A&s. !.7fc.75

National Library of Scotland

*B000017757* John.Storle

TilK BATTLE OF INVKULOCTIY. T U E

BLACK DWARF

. AND A

LEGEND OF MONTROSE.

By SIR WALTER SCOTT, BART.

Hear, Land o* Cakes and brither Scots, 1'rae Maidenkirk to Johnny Groats’, If there’s a hole in a’ your coats, I rede ye tent it; A chiel’s amang you takin’ notes, An’ faith he’ll prent it!—Bums.

WKSTBURNFLAT’S TOWER.

GLASGOW: DAVID WILSON, 3 5 ALSTON STREET. 1 8 7 4. ^ 1975 *A*> 16^ MYg Hcpular Cbitioir. y o l. v.

REV. P. HATELY WADDELL, LL.D. EDITOR.

GLASGOW: T. & J. LOCHHEAD, 249 ARGYLE STREET.

TALES OF MY LANDLORD;

COLLECTED AND REPOSTED BY

JEDEDIAH CLEISHBOTHAM,

SCHOOLMASTER AND PARISH-CLERK OF GANDEUCLEUGH.

INTRODUCTION. As I may, without vanity, presume that the name and official descrip- tion prefixed to this Proem will secure it, from the sedate and reflect- ing part of mankind, to whom only I would be understood to address myself, such attention as is due to the sedulous instructor of youth, and the careful performer of my Sabbath duties, I will forbear to hold up a candle to the daylight, or to point out to the judicious those re- commendations of my labours which they must necessarily anticipate from the perusal of the title-page. Nevertheless, I am not unaware, that, as Envy always dogs Merit at the heels, there may be those who will whisper, that albeit my learning and good principles cannot (lauded be the Heavens) be denied by any one, yet that my situation at Gandercleugh hath been more favourable to my acquisitions in learning than to the enlargement of my views of the ways and works of the present generation. To the which objection, if, peradventure, any such shall be started, my answer shall be threefold: First, Gandercleugh is, as it were, the central part,—the navel (si fas sit diceri) of this our native realm of Scotland; so that men, from every corner thereof, when travelling on their concernments of busi- ness, either towards our metropolis of law, by which I mean Edinburgh, or towards our metropolis and mart of gain, whereby I insinuate Glas- gow, are frequently led to make Gandercleugh their abiding stage and 6 INTRODUCTION. [WAVESLEY

place of rest for the night. And it must he acknowledged by the most scoptical, that I, who have sat in the leathern arm-chair, on the left hand side of the fire, in the common room of the Wallace Inn, winter and summer, for every evening in my life, during forty years by-past, (the Christian Sabbaths only excepted) must have seen more of the manners and customs of various tribes and people than if I had sought them out by my own painful travel and bodily labour. Even so doth the toll- man at the well-frequented turnpike on the Wellbraehead, sitting at his ease in his own dwelling, gather more receipt of custom than if, moving forth upon the road, ho were to require a contribution from each person whom he chanced to meet in his journey, when, according to the vulgar adage, he might possibly be greeted with more kicks than half-pence. But, secondly, supposing it again urged that Ithacus, the most wise of the Greeks, acquired his renown, as the Roman poet hath assured us, by visiting states and men, I reply to the Zoilus, who shall adhere to this objection, that, de facto, I have seen states and men also: for I have visited the famous cities of Edinburgh and Glasgow, the former twice, and the latter three times, in the course of my earthly pilgrimage. And, moreover, I had the honour to sit in the General Assembly, (meaning, as an auditor in the galleries thereof) and have heard as much goodly speaking on the law of patronage, as, with the fructifica- tion thereof in mine own understanding, hath made me be considered as an oracle upon that doctrine ever since my safe and happy return to Gandercleugh. Again—and, thirdly, If it be nevertheless pretended that my infor- mation and knowledge of mankind, however extensive, and however painfully acquired, by constant domestic enquiry, and by foreign tra- vel, is, natheless, incompetent to the task of recording the pleasant narratives of my Landlord, I will let these critics know, to their own eternal shame and confusion, as well as to the abashment and discom- fiture of all who shall rashly take up a song against me, that I am not the writer, redactor, or compiler of the Tales of my Landlord; nor am I, in one single iota, answerable for their contents more or less. And now, ye generation of critics, who raise yourselves up as if it were brazen serpents, to hiss with your tongues, and to smite with your stings, bow yourselyes down to your native dust and acknowledge that NOVELS.] INTRODUCTION. L

yours have been the thoughts of ignorance, and the words of vain foolishness. Lo! ye are caught in your own snare, and your own pit, hath yawned for you. Turn, then, aside from the task that is too. heavy for you; destroy not your teeth by gnawing a file; waste not your strength by spuming against a castle-wall; nor spend your breath in contending in swiftness with a fleet steed; and let those weigh th& Tales of my Landlord who shall bring with them the scales of candour- cleansed from the rust of prejudice by the hands of intelligent modesty. For these alone they were compiled, as will appear from a brief narra- tive which my zeal for truth compelled me to make supplementary to the present Proem. It is well known that my Landlord was a pleasing and a facetious man, acceptable unto all the parish of Gandereleugh, excepting only the Laird, the Exciseman, and those for whom he refused to draw li- quor upon trust. Their causes of dislike I will touch separately, add- ing my own refutation thereof. His honour, the Laird, accused our Landlord, deceased, of having encouraged, in various times and places, the destruction of hares, rab- bits, fowls, black and grey partridges, moor-pouts, and other birds, and quadrupeds, in unlawful seasons, and contrary to the laws of this realm, which have secured, in their wisdom, the slaughter of such ani- mals for the great of the earth, whom I have remarked to take an un- common (though, to me, an unintelligible) pleasure therein. Now, in humble deference to his honour, and in defence of my friend deceased, I reply to this charge, that howsoever the form of such animals might appear to be similar to those so protected by the law, yet it was a mere deceptio vims; for what resembled hares were, in fact, hill-kids and those partaking of the appearance of moor-fowl, were truly ivo.d- pigeons, and consumed and eaten eo nomine, and not otherwise. Again, the Exciseman pretended, that my deceased Landlord did en- courage that species of manufacture called distillation, without having an especial permission from the Great, technically called a licence, for doing so. Now I stand up to confront this falsehood; and, in defiance of him, his gauging-stick, and pen and inkhorn, I tell him, that I never saw, or tasted, a glass of unlawful aqua vitae in the house of my Landlord, nay, that, on the contrary, we needed not such devices, in respect of a pleasing and somewhat seductive liquor, which was vended 8 INTRODUCTION. [wavebley and consumed at the Wallace Inn, under the name of mountain-dew. If there is a penalty against manufacturing such a liquor, let him show mo the statute; and, when he does, I’ll tell him if I will obey it or no. Concerning those who came to my Landlord for liquor, and went thirsty away, for lack of present coin, or future credit, I cannot hut say it has grieved my bowels as if the case had been mine own. Neverthe- less, my Landlord considered the necessities of a thirsty soul, and would permit them in extreme need, and when their soul was impoverished for lack of moisture, to drink to the full value of their watches and wearing apparel, exclusively of their inferior habiliments, which he was uniformly inexorable in obliging them to retain for the credit of the house. As to mine own part, I may well say, that he never refused me that modicum of refreshment with which I am wont to recruit na- ture after the fatigues of my school. It is true, I taught his five sons English and Latin, writing, book-keeping, with a tincture of mathe- matics, and that I instructed his daughter in psalmody. Nor do I re- member me of any fee or honorarium received from him on account of these my labours, except the compotations aforesaid—Nevertheless, this compensation suited my humour well, since it is a hard sentence to bid a dry throat wait till quarter-day. But, truly, were I. to speak my simple conceit and belief, I think my Landlord was chiefly moved to waive in my behalf the usual re- quisition of a symbol, or reckoning, by the pleasure he was wont to take in my conversation, which, though solid and edifying in the main, was like a well-built palace, decorated with facetious narratives and devices, tending much to the enhancement and ornament thereof. And so pleased was my Landlord of the Wallace in his replies during such colloquies, that there was no district in Scotland, yea, and no pecu- liar and, as it were, distinctive custom therein practised, but what was discussed betwixt us, insomuch, that those who stood by were wont to say, it was worth a bottle of ale to hear us communicate with each other. And not a few travellers, from distant parts, as well as from the remote districts of our kingdom, were wont to mingle in the con- versation, and to tell news that had been gathered in foreign lands, or preserved from oblivion in this our own. Now I chanced to haye contracted for teaching the lower-classes, NOVELS.] Introduction. 9 with a young person called Peter or Patrick Pattieson, who had been educated in our Holy Kirk, yea, had, by the licence of presbytery, his voice opened therein as a preacher, who delighted in the collection of olden tales and legends, and in garnishing them with the flowers of poesy, whereof he was a vain and frivolous professor. For he followed not the example of those strong poets whom I proposed to him as a pattern, but formed versification of a flimsy and modern texture, to the compounding whereof was necessary small pains and less thought. And hence I have chid him as being one of those who bring forward the fatal revolution prophesied by Mr Robert Carey, in his Vaticination on the death of the Celestial Dr John Donne: Now thou art gone, and thy strict laws will bo Too hard for libertines in poetry : Till verse (by thee refined) in this last age Turn ballad rhyme. I had also disputations with him touching his indulging rather a flow- ing and redundant than a concise and stately diction in his prose ex ercitations. But notwithstanding these symptoms of inferior taste, and a humour of contradicting his betters upon passages of dubious con- struction in Latin authors, I did grievously lament when Peter Pattie- son was removed from me by death, even as if he had been the off- spring of my own loins. And in respect his papers had been left in my care, (to answer funeral and death-bed expenses,) I conceived my- self entitled to dispose of one parcel thereof, entitled, “Tales of my Landlord,” to one cunning in the trade (as it is called) of bookselling. Ho was a mirthful man of small stature, cunning in counterfeiting of voices, and in making facetious tales and responses, and whom I have to laud for the truth of his dealings towards me. Now, therefore, the world may see the injustice that charges me with incapacity to write these narratives, seeing, that though I have proved that I could have written them if I would, yet, not having done so, the censure will deservedly fall, if at all due, upon the memory of Mr Peter Pattieson; whereas I must be justly entitled to the praise, when any is due, seeing that, as the Dean of St. Patrick’s wittily and logi- cally expresseth it, That without which a thing is not, Is Causa sine qua non. The work, therefore, is unto me as a child is to a parent) tho which 10 INTRODUCTION. child, if it proveth worthy, the parent hath honour and praise; hut, if otherwise, the disgrace will deservedly attach to itself alone. I have only further to intimate, that Mr Peter Pattieson, in arranging these tales for the press, hath more consulted his own fancy than the accuracy of the narrative; nay, that he hath sometimes blended two or three together for the mere grace of his plots. Of which infidelity, although I disapprove and enter my testimony against it, yet I have not taken it upon me to correct the same, in respect it was the will of the deceased, that his manuscript should he submitted to the press without diminution or alteration. A fanciful nicety it was on the part of my deceased friend, who, if thinking wisely, ought rather to have conjured me, by all the tender ties of our friendship and common pursuits, to have carefully revised, altered, and augmented, at my judgment and discre- tion. But the will of the dead must bo scrupulously obeyed, even when We weep over their pertinacity and self-delusion. So, gentle reader, I bid you farewell, recommending you to such fare as the mountains of your Own country produce; and I will only farther premise, that each Tale is preceded by a short introduction, mentioning the persons by whom, and the circumstances under which, the materials thereof were collected. Jedediaii Cleishbotham. THE

BLACK DWARF.

