settled tae, eftir twenty years fechtin an sufferin under the kirk elders. I kept ma heid abune it aw when I couldna keep it ablow the dyke, John, an I advise ye tae dae the same in these troubled days – especially since ye hae Janet an the bairns tae think on tae, an no jist yersel wi yer high notions o the sanctity o law.
‘I held ontae that favour eicht years, and there were times, I confess, when Lauderdale’s position at coort wobbled a wee, when I thocht I michtna get the chance tae redeem it. But then the miscreant tendency began tae stir themsels again, and the government was lookin aboot for a siccar place tae lodge the rebel ministers and keep them awa frae the lugs o the ignorant. That’s when the idea o the Bass insinuated itsel intae ma heid, and I went tae Lauderdale and offered him it. There it was, a muckle lump in the middle o the sea, wi an auld fort upon it – needin some repairs, of coorse – inaccessible but handy enough for Edinburgh, and wha should happen tae be in possession o it? Why, Sir Andrew Ramsay, Lord Provost o Edinburgh, that had gotten it as pairt o the lands o Wauchton frae a puir laird fawn on hard times. I niver would hae thocht the brichtest jewel o that inheritance would be an auld tooth stickin oot in the Firth, but there ye are.
‘I reckoned ma income frae the Rock was nae mair than fifty pund per annum, and that was frae sendin lads ower tae lift the solans’ chicks, but I tellt Lauderdale it could be doubled if there was a permanent garrison pit there, the birds managed on a proper basis, and sundry charges levied on whaiver micht be pit tae live in the place. Hoo muckle would ye want for it, says my lord? Oh, says I, no as muckle as I peyed ye for Leith, it’s only a Rock eftir aw. But, I says, it’s mebbe gotten a hidden value if it keeps the kingdom free o rebels. Oot o Scotland, oot o mind, as it were. Weill, Lauderdale took the hint. I’d been votin his wey in Parliament aw thae eicht years, and takkin maist o the ither burghs wi me forby. Weill,he says, suppose ye live tae be an auld man o ninety, that’s nigh on forty years’ income ye’d be losin. At a hunner pund a year, by your accoont? I’ll ask the King tae gie ye fower thoosan pund for it. And he did, John, he did. Fower thoosan pund,’ he finished hoarsely, pouring himself a fresh brandy, ‘for a lump o rock, a flock o geese and a rickle o stanes that ye wouldna keep pigs in. At that price I didna even fetch back ma sheep – it would hae been ower pernickety, d’ye no think?’
John Lauder could not help admiring his father-in-law’s grotesque self-confidence. He himself was always questioning – his own nature and motives, the accepted norms of daily life, the habits of individuals and of society. But Sir Andrew was like the Bass, a solid relentless rock in a swirling sea of change. He was beholden to him in many ways, certainly he could not afford to offend him, but there were times when he wanted to wring his fat neck. Just now though, he wanted his influence to clear him a passage to the Bass. And there was no motive that Sir Andrew needed to know of, other than the one he had given out loud: he wanted to see James Mitchel, the fanatic to beat all fanatics. He wanted to see what made him what he was.
‘Will ye speak wi the Secretary o State then?’ he asked. ‘He kens me. He kens ma loyalty to the King. I would like to see the prison and cast an objective eye ower prejudice.’
It was a nice touch. Sir Andrew shrugged. ‘John, ye’re a guid lad, though ye whiles keep company I dinna care for. Yer cousin Eleis hasna pit ye up tae this, has he?’
‘This is my concern alane, my lord,’ said John Lauder. ‘John Eleis has naethin tae dae wi it. It’s mair than a week since I last spak wi him.’
‘Then I’ll hae a word,’ said Sir Andrew. Then he seemed to change his mind. ‘In truth, I hardly think it necessary tae fash Lauderdale wi sic a triviality. I can arrange it masel.
‘I held ontae that favour eicht years, and there were times, I confess, when Lauderdale’s position at coort wobbled a wee, when I thocht I michtna get the chance tae redeem it. But then the miscreant tendency began tae stir themsels again, and the government was lookin aboot for a siccar place tae lodge the rebel ministers and keep them awa frae the lugs o the ignorant. That’s when the idea o the Bass insinuated itsel intae ma heid, and I went tae Lauderdale and offered him it. There it was, a muckle lump in the middle o the sea, wi an auld fort upon it – needin some repairs, of coorse – inaccessible but handy enough for Edinburgh, and wha should happen tae be in possession o it? Why, Sir Andrew Ramsay, Lord Provost o Edinburgh, that had gotten it as pairt o the lands o Wauchton frae a puir laird fawn on hard times. I niver would hae thocht the brichtest jewel o that inheritance would be an auld tooth stickin oot in the Firth, but there ye are.
‘I reckoned ma income frae the Rock was nae mair than fifty pund per annum, and that was frae sendin lads ower tae lift the solans’ chicks, but I tellt Lauderdale it could be doubled if there was a permanent garrison pit there, the birds managed on a proper basis, and sundry charges levied on whaiver micht be pit tae live in the place. Hoo muckle would ye want for it, says my lord? Oh, says I, no as muckle as I peyed ye for Leith, it’s only a Rock eftir aw. But, I says, it’s mebbe gotten a hidden value if it keeps the kingdom free o rebels. Oot o Scotland, oot o mind, as it were. Weill, Lauderdale took the hint. I’d been votin his wey in Parliament aw thae eicht years, and takkin maist o the ither burghs wi me forby. Weill,he says, suppose ye live tae be an auld man o ninety, that’s nigh on forty years’ income ye’d be losin. At a hunner pund a year, by your accoont? I’ll ask the King tae gie ye fower thoosan pund for it. And he did, John, he did. Fower thoosan pund,’ he finished hoarsely, pouring himself a fresh brandy, ‘for a lump o rock, a flock o geese and a rickle o stanes that ye wouldna keep pigs in. At that price I didna even fetch back ma sheep – it would hae been ower pernickety, d’ye no think?’
John Lauder could not help admiring his father-in-law’s grotesque self-confidence. He himself was always questioning – his own nature and motives, the accepted norms of daily life, the habits of individuals and of society. But Sir Andrew was like the Bass, a solid relentless rock in a swirling sea of change. He was beholden to him in many ways, certainly he could not afford to offend him, but there were times when he wanted to wring his fat neck. Just now though, he wanted his influence to clear him a passage to the Bass. And there was no motive that Sir Andrew needed to know of, other than the one he had given out loud: he wanted to see James Mitchel, the fanatic to beat all fanatics. He wanted to see what made him what he was.
‘Will ye speak wi the Secretary o State then?’ he asked. ‘He kens me. He kens ma loyalty to the King. I would like to see the prison and cast an objective eye ower prejudice.’
It was a nice touch. Sir Andrew shrugged. ‘John, ye’re a guid lad, though ye whiles keep company I dinna care for. Yer cousin Eleis hasna pit ye up tae this, has he?’
‘This is my concern alane, my lord,’ said John Lauder. ‘John Eleis has naethin tae dae wi it. It’s mair than a week since I last spak wi him.’
‘Then I’ll hae a word,’ said Sir Andrew. Then he seemed to change his mind. ‘In truth, I hardly think it necessary tae fash Lauderdale wi sic a triviality. I can arrange it masel.
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