St. Ronan's Well

Sir Bingo turned the quid in his mouth, and squirted out the juice in a most coachman-like manner.

“Mr. Winterblossom,” said the Captain, “Sir Bingo has in this matter put himself in my hands, and unless you think yourself more able to direct his course than I am, I must frankly tell you, that I will be disobliged by your interference. You may speak to your own friend as much as you please; and if you find yourself authorized to make any proposal, I shall be desirous to lend an ear to it on the part of my worthy principal, Sir Bingo. But I will be plain with you, that I do not greatly approve of settlements upon the field, though I hope I am a quiet and peaceable man. But here is our honour to be looked after in the first place; and moreover, I must insist that every proposal for accommodation shall originate with your party or yourself.”

“My party?” answered Winterblossom; “why really, though I came hither at your request, Captain MacTurk, yet I must see more of the matter, ere I can fairly pronounce myself second to a man I never saw but once.”

“And, perhaps, may never see again,” said the Doctor, looking at his watch; “for it is ten minutes past the hour, and here is no Mr. Tyrrel.”

“Hey! what's that you say, Doctor?” said the Baronet, awakened from his apathy.

“He speaks tamned nonsense,” said the Captain, pulling out a huge, old-fashioned, turnip-shaped implement, with a blackened silver dial-plate. “It is not above three minutes after one by the true time, and I will uphold Mr. Tyrrel to be a man of his word – never saw a man take a thing more coolly.”

“Not more coolly than he takes his walk this way,” said the Doctor; “for the hour is as I tell you – remember, I am professional – have pulses to count by the second and half-second – my timepiece must go as true as the sun.”

“And I have mounted guard a thousand times by my watch,” said the Captain; “and I defy the devil to say that Hector MacTurk did not always discharge his duty to the twentieth part of the fraction of a second – it was my great grandmother, Lady Killbracklin's, and I will maintain its reputation against any timepiece that ever went upon wheels.”

“Well, then, look at your own watch, Captain,” said Winterblossom, “for time stands still with no man, and while we speak the hour advances. On my word, I think this Mr. Tyrrel intends to humbug us.”

“Hey! what's that you say?” said Sir Bingo, once more starting from his sullen reverie.

“I shall not look at my watch upon no such matter,” said the Captain; “nor will I any way be disposed to doubt your friend's honour, Mr. Winterblossom.”

“My friend?” said Mr. Winterblossom; “I must tell you once more, Captain, that this Mr. Tyrrel is no friend of mine – none in the world. He is your friend, Captain MacTurk; and I own, if he keeps us waiting much longer on this occasion, I will be apt to consider his friendship as of very little value.”

“And how dare you, then, say that the man is my friend?” said the Captain, knitting his brows in a most formidable manner.

“Pooh! pooh! Captain,” answered Winterblossom, coolly, if not contemptuously – “keep all that for silly boys; I have lived in the world too long either to provoke quarrels, or to care about them. So, reserve your fire; it is all thrown away on such an old cock as I am. But I really wish we knew whether this fellow means to come – twenty minutes past the hour – I think it is odds that you are bilked, Sir Bingo?”

“Bilked! hey!” cried Sir Bingo; “by Gad, I always thought so – I wagered with Mowbray he was a raff – I am had, by Gad. I'll wait no longer than the half hour, by Gad, were he a field-marshal.”

“You will be directed in that matter by your friend, if you please, Sir Bingo,” said the Captain.

“D – me if I will,” returned the Baronet – “Friend? a pretty friend, to bring me out here on such a fool's errand! I knew the fellow was a raff – but I never thought you, with all your chaff about honour, such a d – d spoon as to bring a message from a fellow who has fled the pit!”

“If you regret so much having come here to no purpose,” said the Captain, in a very lofty tone, “and if you think I have used you like a spoon, as you say, I will have no objection in life to take Mr. Tyrrel's place, and serve your occasion, my boy!”

“By – ! and if you like it, you may fire away, and welcome,” said Sir Bingo; “and I'll spin a crown for first shot, for I do not understand being brought here for nothing, d – me!”

“And there was never man alive so ready as I am to give you something to stay your stomach,” said the irritable Highlander.

“Oh fie, gentlemen! fie, fie, fie!” exclaimed the pacific Mr. Winterblossom – “For shame, Captain – Out upon you, Sir Bingo, are you mad? – what, principal and second! – the like was never heard of – never.”