CHAPTER I. PRELIMINARY. Hast any philosophy in thee, Shepherd ?—As You Like it. It was a fine April morning (excepting that it had snowed hard the night before, and the ground remained covered with a dazzling mantle of six inches in depth) when two horsemen rode up to the Wallace Inn. The first was a strong, tall, powerful man, in a grey riding- coat, having a hat covered with wax-cloth, a huge silver-mounted horsewhip, hoots, and dreadnought overalls. Ho was mounted on a large strong brown mare, rough in coat, hut well in condition, with a saddle of the yeomanry cut, and a double-bitted military bridle, some- what rusted. The man who accompanied him was apparently his ser- vant ; he rode a shaggy little grey poney, had a blue bonnet on his head, and a large check napkin folded about his neck, wore a pair of long blue hose instead of boots, had his gloveless hands much stained with tar, and observed an air of deference and respect towards his companion, but without any of those indications of precedence and punctilio which are preserved between the gentry and their domestics. On the contrary, the two travellers entered the court-yard abreast, and the concluding sentence of the conversation which had been carry- ing on betwixt them was a joint ejaculation, “ Lord guide us, an this weather last, what will come o’ the lambs! ” The hint was sufficient to my Landlord, who, advancing to take the horse of the principal person, and holding him by the reins as ho dismounted, while his ostler rendered the same service to the attendant, welcomed the stranger to Gandercleugh, and, in the same breath, enquired, “ what news from the south hie-lands ? ” “News ?” said the farmer, “bad enough news, I think;—an we can carry through the yowes it will be a’ we can do; we maun e’en leave the lambs to the Black Dwarf’s care.” “ Aye, aye,” subjoined the old shepherd, (for such ho was) shaking his head, “ he’ll be unco busy amang the morts this season.” 12 THE BLACK DWARF. [WAVEJRLEY

“The Black Dwarf! ” said my learned friend and patron,* Mr Jodo diah Cloishbotham, “ and what sort of a personage may he he ? ” “Hout awa’, man, ye’U hae heard o’ canny Elshie the Black Dwarf, or I am muckle mista’en—A’ the warld tells tales about him, but it’s but daft nonsense after a’—I dinna believe a word o’t frae beginning to end.” “ Your father believed it unco stievely, though,” said the old man, to whom the scepticism of his master gave obvious displeasure. “ Ay, very ture, Bauldie, hut that was in the time o’ the blackfaces —they believed a hantle queer things in thae days, that naebody heeds since the lang sheep cam in.” “The mair’s the pity, the mair’s the pity,” said the old man. “Your father, and sae I have aften toll’d ye, maister, wad hae been sair vexed to hae seen the auld peel-house wa’s pu’d doun to make park dykes, and the bonny broomy knowe, where he liked sae weel to sit at e’en, wi’ his plaid about him, and look at the kye as they cam doun the loan- ing,—ill wad he hae liked to hae seen that braw sunny knowe a’ riven out wi’ the plough in the fashion it is at this day.” “Hout, Bauldie,” replied the principal, “tak ye that dram the landlord’s offering ye, and never fash your head about the changes o’ the warld, sae lang as ye’re blythe and bien yoursel.” “ Wussing your health, sirs,” said the shepherd; and, having taken off his glass, and observed the whiskey was the right thing, he con- tinued, “It’s no for the like o’ us to be judging, to be sure; but it was a bonny knowe that bvoomy knowe, and an unco braw shelter for the lambs in a severe morning like this.” “ Ay, but ye ken we maun hae turnips for the lang sheep, billic, and muckle hard wark to get them, baith wi’ the plough and the howe; and that wad sort ill wi’ sitting on the broomy knowre and cracking about Black Dwarfs, and siccan clavers, as was the gate lang syne, when the short sheep were in the fashion.” “Aweel, aweel, maister,” said the attendant, “short sheep had short rents, I’m thinking.” Here my worthy and learned patron again interposed, and observed, “that he could never perceive any material difference, in point ol longitude, between one sheep and another.” This occasioned a loud hoarse laugh on the part of the farmer, and an astonished stare on the part of the shepherd. “ It’s the woo’, man, —it’s the woo’, and no the beasts themsels, that makes them be ca’d lang or short. I believe, if ye were to measure their backs, the short sheep wad be rather the langer-bodied o’ the twa; but it’s the woo’ that pays the rent in thae days, and it had muckle need.” * We have in this, and other instances, printed in italics some few words which the worthy editor, Mr Jedediah Cleishbotham, seems to have interpolated upon the text of his deceased friend, Mr Pattieson. We must observe, once for all, that such liberties seem only to have been taken by the learned gentleman where his own character and conduct are concerned : and surely he must be the best judge of the style in which his own character and conduct c-hottW be treated of. KOVELS.] THE BLACK DWARF. 13

“Odd, Bauldie says very true,—short sheep did make short rents—my father paid for our steeding just threescore punds, and it stands me in three hunder, plack and bawbee.—And that’s very true—I hae nao time to be standing here clavering—Landlord, get us our breakfast, and see an’ get the yauds fed—I am for doun to Christy Wilson’s to see if him and me can gree about the luckpenny I am to gie him for his year-aulds. We had drank sax mutchkins to the making the bar- gain at St. Boswell’s fair, and some gate we canna gree upon the par- ticulars preceesely, for as muckle time as we took about it—I doubt we draw to a plea.—But hear ye, neighbour,” addressing my ivortlw and learned patron, “If ye want to hear ony thing about lang or short sheep, I will bo back here to my kail against ane o’clock; or, if yo want ony auld-warld stories about the Black Dwarf, and sic like, if ye’ll ware a half mutchkin upon Bauldie there, he’ll crack t’ye like a pen gun. And I’se gi’e a mutchkin mysel, man, if I can settle weel wi’ Christy Wilson.” The farmer returned at the hour appointed, and with him came Christy Wilson, their difference having been fortunately settled with- out an appeal to the gentlemen of the long robe. My learned and worthy patron failed not to attend, both on account of the refreshment promised to the mind and to the body, although he is hnoivn to partalce of the latter in a very moderate degree; and the party with which my Land- lord was associated continued to sit late in the evening, seasoning their liquor with many choice tales and songs. The last incident which I recollect, was my learned and worthy patron falling from his chair, just as he concluded a long lecture upon temperance, by reciting, from the Gentle Shepherd, a couplet, which he right happily transferred from tho vice of avarice to that of ebriety: He that has just enough may soundly sleep, The owcrcome only fashes folk to keep. In the course of the evening the Black Dwarf had not been forgotten, and the old. shepherd, Bauldie, told so many stories of him, that they excited a good deal of interest. It also appeared, though not till the third punch-bowl was emptied, that much of the farmer’s scepticism on the subject was affected, as evincing a liberality of thinking, and a freedom from ancient prejudices, becoming a man who paid three hundred pounds a-year of rent, while, in fact, he had a lurking belief in the traditions of his forefathers. After my usual manner, I made farther enquiries of other persons connected with the wild and pastoral district in which the scene of the following narrative is placed, and I was fortunate enough to recover many links of tho story, not generally known, and which account, at least in some degree, for the circum- stances of exaggerated marvel with which superstition has attired it in tho more vulgar traditions. 14 THE BLACK WARE. [WAVEltLEY

CHAPTER II. Will none but Hearnc the Hunter serve your turn? Merry Wives of Windsor. In one of the most remote districts of the south of Scotland, where an ideal line, drawn along the tops of lofty and bleak mountains, separates that land from her sister kingdom, a young man, called Halbert, or Hobbie Elliot, a substantial farmer, who boasted his descent from old Martin Elliot of the Preakin-tower, noted in Border story and song, was on his return from deer-stalking. The deer, once so numerous among these solitary wastes, were now reduced to a very few herds, which, sheltering themselves in the most remote and inaccessible re- cesses, rendered the task of pursuing them equally toilsome and pre- carious. But, however, there were found many youth of the country ardently attached to this sport, with all its dangers and fatigues. The sword had been sheathed upon the Borders for more than a hundred years, by the peaceful union of the crowns in the reign of James the Pirst of Great Britain. Still the country retained traces of what it had been in former days ; the inhabitants, their more peaceful avoca- tions having been repeatedly interrupted by the civil wars of the pre- ceding century, were scarce yet broken in to the habits of regular industry, sheep-farming had not been introduced upon any consider- able scale, and the feeding of black cattle was the chief purpose to which the hills and vallies were applied. Near to the farmer’s house he usually contrived to raise such a crop of oats, or barley, as afforded meal for his family; and the whole of this slovenly and imperfect mode of cultivation left much time upon his own hands, and those of his domestics. This was usually employed by the young men in hunt- ing and fishing; and the spirit of adventure, which formerly led to raids and forays in the same districts, was still to be discovered in the eagerness with which they pursued those rural sports. The more high-spirited among the youth were, about the time that our narrative begins, expecting, rather with hope than apprehension, an opportunity of emulating their fathers in their military achieve- ments, the recital of which formed the chief part of their amusement within doors. The passing of the Scottish act of security had given the alarm to England, as it seemed to point at a separation of the two British Kingdoms, after the decease of Queen Anne, the reigning monarch. Godolphin, then at the head of the English administration, foresaw that there was no other mode of avoiding the probable extre- mity of a civil war, but by carrying through an incorporating union. How that treaty was managed, and how little it seemed for some time to promise the beneficial results which have since taken place to such extent, may be learned from the history of the period. It is enough for our purpose to say, that all Scotland was indignant at the terms on which their legislature had surrendered their national independence. NOVELS.] THE BLACK DWARF. 15

