Cleg Kelly, Arab of the City 16

Cleg Kelly, Arab of the City 16

Duncan the engine-driver was talking about feats of strength.

 

"In my young days," he said, "I could toss the caber with any man. The

Black Deil o' Dumfries tak' me, gin I couldna send a young tree birlin'

through the air as if it had been a bit spale board. But ye should see

Muckle Alick doon at Netherby Junction, where I pit up for the nicht.

He's the porter there on the passenger side. An' the mid steeple is no

better kenned for twenty miles round Netherby. Hands like the Day o'

Judgment comin' in a thunder-cloud—heart like a wee white-faced lammie

on the braes o' the Black Isle—that's Muckle Alick o' Netherby.

 

"As braid across the breast as if he was the gable end o' a bakehoose

coming linkin' doon the street its lane. Lord bless me, when the big

storm blew doon the distant signals last spring, I declare gin Muckle

Alick didna juist stand on the railway brig that sits end on to the

Market Hill, and signal in the trains wi' airms like the cross trees o'

a man-o'-war!

 

"I declare to conscience it's a Guid's truth!

 

"Aye, an' when that puir trembling chicken-hearted crowl, Tam Mac

Wheeble, that drives the Port Andrew passenger, stood still, wi' the

bull's-eyes o' his wee blue engine juist looking round the corner, an'

whistled and yelled for the proper signal, pretendin' that he didna

see Muckle Alick (him belongin' to anither kirk), Alick cried doon at

him off the brig, so that they could hear him half a mile, 'Ye donnert

U. P., come on wi' your auld steam-roller an' your ill-faured cargo o'

Irish drovers, or I'll come doon an' harl ye a' in mysel'!'

 

"Fac' as daith! I was there, talkin' to a nice bit lass that stands in

the Refresh'!

 

"You weakly toon-bred loons" (here Duncan Urquhart looked at Cleg and

Cleaver's boy) "thinks me a strong man. But Alick, though his shooders

are gettin' a wee bowed and his craw-black hair is noo but a birse o'

grey, could tak' half-a-dozen like me and daud our heads thegither

till we couldna speak. True as the 'Reason Annexed' to the Third

Commandment! I hae seen him wi' thae een that's in my head the noo!"

 

"Tell us mair," said Cleg, standing with his mouth open, for the

relation of feats of strength is every unlearned man's "Iliad." So

Duncan went on to tell mighty things of the wrath of Muckle Alick.

 

"But, lads, ye maun ken Alick is no a ramblin' wastrel like the rest

o' us. He's an elder amang the Cameronians. Haith! a weel-learned man

is Alick, an' guid company for a minister—or ony other man. And never

an ill word oot o' the mouth o' him. Na, no even when yince there was

twa trains at different platforms, an' the station-maister cried to

Alick to tak' the tickets frae baith o' them at the same time. 'Juist

tak' the Port Road train yoursel', gin ye are in sic a fidge!' quoth

Alick. An' it was the station-maister that swore—Alick was even mair

pleased-like than usual.

 

"But nae man ever saw Muckle Alick angry. The ill-set callants o' the

Clearin' Hoose tries whiles to provoke him. Alick, he says little—only

looks at them like a big sleepy dog when the pups are yelping. Then

after a while he says, 'Ye are like Tam Purdy's cat, when it ate the

herrin' he had for his breakfast the time he was askin' the blessin',

ye are "gettin' raither pet!"'

 

"And then, if they winna take a telling, Alick will grip them in his

loofs, gie them a shake and a daud thegither as if he was knockin' the

stour aff a couple o' books, syne stick their heads in a couple o' bags

o' Indian meal, an' leave them wi' their heels in the air. But Alick is

never oot o' temper. And ceevil—fresh kirned butter is no sweeter at

eighteenpence a pund!"

 

 

 

 

ADVENTURE XXIX.

 

MUCKLE ALICK'S BANNOCKBURN.

