John B. Watson

“ WATSON, Sir WILLIAM (1715–1787) , physician, naturalist, and electrician, born on 3 April 1715 in St. John's Street, near Smithfield, London, was the son of a tradesman. He was entered at the Merchant Taylors' school in 1726, and in 1730 was apprenticed to an apothecary named Richardson. From his youth he made many excursions into the country to search for plants, having a strong taste for botany, and he obtained the premium given annually by the Apothecaries' Company for proficiency in that subject. In 1738 Watson married and set up in business for himself. ”

“ The fellow interrogated his companion with his eyes. “Well,” said he, “that's a pity, ain't it? It mucks us up pretty well. Now, I suppose, he would be pretty bad, wouldn't he?”
“So bad,” I replied decidedly, “that unless I can get my instruments at once, it will be hopeless.”
“Not to be done, governor,” said the big man. “Here you've come, and here you must stay. Bill will do the trick for you.”
I considered; I had not anticipated this, and I had two ruffians to get rid of. “Very well,” I resumed abruptly, and pulling a leaf from my pocket-book, scribbled upon it hastily. ”

“ WATSON, JOSHUA (1771–1855) , philanthropist, was born on Tower Hill in the city of London on Ascension day, 9 May 1771. His forefathers were of the hardy and independent race of northern "statesmen;' but his father, John Watson, had come on foot from Cumberland to London in early youth to try his fortunes, and established himself successfully as a wine merchant on Tower Hill. ”

“ Her face expressed nothing, only her eyes stared at him unblinkingly, like the unfathomable eyes of an eagle.
"Rob," said she, at last, "when do you get your marching orders?"
"To-morrow, Aunt Margaret," he replied. "You must not be grieved at my going; I cannot bide here when my people are out. Of course, we may not leave Inverness for a while."
"Yon old fox, Lovat, is safe at home," she retorted. "When the chief bides it is not good for the clansmen to stir."
"But the Master is out," he hastened to add, referring to Lord Lovat's son, who was in command of the clan Fraser. ”

“ He motioned to the men to leave them, and sitting down began to talk in an affable pleasant manner as though he were discussing the weather or the price of stocks.
"Hark ye, Rob," he said, "I ken fine who ye're waiting for. It's Muckle John no less, and what I have in my mind I must say quickly. Now we want this little business carried through expeditiously and with discretion. We do not want any pranks, mind ye, and ye ken Muckle John as a man as full of tricks as a monkey. I want ye to sit here, Rob, until he comes, and promise me no to say a word to set him thinking. ”

“ Out on the Firth of Forth a ship was running up her canvas to the breeze, and it set him wondering in an idle fashion whether Muckle John might not be already aboard starting for France.
And then the sunlight faded and the greyness of the gloaming crept up from the sea.
Clink, clink, went the chains upon the forlorn gibbet tree, and with a deeper rustier note as the wood groaned and shuddered in its joints.
He walked slowly up the sloping sandy path. Above him, black above the evening sky swung the dead man—some poor soul less guilty of wrong maybe than he himself. ”

“ Suddenly he chuckled. He remembered the Young Pretender, sheltering for all he knew under a ledge of dripping rock, or in a byre for cattle. Bad weather cut two ways. It had its comforts for the victor—it lashed the fugitive most piteously.
He laughed outright at the notion. Where was he now, that silly young man? Yet not so young—his own age in solemn truth. Then all the more credit to himself. Where was he now, but on some open moor like a curlew in the night or a stag watching the way he had run.
His eyes shut and suddenly a snore rang through the firelit room. ”

“ Now at the side of the burn a shattered pine tree was standing against the evening sky, and as such gruesome thoughts passed through Rob's mind he raised his eyes, and a cry came and died unuttered on his lips. For on a solitary branch about the height of a tall man from the heather, a human head was stuck with the hair still fluttering in the breeze; while underneath dangled the faded uniform of an English soldier.
"Look!" cried Rob.
But Muckle John only nodded absently.
"They're as common as berries hereabouts," he replied.
"Hereabouts?" repeated Rob. "Then whose land is this?" ”