The general resentment led to the strangest leagues and to the wildest plans. The Cameronians were about to take arms for the restoration of the house of Stuart, whom they regarded, with justice, as their op- pressors; and the intrigues of the period presented the strange picture of Papists, Prelatists, and Presbyterians, caballing themselves against the English government, out of a common feeling that their country had been treated with injustice. The fermentation was universal; and, as the population of Scotland had been generally trained to arms, under the act of security, they were not indifferently prepared for war, and waited but the declaration of some of the nobility to break out into open hostility. It was at this period of public confusion that our story opens. The cleugh, or wild ravine, into which Hobbie Elliot had followed the game, was already far behind him, and he was considerably advanced on his return homeward, when the night began to close upon him. This would have been a circumstance of great inditference to the ex- perienced sportsman, who could have walked blindfold over every inch of his native heaths, had it not happened near a spot, which, according to the traditions of the country, was in extremely bad fame as haunted by supernatural appearances. To tales of this kind Hobbie had, from his childhood, lent an attentive ear; and as no part of the country af- forded such a variety of legends, so no man was more deeply read in their fearful lore than Hobbie of the Heugh-foot, for so our gallant was called, to distinguish him from a round dozen of Elliots who bore the same Christian name. It cost him no efforts, therefore, to call to memory the terrific incidents connected with the extensive waste upon which he was now entering. In fact, they presented themselves with a readiness which he felt to be somewhat dismaying. This dreary common was called Mucklestane-Moor, from a huge column of unhewn granite, which raised its massy head on a knoll near the centre of the heath, perhaps to tell of the mighty dead who slept beneath, or to preserve the memory of some bloody skirmish. The real cause of its existence had, however, passed away; and tradi- tion, who is as frequently an inventor of fiction as a preserver of truth, had supplied its place with a supplementary legend of her own, which now came full upon Hobbie’s memory. The ground about the pillar was strewed, or rather encumbered, with many large fragments of stone of the same consistence with the column, which, from their ap- pearance as they lay scattered on the waste, were popularly called the Grey Geese of Mucklestane-Moor. The legend accounted for this name and appearance by the catastrophe of a noted and most formid- able witch who frequented these hills in former days, causing the ewes to Iceb, and the kine to cast their calves, and performing all the feats of mischief ascribed to these evil beings. On this moor she used to hold her revels with her sister hags; and rings were still pointed out on which no grass nor heath over grew, the turf being, as it wore, calcined by the scorching hoofs of their diabolical partners. 1G THE BLACK DWARF, [WAVERLEY

Once upon a time this old hag is said to have crossed the moor, driv- ing before her a flock of geese, which she proposed to sell to advantage at a neighbouring fair;—for it is well known that the fiend, however liberal in imparting his powers of doing mischief, ungenerously leaves his allies under the necessity of performing the meanest rustic labours for subsistence. The day was far advanced, and her chance of obtain- ing a good price depended on her being first at the market. But the geese, which had hitherto preceded her in a pretty orderly manner, when they came to this wide common interspersed with marshes and pools of water, scattered in every direction, to plunge into the element in which they delighted. Incensed at the obstinacy with which they defied all her efforts to collect them, and not remembering the terms of the contract by which the fiend was bound to obey her commands for a certain space, the sorceress exclaimed, “Deevil, that neither I nor they ever stir from this spot more ! ” The words were hardly uttered, when, by a metamorphosis as sudden as any in Ovid, the hag and her refractory flock were converted into stone, the angel whom she served grasping eagerly at an opportunity of completing the ruin of her body and soul by a literal obedience to her orders. It is said, that when she perceived and felt the transformation which was about to take place, she exclaimed to the treacherous fiend, “Ah, thou false thief, lang hast thou promised me a grey gown, and now I am getting ane that will last for ever.” The dimensions of the pillar, and of the stones, were often appealed to, as a proof of the superior stature and size of old women and geese in the days of other years, by those praisers of the past who held the comfortable opinion of the gradual degene- racy of mankind. All particulars of this legend Hobbie called to mind as he passed along the moor, He also remembered, that, since the catastrophe had taken place, the scene of it had been avoided, at least after night-fall, by all human beings, as being the ordinary resort of kelpies, spunkies, and other demons, once the companions of the witch’s diabolical revels, and now continuing to rendezvous upon the same spot, as if still in at- tendance on their transformed mistress. Hobbie’s natural hardihood, however, manfully combatted with these intrusive sensations of awe. He summoned to his side the brace of large greyhounds, who were the companions of his sports, and who were wont, in his own phrase, to fear neither dog nor devil; he looked at the priming of his piece, and, like the clown in Hallowe’en, whistled up the warlike ditty of Jock of the Side, as a general causes his drums be beat to inspirit the doubtful courage of his soldiers. In this state of mind, he was very glad to hear a friendly voice shout in his rear, and propose to him a partner on the road. He slackened his pace, and was quickly joined by a youth well known to him, a gentleman of some fortune in that remote country, and who had been abroad upon the same errand with himself. Young Earnscliff, “of NOVELS.] THE BLACK DWARF. 17 that ilk,” had lately come of age, and succeeded to a moderate fortune, a good deal delapidated, from the share his family had taken in the disturbances of the period. They were much and generally respected in the country, a reputation which this young gentleman seemed likely to sustain, as he was well educated, and of excellent dispositions.— “ Now, Earnscliff,” exclaimed Hobbie, “I am glad to meet your hon- our ony gait, and company’s blithe on a bare moor like this—it’s an unco bogilly bit—Where hae ye been sporting ? ” “ Up the Carla Cleugh, Hobbie,” answered Earnscliff, returning his greeting. “ But will our dogs keep the peace, think you P ” “ De’il a fear o’ mine,” said Hobbie, “they have scarce a leg to stand on.—Odd ! the deer’s fled the country, I think! I have been as far as Inger-fell-foot, and de’il a horn has Hobbie seen, excepting three red-wud raes, that never let me within shot of them, though I gaed a mile round to get up the wind to them, an’ a’,. De’il o’ me wad care muckle, only I wanted some venison to our auld gude-dame. The carline, she sits in the neuk yonder, upbye, and cracks about the grand shooters and hunters lang syne—Odd, I think they hae killed a’ the deer in the country, for my part.” “ Well, Hobbie, I have shot a fat buck, and sent him to Earnscliff this morning—you shall have half of him for your grandmother.” “ Mony thanks to ye, Mr Patrick, ye’re kend to a’ the country for a kind heart. It will do the auld wife’s heart gude—mair by token, when she kens it comes frae you—and maist of a’, gin ye’ll come up and take your share, for I reckon ye are lonesome now in the auld tower, and a’ your folk at that weary Edinburgh. I wonder what they can find to do amang a wheen ranks o’ stane-houses wi’ slate on the tap o’ them, that might live on their ain bonny green hills.” “ My education and my sisters’ has kept my mother much in Edin- burgh for several years,” said Earnscliff, “but I promise you I pro- pose to make up for lost time.” “ And ye’ll rig out the auld tower a bit,” said Hobbie, “ and live hearty and neighbour-like wi’ the auld family friends, as the Laird o’ Earnscliff should ? I can tell ye, my mother—my grandmother I mean—but, since we lost our ain mother, we ca’ her sometimes the tane, and sometimes the tother—but, ony gate, she thinks hersel no that distant connected wi’ you.” “Very true, Hobbie, and I will come to the Heugh-foot to dinner to-morrow with all my heart.” “ Weel, that’s kindly said! We are auld neighbours, an we were nae kin—and my gude-dame’s fain to see you—she clavers about your father that was killed lang syne.” “ Hush, hush, Hobbie—not a word about that—it’s a story better forgotten.” “ I dinna ken—if it had chanced among our folk, we wad hae keepit it in mind mony a day till we got some mends for it—but ye ken your 18 THE BLACK. DWARF. [■WAVERLEY

ain ways best, you lairds—I have heard say that Ellieslaw’s friend stickit your sire after the laird himsel had mastered his sword.” “ Eie, fie, Ilobbio; it was a foolish brawl, occasioned by wine and politics—many swords were drawn—it is impossible to say who struck the blow.” “At ony rate, auld Ellieslaw was aiding and abetting, and I am sure if ye were sae disposed as to take amends on him, naebody could say it was wrung, for your father’s blood is beneath his nails—and be- sides there’s naebody else left that was concerned to take amends upon, and he’s a Prelatist and a Jacobite into the bargain—I can tell ye the country folk looks for something atwoon ye.” “0 for shame, Hobbie ! you that profess religion to stir your friend Up to break the law, and take vengeance at his own hand, and in such a bogilly bit too, where we know not what beings may be listening to us! ” “Hush, hush!” said Hobbie, drawing nearer to his companion, “ I was nae thinking o’ the like o’ them—But I can guess a wee bit what keeps your hand up, Mr Patrick; we a’ ken it’s no lack o’ courage, but the twa grey een of a bonny lass, Miss Isabel Vere. that keeps you sae sober.” “ I assure you, Hobbie,” said his companion, rather angrily, “ I as- sure you, you are mistaken; and it is extremely wrong in you, either to think of, or to utter, such an idea; I have no idea of permitting freedoms to be carried so far as to connect my name with that of any young lady.” “Why, there now—there now ! ” retorted Elliot; “ did not I say it was nae want o’ spunk that made ye sae mini ?—Weel, weel, I meant nae offence; but there’s just ae thing ye may notice frae a friend. The auld Laird of Ellieslaw has the auld riding blood far hotter at his heart than ye hae—troth, he kens naethiug about thae new-fangled notions o’ peace and quietness—he’s a’ for the auld warld doings o’ lifting and laying on, and he has a wheen stout lads at his back too, and keeps them weel up in heart, and as fu’ o’ mischief as young colts. Where he gets the gear to do’t nane can say; he lives high, and far abune his rents here; however he pays his way—Sae, if there’s ony outbreak in the country, he’s likely to break out wi’ the first—and weel does ho mind the auld quarrels between ye. I’m surmizing he’ll bo for a touch at the auld tower at Earnscliff.” “Well, Hobbie, if he should be so ill advised, I shall try to make the old tower good against him, as it has been made good by my betters against his betters many a day ago.” “Very right—very right—that’s speaking like a man now; and, if sae should be that this be sae, if ye’ll just gar your servant jow out the great bell in the tower, there’s me, and my twa brothers, and little Davie of the Stenhouse, will be wi’ you, wi’ a’ the power we can make in the snapping of a flint.” KOVELS.] THE BLACK DWARF. ID

“Many thanks, Hobbie; but I hope we shall have no war of so un- natural and unchristian a kind in our time.” “ Hout, sir, hout: it wad be but a wee bit neighbour war, and Hea- ven and earth would make allowances for it in this uncultivated place —it’s just the nature o’ the folk and the land—wo canna live quiet like London folk—we haena sae muckle to do.” “ Well, Hobbie, for one who believes so deeply as you do in super- natural appearances, I must own you take Heaven in your own hand rather audaciously, considering where we are walking.” “ What needs I care for the Mucklestane-Moor ony mair than ye do yourscl, Earnscliff! To bo sure they say there’s a sort o’ worricows and lang-nebbit things about the land, but what need I care for them ? I hae a good conscience, unless it be about a rant amang the lasses, or a splore at a fair, and that’s no muckle to speak of. Though I say it mysel, I am as quiet a lad and as peaceable ” “And Dick Turnbull’s head that you broke, and Willie of Winton whom you shot at P ” “ Hout, Earnscliff, ye keep a record of a’ men’s misdoings—Dick’s head’s healed again, and we’re to fight out the quarrel at Jeddart, on the Rood-day, so that’s like a thing settled in a peaceable way; and then I am friends wi’ Willie again, poor chield—it was buttwa or three hail draps after a’. I wad let ony body do the like o’t to me for a pint o’ brandy. But Willie’s lowland bred, poor fallow, and soon frighted for himsel.—And, for the worricows, were we to meet ane on this very bit ” “ As is not unlikely,” said young Earnscliff, “ for there stands your old witch, Hobbie.” “I say,” continued Elliot, as if indignant at this hint—“I say, if the auld car line hersel was to get up out of the grund just before us here, I would think nae mair—But, gude preserve us, Earnscliff, what can yon be! ”

