Volume Ii Part 15 (2/2)

sic good will. I dinna think I clave his helmet, but I gae him sic a devil o' a knab on the temple, that he was stoundit, and fell as dead as a stane at my horse's feet. My father was at that time on his knee, and I saw him trying to raise himself up by the stirrup-leather, for he had never yet quitted the bridle of his horse. He saw me bring down Neville, who fell almost at his very side; and he looked to me, and cried, ”Weel done, little Charlie! weel done, my brave man!”

That was the last word I ever heard him say. My brave, worthy, auld father! He was sae used to ca' me little Charlie when I was young, that he coudna gie it ower when I grew bigger than him; and he cried to me, ”Weel done, little Charlie! Weel done, my brave man!” I'll never forget that moment. My honest, kind-hearted father! Ye maun forgie me, sirs, for taking a hearty greet at this part o' my tale. Mony a ane hae I ta'en at the same bit.--Ay--he often ca'ed me little Charlie, and he cried, ”Weel done, my brave man!” That was the hindmost word, and I hae good right to mind it.

The battle thickened, and thickened round us, and we were borne back; for there was sic a rush made by the English to the rescue, that, an their captain had been living, they wad hae tramped him to pieces. I was driven clean stupid, and cared nae ae preen for my life, after I saw the ranks rush over my father; but the skrae-shankit Laidlaws defendit me, and did most excellent work. I never saw ony men that thought less about fleeing or retreating than the Laidlaws. Pell-mell, swap for swap, was a' that they count.i.t on. I heard Davie o' Craik saying to his brother, ”Take care o' that lang swabble Charlie, and keep by his side.

Deil hae him, gin he be nae better than he looks like.” The grim Potts were mair cunning than rash; and the hard-headed Olivers could be led but never driven. The Laidlaws were the men for me. Pell-mell, yank for yank. ”Thresh on, Will!” ”Ay, here's w'ye, Davie; deil tak the hindmost!” I hae stood mony a stoure wi' the Laidlaws, and never wished for better lads--lang-shanks and a' thegither.

But I'm forgetting my tale; for aince I get into the mids o' a battle, it's no easy getting me out again. I canna tell you a' the feats that were done that day, especially by the warden. When he saw the great brulzie in front, he came up with the Scotts, and the Johnstons, and the Grahams o' Drife,--and hearing that my father had fallen, and that the English captain was also slain, he took the front himself, and scattered the English commoners like crows.

When we had thus fairly broke through the centre, we turned to the right, and drove that division of the army before us till they took shelter in Jed forest; but seeing the rest, who formed the strongest wing, marshalling up behind us, we drew off to the hills, and encamped that night at the Brae of Rule.

There was heavy mourning for the loss of my father, and we buried him next day at Ha.s.sendean. The English were as much exasperated. d.i.c.k Neville, the brother of Sir Robert, took the command, and up Teviot they came, laying all waste behind them. We durst not engage them again in close battle, for they were by far too numerous; but we kept hovering around them, and harra.s.sing them whenever we could get a chance. In spite of all we could do, they took the town of Hawick, plundered it, and burnt it to ashes. The warden was neither to haud nor to bind wi'

anger then; and, as he durst not leave the country, nor tine sight o'

them for an hour himself, he sent off Hab Elliot and me, wi' our hunder and fifty horse, to plunder the castle and lands of Ravensworth, by way of retaliation.

”Now, Charlie,” said he to me at parting, ”Mind what the Nevilles hae done baith to you and me, and neither leave them cow nor ewe, man, woman, nor bairn, blanket nor sheet, dish nor spoon.”

Aweel, aff Habby and I set; he wi' his Elliots, and me wi' my hard-headed Olivers, my grimy Potts, my skrae-shankit Laidlaws, and auld Will Nicol,--that was my army, and a gay queer ane it was: I hadna a man o' my ain name but mysel; for the warden kept them a' about him: He wadna part wi' the Scotts at no rate. It was clear moonlight, sae we set off before sun-set and rade a' the night, keeping aye the height between Tyne and Reid; and at daylight we fand oursels at the place where the twa Tynes meet. We were terrified for raising the country, and were obliged to ride out to a little hollow place in a wild moor, and hide oursels a' the day, where our horses got nothing but a rive o' heather, but they had plenty o' water, puir things! Habby kept watch himsel, and let us a' sleep; and there was ae camstary English chap that wad be up to the tap o' the hill reason or nane, Habby chappit aff his head--he wasna very sticking that way.

