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"The bad penny’s ill to
tine.”—Proverb.
SOME ten years passed
away, and nobody knew, and nobody cared, what had become of Morven
Jamie. That he had taken ship at Aberdeen was kept no secret at the
time, and was felt to be a relief by all stockholders for miles around
his former haunts. These ten years had nearly effaced the recollection
that such an one had ever been. Times, too, had changed so greatly that,
if the story of his cattle-lifting chanced to be told of a winter’s
evening, people marvelled how such lawless deeds would have been
permitted in a civilized country.
About this time a British soldier, plodding his weary way over a dusty
road on the plains of Hindostan, was overtaken by a grand carriage
rolling along at a rapid rate. It had no sooner passed the soldier than
it drew up, and the great man within, shining in gold and jewels, looked
out, and beckoned him to approach. With his hand at his cap he obeyed
the signal, when the following colloquy took place—
“Well, my man, where are you bound for?”
“I am for Madras, your Honour.”
“Ah, a long journey before you. Will you come up here? I’ll take you on
a league or two.”
“Please, sir, it would not be proper for me to be seen in your Honour’s
carriage.”
“Oh! I don’t mind; I want to speak to you a little.”
The soldier still seemed to doubt the propriety of taking a seat in the
grand carriage, but really suspected some dark design on his liberty;
for at that time it was generally believed in the British army in India,
that the Mahratta chiefs had in their pay English emissaries to decoy or
kidnap soldiers, and carry them off to the interior, where they were
bribed or tortured to disclose any knowledge they might possess of the
manufacture or use of munitions of war.
The great man, divining the grounds of the soldier’s scruples (some
think he had given too good cause for the general belief), continued in
an assuring tone—
“You are perfectly safe here, Duguid, I know you well” Hearing himself
called by name, the soldier now made bold to accept the proffered seat
He then, as they sped onwards, gave a long and full account of the
service he had seen in India, led on to it, as he afterwards
acknowledged, by the seemingly careless, but really designing
questioning of his new acquaintance.
“And now, tell me,” continued he, “why you are going to Madias.”
“I have been,” replied Duguid, “twenty-one years in His Majesty’s
service. My health of late has not been very good; and I have applied
for and obtained my discharge, and now I am bound for home.”
“For Strathdon?” interposed his lordly companion.
“Yes, your Honour; but you have the advantage of me."
“Notice is hereby given
to the heirs of Mr. James Coutts, who left the county of Aberdeen, North
Britain, about the year 1780; and in especial to John and William
Coutts, now or then residing near the foot of Mount Mar, in said county
of Aberdeen, N.B., them or theirs, that by applying to the firm of -,
Madras, they may hear of something to their advantage.”
There was no hill in Aberdeenshire known by the name of “ Mount Mar,”
and the district called Mar is so rich in mountains that it might have
been difficult to fix on any particular one as meriting that
appellation, had not the names of the individuals mentioned in this
rather vaguely expressed advertisement led the reader to conjecture that
“ Mount Mar” was a corruption for “Morven,” which had somehow found its
way into print John and William Coutts were now both deceased; William
had died childless, but John had left a lawful daughter, who was the
wife of a respectable farmer at some distance from the skirts of Morven.
Anderson, who was well acquainted with all the families in the district,
concluded at once that the Mr. James Coutts mentioned in the
advertisement could be no other than Morven Jamie. He accordingly
procured from mine host the copy of the Journal, and hastened with it to
the house of his fHend and neighbour. Then a grave consultation ensued,
the result of which was that a bundle of old smoked papers was taken
down from their perch on the upper shelf of the wa’ press, and among
them were found the letters Morven Jamie had given John Coutts on the
quay at Aberdeen. These were supposed to contain satisfactory evidence
that the farmer’s deceased father-in-law was the John Coutts alluded to
in the advertisement.
The big dram bottle, without whose presence no important business could
be becomingly transacted, was thereupon brought to table, and under its
stimulating influence bright visions of wealth arose before the minds of
the two farmers. No apprehension of slips between cups and lips
overshadowed the prospect of coming greatness, or gave rise to doubts of
ultimate fruition.
They accordingly took counsel whom they should honour with the important
matter of claiming the fortune on their behalf; and their choice
naturally fell upon a neighbouring laird, who was at that time a leading
partner in a famous Indian firm. A plan was laid to bring the matter
before him, and to engage and authorise him to act for his fortunate
client In a short time an opportunity offered for carrying out their
views. The important documents were lodged in his hands, and, as the
laird was just about to visit India, the fortune was thought to be as
good as won.
The rumour of such an one’s luck spread rapidly, and gathered mighty
dimensions as it went Fabulous wealth was within the grasp of a worthy
neighbour. Speculation was rife as to what he would do with it, how he
would comport himself; would he forget his old friends, would he give
employment to country people, or would he take up with strangers and act
the great man ? On one point all were agreed—he would buy land and
become a laird. Some even already sought his favour, petitioned for
employment in various departments of his imagined service, or bespoke
his influence with the government for more ambitious trusts. It was a
wonder the poor man’s head was not turned. For a brief space he had a
sort of shadowy taste of greatness, perhaps fully as enjoyable while it
lasted, as the reality is to many of its actual possessors. It was
fortunate for his nervous system that before the spell was broken, and
the vision had vanished into thin air, some years elapsed to tone down
his ardent expectations, and allow space for doubt to creep in to break
the shock of disappointment.
At length the laird returned from India, and soon received a visit from
his client, who, after the usual salutations, introduced the subject of
the legacy in his own homely way—
“I hope, sir, ye managed to mak’ something o’ my concern.”
“Well, Charles,” replied the laird, “I am sorry to say it came to
nothing. You see there was some doubt about the identity of the person
referred to in the advertisement with the man you mentioned; and it
would have taken a great deal of proof to establish the point. Indeed,
it would have been necessary to send witnesses from this country to
prove it, and that would have been very expensive; and then very likely
on the back of that there would have been a long and costly law suit,
for there were more claimants than you; and altogether, when I
considered the matter, it appeared to me not advisable to proceed. And
the truth is, Charles, that though you had made good your claim, you
might never have got a shilling, for it is next to impossible to get
money out of that country.”
With this very sensible answer, Charles appeared to be content, for he
never made any other effort to establish his claim. Many of his
neighbours, however, were not so easily satisfied of the cogency of the
reasons urged by the laird; and to this day doubts are expressed,
whether, had every man got his own, there are not those within view of
the Cairn of Morven now following the plough who would have been driving
in their carriages.
Be that as it may, happiness and virtue dwell in no peculiar abode, and
the following sentiment, expressed by a descendent of John Coutts, from
whom the facts of this narrative were obtained, proves that he at least
would not have been unworthy of the fortune expected by his ancestor,
and forms an appropriate moral with which to close the story of Morven
Jamie. On being asked whether he did not regret the miscarriage of his
father’s application, he replied—
“Weel, sir, the money wad nae doubt hae been vera eesfu’; but what wisna
to be couldna be. An’ fa kens how that wild c&teran had made it? What’s
bred i’ the bone’s nae easy taen out o’ the flesh; an’ I’ve never seen
muckle good come o’ ill-gotten gear—we’re maybe better without it”
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