 

 

"But what was I gaun to tell ye? Oh, aboot the Irish drovers. Ye maun

ken they are no a very weel-liked class doon aboot Netherby. For they

come in squads to the Market Hill on Mondays, and whiles their tongues

and their sticks are no canny. Though some, I'm no denyin', are ceevil

chiels. But them that I'm gaun to tell ye aboot were no that kind.

 

"It was the middle o' the day and Alick was away for his denner. There

had been a bad market that day. Baith the marts were through hours

afore their usual. So the drovers swarmed up to the station to get

the afternoon train for Port Andrew. And on the platform the drinkin'

frae bottles an' the swearin' was fair extraordinar'! So I am telled.

Then, when the train cam' in, there was eight or nine o' the warst

o' them that wadna be served but they maun a' get into a first-class

compartment. And oot o' that they wadna get!

 

"The station-maister was a young man then and newly gotten on. He

thocht a heap o' himsel'—as a young station-maister aye does when he

first gets on the stemmed bonnet, and comes oot frae the office like

Lord Almichty wi' a pen ahint his lug.

 

"Weel, at ony rate, the Netherby station-maister was that kind. An' he

was determined that naebody should cross him in his ain station.

 

"'I'll juist lock them in and let them fecht it oot,' said the guard,

'and by the time we are through the big cutting at the Stroan they'll

hae shuggled doon as quaite as a session.'

 

"It was doubtless good advice. But the station-maister was mainly

angered. He gaed to the door o' the compartment and threatened the

drovers wi' the law. And they juist pelted him wi' auld sodjers and

ill talk. Then he cried for a' the porters and clerks, till there was

a knot o' ten or a dozen o' them aboot the door—and a' the folk in

the train wi' their heads oot o' the windows, askin' what on earth

(an' ither places) was keepin' the train. And doon the main line the

express was fair whustling blue-fire and vengeance because the signals

were against her. But nae farther could they get. The station-maister

he was determined to hae the drovers oot. And they were as set no to

come—being gye and weel filled wi' the weedow's cheapest market whusky

that she keepit special for the drovers, for faith it wad hae scunnert

a decent Heelant sow! I tried it yince and was I the waur o't for a

fortnicht. But ony whusky is guid enough for an Irishman, if only ye

stir plenty o' soot amang it! They think they're hame again if they get

that.

 

"So here the hale traffic o' Netherby Junction was stelled for maybe a

quarter o' an hour, and the station-maister was nearly daft to think

what he wad hae to enter on his detention sheet. A' at ance somebody

cries, 'Here's Muckle Alick coming up the street.' And sure enough

there he was, coming alang by the hill dyke wi' his hands in his

pooches. For ye see this wasna his train, and he had ten minutes to

spare. So wi' that the station-maister and the guaird and half-a-dozen

lads frae the offices rins to the far side o' the platform, waving on

Alick and crying on him to come on. Alick he juist looks aboot to see

wha was late for the train. But no' seein' onybody he steps leisurely

alang, drawin' on his weel-gaun pipe, proud-like as ye hae seen an

elephant at the head o' a show.

 

"And the mair they cried and waved, the mair Alick looked aboot him for

the man that was late for the train.

 

"'It maun be the provost at the least, wi' a' this fuss,' said he to

himself; 'he'll be gaun to Loch Skerrow to fish!'

 

"At last a wee upsettin' booking-clerk, the size o' twa scrubbers,

cam rinning and telled Alick a' aboot the drovers and the state the

station-maister was in.

 

"'I'm no on duty at this train,' says Alick, 'but I'll come and speak

to them.'

 

"So they made way for him, and Alick gaed through the crowd at the

platform like a liner through the herring-fleet below the Tail o' the

Bank.

 

"'Lads,' says he to the drovers, 'what's this?—what's this?'

 

"Then they mocked and jeered at him. For it so happened that nane o'

them had been often at Netherby Market, and so no a man o' them was

acquaint wi' Muckle Alick. Providence was no kind to the Paddies that

time whatever.