“ Well, Rob, so it's fine to be a free man and a good ending to a brave cause."
"But you, Muckle John—what of you? Do you go to sea to-night?"
He shook his head.
"Not yet," he said, and held Rob by the hand for a moment saying nothing. Then taking his whistle from his pocket he broke into a jig, and in the yellow light of the lantern he started dancing under the empty gibbet tree.
It took doucer people than the Frasers to stand still when that kind of thing was afoot. Once again Rob and his aunt tripped it finely, and Castleleathers, that mountain of flesh and brawn, was not backward. ”

“ But he appeared to have a dread of something in his mind.
"That is no boy's whistle," he replied sullenly, "but the pipe o' Muckle John."
Then Rob could have shouted for joy, for he knew in a trice who the great man in Fraser's tavern had been, who but the stranger on the moor who had lured the weasel from his lair. Nearer came the ripple of music, and then sounded a lusty banging at the street door and a man's voice shouting for entry.
"Whist!" said his aunt, and again came the knocking.
"Wha's there?" she cried.
"Open!" returned the voice—a deep bass voice like the noise of a bull. ”

“ I have a notion that we must hurry," and he began to unloose the ropes about the prisoner's hands.
Rob watched him without a word, too perplexed to speak.
"Muckle John," he whispered at last, "could we no mak' use of his clothes?"
"Tuts," he replied, "it's evident ye were much impressed with Culloden day; but I would scorn to use an auld trick like that twice in one week. There are folk, Rob, would send the word round that Muckle John was no what he was," and he turned again to Macaulay and loosed his feet. But the gag he left in his mouth, only removing the bandage from his eyes. ”

“ Good-bye to ye, Rob, and here's some siller just in case you are hungry or want a night's lodging. But be careful of the wandering bodies Rannoch way, for they'd cut your throat for a nod and follow you to London for the clink of a bawbee."
"Good-bye," said Rob, "where do you go now, Muckle John?"
"I make for Arisaig," he replied, "I have a debt to pay."
"A debt?"
"Not so surprised, Rob, no man pays his just debts like Muckle John. Dirk for dirk—shot for shot—chase for chase—there is no honester soul than Muckle John." ”

“ There was a chief of the Macraes buried there, he was a very queer man it is said, but it's long since I looked at his stone. No one ever goes near it after dark, Rob, and mind ye I'm no just hankering after it mysel'."
"But surely they will search the place?"
"Rob," said Muckle John cannily, "there's searching and searching. There's a deal in hiding where folk do not look for ye."
Again they started laboriously on, Muckle John leaning upon Rob's shoulder and supporting himself with a rough crutch hewn from a tree upon the hill-side. ”

“ That is, I repeat, supposing such a paper fell into the hands of the Duke. But there are those, Rob, who are Scotch after all, and no verra partial to such measures. There are mony, Rob, who do nane so badly oot of your Jacobite friends, and it's poor shooting where there's no game," and he smiled very knowingly, baring his teeth like a fox.
Rob was puzzled by the note of suggestion in his speech. Had Strange the map or not? If not, had Muckle John taken it? If Strange had it what was to be gained by such words? Would he not take it to the Duke at once? ”

“ In the red firelight Rob could see their eyes gleam beneath their matted hair. With hypnotized gaze he watched a man unsheath his dirk and make a gesture significant enough, and with a gurgle in the throat requiring no explanation. So that was to be the end of it all—a secret murder by a band of lawless caterans ready to prey upon every stranger luckless enough to beg a night's lodging. He would never see Muckle John again. It made him wonder what he would have done to save his life. Muckle John always had a way. ”

“ I'm thinking it must be grand information ye carry, but I'm no the man to question onybody about what best concerns himsel'." Shaking his head he took to watching the movements of their pursuers again.
"I wish I could tell you, Muckle John," replied Rob unhappily.
"Och," said he with a great show of indifference, "I was only daffing ye. It's maybe only because ye were seen wi' Archie Cameron. He's no good company for folk just now."
"He's a brave gentleman, Muckle John."
"Oh, maybe; but there's aye some one to bring up stories against a man. ”