The parties were in some degree recalled to their more cool recollections by this expostulation, yet continued a short quarter-deck walk to and fro, upon parallel lines, looking at each other sullenly as they passed, and bristling like two dogs who have a mind to quarrel, yet hesitate to commence hostilities. During this promenade, also, the perpendicular and erect carriage of the veteran, rising on his toes at every step, formed a whimsical contrast with the heavy loutish shuffle of the bulky Baronet, who had, by dint of practice, very nearly attained that most enviable of all carriages, the gait of a shambling Yorkshire ostler. His coarse spirit was now thoroughly kindled, and like iron, or any other baser metal, which is slow in receiving heat, it retained long the smouldering and angry spirit of resentment that had originally brought him to the place, and now rendered him willing to wreak his uncomfortable feelings upon the nearest object which occurred, since the first purpose of his coming thither was frustrated. In his own phrase, his pluck was up, and finding himself in a fighting humour, he thought it a pity, like Bob Acres, that so much good courage should be thrown away. As, however, that courage after all consisted chiefly in ill humour; and as, in the demeanour of the Captain, he read nothing deferential or deprecatory of his wrath, he began to listen with more attention to the arguments of Mr. Winterblossom, who entreated them not to sully, by private quarrel, the honour they had that day so happily acquired without either blood or risk.

“It was now,” he said, “three quarters of an hour past the time appointed for this person, who calls himself Tyrrel, to meet Sir Bingo Binks. Now, instead of standing squabbling here, which serves no purpose, I propose we should reduce to writing the circumstances which attend this affair, for the satisfaction of the company at the Well, and that the memorandum shall be regularly attested by our subscriptions; after which, I shall farther humbly propose that it be subjected to the revision of the Committee of Management.”

“I object to any revision of a statement to which my name shall be appended,” said the Captain.

“Right – very true, Captain,” said the complaisant Mr. Winterblossom; “undoubtedly you know best, and your signature is completely sufficient to authenticate this transaction – however, as it is the most important which has occurred since the Spring was established, I propose we shall all sign the procès-verbal, as I may term it.”

“Leave me out, if you please,” said the Doctor, not much satisfied that both the original quarrel and the by-battle had passed over without any occasion for the offices of a Machaon; “leave me out, if you please; for it does not become me to be ostensibly concerned in any proceedings, which have had for their object a breach of the peace. And for the importance of waiting here for an hour, in a fine afternoon, it is my opinion there was a more important service done to the Well of St. Ronan's, when I, Quentin Quackleben, M.D., cured Lady Penelope Penfeather of her seventh attack upon the nerves, attended with febrile symptoms.”

“No disparagement to your skill at all, Doctor,” said Mr. Winterblossom; “but I conceive the lesson which this fellow has received will be a great means to prevent improper persons from appearing at the Spring hereafter; and, for my part, I shall move that no one be invited to dine at the table in future, till his name is regularly entered as a member of the company, in the lists at the public room. And I hope both Sir Bingo and the Captain will receive the thanks of the company, for their spirited conduct in expelling the intruder. – Sir Bingo, will you allow me to apply to your flask – a little twinge I feel, owing to the dampness of the grass.”

Sir Bingo, soothed by the consequence he had acquired, readily imparted to the invalid a thimbleful of his cordial, which, we believe, had been prepared by some cunning chemist in the wilds of Glenlivat. He then filled a bumper, and extended it towards the veteran, as an unequivocal symptom of reconciliation. The real turbinacious flavour no sooner reached the nose of the Captain, than the beverage was turned down his throat with symptoms of most unequivocal applause.

“I shall have some hope of the young fellows of this day,” he said, “now that they begin to give up their Dutch and French distilled waters, and stick to genuine Highland ware. By Cot, it is the only liquor fit for a gentleman to drink in a morning, if he can have the good fortune to come by it, you see.”

“Or after dinner either, Captain,” said the Doctor, to whom the glass had passed in rotation; “it is worth all the wines in France for flavour, and more cordial to the system besides.”

“And now,” said the Captain, “that we may not go off the ground with any thing on our stomachs worse than the whisky, I can afford to say, (as Captain Hector MacTurk's character is tolerably well established,) that I am sorry for the little difference that has occurred betwixt me and my worthy friend, Sir Bingo, here.”

