The Black Dwarf, Walter Scott [freda ebook reader TXT] 📗
- Author: Walter Scott
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“Mother! mother! urge me not—I cannot—not now I am a sinful man, and of a hardened race. Masked armed—Grace carried off! Gie me my sword, and my father’s knapsack—I will have vengeance, if I should go to the pit of darkness to seek it!”
“O my bairn, my bairn! be patient under the rod. Who knows when He may lift His hand off from us? Young Earnscliff, Heaven bless him, has taen the chase, with Davie of Stenhouse, and the first comers. I cried to let house and plenishing burn, and follow the reivers to recover Grace, and Earnscliff and his men were ower the Fell within three hours after the deed. God bless him! he’s a real Earnscliff; he’s his father’s true son—a leal friend.”
“A true friend indeed; God bless him!” exclaimed Hobbie; “let’s on and away, and take the chase after him.”
“O, my child, before you run on danger, let me hear you but say, HIS will be done!”
“Urge me not, mother—not now.” He was rushing out, when, looking back, he observed his grandmother make a mute attitude of affliction. He returned hastily, threw himself into her arms, and said, “Yes, mother, I CAN say, HIS will be done, since it will comfort you.”
“May He go forth—may He go forth with you, my dear bairn; and O, may He give you cause to say on your return, HIS name be praised!”
“Farewell, mother!—farewell, my dear sisters!” exclaimed Elliot, and rushed out of the house.
CHAPTER VIII. Now horse and hattock, cried the Laird,— Now horse and hattock, speedilie; They that winna ride for Telfer’s kye, Let them never look in the face o’ me.—Border Ballad.
“Horse! horse! and spear!” exclaimed Hobbie to his kinsmen. Many a ready foot was in the stirrup; and, while Elliot hastily collected arms and accoutrements, no easy matter in such a confusion, the glen resounded with the approbation of his younger friends.
“Ay, ay!” exclaimed Simon of Hackburn, “that’s the gate to take it, Hobbie. Let women sit and greet at hame, men must do as they have been done by; it’s the Scripture says’t.”
“Haud your tongue, sir,” said one of the seniors, sternly; “dinna abuse the Word that gate, ye dinna ken what ye speak about.”
“Hae ye ony tidings?—Hae ye ony speerings, Hobbie?—O, callants, dinna be ower hasty,” said old Dick of the Dingle.
“What signifies preaching to us, e’enow?” said Simon; “if ye canna make help yoursell, dinna keep back them that can.”
“Whisht, sir; wad ye take vengeance or ye ken wha has wrang’d ye?”
“D’ye think we dinna ken the road to England as weel as our fathers before us?—All evil comes out o’ thereaway—it’s an auld saying and a true; and we’ll e’en away there, as if the devil was blawing us south.”
“We’ll follow the track o’ Earnscliff’s horses ower the waste,” cried one Elliot.
“I’ll prick them out through the blindest moor in the Border, an there had been a fair held there the day before,” said Hugh, the blacksmith of Ringleburn, “for I aye shoe his horse wi’ my ain hand.”
“Lay on the deer-hounds,” cried another “where are they?”
“Hout, man, the sun’s been lang up, and the dew is aff the grund—the scent will never lie.”
Hobbie instantly whistled on his hounds, which were roving about the ruins of their old habitation, and filling the air with their doleful howls.
“Now, Killbuck,” said Hobbie, “try thy skill this day,” and then, as if a light had suddenly broke on him,—“that ill-faur’d goblin spak something o’ this! He may ken mair o’t, either by villains on earth, or devils below—I’ll hae it frae him, if I should cut it out o’ his mis-shapen bouk wi’ my whinger.” He then hastily gave directions to his comrades: “Four o’ ye, wi’ Simon, haud right forward to Graeme’s-gap. If they’re English, they’ll be for being back that way. The rest disperse by twasome and threesome through the waste, and meet me at the Trysting-pool. Tell my brothers, when they come up, to follow and meet us there. Poor lads, they will hae hearts weelnigh as sair as mine; little think they what a sorrowful house they are bringing their venison to! I’ll ride ower Mucklestane-Moor mysell.”
“And if I were you,” said Dick of the Dingle, “I would speak to Canny Elshie. He can tell you whatever betides in this land, if he’s sae minded.”
“He SHALL tell me,” said Hobbie, who was busy putting his arms in order, “what he kens o’ this night’s job, or I shall right weel ken wherefore he does not.”
“Ay, but speak him fair, my bonny man—speak him fair Hobbie; the like o’ him will no bear thrawing. They converse sae muckle wi’ thae fractious ghaists and evil spirits, that it clean spoils their temper.”
“Let me alane to guide him,” answered Hobbie; “there’s that in my breast this day, that would ower-maister a’ the warlocks on earth, and a’ the devils in hell.”
And being now fully equipped, he threw himself on his horse, and spurred him at a rapid pace against the steep ascent.
Elliot speedily surmounted the hill, rode down the other side at the same rate, crossed a wood, and traversed a long glen, ere he at length regained Mucklestane-Moor. As he was obliged, in the course of his journey, to relax his speed in consideration of the labour which his horse might still have to undergo, he had time to consider maturely in what manner he should address the Dwarf, in order to extract from him the knowledge which he supposed him to be in possession of concerning the authors of his misfortunes. Hobbie, though blunt, plain of speech, and hot of disposition, like most of his countrymen, was by no means deficient in the shrewdness which is also their characteristic. He reflected, that from what he had observed on the memorable night when the Dwarf was first seen, and from the conduct of that mysterious being ever since, he was likely to be rendered even more obstinate in his sullenness by threats and violence.
“I’ll speak him fair,” he said, “as auld Dickon advised me. Though folk say he has a league wi’ Satan, he canna be sic an incarnate devil as no to take some pity in a case like mine; and folk threep he’ll whiles do good, charitable sort o’ things. I’ll keep my heart doun as weel as I can, and stroke him wi’ the hair; and if the warst come to the warst, it’s but wringing the head o’ him about at last.”
In this disposition of accommodation he approached the hut of the Solitary.
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