CHAPTER III, Brown dwarf, that o’er the moorland strays, Thy name to Keeldar tell! ‘‘The Brown man of the Moor, that stays Beneath the heather-hell.”—John Leyden. The object which alarmed the young farmer in tho middle of his val- orous protestations, startled for a moment even his less prejudiced com- panion. The moon, which had arisen during their conversation, was, in the phrase of that country, wading or struggling with clouds, and shed only a doubtful and occasional light. By one of her beams, which streamed upon the great granite column to which they now approached, they discovered a form, apparently human, but of a size much less than ordinary, which moved slowly among the large grey stones, not like a 20 THE BLACK DWARF [WAVEKLEY

person intending to journey onward, but with the slow, irregular, flit- ting movement of a being wbo hovers around some spot of melancholy recollection, uttering also, from time to time, a sort of indistinct mut- tering sound. This so much resembled his idea of the motions of an apparition, that Hobbie Elliot, making a dead pause, while his hair erected itself upon his scalp, whispered to his companion, “ It’s AulS Aillje hersel! Shall I gi’e her a shot, in the name of God ? ” “For Heaven’s sake, no,” said his companion, holding down the weapon which he was about to raise to the aim—“ for Heaven’s sake, no; it’s some poor distracted creature.” “ You’re distracted yoursel, for thinking of going so near to her,” said Elliot, holding his companion in his turn, as he prepared to ad- vance. “ We’ll aye hae time to pit ower a bit prayer (an’ I could but mind ane) afore she comes this length—God! she’s in nae hurry,” con- tinued he, growing bolder from his companion’s confidence, and the little notice the apparation seemed to take of them. “ She hirples liko a hen on a het girdle. I redd ye, Earnscliff,” [this he added in a gentle whisper,] “ let us take a cast about, as if to draw the wind on a buck—the bog is no abune knee-deep, and better a saft road as bad company.” Earnscliff, however, in spite of his companion’s resistance and re- monstrances, continued to advance on the path they had originally nursued, and soon confronted the object of their investigation. The height of the object which appeared even to decrease as they approached it, seemed to be under four feet, and its form, as far as the imperfect light afforded them the means of discerning, was very nearly as broad as long, or rather of a spherical shape, which could only bo occasioned by some strange personal deformity. The young sportsman hailed this extraordinary appearance twice, without receiving any an- swer, or attending to the pinches by which his companion endeavoured to intimate that their best course was to walk on, without giving far- ther disturbance to a being of such singular and preternatural exterior. To the third repeated demand of ‘1 Who are you P What do you here at this hour of night P ”—a voice replied, whose shrill, uncouth, and dissonant tones made Elliot step two paces back, and startled even his companion. “ Pass on your way, and ask nought at them that ask nought at you.” “ What do you do here so far from shelter P Are you benighted on your journey ! Will you follow us home. (‘ God forbid,’ ejaculated Hobbie Elliot, involuntarily,) and I will give you a lodging ? ” “ I would sooner lodge by mysel in the deepest of the Tarras-flow,” again whispered Hobbie. “ Pass on your way, rejoined the figure, the harsh tones of his voice still more exalted by passion. “I want not your guidance—I want not your lodging—it is five years since my head was under a human roof, and I trust it was for the last time.” NOVELS.] iHE BLACK DWARF, 21

“ He is mad,” said Earnscliff. “ He has a look of auld Humphrey Ettercap, the tinkler, that per- ished in this very moss about five years syne,” answered his supersti- tious companion; hut Humphrey was na that awfu’ big in the bouk.” “Pass on your way,” reiterated the object of their curiosity, “th.p breath of your human bodies poisons the air around me—the sound or your human voices goes through my ears like sharp bodkins.” “Lord safe us!” said Ilobbie, “ that the dead should bear sic fearfu ill-will to the living !—his saul maun be in a puir way, I’m jealous.” “ Come, my friend,” said Earnscliff, “you seem to suffer under some strong affliction; common humanity will not allow us to leave youhere.” “ Common humanity! ” exclaimed the being, with a scornful laugh that sounded like a shriek, “ where got ye that catch word—that noose for woodcocks—that common disguise for man-traps—that bait which the wretched idiot who swallows, will soon find covers a hook with barbs ten times sharper than those you lay for the animals which you mur- der for your luxury! ” “ I tell you, my friend,” again replied Earnscliff, “you are incap- able to judge of your own situation—you will perish in this wilderness, and we must, in compassion, force you along with us.” “ I’ll hae neither hand nor foot in’t,” said Hobbie; “lot the ghaist take his ain way, for God’s sake! ” “My blood be on my own head, if I perish here,” said the figure; and, observing Earnscliff meditating to lay hold on him, he added, “ and your blood be upon yours, if you touch but the skirt of my garments to infect me with the taint of mortality! ” 'The moon shone more brightly as he spoke thus, and Earnscliff ob- served that he held out his right hand armed with some weapon of offence, which glittered in the cold ray like the blade of a long knife, or the barrel of a pistol. It would have been madness to persevere in his attempt upon a being thus armed, and holding such desperate lan- guage, especially as it was plain he would have little aid from his com- panion, who had fairly left him to settle matters with the apparition as he could, and had proceeded a few paces on his way homeward. Earns- cliff, therefore, turned and followed Hobbie, after looking back towards the supposed maniac, who, as if raised by frenzy by the interview, roamed wildly around the great stone, exhausting his voice in shrieks and im- precations, that thrilled wildly along the waste heath. The two sportsmen moved on some time in silence, until they were out of hearing of these uncouth sounds, which was not ere they had gained a considerable distance from the pillar that gave name to the moor. Each made his private comments on the scene they had wit- nessed, until Hobbie Elliot suddenly exclaimed, “ Weel, I’ll uphaud that yon ghaist, if it be a ghaist, has baith done and suffered muckle evil in the flesh, that gars him rampauge in that way after he is dead and gane.” 22 THE BLACK DWARF. [WAVEKLEY

“It seems to mo the very maduess of misanthropy,” said Earnscliff, following his own current of thought. “And ye didna think that it was a spiritual creature, then? ” asked Hobble at his companion. “Who, I?—No, surely.” “ Weel, I am partly of the mind mysel that it may be a live thing— and yet I dinna ken, I wadna wish to see ony thing look likef a bogle.” “At any rate,” said Earnscliff, “I will ride over to-morrow, and see what has become of that unhappy being.” “ In fair daylight ? ” queried the yeoman, “then grace o’ God, I’se be wi’ ye. But here we are nearer to Heugh-foot than to your houso by twa mile,—hadna ye bet ter e’en gae hame wi’ me, and we’ll send the callant on the powney to tell them that you are wi’ us, though I believe there’s naebody at hamo to wait for you but the servants and the cat.” “ And as I would not willingly have either the servants be anxious, or puss forfeit her supper, in my absence, I’ll be obliged to you to send the boy as you propose.” “ Aweel, that is kind, I must say. And ye’ll gae hame to Heugh- foot ? They’ll be right blithe to see you, that will they.” This affair settled, they walked briskly on a little farther, when com- ing to the ridge of a pretty steep hill, Hobbie Elliot exclaimed, “Now, Earnscliff, I am aye glad when I come to this very bit—Ye see the light below, that’s in the ha’ window, where grannie, the gash auld carline, is sitting billing at her wheel—and ye see yon other light that’s gaun whiddin’ back and forrit through amang the windows P that’s my cousin, Grace Armstrong,—she’s twice as clever about the house as my sisters, and sae they say themsels, for they’re good-natured lasses as ever trod on heather; but they confess themsels, and sae does grannie, that she has far maist action, and is the best goer about the toun, now that grannie is off the foot hersel.—My brothers, ane o’ them’s away to wait upon the chamberlain, and ane’s at Mossphadraig, that’s our led farm—he can see after the stock as weel as I can do.” “ You are lucky, my good friend, in having so many valuable rela- tions.” “ Troth am I—Grace mak me thankful, I’se never deny it.—But will ye tell me now, Earnscliff, you that has been at college, and the High School of Edinburgh, and got a’ sort o’ lair where it was to be best got- ten—will j’e tell me—no that it’s ony concern of mine in particular,— but I heard the priest of St. John’s and our minister, bargaining about it at the Winter fair, and troth they baith spak very weel—Now, the priest says it’s unlawful to marry ane’s cousin; but I cannot say I thought he brought out the Gospel authorities half sae weel as our minister— our minister is thought the best divine and the best preacher atween this and Edinburgh—Dinna ye think he was likely to be right ? ” “ Certainly marriage, by all protestant Christians, is held to be as free as God made it by the Levitical law; so, Hobbie, there can be no bar, legal or religious, betwixt you and Miss Armstrong.” NOVELS.] THE BLACK DWARF- 23

“Herat awa’ wi’ your joking, Earnscliff—ye are sae angry yoursel if ane touches you a bit, man, on the soothside of the jest—No that I was asking the question about Grace, for ye maun ken she’s no my cousin- germain out and out, but the daughter of my uncle’s wife by her first marriage, so she’s nae kith nor kin to me—only a connection like. But now we’re at the Sheeling-hill—I’ll fire off my gun, to let them ken I’m coming, that’s aye my way; and if I hae a deer I gae them twa shots, ane for the deer and ane for mysel.” He fired off his piece accordingly, and the number of lights was seen to traverse the house, and even to gleam before it. Hobbie Elliot pointed out one of these to Earnscliff, which seemed to glide from the house towards some of the out-houses—“That’s Grace, hersel,” said Hobbie. “She’ll no meet me at the door, I’se warrant her—but she’ll be awa’, for a’ that, to see if my hounds’ supper be ready, poor beasts.” “Love me, love my dog,” answered Earnscliff. “ Ah, Hobbie, you are a lucky young fellow.” This observation was uttered with something like a sigh, which ap- parently did not escape the ear of his companion. “ Hout, other folk may be as lucky as I am—0 how I have seen Miss Isabel Yere’s head turn after some body when they passed ane another at the Carlisle races ! Wha kens but things may come round in this world ! ” Earnscliff muttered something like an answer; but whether in as- sent of the proposition, or rebuking the application of it, could not easily be discovered; and it seems probable that the speaker himself was willing his meaning should rest in doubt and obscurity. They had now descended the broad loaning, which, winding round the foot of the steep bank, or heugh, brought them in front of the thatched, but com- fortable, farm-house, which was the dwelling of Hobbie Elliot and his family. The door-way was thronged with joyful faces; but the appearance of a stranger blunted many a jibe which had been prepared on Hobbie’s lack of success in the deer-stalking. There was a little bustle among three handsome young women, each endeavouring to devolve upon another the task of ushering the stranger into the apartment while probably all were anxious to escape to make some little personal arrangements before presenting themselves to a young gentleman in a dishabille only intended for their brother. Hobbie, in the meanwhile, bestowing some hearty and general abuse upon them all, (for Grace was not of the party,) snatched the candle from the hand of one of the rustic coquettes, as she stood playing prettily with it in her hand, and ushered his guest into the family parlour, or rather hall; for the place having been a house of defence in former times, the sitting apartment was a vaulted and paved room, damp and dismal enough compared with the lodgings of the yeomanry of our days, but which, when well lighted up with a large sparkling fire of turf and bog-wood, seemed to 21 THE BLACK DAY ABF. [WAVEELEY

