THE COMPLETE TALES OF MY LANDLORD (Illustrated Edition). Walter Scott
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“He’s no at hame,” returned the old dame.
“When did he leave home?” pursued Earnscliff.
“I canna tell,” said the portress.
“When will he return?” said Hobbie Elliot.
“I dinna ken naething about it,” replied the inexorable guardian of the keep.
“Is there anybody within the tower with you?” again demanded Earnscliff.
“Naebody but mysell and baudrons,” said the old woman.
“Then open the gate and admit us,” said Earnscliff; “I am a justice of peace, and in search of the evidence of a felony.”
“Deil be in their fingers that draws a bolt for ye,” retorted the portress; “for mine shall never do it. Thinkna ye shame o’ yoursells, to come here siccan a band o’ ye, wi’ your swords, and spears, and steel-caps, to frighten a lone widow woman?”
“Our information,” said Earnscliff; “is positive; we are seeking goods which have been forcibly carried off, to a great amount.”
“And a young woman, that’s been cruelly made prisoner, that’s worth mair than a’ the gear, twice told,” said Hobbie.
“And I warn you.” continued Earnscliff, “that your only way to prove your son’s innocence is to give us quiet admittance to search the house.”
“And what will ye do, if I carena to thraw the keys, or draw the bolts, or open the grate to sic a clamjamfrie?” said the old dame, scoffingly.
“Force our way with the king’s keys, and break the neck of every living soul we find in the house, if ye dinna gie it ower forthwith!” menaced the incensed Hobbie.
“Threatened folks live lang,” said the hag, in the same tone of irony; “there’s the iron grate — try your skeel on’t, lads — it has kept out as gude men as you or now.”
So saying, she laughed, and withdrew from the aperture through which she had held the parley.
The besiegers now opened a serious consultation. The immense thickness of the walls, and the small size of the windows, might, for a time, have even resisted cannon-shot. The entrance was secured, first, by a strong grated door, composed entirely of hammered iron, of such ponderous strength as seemed calculated to resist any force that could be brought against it. “Pinches or forehammers will never pick upon’t,” said Hugh, the blacksmith of Ringleburn; “ye might as weel batter at it wi’ pipe-staples.”
Within the doorway, and at the distance of nine feet, which was the solid thickness of the wall, there was a second door of oak, crossed, both breadth and lengthways, with clenched bars of iron, and studded full of broad-headed nails. Besides all these defences, they were by no means confident in the truth of the old dame’s assertion, that she alone composed the garrison. The more knowing of the party had observed hoof-marks in the track by which they approached the tower, which seemed to indicate that several persons had very lately passed in that direction.
To all these difficulties was added their want of means for attacking the place. There was no hope of procuring ladders long enough to reach the battlements, and the windows, besides being very narrow, were secured with iron bars. Scaling was therefore out of the question; mining was still more so, for want of tools and gunpowder; neither were the besiegers provided with food, means of shelter, or other conveniences, which might have enabled them to convert the siege into a blockade; and there would, at any rate, have been a risk of relief from some of the marauder’s comrades. Hobbie grinded and gnashed his teeth, as, walking round the fastness, he could devise no means of making a forcible entry. At length he suddenly exclaimed, “And what for no do as our fathers did lang syne? — Put hand to the wark, lads. Let us cut up bushes and briers, pile them before the door and set fire to them, and smoke that auld devil’s dam as if she were to be reested for bacon.”
All immediately closed with this proposal, and some went to work with swords and knives to cut down the alder and hawthorn bushes which grew by the side of the sluggish stream, many of which were sufficiently decayed and dried for their purpose, while others began to collect them in a large stack, properly disposed for burning, as close to the iron-grate as they could be piled. Fire was speedily obtained from one of their guns, and Hobbie was already advancing to the pile with a kindled brand, when the surly face of the robber, and the muzzle of a musquetoon, were partially shown at a shot-hole which flanked the entrance. “Mony thanks to ye,” he said, scoffingly, “for collecting sae muckle winter eilding for us; but if ye step a foot nearer it wi’ that lunt, it’s be the dearest step ye ever made in your days.”
“We’ll sune see that,” said Hobbie, advancing fearlessly with the torch.
The marauder snapped his piece at him, which, fortunately for our honest friend, did not go off; while Earnscliff, firing at the same moment at the narrow aperture and slight mark afforded by the robber’s face, grazed the side of his head with a bullet. He had apparently calculated upon his post affording him more security, for he no sooner felt the wound, though a very slight one, than he requested a parley, and demanded to know what they meant by attacking in this fashion a peaceable and honest man, and shedding his blood in that lawless manner?
“We want your prisoner,” said Earnscliff, “to be delivered up to us in safety.”
“And what concern have you with her?” replied the marauder.
“That,” retorted Earnscliff, “you, who are detaining her by force, have no right to enquire.”
“Aweel, I think I can gie a guess,” said the robber. “Weel, sirs, I am laith to enter into deadly feud with you by spilling ony of your bluid, though Earnscliff hasna stopped to shed mine — and he can hit a mark to a groat’s breadth — so, to prevent mair skaith, I am willing to deliver up the prisoner, since nae less will please you.”
“And Hobbie’s gear?” cried Simon of Hackburn. “D’ye think you’re to be free to plunder the faulds and byres of a gentle Elliot, as if they were an auld wife’s hens’-cavey?”
“As I live by bread,” replied Willie of Westburnflat “As I live by bread, I have not a single cloot o’ them! They’re a’ ower the march lang syne; there’s no a horn o’ them about the tower. But I’ll see what o’ them can be gotten back, and I’ll take this day twa days to meet Hobbie at the Castleton wi’ twa friends on ilka side, and see to make an agreement about a’ the wrang he can wyte me wi’.”
“Ay, ay,” said Elliot, “that will do weel eneugh.” — And then aside to his kinsman, “Murrain on the gear! Lordsake, man! say nought about them. Let us but get puir Grace out o’ that auld hellicat’s clutches.”
“Will ye gie me your word, Earnscliff,” said the marauder, who still lingered at the shot-hole, “your faith and troth, with hand and glove, that I am free to come and free to gae, with five minutes to open the grate, and five minutes to steek it and to draw the bolts? less winna do, for they want creishing sairly. Will ye do this?”
“You shall have full time,” said Earnscliff; “I plight my faith and troth, my hand and my glove.”
“Wait there a moment, then,” said Westburnflat; “or hear ye, I wad rather ye wad fa’ back a pistolshot from the door. It’s no that I mistrust your word, Earnscliff; but it’s best to be sure.”
O, friend, thought Hobbie to himself, as he drew back, an I had you but on Turner’s-holm, [There is a level meadow, on the very margin of the two kingdoms, called Turner’s-holm, just where the brook called Crissop joins the Liddel. It is said to have derived its name as being a place frequently assigned for tourneys, during the ancient Border times.] and naebody by but twa honest lads to see fair play, I wad make ye wish ye had broken your leg ere ye had touched beast or body that belanged to me!
“He has a white feather in his wing this same Westburnflat, after a’,” said