trade-Just loaded yonder from Douglas, in the Isle of Man-neat cogniac-real hyson and souchong-Mechlin lace, if you want any-Right cogniac-We bumped ashore a hundred kegs last night." "Really, sir, I am only a traveller, and have no sort of occasion for any thing of the kind at present." 66 Why, then, good morning to you, for business must be minded; unless ye'll go aboard and take schnaps,* you shall have a pouch-full of tea ashore.-Dirk Hatteraick knows how to be civil." There was a mixture of impudence, hardihood, and suspicious fear about this man, which was inexpressibly disgusting. His manners were those of a ruffian, conscious of the suspicion attending his character, yet aiming to bear it down by the affectation of a careless and hardy familiarity. Mannering briefly rejected his proffered civilities; and after a surly good morning, Hatteraick retired with the gipsy to that part of the ruins from which he had first made his appearance. A very narrow staircase here went down to the beach, intended probably for the convenience of the garrison during a siege. By this stair, the couple, equally amiable in appearance, and respectable by profession, descended to the sea-side. The soi-disant captain embarked in a small boat with two men, who appeared to wait for him, and the gipsy remained on the shore, reciting or singing, and gesticulating with great vehemence. A dram of liquor CHAPTER V. You have fed upon my seignories, Disparked my parks, and felled my forest woods, To show the world I am a gentleman. RICHARD II. WHEN the boat which carried the worthy captain on board his vessel had accomplished that task, the sails began to ascend, and the ship was got under way. She fired three guns as a salute to the house of Ellangowan, and then shot away rapidly before the wind, which blew off shore, under all the sail she could crowd. 66 Ay, ay," said the Laird, who had sought Mannering for some time, and now joined him, "there they gothere go the free-traders—there go Captain Dirk Hatteraick, and the Yungfrauw Hagenslaapen, half Manks, half Dutchman, half devil! run out the boltsprit, up main-sail, top and top-gallant sails, royals, and skyscrapers, and away-follow who can! That fellow, Mr. Mannering, is the terror of all the excise and custom-house cruizers; they can make nothing of him; he drubs them, or he distances them; and speaking of excise, I come to bring you to breakfast; and you shall have some tea, that " Mannering, by this time, was aware that one thought linked strangely on to another in the concatenation of worthy Mr. Bertram's ideas, Like orient pearls at random strung; and, therefore, before the current of his associations had drifted farther from the point he had left, he brought him back by some inquiry about Dirk Hatteraick. "O he's a-a-gude sort of blackguard fellow eneugh -naebody cares to trouble him-smuggler, when his guns are in ballast-privateer, or pirate, faith, when he gets them mounted. He has done more mischief to the revenue folk than ony rogue that ever came out of Ramsay." "But, my good sir, such being his character, I wonder he has any protection and encouragement on this coast." "Why, Mr. Mannering, people must have brandy and tea, and there's none in the country but what comes this way—and then there's short accounts, and maybe a keg or two, or a dozen pounds left at your stable door, instead of a d—d lang account at Christmas from Duncan Robb, the grocer at Kippletringan, who has aye a sum to make up, and either wants ready money, or a short-dated bill. Now, Hatteraick will take wood, or he'll take bark, or he'll take barley, or he'll take just what's convenient at the time. I'll tell you a gude story about that. There was ance a Laird-that's Macfie of Gudgeonford,—he had a great number of kain hens-that's hens that the tenant pays to the landlord, like a sort of rent in kindthey aye feed mine very ill; Luckie Finniston sent up three that were a shame to be seen only last week, and yet she has twelve hows sowing of victual; indeed her good man, Duncan Finniston—that's him that's gone― (for we must all die, Mr. Mannering; that's ower true)— and speaking of that, let us live in the meanwhile, for here's breakfast on the table, and the Dominie ready to say the grace." The Dominie did accordingly pronounce a benediction, that exceeded in length any speech which Mannering had yet heard him utter. The tea, which of course belonged to the noble Captain Hatteraick's trade, was pronounced excellent. Still Mannering hinted, though with due delicacy, at the risk of encouraging such desperate characters: Were it but in justice to the revenue, I should have supposed" 66 "Ah, the revenue-lads "-for Mr. Bertram never embraced a general or abstract idea, and his notion of the revenue was personified in the commissioners, surveyors, comptrollers, and riding officers, whom he happened to know-"the revenue-lads can look sharp eneugh out for themselves—no ane needs to help them—and they have a' the soldiers to assist them besides ;-and as to justiceyou'll be surprised to hear it, Mr. Mannering, but I am not a justice of peace." Mannering assumed the expected look of surprise, but thought within himself that the worshipful bench suffered no great deprivation from wanting the assistance of his good-humoured landlord. Mr. Bertram had now hit upon one of the few subjects on which he felt sore, and went on with some energy. "No, sir,-the name of Godfrey Bertram of Ellangowan is not in the last commission, though there's scarce a carle in the country that has a ploughgate of land, but what he must ride to quarter-sessions and write J. P. after his name. I ken fu' weel whom I am obliged to— Sir Thomas Kittlecourt as good as tell'd me he would sit in my skirts if he had not my interest at the last election; and because I chose to go with my own blood and third cousin, the Laird of Balruddery, they keepit me off the roll of freeholders; and now there comes a new nomination of justices, and I am left out! And whereas they pretend it was because I let Davie Mac-Guffog, the constable, draw the warrants, and manage the business his ain gate, as if I had been a nose o' wax, it's a main untruth; for I granted but seven warrants in my life, and the Dominie wrote every one of them—and if it had not been that unlucky business of Sandy Mac-Gruthar's, that the constables should have keepit twa or three days up yonder at the auld castle, just till they could get conveniency to send him to the county jail-and that cost me eneugh o' siller-But I ken what Sir Thomas wants very weel-it was just sic and siclike about the seat in the kirk o' Kilmagirdle—was I not entitled to have the front gallery facing the minister, rather than Mac-Crosskie of Creochstone, the son of Deacon Mac-Crosskie, the Dumfries weaver? " Mannering expressed his acquiescence in the justice of these various complaints. "And then, Mr. Mannering, there was the story about the road, and the fauld-dike-I ken Sir Thomas was behind there, and I said plainly to the clerk to the trustees that I saw the cloven foot, let them take that as they like.--Would any gentleman, or set of gentlemen, go and drive a road right through the corner of a fauld-dike, and take away, as my agent observed to them, like twa roods of gude moorland pasture?—And there was the story about choosing the collector of the cess 66 Certainly, sir, it is hard you should meet with any neglect in a country, where, to judge from the extent of their residence, your ancestors must have made a very important figure." |