Earnscliff a most comfortable exchange for the darkness and bleak blast of the hill. Kindly and repeatedly -was he welcomed by the ven- erable old dame, the mistress of the family, who, dressed in her coif and pinners, her close and decent gown of home-spun wool, but with a large gold necklace and earrings, looked, what she really was, the lady as well as the farmer’s wife, while, seated in her chair of wicker, by the corner of the great chimney, she directed the evening occupations of the young women, and of two or three stout serving wenches, who sat plying their distaffs behind the backs of their young mistresses. As soon as Earnscliff had been duly welcomed, and hasty orders is- sued for some addition to the evening meal, his granddame and sisters opened their battery upon Hobbie Elliot for his lack of success against the deer. “ Jenny needna have kept up her kitchen fire for a’ that Hobbie has brought hame,” said one sister. “ Troth no, lass,” said another, “the gathering peat, if it was weel blawn, wad dress a’ our Ilobbie’s venison.” “Ay, or the low of the candle, if the wind wad let it bide steady,” said a third; “ if I were him, I would bring hame a black craw, rather than come back three times without a buck’s horn to blaw on.” Hobbie turned from the one to the other, regarding them alternately with a frown on his brow, the augury of which was confuted by the good-humoured laugh on the lower part of his countenance. He then strove to propitiate them by mentioning the intended present of his companion. “In my jToung days,” said the old lady, “a man wad hae been ashamed to come back frae the hill without a buck hanging on each side o’ his horse, like a cadger carrying calves.” ‘ ‘ I wish they had left some for us then, grannie, retorted Hobbie; “they’ve cleared the country o’ them, thae auld friends o’ yours, I’m thinking.” “Ye see other folk can find game, though you cannot, Hobbie,” said the eldest sister, glancing a look at young Earnscliff. “ AVeel weel, woman, hasna every dog his day, begging Earnscliff’s pardon for the auld saying—Mayna I hae his luck, and he mine, another time ?—It's a braw thing for a man to be out a’ day, and frighted^ na, I winna say that neither-—but mistrysted wi’ bogles in the hams coming, and then to hae to flyte wi’ a wheen women that hae been do- ing naething a’ the live-lang day but whirling a bit stick, wi’ a thread trailing at it, or boring at a clout.” “ Frighted wi’ bogles?” exclaimed the females one and all, for great was the regard then paid, and perhaps still paid in these glens to all such fantasies. “I did not say frighted, now—I only said mis-set wi’ the thing—And there was but bogle, neither—Earnscliff, ye saw it as weel as I did ? ” NOVELS.] THE BLACK DWARF. 26

And ho proceeded, without very much exaggeration, to detail in his own way, the meeting they had with the mysterious being at Muckle- stane-Moor, concluding “he could not conjecture what on earth it could bo, unless it was either the Enemy himsel, or some of the auld Peghts that held the country lang syne.” “Auld Peght! ” exclaimed the granddame; “na, na—bless thee frae scathe, my bairn, it’s been nae Peght that—it’s been the Brown Man of the Moors! 0 weary fa’ thae evil days!—what can evil beings be coming for to distract a poor country, now it’s peacefully settled, and living in love and law ?—0 weary on him! he ne’er brought gude to these lands or the indwellers. My father aften tauld me he was seen in the year o’ the bloody fight at Marston-Moor, and then again in Montrose’s troubles, and again before the rout o’ Dunbar, and in my ain time, he was seen about the time o’ Bothwell-Brigg, aud they said the second-sighted Laird of Benarbuck had a communing wi’ him some time afore Argyle’s landing, but that I cannot speak to sae preceesely —it was far in the west.—0, bairns, he’s never permitted but in an ill time, sae mind ilka ane o’ ye to draw to Him that can help in the day of trouble.” Earnscliff now interposed, and expressed his firm conviction that the person they had seen was some poor maniac, and had no commission from the invisible world to announce either war or evil. But his opinion found a very cold audience, and all joined to deprecate his purpose of returning to the spot the next day. “ 0, my bonnie bairn,” said the old dame, (for in the kindness of her heart, she extended her parental style to all in whom she was inter- ested)—“You should beware mair than other folk—there’s been a heavy breach made in your house wi’ your father’s bloodshed, and wi’ law-pleas, and losses sinsyne; and you are the flower of the flock, and the lad that will build up the auld bigging again (if it be His will) to be an honour to the country, and a safeguard to those that dwell in it —you, before others, are called upon to put yoursel in no rash adven- tures—for your’s was aye ower venturesome a race, and muckle harm they got by it.” “ But I am sure, my good friend, you would not have me be afraid l>f going to an open moor in broad day-light ? ” “ I dinna ken—I wad never bid son or friend o’ mine baud their hand back in a gudo cause, whether it were a friend’s or their ain—• that should be by nae bidding of mine, or of ony body that’s come of a gentle kindred—But it winna gang out of a grey head like mine, that to gang to seek for evil that’s no fashing wi’ you, is clean against law and Scripture.” Earnscliif resigned an argument which he saw no prospect of main- taining with good effect, and the entrance of supper broke off the con- versation. Miss Grace had by this time made her appearance, and Hobbie, not without a conscious glance at Earnscliff, placed himself by 2G THE BLACK DWABF. [WAYEBLEY licr side. Mirth, and lively conversation, in which the old lady of the house took the good-humoured share which so well becomes old age, restored to the cheeks of the damsels the roses which their brother’s tale of the apparition had chased away, and they danced and sung for an hour after supper as if there were no such things as goblins in the world.

CHAPTER IV I am Misanthropes, and hate mankind; For thy part, I do wish thou wen a dog, That I might lore thee something.—Timon of Athens. On the morning, after breakfast, Earnscliff took leave of his hospitable friends, promising to return in time to partake of the venison, which had arrived from his house. Hobbie, who apparently took leave of him at the door of his habitation, slunk out, however, and joined him at the top of the hill. “ Ye’ll be gaun yonder, Mr Patrick , fiend o’ me will mistryst you for a’ my mother says. I thought it best to slip out quietly though, in case she should mislippen something of what we’re gaun to do—we mauna vox her at nae rate—it was amaist the last word my father said to mo on his death-bed.” “ By no means, Hobbie,” said Earnscliff, “ she well merits all your attention.” “ Troth, for that matter, she would be as sair vexed amaist for you as for mo. But d’ye really think there’s nae presumption in venturing back yonder P—We hao nae special commission, ye ken,” “ If I thought as you do, Hobbie, I would not perhaps enquire far- ther into this business; but as I am of opinion that preternatural visitations are either ceased altogether, or become very rare in our days, I am unwilling to leave a matter uninvestigated which may con- cern the life of a poor distracted being.” “Aweel, aweel, if ye really think that,” answered Hobbie doubtfully —“ And it’s for certain the very fairies—I mean the very good neigh- bours themsels (for they say folk suldna ca’ them fairies) that used to be seen on every green kuowe at e’en, are no half sae often visible in our days. I canna depone to having ever seen ane mysel, but I ance heard ane whistle ahint me in the moss, as like a whaup as ao thing could be like anither. And mony ane my father saw when he used to come hame frae the fairs at e’en, wi’ a drap drink in his head, honest man.” Earnscliff was somewhat entertained with the gradual declension of superstition from one generation to another which was inferred in this last observation; and they continued to reason on such subjects, until they came in sight of the upright stone which gave name to the moor. NOVELS.] THE BLACK DWARF. 27

“ As I shall answer,” says Hobble, “ yonder’s the creature creeping about yet!—But it’s day-light, and you have your gun, and I brought out my bit whinger—I think we may venture on him.” “ By all manner of means,” said Earnscliff; “ but, in the name of wonder, what can he be doing there ? ” “ Biggin a dry-stane dyke, I think, wi’ the grey geese, as they ca’ thae great loose stanes—Odd, that passes a’ thing I e’er heard tell of! ” As they approached nearer, Earnscliff could not help agreeing with his companion. The figure they had seen the night before seemed slowly and toilsomely labouring to pile the large stones one upon another, as if to form a small inclosure. Materials lay around him in great plenty, but the labour of carrying on the work was immense, from the size of most of the stones; and it seemed astonishing that he should have succeeded in moving several which he had already ar- ranged for the foundation of his edifice. He was struggling to move a fragment of great size, when the two young men came up, and was so intent upon executing his purpose, that he did not perceive them till they were close upon him. In straining and heaving at the stone, in order to place it according to his wish, he displayed a degree of strength which seemed utterly inconsistent with his size and apparent deformity. Indeed to judge from the difficulties he had already surmounted, he must have been of Herculean powers ; for some of the stones he had succeeded in raising apparently required two men’s strength to have moved them. Hobbie’s suspicions began to revive, on seeing the pre- ternatural strength he exerted. “ I am amaist persuaded it’s the ghaist of a stane-mason—see siccan band-stanes as he’s laid!—An it be a man, after a’, I wonder what he wad take by the rood to build a march dyke. There’s ane sair wanted between Cringlehope and the Shaws.—Honest man, (raising his voice,) 3Te make good firm wark there.” The being whom he addressed raised his eyes with a ghastly stare, and, getting up from his stooping posture, stood before them in all his native deformity. His head was of uncommon size, covered with a fell of shaggy hair, partly grizzled with age; his eye-brows, shaggy and prominent, overhung a pair of small, dark, piercing eyes, set far back in their sockets, that rolled with a portentous wildness, indicative of a partial insanity. The rest of his features were of the coarse, rough-hewn stamp with which a painter would equip a giant in ro- mance, to which was added, the wild irregular, and peculiar expression so often seen in the countenances of those whose persons are deformed. His body, thick and square, like that of a man of middle size, was mounted upon two large feet; but nature seemed to have forgotten the legs and the thighs, or they were so very short as to be hidden by the dress which he wore. His arms were long and brawny, furnished with two muscular hands, and, where uncovered in the eagerness of his labour, were shagged with coarse black hair. It seemed as if nature 28 THE BLACK DWARF, [WAVERLEY

