Adventure stories; Fugitives from justice -- Fiction
“Ay!” said he. “New back! And they havena nabbed ye yet! Weel,
they'll no' be lang, maybe, o' doin' that, for I'll warrant ye've been
advertised plenty aboot the country; ony man that has read a gazette or
clattered in a public-hoose kens your description and the blackness o'
the deed you're chairged wi'. All I did was to sink a bit ship that was
rotten onyway, mak' free trade wi' a few ankers o' brandy that wad hae
been drunk by the best i' the land includin' the very lords that tried
me, and accidentally kill a lad that sair needed a beltin' to gar him
dae his honest wark. But you shot a man deliberate and his blood is
crying frae the grund. If ye hurry ye'll maybe dance on naethin' sooner
nor mysel'.”
There was so much impotent venom in what he said that I lost my anger
with the wretch drawing near his end, and looked on him with pity. It
seemed to annoy him more than if I had reviled him.
“I'm a white soul.” says he, clasping his hands--the most arrant
blasphemy of a gesture from one whose deeds were desperately wicked!
“I'm a white soul, praise God! and value not your opinions a docken
leaf. Ye micht hae come here to this melancholy place to slip a bit
guinea into my hand for some few extra comforts, instead o' which it's
jist to anger me.”
He glued his cheek against the bars and stared at me from head to foot,
catching at the last a glance of my fateful shoes. He pointed at them
with a rigid finger.
[Illustration: 407]
“Man! man!” he cried, “there's the sign and token o' the lot o' ye--the
bloody shoon. They may weel be red for him and you that wore them. Red
shoon! red shoon!” He stopped suddenly. “After a',” said he, “I bear
ye nae ill-will, though I hae but to pass the word to the warder on the
ither side o' the rails. And oh! abin a' repent----” He was off again
into one of his blasphemies, for at my elbow now was an old lady who was
doubtless come to confirm the conversion of Daniel Risk. I turned to go.
He cast his unaffected eye piously heavenward, and coolly offered up a
brief prayer for “this erring young brother determined on the ways of
vice and folly.”
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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