgauntlet in bodily fear, began now to reassume his spirits. Pulling his protector by the sleeve, ‘Mr. Herries—Mr. Herries,’ he whispered, eagerly, ‘ye have done me mair than ae gude turn, and if ye will but do me anither at this dead pinch, I’ll forgie the girded keg of brandy that you and Captain Sir Harry Redgimlet drank out yon time. Ye sall hae an ample discharge and renunciation, and, though I should see you walking at the Cross of Edinburgh, or standing at the bar of the Court of Justiciary, no the very thumbikins themselves should bring to my memory that ever I saw you in arms yon day.’

He accompanied this promise by pulling so hard at Redgauntlet’s cloak, that he at last turned round. ‘Idiot! speak in a word what you want.’

‘Aweel, aweel. In a word, then,’ said Peter Peebles, ‘I have a warrant on me to apprehend that man that stands there, Alan Fairford by name, and advocate by calling. I bought it from Maister Justice Foxley’s clerk, Maister Nicholas Faggot, wi’ the guinea that you gied me.

‘Ha!’ said Redgauntlet, ‘hast thou really such a warrant? let me see it. Look sharp that no one escape, Cristal Nixon.’

Peter produced a huge, greasy, leathern pocketbook, too dirty to permit its original colour to be visible, filled with scrolls of notes, memorials to counsel, and Heaven knows what besides. From amongst this precious mass he culled forth a paper, and placed it in the hands of Redgauntlet, or Herries, as he continued to call him, saying, at the same time, ‘It’s a formal and binding warrant, proceeding on my affidavy made, that the said Alan Fairford, being lawfully engaged in my service, had slipped the tether and fled over the Border, and was now lurking there and thereabouts, to elude and evite the discharge of his bounden duty to me; and therefore granting warrant to constables and others, to seek for, take, and apprehend him, that he may be brought before the Honourable Justice Foxley for examination, and, if necessary, for commitment. Now, though a’ this be fairly set down, as I tell ye, yet where am I to get an officer to execute this warrant in sic a country as this, where swords and pistols flee out at a word’s speaking, and folk care as little for the peace of King George as the peace of Auld King Coul? There’s that drunken skipper, and that wet Quaker, enticed me into the public this morning, and because I wadna gie them’ as much brandy as wad have made them blind-drunk, they baith fell on me, and were in the way of guiding me very ill.’

While Peter went on in this manner, Redgauntlet glanced his eye over the warrant, and immediately saw that it must be a trick passed by Nicholas Faggot, to cheat the poor insane wretch out of his solitary guinea. But the Justice had actually subscribed it, as he did whatever his clerk presented to him, and Redgauntlet resolved to use it for his own purposes.

Without making any direct answer, therefore, to Peter Peebles, he walked up gravely to Fairford, who had waited quietly for the termination of a scene in which he was not a little surprised to find his client, Mr. Peebles, a conspicuous actor.

‘Mr. Fairford,’ said Redgauntlet, ‘there are many reasons which might induce me to comply with the request, or rather the injunctions, of the excellent Father Buonaventure, that I should communicate with you upon the present condition of my ward, whom you know under the name of Darsie Latimer; but no man is better aware than you that the law must be obeyed, even in contradiction to our own feelings; now this poor man has obtained a warrant for carrying you before a magistrate, and, I am afraid, there is a necessity of your yielding to it, although to the postponement of the business which you may have with me.’

‘A warrant against me!’ said Alan, indignantly; ‘and at that poor miserable wretch’s instance?—why, this is a trick, a mere and most palpable trick.’

‘It may be so,’ replied Redgauntlet, with great equanimity; ‘doubtless you know best; only the writ appears regular, and with that respect for the law which has been,’ he said, with hypocritical formality, ‘a leading feature of my character through life, I cannot dispense with giving my poor aid to the support of a legal warrant. Look at it yourself, and be satisfied it is no trick of mine.’

Fairford ran over the affidavit and the warrant, and then exclaimed once more, that it was an impudent imposition, and that he would hold those who acted upon such a warrant liable in the highest damages. ‘I guess at your motive, Mr. Redgauntlet,’ he said, ‘for acquiescing in so ridiculous a proceeding. But be assured you will find that, in this country, one act of illegal violence will not be covered or atoned for by practising another. You cannot, as a man of sense and honour, pretend to say you regard this as a legal warrant.’

‘I am no lawyer, sir,’ said Redgauntlet; ‘and pretend not to know what is or is not law—the warrant is quite formal, and that is enough for me.’

‘Did ever any one hear,’ said Fairford, ‘of an advocate being compelled to return to his task, like a collier or a salter [See Note 10.] who has deserted his master?’

‘I see no reason why he should not,’ said Redgauntlet, dryly, ‘unless on the ground that the services of the lawyer are the most expensive and least useful of the two.’

‘You cannot mean this in earnest,’ said Fairford; ‘you cannot really mean to avail yourself of so poor a contrivance, to evade the word pledged by your friend, your ghostly father, in my behalf. I may have been a fool for trusting it too easily, but think what you must be if you can abuse my confidence in this manner. I entreat you to reflect that this usage releases me from all promises of secrecy or connivance at