had originally intended the separate parts of his body to he the mem- bers of a giant, but had afterwards capriciously assigned them to tho person of a dwarf, so ill did the length of his arms and the iron strength of his frame correspond with the shortness of his stature. His cloathing was a sort of coarse brown tunic, like a monk’s frock, girt round him with a belt of seal-skin. On his head he had a cap made of badger’s skin, or some other rough fur, which added consider- ably to the grotesque effect of his whole appearance, and overshadowed features, whose habitual expression seemed that of sullen malignant misanthropy. This remarkable Dwarf gazed on the two j'ouths in silence, with a dogged and irritated look, until Earnscliff, willing to sooth him into better temper, observed, “You are hard tasked, my friend; allow us to assist you.” Elliot and he accordingly placed the stone, by their joint efforts, upon the rising wall. The Dwarf watched them with the eye of a taskmaster, and testified, by peevish gestures, his impatience at the time which they took in adjusting the stone. He pointed to another —they raised it also—to a third, to a fourth—they continued to hum- our him, though with some trouble, for he assigned them, as if inten- tionally, the heaviest fragments which lay near. “And now, friend,” said Elliot, as the unreasonable Dwarf indicated another stone larger than any they had moved, “ Earnscliff may do as he likes; but be ye man or be ye waur, de’il be in my fingers if I break my back wi’ heaving thae stanes ony langer like a barrow-man, without getting sae muckle as thanks for my pains.” “ Thanks ! ” exclaimed the Dwarf, with a motion expressive of tho utmost contempt—“ There—take them, and fatten upon them! Take them, and may they thrive with you as they have done with me—as they have done with every mortal worm that ever heard the word spoken by his fellow reptile!—Hence—either labour or begone.” ‘ ‘ This is a fine reward wo have, Earnscliff, for building a tabernacle for the devil, and prejudicing our ain souls into the bargain, for what Wo ken.” “Our presence,” answered Earnscliff, “seems only to irritate his frenzy, wo had better leave him, and send some one to provide him with food and necessaries.” They did so. The servant dispatched for this purpose found the Dwarf still labouring at his wall, but could not extract a word from him. The lad, infected with the superstitions of the country, did not long persist in an attempt to intrude questions or advice on so singular a figure, but having placed the articles which he had brought for his use on a stone at some distance, he left them at the misanthrope’s disposal. The Dwarf proceeded in his labours, day after day, with an assiduity so incredible as to appear almost supernatural. In one day he often NOVELS.] THE BLACK DWARF. 29

Beemcd to have done the work of two men, and his building soon as- sumed the appearance of the walls of a hut, which, though very small, and constructed only of stones and turf, without any mortar, exhibited, from the unusual size of the stones employed, an appearance of solidity very uncommon for a cottage of such narrow dimensions and rude construction. Earnsclilf, attentive to his motions, no sooner perceived to what they tended, than ho sent down a number of spars of wood suitable for forming the roof, which he caused to be left in the neigh- bourhood of the spot, resolving next day to send workmen to put them up. But his purpose was anticipated, for in the evening, during the night, and early in the morning, the Dwarf had laboured so hard, and with such ingenuity, that he had nearly completed the adjustment of the rafters. His next labour was to cut rushes and thatch his dwel- ling, a task which he performed with singular dexterity. As he seemed averse to receive any aid beyond the occasional assist- ance of a passenger, materials suitable to his purpose, and tools, wore supplied to him, in the use of which he proved to be skilful. He con- structed the door and window of his cot, he adjusted a rude bedstead, and a few shelves, and appeared to become somewhat soothed in his temper as his accommodations increased. His next task was to form a strong inclosure, and to labour the land within it to the best of his power; until, by transporting mould, and working up what was upon the spot, he formed a patch of garden- ground. It must be naturally supposed, that, as above hinted, this solitary being received assistance occasionally from such travellers as crossed the moor by chance, as well as from several who went from curiosity to visit his works. It was, indeed, impossible to see a human creature, so unfitted, at first sight, for hard labour, toiling with such unremitting assiduity, without stopping a few minutes to aid him in his task; and, as no one of his occasional assistants was acquainted with the degree of help which the Dwarf had received from others, the celerity of his progress lost none of its marvels in their eyes. The strong and compact appearance of the cottage, formed in so very short a space, and by such a being, and the superior skill which he displayed in mechanics, and in other arts, gave suspicion to the surrounding neighbours. They insisted, that, if he was not a phantom,—an opinion which was now abandoned, since he had plainly appeared a being of blood and bone with themselves,—yet ho must be in close league with the invisible world, and have chosen that sequestered spot to carry ou his communication with them undisturbed. They insisted, though in a different sense from the philosopher’s application of the phrase, that ho was never less alone than when alone; and that from the heights which commanded the moor at a distance, passengers often discovered a person at work along with this dweller of the desert, who regularly disappeared as soon as they approached closer to the cottage. Such a figure was also occasionally seen sitting beside him at the door, walk- 00 THE BLACK DWAEE. [WAVERLEY

ing with him in the moor, or assisting him in fetching water from his fountain. Earnscliff explained this phenomenon by supposing it to be the Dwarf’s shadow. “ De’il a shadow has he,” replied Hobbie Elliot, who was a strenu- ous defender of the general opinion, “ he’s ower far in wi’ the Auld Ane to have a shadow. Besides,” he argued more logically,” wha ever heard of a shadow that cam between a body and the sun f and this thing, be it what it will, is thinner and taller than the body himsel, and has been seen to come between him and the sun mair than anes or twice either.” These suspicions, which, in any other part of the country might have been attended with investigations a little inconvenient to the supposed wizard, were here only productive of respect and awe. The recluse being seemed somewhat gratified by the marks of timid venera- tion with which an occasional passenger approached his dwelling, the look of startled surprise with which he surveyed his person and his premises, and the hurried step with which he pressed his retreat as he passed the awful spot. The boldest only stopped to gratify their curi- osity by a hasty glance at the walls of his cottage and garden, and to apologize for it by a courteous salutation, which the inmate sometimes deigned to return by a word or nod. EarnsclifF often passed that way, and seldom without enquiring after the solitary inmate, who seemed now to have arranged his establishment for life. It was impossible to engage him in any conversation on his own personal affairs; nor was he communicative or accessible in talking on any other subject whatever, although he seemed to have consider- ably relented in the extreme ferocity of his misanthropy, or rather to be less frequently visited with the fits of derangement of which this was a symptom. No argument could prevail upon him to accept any thing beyond the simplest necessaries, although much more was of- fered by Earnscliff out of charity, and by his more superstitious neigh- bours from other motives. The benefits of these last he repaid by ad- vice, when consulted (as at length he slowly was) on their diseases, or those of their cattle. He often furnished them with medicines also, and seemed possessed, not only of such as were the produce of the country, but of foreign drugs. He gave these persons to understand that his name was Elshender the Becluse; but his popular epithet soon came to be Canny Elshie, or the Wise Wight of Mucklestane- Moor. Some extended their queries beyond their bodily complaints, and requested advice upon other matters, which he delivered with an oracular shrewdness that greatly confirmed the opinion of his possess- ing preternatural skill. The querists usually left some offering upon a stone, at a distance from his dwelling; if it was money, or any article which did not suit him to accept, he either threw it away or suffered it to remain where it was without making use of it. On all these occa- sions his manners were rude and unsocial, and his words, in number, NOVELS.] THE BLACK DWARF, 3t just sufficient to express his meaning as briefly as possible, and he shunned all communication that 'went a syllable beyond the matter in hand. Whep winter had passed away, and his garden began to afford him herbs and vegetables, he confined himself almost entirely to those articles of food. He accepted, notwithstanding, a pair of she-goats from Earnscliff, which fed on the moor, and supplied him with milk. When Earnscliff found his gift had been received, he soon afterwards paid the hermit a visit. The old man was seated on a broad flat stone near his garden door, which was the seat of science he usually occupied when disposed to receive his patients or clients. The inside of his hut, and that of his garden, he kept as sacred from human intrusion as the natives of Otaheite do their Morai;—apparently he would have deemed it polluted by the step of any human being. When he shut himself up in his habitation, no entreaty could prevail upon him to make himself visible, or to give audience to any one whomsoever. Earnseliff had been fishing in a small river at some distance. He had his rod in his hand, and his basket, with his trouts, at his shoulder. He sate down upon a stone nearly opposite to the Dwarf, who, familiarized with his presence, took no further notice of him than by elevating his huge mis-shapen head for the purpose of staring at him, and then again sinking it upon his bosom, as if in profound meditation. Earnscliff looked around him, and observed that the hermit had increased his ac- commodations by the construction of a shed for the reception of his goats. “You labour hard, Elshie,” he said, willing to lead this singular being into conversation. “Labour,” re-echoed the Dwarf, “is the mildest evil of a lot so miserable as that of mankind; better to labour like me, than sport like you.” “I cannot defend the humanity of our ordinary rural sports, Elshie, and yet ” “And yet,” interrupted the Dwarf, “they are better than your ordinary business; better to exercise idle and wanton cruelty on mute fishes than on your fellow creatures. Yet why should I say so ? Why should not the whole human herd butt, gore, and gorge upon each other, till all are extirpated but one huge and over-fed Behemoth, and he, when he had throttled and gnawed the bones of all his fellows—he, when his prey failed him, to be roaring whole days for lack of food, and, finally, to die, inch by inch, of famine—it were a consummation worthy of the race ! ” “Your deeds are better, Elshie, than your words,” answered Earns- cliff; “you labour to preserve the race whom your misanthropy slanders.” “Ido; but why ?—Hearken. You are one on whom I look with the least loathing, and I care not, if, contrary to my wont, I waste a few words in compassion to your infatuated blindness. If I cannot send disease into families, and murrain among the herds, can I attain 32 THE BLACK DWARF. [•WAVERLEY

