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It is curious to
contemplate the various modes by which people attempt to obtain
triumphs over each other in this bad world. Some conceive that the
very best way is to punish their enemies; some again, take the Christian
doctrine of holding up "the other cheek;" and some are of opinion, that
there is no such thing at all as the luxury of a real, bona fide,
lasting, and unqualified triumph to be had by one man over another. Let us
see. We think that the case of simple Walter Wylie, who was, for a long
time, so well known in the town of Inverkeithing for his peculiar manner
of bringing out his sage philosophy of life, after the pawky form of some
packman, who, when they are satisfied they have a real good article
to show, affect a simplicity and scarcity of words of laudation, the very
opposite of the verbose and stately declamation by which they endeavour to
dispose of their general stock. The quality of Walter’s moral and
political commodities, was clearly indicated by the quantum of
simple naiveté infused into his speech and countenance, while in the act
of narration—his effort at the more pure degrees of simplicity being in
exact proportion to the estimate—never a wrong one—which he himself made
of the excellence of the communication his peculiar inspiration enabled
him to produce. His shop in the High Street of Inverkeithing, in which he
sold a variety of those commodities which are necessary for the sustenance
of the human corporation, brought him more clearly into public notice.
Directly opposed to honest Walter, (as he was styled by the people,) both
in manners and locality, was William Harrison, who carried on the same
kind of business, in a shop on the other side of the street. The ordinary
rivalship existed between them, and they took their different modes of
recommending themselves to their customers—the one, Harrison, by a most
verbose and figurative signboard, and a most loquacious speech, and the
other by his peculiar simplicity of enunciation and publication of the
qualities of his wares. The former was both a philosophical and a
practical rogue. The latter, again, was as honest as steel; and his
honesty and simple humour combined, made him be beloved by all that knew
him; while his rival, who bore to his simple friend a most inveterate
spite, was mortally hated for his roguery throughout the whole burgh.
Now, it happened that
Harrison, with a view to two objects—first, the gratification of
his never-sleeping spirit of roguery; and, secondly, the ruin, or
at least the inconvenience, of simple Walter—bought up, from a
neighbouring rogue, a debt alleged to be due by Walter, but which the
latter had truly paid, though he had neglected to get it cancelled or
discharged, by a probative receipt. It amounted to about £100; and
Harrison paid for it only about £5, with a condition of paying the
cedent £5 more, in the event of the entire sum being wrung out of
the simple Walter, by the wrenching wheel of a horning. As soon as Walter
heard that his rival and enemy Harrison had bought up the false debt, he
knew, by an instinct which had nothing wonderful about it, that he was
committed for a tough fight; but he retained his equanimity, and even his
simple naivete hung about his mouth and small twinkling eyes, in the same
manner as if no horning or any such thunderbolt of Jove, had been in the
act of being forged against him. One day his enemy came into his shop.
"Mr Wylie," said he, with a
most pert loquacity, and holding up the horning in his hand, "I have a
piece of paper here, in which there is the name of Walter Wylie, as debtor
to me in the sum of £100. I think you had better pay me at present, for I
do not wish to let the debt lie, and ruin you by allowing a large sum of
interest to run up against you."
"I thank ye," replied
simple Walter, with an obsequious bow, and then proceeded with the
business in which he was engaged. Harrison waited, expecting his debt; but
Walter continued his operations. "I winna tak the present o’ your
interest," again said Walter; "ye needna wait. And as for your horning, it
wadna row up three pounds o’ my sugar. You are as welcome to it as to the
interest."
This answer produced a
laugh among the customers against Harrison, who, swearing he would have a
caption and apprehend Walter the next day, walked out to instruct his
agent to put his threat into execution. He had scarcely gone, when several
of his (Harrison’s) creditors—for he himself was great as a
debtor—arrested in Walter’s hands the false debt due to Harrison, so as to
secure it to themselves. The simple Walter was astonished at all this
parade about a debt that he had already paid; but he never lost his simple
naivete or his temper, and was determined to go to jail as meekly as a
lamb. Meanwhile, the inhabitants heard of the expected incarceration of
their favourite, and insisted upon his defeating the schemes of his enemy,
by resisting according to law his unjust demands; but Walter, with a
good-natured smile, said that he trusted all to the ways of Providence.
Next morning, Walter,
altogether unconcerned about his apprehension, went forth to take his walk
in the green-fields, according to his custom, although it might be to take
his breakfast in the old Tolbooth, which frowned upon him as he passed. He
had wandered a little way in the country, when he thought he observed two
men slipping along behind a thorn hedge, as if they wished to escape
detection; and, impelled by curiosity, he slipped along the other side of
the same hedge upon his hands and his feet, and, having seen the men
deposit something in the side of a neighbouring dike, squatted down as if
he had been shot dead, and lay there as still as death until the men went
away. Up then rose Walter, and, going cautiously, looking around him again
and again as he crept along, he came to the hole in the dike, and having
examined it, found lying there a large bundle of bank-notes, amounting to
no less than £500. Putting the money into his pocket, he by one leap, got
to the middle of the road, when, having folded his hands behind his back
and struck up a very merry tune, he continued his walk, with a slow and
comfortable composure, which was pleasant to see. Several people passed
him; and as he was never heard to whistle before, they wondered mightily
that simple Walter should whistle so merry a tune, and more so, on the
morning of that day when he was to be put into prison. When he went a
little farther, still whistling and sauntering, with a very easy and
pleasant carelessness, whom does he meet? Why, no other than William
Harrison, flying along the road like a madman, calling out, if any one had
seen two blackguard-looking men on the way; for that his shop had been
robbed during the night, and all the money he had in the world taken out
of it and carried away.
