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Updated: May 10, 2025
See A true and impartial Account of the persecuted Presbyterians in Scotland, their being in arms, and defeat at Bothwell Brigg, in 1679, by William Wilson, late Schoolmaster in the parish of Douglas.
Cuckoo went into her sitting-room swiftly, with glowing cheeks and flaming eyes, as one ardently expectant. And then ? Mrs. Brigg had lit the fire, but it had spluttered out into a mass of blackened, ghostly paper and skeleton sticks. A little more battle in the relighting of it. But then the blank day of the girl of the streets.
"Were you at the battle of Bothwell Brigg?" was the first question which was thundered in his ears. Cuddie meditated a denial, but had sense enough, upon reflection, to discover that the truth would be too strong for him; so he replied, with true Caledonian indirectness of response, "I'll no say but it may be possible that I might hae been there." "Answer directly, you knave yes, or no?
"You had some regard for him, then?" continued the stranger. "How could I help it? His face was made of a fiddle, as they say, for a' body that looked on him liked him. And a braw soldier he was. Oh, an ye had but seen him down at the brigg there, fleeing about like a fleeing dragon to gar folk fight that had unto little will till 't!
Brigg had shrieked her wrongs and explanations of this swindling virtue of a woman who had formerly paid her way honestly from the street. The lodgers and their men had provided an accompaniment of jeering laughter to the Brigg solo, and Cuckoo, her clothes nearly torn from her back, had flung at last into her sitting-room and locked the door.
Instead of going to Piccadilly she went home to her lodgings. It was about half-past nine when she arrived and opened the door with her latchkey. Mrs. Brigg happened to be in the passage en route to the kitchen from some business in the upper regions. She stared upon Cuckoo with amazement. "What ever," she began, her voice croaky with interrogation. "Are you ill? What are you back for?"
She threatened like Jove in curl-papers. Cuckoo was inexorable. "Then out you go!" said Mrs. Brigg at last. "Out of my house you pack, you " Nameless words followed. Cuckoo got up from her chair with no show of emotion and moved towards her bedroom stonily to pack her box. She didn't care.
I was too much interested in my singular acquaintance not to be desirous of rendering him such services as his unfortunate situation might demand, or admit of his receiving. And when he came to broken brigg, He bent his bow and swam; And when he came to grass growing, Set down his feet and ran. Gil Morrice.
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