“ But Muckle John shook his head, and fell into a soliloquy in Lowland Scots.
"Oh, Rob, Rob," he said, "this is no pleasant hearing. It makes things difficult. I'm minded to leave ye, Rob, though I shrink frae doing so, for the country is fair hotching with spies and sic' like, and at this present moment, there's a wheen men with eyes fair glued to this spot, and all o' them just hungering for the dawn. It's a dangerous ploy ye're engaged upon, Rob, and one beside which Culloden was as snug as snaring rabbits," and he sighed again with his eyes up on the loch. ”

“ With a groan Rob struggled up and peered over. A dreadful sight faced him. About twenty yards beneath, where one man was forced to climb upon the other's shoulders, the foothold had failed, and after a momentary, fluttering grasp at the thin grass that grew in patches here and there, a mournful cry went up, and the two bodies slid and tumbled and sped out of sight.
"They're killed!" cried Rob.
Muckle John rose stiffly to his feet.
"I said there were but two who knew the way," he replied, "and one is mysel'," and he stretched himself and began to walk up the slope of the hill. ”

“ When Mr. Watson betrays the people’s cause or trust for any cause I am done, for I would never confide in another man as I have in him, but he will never forsake the people.
Yours truly,
T. B. Mosley.
(Copy.)
Mr. C. Q. DeFrance, Business Manager, New York City, N. Y.
Dear Sir:—I received the November number of the Watson’s Magazine a few days ago, and your circular letter and subscription blanks today, and in reply would say that I am one of those who much prefer the play of Hamlet with the Prince of Denmark left in. ”

“ Out in the night Muckle John stood deep in thought, then climbing softly over the wall he reached Rob and the great grey horse.
"I must leave you for a while, Rob," he whispered, "but I'll return, never fear, and keep watch for the bit tune—ye mind the way it goes—" and he whistled a bar. "Keep on the top of the hills, laddie, but mind the skyline, and never stir by day. It's advice easily given but a weary business to follow," and putting his foot in the stirrup he mounted and walked softly down the glen. ”

“ He sped after her to the corner.
"I pray you," he called, "forgive my foolish importunity, but the hill beyond is steep and crowned with thorns."
"I have climbed it often," she responded, "and in the spring daffodils grow upon the slopes."
He bit his finger meditatively as he watched her. Suddenly——
"Let me help you, then," he cried.
"Help?" she echoed, and hesitated.
He pushed aside the branches of the nut-tree. "See," he said, "they would close against a girlish arm. They are in a sworn conspiracy against maidens. 'Tis only the strong hand of the woodman bends them to his will." ”

“ His cries sent a chill to Rob's very heart.
Then suddenly they charged the place, driving the foremost men onward from the rear, and even the quick thrust and stab of Muckle John could not resist that reckless onslaught. Within a few minutes the heap of the dead and fallen men was up to their elbows in that narrow place.
The voice of Strange urging on the fragments of his force now reached them. But only muttering curses and sullen voices followed, and with a laugh, Muckle John whistled a Highland rant—a mischievous, derisive tune, with a world of insolence in it. ”

“ The clatter of Macaulay's flying form and his muffled cries drew the newcomers past the place where they lay, and then springing to his hands and feet Muckle John made off in the opposite direction into the heart of the swirling mist. There was a brief silence and then far away, came a shrill yell taken up again and again until every crag seemed alive with voices, and the faint glow of the rising sun made their escape seem impossible.
"They've found him," cried Muckle John, mounting the hillside at a great pace with Rob at his heels, "so it's save your breath and follow me." ”

“ You must search Lochaber, Captain Strange. I doubt you've made a sair muddle of this."
The moon was topping the hills, and a soft grey light stole suddenly down the crags, and fell upon the face of Strange.
"What of your men?" asked Muckle John at last.
Strange gave a bitter laugh.
"They will not stir," he said, "and if they do, Rob here can hold the pass."
"I am not an executioner," said Muckle John, "and I have only one leg."
"Then I must say that Muckle John was mair glib with his tongue than his sword. But I will not say Muckle John—I will say..." ”