the same end so well as by prolonging the lives of those who can serve the purpose of destruction as effectually ?—If Alice of Bower had died in winter, would young Ruthwin have been slain for her love the last spring?—Who thought of penning their cattle beneath the tower when the Red Reiver of Westburnflat was deemed to be on his death-bed?— My draughts, my skill recovered him. And, now, who dare leave his herd upon the lea without a watch, or go to bed without unchaining the sleuth-hound ? ” “I own,” answered Earnscliff, “you did little good to society by the last of these cures. But, to balance the evil, there is my friend Hobbie, honest Hobbie of the Heughfoot, your skill relieved him last winter in a fever that might have cost him his life.” “Thus think the children of clay in their ignorance,” said the Dwarf, smiling maliciously, “ and thus they speak in their folly. Have you marked the young cub of a wild cat that has been domesti- cated, how sportive, how playful, how gentle,—but trust him with your game, your lambs, your poultry, his inbred ferocity breaks forth; he gripes, tears, ravages, and devours.” “Such is the animal’s instinct,” answered Earnscliff; “ but what has that to do with Hobbie ? ” “ It is his emblem—it is his picture,” rejoined the Recluse. “ He is at present tame, quiet, and domesticated, for lack of opportunity to exercise his inborn propensities; but let the trumpet of war sound— let the young blood-hound snuff blood, he will be as ferocious as the wildest of his Border ancestors that ever fired a helpless peasant’s abode. Can you deny, that even at present he often urges you to take bloody revenge for an injury received when you were a boy ? ”— Earnscliff started; the Recluse appeared not to observe his surprise, and proceeded. “ The trumpet will blow, the young blood-hound will lap blood, and I will laugh and say, For this I have preserved thee! ” He paused, and continued,—“ Such are my cures;—their object, their purpose, perpetuating the mass of misery, and playing even in this desert my part in the general tragedy. "Were you on your sick-bed, I might, in compassion, send you a cup of poison.” “ I am much obliged to you, Elshie, and certainly shall not fail to consult you with so comfortable a hope from your assistance.” “Do not flatter yourself too far,” replied the Hermit, “with the hope that I will positively yield to the frailty of pity. Why should I snatch a dupe, so well fitted to endure the miseries of life as you are, from the wretchedness which his own visions, and the villainy of tho world are preparing for him ?—Why should I play the compassionate Indian, and, knocking out the brains of the captive with my toma- hawk, at once spoil the three days’ amusement of my kindred tribe, at the very moment when tho brands were lighted, tho pincers heated, the cauldrons boiling, the knives sharpened, to tear, scorch, seethe, and scarify the intended victim ? ” KOVELS.] THE BLACK DWARF, 33

“ A dreadful picture you present to me of life, Elsliie, but I am not daunted by it,” returned Earnscliff. “We are sent here in one sense to bear and to suffer, but in another to do and to enjoy. The active day has its evening of repose; even patient sufferance has its allevia- tions, where there is a consolatory sense of duty discharged.” “ I spurn at the slavish and bestial doctrine,” said the Dwarf, his eyes kindling with insane fury,—“ I spurn at it as worthy only of the beasts that perish; but I will waste no more words with you,” He rose hastily; but, ere he withdrew into the hut, he added, with great vehemence, “Yet, lest you still think my apparent benefits to man- kind flow from the stupid and servile source, called love of our fellow- creatures, know, that were there a man who had annihilated my soul’s dearest hope—who had torn my heart to mammocks, and seared my brain till it glowed like a volcano, and were that man’s fortune and life in my power as completely as this frail pot-sherd,” (he snatched up an earthen cup which stood beside him,) “ I would not dash him into atoms thus—” (he flung the vessel with fury against the wall,) “ No! ” (he spoke more composedly, but with the utmost bitterness,) “ I would pamper him with wealth and power to influence his evil pas- sions, and to fulfil his evil designs; he should lack no means of vice and villainy; he should be the centre of a whirlpool that itself should know neither rest nor peace, but boil with unceasing fury, while it wrecked every goodly ship that approached its limits ! he should be an earthquake capable of shaking the very land in which he dwelt, and rendering all its inhabitants friendless, outcast, and miserable—as I am! ” The wretched being rushed into his hut as he uttered these last words, shutting the door with furious violence, and rapidly drawing two bolts, one after another, as if to exclude the intrusion of any one of that hated race, who had thus lashed his soul into frenzy. Earns- cliff left the moor with a mingling sensation of pity and horror, pon- dering what strange and melancholy cause could have reduced to so miserable a state of mind, a man whose language argued him to be of rank and education much superior to the vulgar. He was also sur- prised to see how much particular information a person who had lived in that country so short a time, and in so recluse a manner, had been able to collect respecting the dispositions and private affairs of the in- habitants. “It is no wonder,” he saicT to himself, “that with such extent of information, such a mode of life, so uncouth a figure, and sentiments so virulently misanthropic, this unfortunate should be regarded by the vulgar as in league with the enemy of mankind.”

B 34 THE BEACH DWABE. [WAVEB.LEY

CHAPTER Y. The bleakest rock upon the loneliest heath Feels, in its barrenness, some touch of spring; And, in the April dew, or beam of May, Its moss and lichen freshen and revive; And thus the heart, most seared to human pleasure, Melts at the tear, joys in the smile of woman.—Beaumont. As the season advanced, the weather became more genial, and the Re- cluse was more frequently found occupying the broad flat stone in tho front of his mansion. As he sate there one day, about the hour of noon, a party of gentlemen and ladies, well mounted, and numerously attended, swept across the heath at some distance from his dwelling. Dogs, hawks, and led-horses, swelled the retinue, and the air resounded at intervals with the cheer of the hunters, and the sound of horns blown by the attendants. The Recluse was about to retire into his mansion at the sight of a train so joyous, when three young ladies, with their attendants, who had made a circuit, and detached them- selves from their party, in order to gratify their curiosity by a sight of the Wise Wight of Mucklestane-Moor, came suddenly up ero he could effect his purpose. Tho first shrieked, and put her hands before her eyes, at sight of an object so unusually deformed. Tho second, with a hysterical giggle, which she intended should disguise her terrors, asked the Recluse, whether he could tell their fortune. The third, who was best mounted, best dressed, and incomparably the best-looking of tho three, advanced, as if to cover the incivility of her companions. “ Wo have lost the right path that leads through these morasses, and our party have gone forward without us,” said the young ladj’. “ Seeing you, father, at tho door of your house, we have turned this way to ” “Hush!” interrupted tho Dwarf; “so young and already so artful? You came—you know you came, to exult in the consciousness of your own youth, wealth, and beauty, by contrasting them with age, poverty, and deformity. It is a fit employment for the daughter of your father, but 0 how unlike the child of your mother ! ” “ Did you, then, know my parents, and do you know me ? ” “ Yes; this is tho first time you have crossed my waking eyes, but I have seen you in my dreams.” “ Your dreams ? ” “ Ayo, Isabel Vere. What hast thou, or thine, to do with my wak- ing thoughts ? ” “ Your waking thoughts, sir,” said tho second of Miss Vere’s com- panions, with a sort of mock gravity, “are fixed, doubtless, upon wis- dom , folly can only intrude on your sleeping moments.” “ Over thine,” retorted the Dwarf, more splenetically than became a philosopher, or hermit, “folly exercises an unlimited empire, asleep or awake.” “ Lord bless us ! ” said the lady, “ he’s a wrophet, sure enough,” NOVELS.] THE BLACK DWARF 35

“As surely,” continued the Recluse, “as thou art a ■woman.—A woman!—I should have said a lady—a fine lady. You asked me to toll your fortune—it is a simple one; an endless chase through life after follies not worth catching, and, when caught, successively thrown away; a chace, pursued from the days of tottering infancy to those of old age upon his crutches. Toys and merry-makings in childhood—- love and its absurdities in youth—spadille and basto in ago, shall suc- ceed each other as objects of pursuit—flowers and butterflies in spring —butterflies and thistle-down in summer—withered leaves in autumn and winter—all pursued, all caught, ail flung aside.—Stand apart; your fortune is said.” “All caught, however,” retorted the laughing fair one, who was a cousin of Miss Yere’s; “ that’s something, Nanny,” she continued, turning to the timid damsel who had first approached the Dwarf; “ will you ask your fortune ? ” “ Not for worlds,” said she, drawing back, “ I have heard enough of yours.” “Well, then,” said Miss Ilderton, offering money to the Dwarf, “ I’ll pay for mine, as if it were spoken by an oracle to a princess.” “Truth,” said the Soothsayer, “can neither be bought nor sold,” and he pushed back her proffered offering with morose disdain. “Well then,” said the lady, “I’ll keep my money, Mr Elshendcr, to assist me in the chase I am to pursue.” “You will need it,” replied the cynic; “without it, few pursue successfully, and fewer are themselves pursued.—Stop! ” ho said to Miss Vere, as her companions moved off, “ with you I have more to say. You have what your companions would wish to have, or to be thought to have,—beauty, wealth, station, accomplishments.” “ Forgive my following my companions, father; I am proof both to flattery and fortune-telling.” “Stay,” continued the Dwarf, with his hand on her horse’s rein, “I am no common soothsayer, and I am no flatterer. All the advantages I have detailed, all and each of them have their corresponding evils— unsuccessful love, crossed affections, the gloom of a convent, or an odious alliance. I, who wish ill to all mankind, cannot wish more evil to you, so much is your course of life crossed by it.” “And if it be, father, let me enjoy the readiest solace of adversity while prosperity is in my power. You are old ; you are poor; your habitation is far from human aid, wore you ill, or in want; your situation, in many respects, exposes you to the suspicions of the vulgar, which are too apt to break out into actions of brutality. Let me think I have mended the lot of one human being ! Accept of such assistance as I have power to offer; do this for my sake, if not for your own, that, when these evils arise, which you prophesy perhaps too truly, I may not have to reflect, that the hours of my happier timo nave been passed altogether in vain.” 36 THE BLACK DWARF. [WAVEULF.Y

The old man answered with a broken voice, and almost without ad- dressing himself to the young lady, “ Yes, ’tis thus thou should’st think—’tis thus thou should’st speak, if ever human speech and thought kept touch with each other ! They do not—they do not—Alas ! they cannot. And yet—wait here an in- stant—stir not till my return.” He went to his little garden, and re- turned with a half-blown rose. Thou hast made me shed a tear, the first which has wet my eye-lids for many a year; for that good deed receive this token of gratitude. It is but a common rose; preserve it, however, and do not part with it. Come to me in your hour of adver- sity,, Show me that rose, or but one leaf of it, were it withered as my heart is—if it should be in my fiercest and wildest movements of rage against a hateful world, still it will recall gentler thoughts to my bosom, and perhaps afford happier prospects to thine. But no mes- sage,” he exclaimed, rising into his usual mood of misanthropy,—“no message—no go between! Come thyself, and the heart and the doors that are shut against every other earthly being, shall open to thee and to thy sorrows. And now pass on.” He let go the bridle-rein, and the young lady rode on, after expres- sing her thanks to this singular being, as well as her surprise at the extraordinary nature of his address would permit, often turning back to look at the Dwarf, who still remained at the door of his habitation, and watched her progress over the moor towards her father’s castle of Ellieslaw, until the brow of the hill hid the party from his sight. The ladies, mean time, jested with Miss Yere on the strange inter- view they had just had with the far-famed Wizard of the Moor. “Isabella has all the luck at home and abroad; her hawk strikes down the black-cock; her eyes wound the gallant; no chance for her poor companions and kinswomen; even the conjurer cannot escape the force of her charms. You should, in compassion, cease to be such an en- grosser, my dear Isabel, or at least set up shop and sell off all the goods you do not mean to keep for your own use.” “You shall have them all,” replied Miss Yere, “and the conjuror to boot, at a very easy rate.” “ No! Nancy shall have the conjuror,” said Miss Ilderton, “to sup- ply deficiencies ; she’s not quite a witch herself, you know.” “Lord, sister,” answered the younger Miss Ilderton, “what could I do with so frightful a monster ? I kept my eyes shut, after once glancing at him; and, I protest, I thought I saw him still, though I winked as close as ever I could.” “That’s a pity,” said her sister; “ever while you live, Nanny, chuse an admirer whose faults can be hid by winking at them.—Well, then, I must take him myself, I suppose, and put him into mamma’s Japan cabinet, in order to show that Scotland can produce a specimen of mortal clay, moulded into a form ton thousand times uglier than the in? aginations of Canton and Pekin, fertile as they are in monsters, have immortalized in porcelain.” NOVELS.] THE BLACK DWARF 37