“And since you are so civil, Captain,” said Sir Bingo, “why, I am sorry too – only it would put the devil out of temper to lose so fine a fishing day – wind south – fine air on the pool – water settled from the flood – just in trim – and I dare say three pairs of hooks have passed over my cast before this time!”

He closed this elaborate lamentation with a libation of the same cordial which he had imparted to his companions; and they returned in a body to the Hotel, where the transactions of the morning were soon afterwards announced to the company, by the following program: —

STATEMENT

“Sir Bingo Binks, baronet, having found himself aggrieved by the uncivil behaviour of an individual calling himself Francis Tyrrel, now or lately a resident at the Cleikum Inn, Aultoun of St. Ronan's; and having empowered Captain Hector MacTurk to wait upon the said Mr. Tyrrel to demand an apology, under the alternative of personal satisfaction, according to the laws of honour and the practice of gentlemen, the said Tyrrel voluntarily engaged to meet the said Sir Bingo Binks, baronet, at the Buck-stane, near St. Ronan's Burn, upon this present day, being Wednesday – August. In consequence of which appointment, we, the undersigned, did attend at the place named, from one o'clock till two, without seeing or hearing any thing whatever of the said Francis Tyrrel, or any one in his behalf – which fact we make thus publicly known, that all men, and particularly the distinguished company assembled at the Fox Hotel, may be duly apprized of the character and behaviour of the said Francis Tyrrel, in case of his again presuming to intrude himself into the society of persons of honour.

“The Fox Inn and Hotel, St. Ronan's Well – August 18 – .

(Signed)“Bingo Binks,Hector MacTurk,Philip Winterblossom.”

A little lower followed this separate attestation:

“I, Quentin Quackleben, M.D., F.R.S., D.E., B.L., X.Z., &c. &c., being called upon to attest what I know in the said matter, do hereby verify, that being by accident at the Buck-stane, near St. Ronan's Burn, on this present day, at the hour of one afternoon, and chancing to remain there for the space of nearly an hour, conversing with Sir Bingo Binks, Captain MacTurk, and Mr. Winterblossom, we did not, during that time, see or hear any thing of or from the person calling himself Francis Tyrrel, whose presence at that place seemed to be expected by the gentlemen I have just named.”

This affiche was dated like the former, and certified under the august hand of Quentin Quackleben, M.D., &c. &c. &c.

Again, and prefaced by the averment that an improper person had been lately introduced into the company of St. Ronan's Well, there came forth a legislative enactment, on the part of the Committee, declaring, “that no one shall in future be invited to the dinners, or balls, or other entertainments of the Well, until their names shall be regularly entered in the books kept for the purpose at the rooms.” Lastly, there was a vote of thanks to Sir Bingo Binks and Captain MacTurk for their spirited conduct, and the pains which they had taken to exclude an improper person from the company at St. Ronan's Well.

These annunciations speedily became the magnet of the day. All idlers crowded to peruse them; and it would be endless to notice the “God bless me's” – the “Lord have a care of us” – the “Saw you ever the like's” of gossips, any more than the “Dear me's” and “Oh, laa's” of the titupping misses, and the oaths of the pantalooned or buck-skin'd beaux. The character of Sir Bingo rose like the stocks at the news of a dispatch from the Duke of Wellington, and, what was extraordinary, attained some consequence even in the estimation of his lady. All shook their heads at the recollection of the unlucky Tyrrel, and found out much in his manner and address which convinced them that he was but an adventurer and swindler. A few, however, less partial to the Committee of Management, (for whenever there is an administration, there will soon arise an opposition,) whispered among themselves, that, to give the fellow his due, the man, be he what he would, had only come among them, like the devil, when he was called for; and honest Dame Blower blessed herself when she heard of such bloodthirsty doings as had been intended, and “thanked God that honest Doctor Kickherben had come to nae harm amang a' their nonsense.”

CHAPTER XIV.

THE CONSULTATION

Clown. I hope here be proofs. —

Measure for Measure.

The borough of – lies, as all the world knows, about fourteen miles distant from St. Ronan's, being the county town of that shire, which, as described in the Tourist's Guide, numbers among its objects of interest that gay and popular watering-place, whose fame, no doubt, will be greatly enhanced by the present annals of its earlier history. As it is at present unnecessary to be more particular concerning the scene of our story, we will fill up the blank left in the first name with the fictitious appellation of Marchthorn, having often found ourselves embarrassed in the course of a story, by the occurrence of an ugly hiatus, which we cannot always at first sight fill up, with the proper reference to the rest of the narrative.