The next morning after that, we gae the castle o' Ravensworth and the rich domains o' the Nevilles an unco surprise. Habby gaed up by himsel to the gate, and asked a word o' the porter. The man came snooving out half sleeping. Habby had him dead, and the keys in his ain hand, in half a minute. It was a shamefu' morning that; for we killed, and harried, and burnt a' that came afore us; and Lady Ravensworth was burnt, and her bairn was trowed to be burnt. That sat sair on my conscience, for she came to me and beggit her life. I had nae thought o' taking her life; but I was sae intent on the spulzie, that I lost her again, and never saw mair o' her. It was rather cruel o' Habby to lock every door when he set fire to the castle. I saved ae little chap that morning, though I wasna muckle the better. We were flinging blankets, and sheets, and thousands o' things out at a large window, when I hears a bairnie greeting most bitterlie, and aye crying out, ”Daddy, daddy! O daddy, daddy!” ”Poor little English brat,” says I to mysel, ”there's nae daddy near you.” Sae I could nae help rinning into the room to see what kind o' creature it was; and there lay a fine bonnie callant on the bare bed-strae, for they had pu'ed the down bed, and blankets, and sheets, and a' off him; and when he saw me, he held out baith his hands, and cried, ”O daddy, daddy!” I could nae think to leave him to be burnt, sae I rowed him in some blankets and tossed him out at the window; and when I lookit out after him to see if he wasna killed, I heard him crying louder than ever, ”Daddy's boy fa'en! Take ye up, take ye up! O daddy, daddy! take ye up, take ye up!”

When we came to pack up our goods he was still lying sprawling amang the blankets, and insisting on his daddy taking him up as fervently as before. I was wae for the poor thing, and didna ken what to do, for I didna like to be nursing a bairn afore my new warriors. But as luck wad hae had it, up comes Will Laidlaw o' Craik. Will cared nae what ony body thought.

”What, lad?” says he to the boy: ”What's the matter, billy? What are ye lying yammering there for? Eh?”

”Daddy's good boy fa'en,” says the child; ”O take ye up! take ye up!”

”Poor deevil!” says Will, wi' his muckle een wauling till they were like to come out; ”Poor deevil! Indeed and I will take ye up, though I should get nae mair o' the spoil for my share but yoursel.”

Will fauldit a blankit, and rowed the callant carefully up in't like a web. He didna come weel behand at rowing up a bairn; but he did as he could, and had the sense to leave the head out, which was a main concern. Just at that very moment, when Will was at the thrangest, by comes ane o' the Olivers in a great haste wi' his sword drawn, and it was a' b.l.o.o.d.y. Now, thinks I to mysel', the puir bairn's gane; for I saw what kind o' chap he was that Oliver. Will unluckily had the boy's head out o' the blanket, and was busy speaking to him without regarding ony thing else; and ere ever he was aware Oliver heaved his b.l.o.o.d.y sword, and was just coming down wi' a swap on the boy's neck, and he wad hae cutt.i.t it through like a kail castock. Will's e'e caught a glimpse o'

the sword as it was coming down, and with a dash of his elbow he drove it aside. ”Eh? What are ye about, min?” said Will, speaking over his shoulder, and keeping his body between Oliver's sword and the child.

”Ooh? What are ye about min?” returned the other, mimicking Will's voice and manner: ”Hae ye nought ado but to work on a dirty English paddock like that? Cut the neck o't.”

”Will I, min?” says Laidlaw: ”I'll see you d--d first, and a' the Olivers atween Jed head and Tyot stane--humph? A bonnie trick to come and meddle wi' me and my bit bairn!”

Oliver went away laughing at Laidlaw, leaving him to manage his nursing concern as he could.

I had witnessed Will's undaunted bravery, and yet I canna say but I was as weel pleased wi' this bit kind turn as ought I had seen him do. I think I see him yet wi' the child in his arms foussomly rowed up in a blanket, like a web--the head o' the boy out, a great neuk o' the blanket hinging down to the ground, and Will glowring back at Oliver's face: ”Eh? What are ye about, min? A bonnie story, to come and meddle wi' me and my bit bairn!” Ha! ha! ha! Honest Laidlaw! I can never forget him and his bairn. ”Cut the neck o't,” says the other. ”Will I, min?

I'll see you d--d first,” says Will. Ha! ha! ha! ha!--But then his look!

that was the best sport ava; wi' his bendit face and muckle great wulcat een turned o'er his shoulder. ”Cut the neck o't,” says Oliver. They that had seen Laidlaw then! ha! ha! ha! ”Will I, min?” Ha! ha! ha!

”My son, is there not a time for every thing?” said the friar. ”If thou thinkest at all on our condition and thine own, surely thou wilt refrain from such a torrent of vain jesting. Remember that the words of thy mouth are for death or life; for the possession of maiden beauty, and love, and pleasure; or for the most dismal, and miserable, and wretched of all fates--to be killed and eaten up of thy brethren, the companions of thy journey.”

”Gude faith, the thing's hardly to be thought of, let be spoken about,”

said Charlie. ”But I beg your pardon, callants, I maun get on wi' my tale; for if I stick it in the middle, ye ken it is a' ower wi' me.”

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