of the town—it is better now—in
consequence of the many bad houses and whisky-shops in the vicinity. There were often rows there, chiefly occasioned by the students, many of whom lodged in the neighbouring streets, so that when
our men were called upon it was generally to quell a quarrel, or carry off some poor degraded wretch of a woman for some drunken violence or pocket-picking. On the occasion to which I now allude
the call upon us was different. The time was late,—past twelve, and the streets were being resigned to the street-walkers and collegians. All of a sudden a shrill scream of a woman’s
voice reached my ear, and, running out, I heard a cry that a man of the name of M’—ie, who lived in Adam Street, had been robbed, or attempted to be robbed, on his own stair. Then there
was a shout, and a pointing by two or three people,—“They are down to the Pleasance.” On such an occasion it has always been my habit not to take up any time by questions for an
account of external appearances, because the answers are tedious, and there is more to be gained by time in a rush in the proper direction, trusting to what I may all “criminal
indications”, than by ascertaining what kind of a coat or hat a man wore, or the length of his nose, or height of body, and so forth. So I noted the index, and took to my toe-points as fast
as I could run, down in the direction indicated, but as lightly as I could, for fear of my tread being carried in the silence of the night on to the ears of the runaways. I may mention, too, that I
stopped several sympathisers, who were inclined to join, but who, I knew, would only scare, and do no good.
I had the pursuit, if such it may be termed, all to myself, but was immediately “called up” by one of those rock-ahead incidents which are so tantalising to our class,—no other
than two roads, each holding out its recommendations to me, the one that the robbers would certainly take to the deep haunts of the Old Town, where the fox-burrows are so inviting and the
difficulty of unearthing not easily surmounted; and the other, that they would seek the outskirts, and so get down to the valley between the Pleasance and Arthur Seat, where they might skulk in the
deep darkness of the night, and so escape. A minute or two would turn the scale, and I must decide even almost as I ran. I have often quivered in this dilemma, and seldom been wrong in my choice;
yet I can’t account for one out of ten of these instantaneous decisions. I really believe I have often been swayed by some very trivial incident, perhaps the shuffle of a foot, perhaps a gust
of wind not heard as such, but simply as something working upon the ear. The barking of a dog has resolved me, the shutting of a door, or even a greater silence in one direction than
another,—nay, to be very plain, and perhaps weak, I have sometimes thought I was led by a superior hand, so directly have I been taken to my quarry. It was so now. It was just as likely the
fellows would go north to the Old Town, or south to the Gibbet Toll,—no gibbet now to scare them. I turned to the left down the Pleasance; even as I ran, and about halfway between my turn and
Mr Ritchie’s brewery, I met one of our men on his beat, coming south, pacing as quietly as if no robbery could have been suspected in his well-watched quarter.
“Met two fellows in a skulk or a run?”
“No one; but before I crossed the foot of Drummond Street, I thought I heard the sound of quick feet, but it stopped in an instant, and I then thought I might have been
mistaken.”
“Then stand you there as steady as a post, but not as deaf. Keep your feet steady, and your ears open.”
I had got just a sniff, and it is not often I have needed more. They had, no doubt, gone that way, and, on observing the officer, had gone into a burrow. I stood for an instant,—no
common-stairs here, no closes, no
cul-de-sac
, no hole even for the shrinking body of a robber. The
consequence of the many bad houses and whisky-shops in the vicinity. There were often rows there, chiefly occasioned by the students, many of whom lodged in the neighbouring streets, so that when
our men were called upon it was generally to quell a quarrel, or carry off some poor degraded wretch of a woman for some drunken violence or pocket-picking. On the occasion to which I now allude
the call upon us was different. The time was late,—past twelve, and the streets were being resigned to the street-walkers and collegians. All of a sudden a shrill scream of a woman’s
voice reached my ear, and, running out, I heard a cry that a man of the name of M’—ie, who lived in Adam Street, had been robbed, or attempted to be robbed, on his own stair. Then there
was a shout, and a pointing by two or three people,—“They are down to the Pleasance.” On such an occasion it has always been my habit not to take up any time by questions for an
account of external appearances, because the answers are tedious, and there is more to be gained by time in a rush in the proper direction, trusting to what I may all “criminal
indications”, than by ascertaining what kind of a coat or hat a man wore, or the length of his nose, or height of body, and so forth. So I noted the index, and took to my toe-points as fast
as I could run, down in the direction indicated, but as lightly as I could, for fear of my tread being carried in the silence of the night on to the ears of the runaways. I may mention, too, that I
stopped several sympathisers, who were inclined to join, but who, I knew, would only scare, and do no good.
I had the pursuit, if such it may be termed, all to myself, but was immediately “called up” by one of those rock-ahead incidents which are so tantalising to our class,—no other
than two roads, each holding out its recommendations to me, the one that the robbers would certainly take to the deep haunts of the Old Town, where the fox-burrows are so inviting and the
difficulty of unearthing not easily surmounted; and the other, that they would seek the outskirts, and so get down to the valley between the Pleasance and Arthur Seat, where they might skulk in the
deep darkness of the night, and so escape. A minute or two would turn the scale, and I must decide even almost as I ran. I have often quivered in this dilemma, and seldom been wrong in my choice;
yet I can’t account for one out of ten of these instantaneous decisions. I really believe I have often been swayed by some very trivial incident, perhaps the shuffle of a foot, perhaps a gust
of wind not heard as such, but simply as something working upon the ear. The barking of a dog has resolved me, the shutting of a door, or even a greater silence in one direction than
another,—nay, to be very plain, and perhaps weak, I have sometimes thought I was led by a superior hand, so directly have I been taken to my quarry. It was so now. It was just as likely the
fellows would go north to the Old Town, or south to the Gibbet Toll,—no gibbet now to scare them. I turned to the left down the Pleasance; even as I ran, and about halfway between my turn and
Mr Ritchie’s brewery, I met one of our men on his beat, coming south, pacing as quietly as if no robbery could have been suspected in his well-watched quarter.
“Met two fellows in a skulk or a run?”
“No one; but before I crossed the foot of Drummond Street, I thought I heard the sound of quick feet, but it stopped in an instant, and I then thought I might have been
mistaken.”
“Then stand you there as steady as a post, but not as deaf. Keep your feet steady, and your ears open.”
I had got just a sniff, and it is not often I have needed more. They had, no doubt, gone that way, and, on observing the officer, had gone into a burrow. I stood for an instant,—no
common-stairs here, no closes, no
cul-de-sac
, no hole even for the shrinking body of a robber. The
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