Marchthorn, then, was an old-fashioned Scottish town, the street of which, on market-day, showed a reasonable number of stout great-coated yeomen, bartering or dealing for the various commodities of their farms; and on other days of the week, only a few forlorn burghers, crawling about like half-awakened flies, and watching the town steeple till the happy sound of twelve strokes from Time's oracle should tell them it was time to take their meridian dram. The narrow windows of the shops intimated very imperfectly the miscellaneous contents of the interior, where every merchant, as the shopkeepers of Marchthorn were termed, more Scotico, sold every thing that could be thought of. As for manufactures, there were none, except that of the careful Town-Council, who were mightily busied in preparing the warp and woof, which, at the end of every five or six years, the town of Marchthorn contributed, for the purpose of weaving the fourth or fifth part of a member of Parliament.

In such a town, it usually happens, that the Sheriff-clerk, especially supposing him agent for several lairds of the higher order, is possessed of one of the best-looking houses; and such was that of Mr. Bindloose. None of the smartness of the brick-built and brass-hammered mansion of a southern attorney appeared indeed in this mansion, which was a tall, thin, grim-looking building, in the centre of the town, with narrow windows and projecting gables, notched into that sort of descent, called crow-steps, and having the lower casements defended by stancheons of iron; for Mr. Bindloose, as frequently happens, kept a branch of one of the two national banks, which had been lately established in the town of Marchthorn.

Towards the door of this tenement, there advanced slowly up the ancient, but empty streets of this famous borough, a vehicle, which, had it appeared in Piccadilly, would have furnished unremitted laughter for a week, and conversation for a twelvemonth. It was a two-wheeled vehicle, which claimed none of the modern appellations of tilbury, tandem, dennet, or the like; but aspired only to the humble name of that almost forgotten accommodation, a whiskey; or, according to some authorities, a tim-whiskey. Green was, or had been, its original colour, and it was placed sturdily and safely low upon its little old-fashioned wheels, which bore much less than the usual proportion to the size of the carriage which they sustained. It had a calash head, which had been pulled up, in consideration either to the dampness of the morning air, or to the retiring delicacy of the fair form which, shrouded by leathern curtains, tenanted this venerable specimen of antediluvian coach-building.

But, as this fair and modest dame noway aspired to the skill of a charioteer, the management of a horse, which seemed as old as the carriage he drew, was in the exclusive charge of an old fellow in a postilion's jacket, whose grey hairs escaped on each side of an old-fashioned velvet jockey-cap, and whose left shoulder was so considerably elevated above his head, that it seemed, as if, with little effort, his neck might have been tucked under his arm, like that of a roasted grouse-cock. This gallant equerry was mounted on a steed as old as that which toiled betwixt the shafts of the carriage, and which he guided by a leading rein. Goading one animal with his single spur, and stimulating the other with his whip, he effected a reasonable trot upon the causeway, which only terminated when the whiskey stopped at Mr. Bindloose's door – an event of importance enough to excite the curiosity of the inhabitants of that and the neighbouring houses. Wheels were laid aside, needles left sticking in the half-finished seams, and many a nose, spectacled and unspectacled, was popped out of the adjoining windows, which had the good fortune to command a view of Mr. Bindloose's front door. The faces of two or three giggling clerks were visible at the barred casements of which we have spoken, much amused at the descent of an old lady from this respectable carriage, whose dress and appearance might possibly have been fashionable at the time when her equipage was new. A satin cardinal, lined with grey squirrels' skin, and a black silk bonnet, trimmed with crape, were garments which did not now excite the respect, which in their fresher days they had doubtless commanded. But there was that in the features of the wearer, which would have commanded Mr. Bindloose's best regard, though it had appeared in far worse attire; for he beheld the face of an ancient customer, who had always paid her law expenses with the ready penny, and whose accompt with the bank was balanced by a very respectable sum at her credit. It was, indeed, no other than our respected friend, Mrs. Dods of the Cleikum Inn, St. Ronan's, Aultoun.

