SHARGAR'S ARM.
Not many weeks passed before Shargar knew Aberdeen better than most Aberdonians.From the Pier-head to the Rubislaw Road, he knew, if not every court, yet every thoroughfare and short cut.And Aberdeen began to know him.He was very soon recognized as trustworthy, and had pretty nearly as much to do as he could manage.Shargar, therefore, was all over the city like a cracker, and could have told at almost any hour where Dr.Anderson was to be found--generally in the lower parts of it, for the good man visited much among the poor;giving them almost exclusively the benefit of his large experience.
Shargar delighted in keeping an eye upon the doctor, carefully avoiding to show himself.
One day as he was hurrying through the Green (a non virendo) on a mission from the Rothieden carrier, he came upon the doctor's chariot standing in one of the narrowest streets, and, as usual, paused to contemplate the equipage and get a peep of the owner.The morning was very sharp.There was no snow, but a cold fog, like vaporized hoar-frost, filled the air.It was weather in which the East Indian could not venture out on foot, else he could have reached the place by a stair from Union Street far sooner than he could drive thither.His horses apparently liked the cold as little as himself.They had been moving about restlessly for some time before the doctor made his appearance.The moment he got in and shut the door, one of them reared, while the other began to haul on his traces, eager for a gallop.Something about the chain gave way, the pole swerved round under the rearing horse, and great confusion and danger would have ensued, had not Shargar rushed from his coign of vantage, sprung at the bit of the rearing horse, and dragged him off the pole, over which he was just casting his near leg.As soon as his feet touched the ground he too pulled, and away went the chariot and down went Shargar.But in a moment more several men had laid hold of the horses' heads, and stopped them.
'Oh Lord!' cried Shargar, as he rose with his arm dangling by his side, 'what will Donal' Joss say? I'm like to swarf (faint).Haud awa' frae that basket, ye wuddyfous (withy-fowls, gallows-birds),'
he cried, darting towards the hamper he had left in the entry of a court, round which a few ragged urchins had gathered; but just as he reached it he staggered and fell.Nor did he know anything more till he found the carriage stopping with himself and the hamper inside it.
As soon as the coachman had got his harness put to rights, the doctor had driven back to see how the lad had fared, for he had felt the carriage go over something.They had found him lying beside his hamper, had secured both, and as a preliminary measure were proceeding to deliver the latter.
'Whaur am I? whaur the deevil am I?' cried Shargar, jumping up and falling back again.
'Don't you know me, Moray?' said the doctor, for he felt shy of calling the poor boy by his nickname: he had no right to do so.
'Na, I dinna ken ye.Lat me awa'.--I beg yer pardon, doctor: Ithocht ye was ane o' thae wuddyfous rinnin' awa' wi' Donal' Joss's basket.Eh me! sic a stoun' i' my airm! But naebody ca's me Moray.
They a' ca' me Shargar.What richt hae I to be ca'd Moray?' added the poor boy, feeling, I almost believe for the first time, the stain upon his birth.Yet ye had as good a right before God to be called Moray as any other son of that worthy sire, the Baron of Rothie included.Possibly the trumpet-blowing angels did call him Moray, or some better name.
'The coachman will deliver your parcel, Moray,' said the doctor, this time repeating the name with emphasis.
'Deil a bit o' 't!' cried Shargar.'He daurna lea' his box wi' thae deevils o' horses.What gars he keep sic horses, doctor? They'll play some mischeef some day.'
'Indeed, they've played enough already, my poor boy.They've broken your arm.'