It was sometime in the blasty month of March, the weather being rawish
and rainy, with sharp frosty nights that left all the window-soles
whitewashed over with frost rind in the mornings, that as I was going out
in the dark, before lying down in my bed, to give a look into the
hen-house, and lock the coal-cellar, so that I might hang the bit key on
the nail behind our room window-shutter, I happened to give a keek in,
and, lo and behold! the awful apparition of a man with a yellow jacket,
lying sound asleep on a great lump of parrot-coal in a corner!
In the first hurry of my terror and surprise, at seeing a man with a
yellow jacket and a green foraging-cap in such a situation, I was like to
drop the good twopenny candle, and faint clean away; but, coming to
myself in a jiffie, I determined, in case it might be a highway robber,
to thraw about the key, and, running up for the firelock, shoot him
through the head instantly, if found necessary. In turning round the
key, the lock, being in want of a feather of oil, made a noise, and
wakened the poor wretch, who, jumping to the soles of his feet in
despair, cried out in a voice that was like to break my heart, though I
could not make out one word of his paraphernally. It minded me, by all
the world, of a wheen cats fuffing and fighting through ither, and whiles
something that sounded like "Sugar, sugar, measure the cord," and "dabble
dabble." It was worse than the most outrageous Gaelic ever spoken in the
height of passion by a Hieland shearer.
"Oho!" thinks I, "friend, ye cannot be a Christian from your lingo,
that's one thing poz; and I would wager tippence you're a Frenchy. Who
kens, keep us all, but ye may be Buonaparte himself in disguise, come
over in a flat-bottomed boat to spy the nakedness of the land. So ye may
just rest content, and keep your quarters good till the morn's morning."
It was a wonderful business, and enough to happen to a man in the course
of his lifetime, to find Mounseer from Paris in his coal-neuk, and have
the enemy of his country snug under lock and key; so, while he kept
rampauging, fuffing, stamping, and _diabbling_ away, I went in and
brought out Benjie, with a blanket rowed round him, and my journeyman,
Tommy Staytape--who, being an orphan, I made a kind of parlour-boarder
of, he sleeping on a shake-down beyond the kitchen-fire--to hold a
consultation, and be witness of the transaction.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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