 

"'Boys,' says Alick, as canny as if he had been courtin' his lass,

'this wull never do ava', boys. It's no nice conduck! It's clean

ridiculous, ye ken. Ye'll hae to come oot o' that, boys!'

 

"But they were fair demented wi' drink and pridefulness at keepin' the

train waitin', and so they miscaa'ed Alick for a muckle nowt-beast on

stilts. And yin o' them let on to be an auctioneer, and set Alick up

for sale.

 

"'Hoo muckle for this great lumbering Galloway stirk?' says he.

 

"'Thrip!' says another, 'and dear at the money.'

 

"'Boys,' says Alick again, like a mither soothin' her weans when she

hears the guidman's fit, 'boys, ye'll hae to come oot!'

 

"But they only swore the waur at him.

 

"'Aweel,' says Alick, 'mind I hae warned ye, boys——'

 

"And he made for the carriage-door in the face o' a yell like a'

Donnybrook broken lowse. Then what happened after that it is no' juist

easy to tell. Alick gaed oot o' sicht into the compartment, fillin' the

door frae tap to bottom. There was a wee bit buzzing like a bee-skep

when a wasp gets in. Then presently oot o' the door o' the first-class

carriage there comes a hand like the hand o' Providence, and draps a

kickin' drover on the platform, sprawlin' on his wame like a paddock.

Then, afore he can gather himsel' thegither, oot flees anither and

faa's richt across him—and so on till there was a decent pile o'

Irish drovers, a' neatly stacked cross-and-across like sawn wood in a

joiner's yaird. Certes, it was bonny to see them! They were a' cairded

through yin anither, and a' crawling and grippin' and fechtin' like

crabs in a basket. It was a heartsome sicht!

 

"Then, after the hindermost was drappit featly on the riggin', oot

steps Muckle Alick—edgeways, of course, for the door wasna wide

aneuch for him except on the angle. He was, if onything, mair calm

and collected than usual. Muckle Alick wasna angry. He juist clicked

his square key in the lock o' the door and stood lookin' doon at the

crawlin' pile o' drovers. Folk says he gied a bit smile, but I didna

see him.

 

"'Ye see, boys, ye had to come oot!' said Muckle Alick."

 

 

 

 

ADVENTURE XXX.

 

HOW GEORDIE GRIERSON'S ENGINE BROKE ITS BUFFER.

 

 

"Hoo-r-ray!" shouted Cleg Kelly and Cleaver's boy together, till the

cook and little Janet of Inverness smiled at their enthusiasm.

 

"But there's mair," said the engine-driver.

 

"It canna be better than that!" said Cleg, to whom the tale was good as

new potatoes and salt butter.

 

"It's better!" said the engine-driver, who knew that nothing holds an

audience and sharpens the edge of its appetite better than a carefully

cultivated expectancy.

 

"It was that same day after the Port Andrew train got away, when the

cowed drovers were sent to the landing-bank to wait for their cattle

train, and the carriage that was coupled on to it for their transport.

The driver o' the main line express was Geordie Grierson, an' he was

no well-pleased man to be kept waitin' twenty minutes with his whistle

yellyhooin' bluefire a' the time. He prided himsel' special on rinnin'

to the tick o' the clock. So as soon as the signal dropped to clear he

started her raither sharp, and she cam' into the station under a head

of steam some deal faster than he had intended. Ye could hae heard the

scraichin' o' the auld wood brakes a mile an' mair. But stop her they

couldna. And juist as Georgie Grierson's engine was turnin' the curve

to come past the facing points to the platform, what should we see but

a wee bit ragged laddie, carryin' a bairn, coming staggerin' cross the

metals to the near bank. Every single person on the platform cried to

him to gang back. But the laddie couldna see Geordie's engine for the

way he was carryin' the bairn, and maybe the noise o' the folk cryin'

mazed him. So there he stood on the four-foot way, richt between the

rails, and the express-engine fair on him.