"I saw the blackguards,"
replied Walter. "They’re awa doun by Gibson’s Loan yonder, as fast as if a
messenger wi’ a hornin and caption was at their heels."
And he again whistled his
tune—a circumstance that struck Harrison, who had never heard him whistle
before, with as much surprise as his announcement; but he had no time to
wonder or reply, and away he shot like a pursuing messenger, while Walter
walked into the town, and opened his shop, wherein he deposited the
£500, and proceeded to serve his customers with as much simplicity and
good humour as ever.
The news of the loss
sustained by Harrison went like wild-fire throughout the burgh; and every
one wondered that a man who owed so much money should have had so large a
sum as £500 in the house at one time; and it was suspected that he
intended to fly the country with the money as soon as he could wring the
false debt out of simple Watty. Every inquiry was made after the robbers,
but they could not be traced; and now Harrison, made savage by his loss
and the allusion made by Watty about the messenger, got his caption frae
Edinburgh by a special messenger, and sent to apprehend Walter for the
false debt.
"I have a caption against
you, Mr Wylie," said the messenger, as he entered. "Will you pay the debt,
or go with me?"
"If you’ll wait," replied
Watty, with the greatest: simplicity, "till I weigh this pound o’ sugar to
Jenny Gilchrist, I’ll tak a step wi’ ye as far as the jail."
And proceeding to serve his
customer, he indulged in some of his dry jokes in the very same way he
used to do; and, when he had finished, called up his wife to serve the
shop, and walked with great composure away with the messenger to that
place of squalor and squalid misery. He was, in due form, entered
in the jailor’s books, and deposited in the old black building, as a
jail-bird, where, if he chose, he might whistle as gaily as he did in the
morning when he went out to hear the larks singing in the clouds, to which
celestial residence he had so unexpectedly accompanied them. The news now
spread far and wide that Walter Wylie was in prison, and many efforts were
made to get him to pay the debt at once and gain his liberty; but Walter
knew himself what he was about; and, having thus ascertained how far
Harrison would go, he sent for a writer, and having given him instructions
and a part of the £500 to pay his expense, got out in a few days on what
the honest men of the law call a suspension and liberation.
Some time afterwards,
Harrison himself having lost all his money, was put into jail at the
instance of one of his creditors, who was enraged at the scheme he had
resorted to for defrauding them; and there he lay in the very same room in
which Watty had been deposited. Harrison’s creditor was a good and godly
man, and, like Walter, was an elder of the church; and the people pitied
him greatly for the loss he was likely to sustain through the rogue who
had thus cheated so many poor people. His debt was £50; and, to the wonder
and amazement of all the inhabitants, he got full payment from Walter
Wylie, whereupon Harrison was immediately let out of prison.
No sooner was it known that
Walter had paid one debt of Harrison’s, than another creditor apprehended
the rogue, and lodged him again in jail. He was allowed to lie there for a
considerable time, when Watty again came forward and paid this debt
also—whereupon he was again allowed to escape. A third creditor followed
the example of the two others, and the rogue was again committed to
durance but this time Watty allowed him to remain for a longer time, and
then paid the debt, that he might deal out his punishment in due
proportions. A fourth time the rogue was apprehended, and a fifth and a
sixth time, and upon each of these occasions he was allowed to remain for
as long a time as Watty thought might produce as much pain as it was his
intention to inflict. Altogether Harrison had thus lain about eight months
in prison. His debts were now all paid, and the whole sum of £500
exhausted—having been honestly divided among those creditors whose debts
were just, and who required them for the support of their wives and
children. No part of the £500 was kept to answer the false debt claimed
against Watty, because he had secured himself against that demand by
getting assignations to the debts he paid, whereby he might plead
compensation against his persecutor. Thus had he, in his own quiet way,
saved himself, punished a rogue, and brought peace and comfort to the
homes of a number of deserving men, whose debts otherwise would never have
been paid.
The wonder produced by this
extraordinary proceeding, on the part of Watty, was unparalleled; and what
nobody could comprehend, they were surely entitled to wonder at. Some
thought the simple creature mad, and his friends tried to interfere to
prevent so reckless a squandering of his means.
"I am surprised, Mr Wylie,"
said his clergyman to him, one day, in the presence of a number of people
who were collected in the shop—"I am surprised at this proceeding of
yours, which has spread far and wide throughout the country. If your
motive be a secret, I will not ask it from thee; but, if it is a fair and
legitimate question, I would make bold to put it to thee, as one of my
flock and an elder of our church."
"There is nae secret about
it, sir," replied Watty, with his accustomed simplicity. "We are told to
do guid to them wha hate us, and pay for them wha despitefully
persecute us." And he leered a grotesque look of simple cajolery in the
face of the godly man.
"I fear thou misquotest the
holy book, Mr Wylie," replied the minister. "We are asked to pray
for our enemies; but not to pay for them."
"Ay! Ay!" ejaculated Watty,
in surprise. "Is it possible that that single letter ‘r’ should hae cost a
puir, simple body £500?"
The minister stared and the
people wondered; but, up to this day, none ever knew why simple Walter
Wylie paid the debts of his enemy Harrison. |