Now her arrival intimated matter of deep import. Meg was a person of all others most averse to leave her home, where, in her own opinion at least, nothing went on well without her immediate superintendence. Limited, therefore, as was her sphere, she remained fixed in the centre thereof; and few as were her satellites, they were under the necessity of performing their revolutions around her, while she herself continued stationary. Saturn, in fact, would be scarce more surprised at a passing call from the Sun, than Mr. Bindloose at this unexpected visit of his old client. In one breath he rebuked the inquisitive impertinence of his clerks, in another stimulated his housekeeper, old Hannah – for Mr. Bindloose was a bluff bachelor – to get tea ready in the green parlour; and while yet speaking, was at the side of the whiskey, unclasping the curtains, rolling down the apron, and assisting his old friend to dismount.

“The japanned tea-caddie, Hannah – the best bohea – bid Tib kindle a spark of fire – the morning's damp – Draw in the giggling faces of ye, ye d – d idle scoundrels, or laugh at your ain toom pouches – it will be lang or your weeldoing fill them.” This was spoken, as the honest lawyer himself might have said, in transitu, the rest by the side of the carriage. “My stars, Mrs. Dods, and is this really your ain sell, in propria persona? – Wha lookit for you at such a time of day? – Anthony, how's a' wi' ye, Anthony? – so ye hae taen the road again, Anthony – help us down wi' the apron, Anthony – that will do. – Lean on me, Mrs. Dods – help your mistress, Anthony – put the horses in my stable – the lads will give you the key. – Come away, Mrs. Dods – I am blithe to see you straight your legs on the causeway of our auld borough again – come in by, and we'll see to get you some breakfast, for ye hae been asteer early this morning.”

“I am a sair trouble to you, Mr. Bindloose,” said the old lady, accepting the offer of his arm, and accompanying him into the house; “I am e'en a sair trouble to you, but I could not rest till I had your advice on something of moment.”

“Happy will I be to serve you, my gude auld acquaintance,” said the Clerk; “but sit you down – sit you down – sit you down, Mrs. Dods – meat and mess never hindered wark. Ye are something overcome wi' your travel – the spirit canna aye bear through the flesh, Mrs. Dods; ye should remember that your life is a precious one, and ye should take care of your health, Mrs. Dods.”

“My life precious!” exclaimed Meg Dods; “nane o' your whullywhaing, Mr. Bindloose – Deil ane wad miss the auld girning alewife, Mr. Bindloose, unless it were here and there a puir body, and maybe the auld house-tyke, that wadna be sae weel guided, puir fallow.”

“Fie, fie! Mrs. Dods,” said the Clerk, in a tone of friendly rebuke; “it vexes an auld friend to hear ye speak of yourself in that respectless sort of a way; and, as for quitting us, I bless God I have not seen you look better this half score of years. But maybe you will be thinking of setting your house in order, which is the act of a carefu' and of a Christian woman – O! it's an awfu' thing to die intestate, if we had grace to consider it.”

“Aweel, I daur say I'll consider that some day soon, Mr. Bindloose; but that's no my present errand.”

“Be it what it like, Mrs. Dods, ye are right heartily welcome here, and we have a' the day to speak of the business in hand —festina lente, that is the true law language – hooly and fairly, as one may say – ill treating of business with an empty stomach – and here comes your tea, and I hope Hannah has made it to your taste.”

Meg sipped her tea – confessed Hannah's skill in the mysteries of the Chinese herb – sipped again, then tried to eat a bit of bread and butter, with very indifferent success; and notwithstanding the lawyer's compliments to her good looks, seemed in reality, on the point of becoming ill.

“In the deil's name, what is the matter!” said the lawyer, too well read in a profession where sharp observation is peculiarly necessary, to suffer these symptoms of agitation to escape him. “Ay, dame? ye are taking this business of yours deeper to heart than ever I kend you take ony thing. Ony o' your banded debtors failed, or like to fail? What then! cheer ye up – you can afford a little loss, and it canna be ony great matter, or I would doubtless have heard of it.”

“In troth, but it is a loss, Mr. Bindloose; and what say ye to the loss of a friend?”

This was a possibility which had never entered the lawyer's long list of calamities, and he was at some loss to conceive what the old lady could possibly mean by so sentimental a prolusion. But just as he began to come out with his “Ay, ay, we are all mortal, Vita incerta, mors certissima!” and two or three more pithy reflections, which he was in the habit of uttering after funerals, when the will of the deceased was about to be opened, – just then Mrs. Dods was pleased to become the expounder of her own oracle.