 

"It cam' that quick our mouths were hardly shut after crying out, and

our hearts had nae time to gang on again, before Muckle Alick, wha was

standin' by the side o' the platform, made a spang for the bairns—as

far as we could see, richt under the nose o' the engine. He gripped

them baith in his airms, but he hadna time to loup clear o' the far

rail. So Muckle Alick juist arched a back that was near as braid as the

front of the engine itsel', and he gied a kind o' jump to the side.

The far buffer o' the engine took him in the broad o' his hinderlands

and whammeled him and the bairns in a heap ower on the grass on the far

bank.

 

[Illustration: "He gripped them baith, but he hadna time to loup clear

o' the far rail."]

 

"Then there was a sough amang us wi' the drawing in o' sae mony

breaths, for, indeed, we never looked for yin o' them ever to stir

again. Geordie Grierson managed to stop his train after it had passed

maybe twenty yairds. He was leanin' oot o' the engine cubby half his

length an' lookin' back, wi' a face like chalk, at Muckle Alick and the

weans on the bank.

 

"But what was oor astonishment to see him rise up wi' the bairns baith

in his ae arm, and gie his back a bit dust wi' the back o' the ither as

if he had been dustin' flour off it.

 

"'Is there ocht broken, think ye, Geordie?' Muckle Alick cried

anxiously to the engine-driver.

 

"'Guid life, Alick, are ye no killed?' said the engine-driver. And,

loupin' frae his engine, Geordie ran doon, if ye will believe it,

greeting like a very bairn. And, 'deed, to tell the truth, so was the

maist feck o' us.

 

"'Killed?' says Alick; 'weel, no that I ken o'!'

 

"And he stepped across the rails wi' the twa weans laughin' in his

airms, for a' bairns are fond o' Alick. And says he, 'I think I'll pit

them in the left luggage office till we get the express cleared.' So he

did that, and gied them his big turnip watch to play wi'. And syne he

took the luggage over and cried the name o' the station, as if he had

done nocht that day forbye eat his denner.

 

"Then there cam' a lassie rinnin' wi' a loaf in her airms, and lookin'

every road for something.

 

"'Did ye see twa bairns? Oh, my wee Hugh, what's come to ye?' she

cried.

 

"'Ye'll find them in the luggage office, I'm thinkin', lassie,' says

Alick."

 

And here the engine-driver of the goods train rose to depart. But his

audience would not permit him.

 

"And what cam' o' the bairns?" cried Cleg, white with anxiety, "and

what was their names, can ye tell me?"

 

"Na, I never heard their names, if they had ony," said Duncan Urquhart.

"They were but tinkler weans, gaun the country. But Alick could tell

ye, nae doot. For I saw him gang doon the street wi' the wee boy in his

hand, and the lass carryin' the bairn. An' the folk were a' rinnin' oot

o' their doors to shake hands wi' Alick, and askin' him if he wasna

sair hurt?"

 

"'Na,' says he; 'I'll maybe a kennin' stiff for a day or twa, but

there's nocht serious wrang—except wi' the spring o' the engine buffer!

That's gye sair shauchelt!'

 

"And guid nicht to ye a', an' a guid sleep. That's a' I ken," said

Duncan Urquhart from the kitchen door, where he was saying good-bye to

the cook in a manner calculated to advance materially the interests of

his niece, Janet of Inverness.

 

"And I'm gaun the morn's mornin' to see Muckle Alick!" cried Cleg. And

he went out with the engine-driver.

 

 

 

 

ADVENTURE XXXI.

 

THE "AWFU' WOMAN."

 

 

A sore heart had Vara Kavannah as she sat in the hut in Callendar's

yard the night her mother had appeared at the gate of Hillside Works.

 

"I can never go back among them—no, never, never!" said Vara to herself

again and again.

