Guy Mannering | Page 7

in, and sae he's gaun e'en
hame wi' a toom purse and a sair heart."
"'That may be, Jean," replied one of the banditti, "but we maun ripe his
pouches a bit, and see if the tale be true or no." Jean set up her throat in
exclamations against this breach of hospitality, but without producing
any change in their determination. The farmer soon heard their stifled
whispers and light steps by his bedside, and understood they were
rummaging his clothes. When they found the money which the
providence of Jean Gordon had made him retain, they held a
consultation if they should take it or no; but the smallness of the booty,
and the vehemence of Jean's remonstrances, determined them in the
negative. They caroused and went to rest. As soon as day dawned Jean
roused her guest, produced his horse, which she had accommodated
behind the hallan, and guided him for some miles, till he was on the
highroad to Lochside. She then restored his whole property; nor could
his earnest entreaties prevail on her to accept so much as a single
guinea.
'I have heard the old people at Jedburgh say, that all Jean's sons were
condemned to die there on the same day. It is said the jury were equally
divided, but that a friend to justice, who had slept during the whole
discussion, waked suddenly and gave his vote for condemnation in the
emphatic words, "Hang them a'!" Unanimity is not required in a
Scottish jury, so the verdict of guilty was returned. Jean was present,
and only said, "The Lord help the innocent in a day like this!" Her own
death was accompanied with circumstances of brutal outrage, of which

poor Jean was in many respects wholly undeserving. She had, among
other demerits, or merits, as the reader may choose to rank it, that of
being a stanch Jacobite. She chanced to be at Carlisle upon a fair or
market-day, soon after the year 1746, where she gave vent to her
political partiality, to the great offence of the rabble of that city. Being
zealous in their loyalty when there was no danger, in proportion to the
tameness with which they had surrendered to the Highlanders in 1745,
the mob inflicted upon poor Jean Gordon no slighter penalty than that
of ducking her to death in the Eden. It was an operation of some time,
for Jean was a stout woman, and, struggling with her murderers, often
got her head above water; and, while she had voice left, continued to
exclaim at such intervals, "Charlie yet! Charlie yet!" When a child, and
among the scenes which she frequented, I have often heard these stories,
and cried piteously for poor Jean Gordon.
'Before quitting the Border gipsies, I may mention that my grandfather,
while riding over Charterhouse Moor, then a very extensive common,
fell suddenly among a large band of them, who were carousing in a
hollow of the moor, surrounded by bushes. They instantly seized on his
horse's bridle with many shouts of welcome, exclaiming (for he was
well known to most of them) that they had often dined at his expense,
and he must now stay and share their good cheer. My ancestor was, a
little alarmed, for, like the goodman of Lochside, he had more money
about his person than he cared to risk in such society. However, being
naturally a bold, lively-spirited man, he entered into the humour of the
thing and sate down to the feast, which consisted of all the varieties of
game, poultry, pigs, and so forth that could be collected by a wide and
indiscriminate system of plunder. The dinner was a very merry one; but
my relative got a hint from some of the older gipsies to retire just
when--
The mirth and fun grew fast and furious,
and, mounting his horse accordingly, he took a French leave of his
entertainers, but without experiencing the least breach of hospitality. I
believe Jean Gordon was at this festival.'[Footnote: Blackwood's
Magazine, vol. I, p. 54]

Notwithstanding the failure of Jean's issue, for which
Weary fa' the waefu' wuddie,
a granddaughter survived her, whom I remember to have seen. That is,
as Dr. Johnson had a shadowy recollection of Queen Anne as a stately
lady in black, adorned with diamonds, so my memory is haunted by a
solemn remembrance of a woman of more than female height, dressed
in a long red cloak, who commenced acquaintance by giving me an
apple, but whom, nevertheless, I looked on with as much awe as the
future Doctor, High Church and Tory as he was doomed to be, could
look upon the Queen. I conceive this woman to have been Madge
Gordon, of whom an impressive account is given in the same article in