 

And already she saw the sidelong glance, the sneering word thrown over

the shoulder, as the companions from whom she had held herself somewhat

aloof reminded her of her mother's disgrace. "O father, father, come

back to us—come back to us!" she cried over and over again till it

became a prayer.

 

She sat with her hands before her face so long that little Hugh

repeatedly came and stirred her arm, saying "What ails sister? Hugh Boy

not an ill boy!"

 

Vara Kavannah's thoughts ran steadily on Liverpool, to which her father

had gone to find work. She remembered having seen trains with carriages

marked "Liverpool" starting from the rickety old station at the end of

Princes Street. She knew that they went out by Merchiston and Calder.

That must, therefore, be the way to Liverpool. Vara did not remember

that it must also be the way to a great many other places, since many

carriages with other superscriptions passed out the same way.

 

As it darkened in the little construction hut, Vara listlessly rose to

set the room to rights, and to give the baby its bottle. Nothing now

seemed any use, since her mother had come back into her life. Yet Vara

did not cry, for that also was no use. She had lost her place at the

works, or at least she could never go back any more. Her world was at

an end.

 

Hugh Boy still lingered outside, though it was growing latish, and

the swallows that darted in and out of the stacked rafters and piled

squares of boards began one by one to disappear from the vaulted sky.

Hugh was busy watering the plants, as he had seen Cleg do. And he

kept one hand in his pocket and tried to whistle as like his model as

possible. Vara was just laying the baby in its cot when she heard a

scream of pain from Hugh at the door.

 

"Mercy me!" she said, "has the laddie tumbled and hurt himsel'?"

 

She flew to the open door, which was now no more than a dusky oblong of

blue-grey. A pair of dark shapes stood in front of her. Little Hugh lay

wailing on the ground. A hard clenched hand struck Vara on the mouth,

as she held up her hands to shield the baby she had carried with her in

her haste, and a harsh thick voice screamed accumulated curses at her.

 

"I hae gotten ye at last, ye scum, you that sets yourself up to be

somebody. You that dresses in a hat and feather, devil sweep ye! Come

your ways in, lad, and we will soon take the pride out of the likes o'

her, the besom!"

 

The man hung back and seemed loth to have part in the shame. But Sal

Kavannah seized him by the hand and dragged him forward.

 

"This is your new faither, Vara," she said; "look at him. He is a

bonny-like man beside your poor waff wastrel runnagate faither, Sheemus

Kavannah!"

 

The man of whom Sal Kavannah spoke was a burly low-browed ruffian,

with the furtive glance of one who has never known what it is to have

nothing to conceal.

 

But Vara thought he did not look wholly bad.

 

"Come in, mother!" she said at last in a low voice. Then she went out

to seek for Boy Hugh, who had run into the dark of the yard and darned

himself safely among the innumerable piles of wood, which stood at all

angles and elevations in Callendar's wide quadrangle.

 

"Hugh! Boy Hugh!" she cried. And for a long time she called in vain. At

last a low and fearful voice answered her from a dark corner, in which

lay the salvage of a torn-down house.

 

"Is she gane away?" said the Boy Hugh.

 

"No, but ye are to come hame," said Vara, holding the babe closer to

her bosom.

 

"Then Hugh Boy is no comin' hame the nicht till the 'awfu' woman' is

gane away!" said the lad, determinedly.

 

"Come, boy, come," she said again; "my heart is wae for us a'. But come

wi' your Vara!"

 

"Na, Hugh Boy is no comin'. Ye will hae to _hist_ me oot wi' big dogs

afore I will come hame to the 'awfu' woman,'" said Hugh Boy, who was

mightily set when his mind was made up.

 

So Vara had perforce to drag her feet back to the horrors which

awaited her within the construction hut. The man and her mother had

been pledging one another when she entered. A couple of black bottles

stood between them, and Sal Kavannah looked up at her daughter with a fleering laugh.