“There is something,” said Miss Vere, “so melancholy in the situation of this poor man, that I cannot enter into your mirth, Lucy, so readily as usual. If he has no resources, how is he to exist in this waste country, living, as he does, at such a distance from mankind ? and, if he has the means of securing occasional assistance, will not the very suspicion that he is possessed of them, expose him to plunder and assassination by some of our unsettled neighbours ? ” “But you forget that they say he is a warlock,” said Nancy Ilderton. “ And, if his magic diabolical should fail him,” rejoined her sister, “ I would have him trust to his magic natural, and thrust his enor- mous head, and most preternatural visage, out at his door or window, full in view of the assailants. The boldest robber that ever rode would hardly bide a second glance of him. Well, I wish I had the use of that Gorgon head of his only one half hour.” “ For what purpose, Lucy ? ” said Miss Yere. “ 0! I would frighten out of the castle that dark, stiff, and stately Sir Frederick Langley, that is so great a favourite with your father, and so little a favourite of your’s. I protest I shall be obliged to the Wizard as long as I live, if it were only for the half hour’s relief from that man’s company which we have gained by deviating from the party to visit Elshie.” “ What would you say, then,” said Miss Vere, in a low tone, so as not to be heard by the younger sister, who rode before them, the nar- row path not admitting of their moving all three abreast,—“what would you say, my dearest Lucy, if it were proposed to you to endure his company for life ? ” “Say? I would say No, no, no, three times, each louder than another, till they should hear me at Carlisle.” “ And Sir Frederick would say then, nineteen nay-says are half a grant.” “ That,” replied Miss Lucy, “ depends entirely on the manner in which the nay-says are said. Mine should have no one grain of con- cession in them, I promise you.” “But if your father,” said Miss Yere, “were to say,—Thus do, or" “ I would stand to the consequences of his or, were he the most cruel father that ever was recorded in romance, to fill up the alter- native.” “ And what if he threatened you with a Catholic aunt, an abbess, and a cloister ? ” “Then,” said Miss Ilderton, “I would threaten him with a Protest- ant son-in-law, and be glad of an opportunity to disobey him for con- science sake. And now that Nanny is out of hearing, let me really say, I think you would be excusable before God and man for resisting this preposterous match by every means in your power. A proud, dark, ambitious man; a caballer against the state; infamous for his 38 THE BLACK DWARF. [WAVEKLEY avarice and severity; a bad son, a bad brother, unkind and ungener- ous to all his relatives—Isabel, I would die rather than have him.” “Don’t let my father hear you give me such advice,” said Miss Yere, “ or adieu to Ellicslaw-Castle.” “ And adieu to Ellieslaw-Castle, with all my heart,” said Lucy, “ if I once saw you fairly out of it, and settled under some kinder protector than he whom nature has given you. 0, if my poor father had been in his former health, how gladly would he have received and sheltered you, till this ridiculous and cruel persecution were blown over ! ” “Would to God it had been so, my dear Lucy,” answered her friend; “ but I fear, that, in your father’s weak state of health, he would be altogether unable to protect me against the means which would be immediately used for reclaiming the poor fugitive.” “ I fear so, indeed,” replied Miss Ilderton, “but we will consider and devise something. Now that your father and his guests seem so deeply engaged in some mysterious plot, to judge from the passing and returning of messages, from the strange faces which appear and dis- appear without being announced by their names, from the collecting and cleaning of arms, and the anxious gloom and bustle which seem to agitate every male in the castle, it may not be impossible for us (always in case matters be driven to extremity) to shape out some little supplemental conspiracy of our own. I hope the gentlemen havo not kept all the policy to themselves; and there is one associate that I would gladly admit to our counsel.” “ Not Nanny P ” “ 0, no! ” said Miss Ilderton ; “ Nancy, though an excellent good girl, and fondly attached to you, would make a dull conspirator—as dull as Renault and all the other subordinate plotters in Venice Pre- served, No; this is a Jaffier, or Pierre, if you like the character better ; and yet, though I know I shall please you, I am afraid to mention his name to you lest I vex you at the same time. Can you not guess P Something about an eagle and a rook ; it does not begin with eagle in English, but something very like it in Scotch.” “You cannot mean young Earnscliff, Lucy?” said Miss Yere, blushing deeply. ‘1 And whom else should I mean ? ’ ’ said Lucy. ' ‘ Jafiiers and Pierres are very scarce in this country, I take it, though one could find Re- nanlts and Bodamars enow.” “ How can you talk so wildly, Lucy ? Your plays and romances havo positively turned your brain. You know, that, independent of my father’s consent, without which I never will marry any one, and which, in the case you point at, would never be granted; independent, loo, of our knowing nothing of young Earnsclifi’s inclinations, but by your own wild conjectures and fancies—besides all this, there is the fatal brawl! ” “ When his father was killed ? ” said Lucy. “ But that was very NOVELS.] THE BLACK DWARF. 39 long ago ; and I hope wo have outlived the time of bloody feud, when a quarrel was carried down botween two families from father to son, like a Spanish game at chess, and a murder or two committed in every generation, just to keep the matter from going to sleep. We do with our quarrels now-a-days as with our clothes; cut them out for our- selves, and wear them out in our own day, and should no more think of resenting our father’s feuds, than of wearing their slashed doublets and trunk-hose.” “ You treat this far too lightly, Lucy,” answered Miss Vere. “ Not a bit, my dear Isabella,” said Lucy, “ Consider, your father, though present in the unhappy affray', is never supposed to have struck the fatal blow; besides, in former times, in case of mutual slaughter be- tween clans, subsequent alliances were so far from being excluded, that the hand of a daughter or a sister was the most frequent gage of recon- ciliation. You laugh at my skill in romance; but, I assure you, should your history bo written, like that of many a less distressed and less deserving heroine, the well-judging reader would set you down for tho lady and the love of Earnscliff, from the very obstacle which you sup- pose so insurmountable.” “But these are not the days of romance, but of sad reality', for there stands the castle of Ellieslaw.” “And there stands Sir Frederick Langley at the gate, waiting to assist the ladies from their palfreys. I would as lief touch a toad ; I will disappoint him, and take old Horsington the groom for my master of tho horse.” So saying tho lively young lady switched her palfrey forward, and, passing Sir Frederick with a familiar nod as he stood ready to take her horse’s rein, she cantered forward and jumped into the arms of tho old groom. Fain would Isabella have done the same had she dared ; but her father stood near, displeasure already darkening on a countenance peculiarly qualified to express the harsher passions, and she was com- pelled to receive the unwelcome assiduities of her detested suitor.

CHAPTER YI. Let as that are squires of the night’s body be called thieves of the day’s beauty; let us be Diana’s foresters, gentlemen of the shade, minions of the moon. Henry the Fourth, Fart I. The Solitary had consumed the remainder of that day in which he had the interview with the young ladies, within the precincts of his garden. Evening again found him seated on his favourite stone. The sun set- ting red, and among seas of rolling clouds, threw a gloomy lustre over the moor, and gave a deeper purple to tho broad outline of heathy mountains which surrounded this desolate spot. The Dwarf sate watching tho clouds as they lowered above each other in masses of 40 THE BLACK DWARF. [/WAT BULKY conglomerated vapours, and, as a strong lurid beam of the sinking luminary darted full on his solitary and uncouth figure, he might well have seemed the demon of the storm which was gathering, or some gnome summoned forth from the recesses of the earth by the subter- ranean signals of its approach. As ho sate thus, with his dark ejm turned toward the scowling and blackening heaven, a horseman rode rapidly towards him, and stopping, as if to let his horse breathe for an instant, made a sort of obedience to the anchoret with an air betwixt effrontery and embarrassment. The figure of the rider was thin, tall, and slender, but remarkably athletic, bony, and sinewy; like one who had all his life followed those violent exercises which prevent the human form from increasing in bulk, while they harden and confirm by habit its muscular powers. His face, thin, sun-burnt, and freckled, had a sinister expression ot violence, impudence, and cunning, each of which seemed alternately to predominate over the others. Sandy-coloured hair, and reddish eyebrows, from under which looked forth his sharp grey eyes, com- pleted the inauspicious outline of the horseman’s physiognomy. He had pistols in his holsters, and another pair peeped from his belt, though he had taken some pains to conceal them by buttoning his doublet. He wore a rusted steel head-piece, a buff jacket of rather an antique cast, gloves, of which that for the right hand was covered with small scales of iron, like an ancient gauntlet; and a long broadsword completed his equipage. “So,” said the Dwarf, “rapine and murder once more on horse- back.” “ On horseback?” said the bandit; “ ay, ay, Elshie, your leech-craft has set me on the bonny bay again.” “ And all those promises of amendment which you made during your illness forgotten?” continued Elshender “All clear away with the water-saps and panada,” returned the unabashed convalescent. “Ye ken, Elshie, for they say ye are weel acquaint wi’ the gentleman,

‘ When the devil was sick, the devil a monk would be, When the devil was well, the devil a monk was he.’ ”

“ Thou say’st true,” said the Solitary; “ as well divide a wolf from his appetite for carnage, or a raven from her scent of slaughter, as thee from thy accursed propensities.” “ Why, what would you have me to do? It’s born with me—lies in my very blude and bane. Why, man, the lads of Westburnflat, for ten lang descents, have been reivers and lifters. They have all drunk hard, lived high, taking deep revenge for light offence, and never wanted gear for the winning.” “Right; and thou art ae thorough-bred a wolf,” said the Dwarf, KOVELS.] THE BLACK DWAKF. 41

“ as ever leapt a lamb-fold at night. On what hell’s errand art thou bound now?” “Can your skill not guessP” “Thus far I know,” said the Dwarf, “ that thy purpose is bad, thy deed will be worse, and the issue worst of all.” “And you like me the better for it, ehP” said Westburnflat; “you always said you did.” “ I have cause to like all,” said the Solitary, “ that are scourges to their fellow-creatures, and thou art a bloody one.” “ No—I say not guilty to that—never bluidy unless there’s resist- ance, and that sets a man’s bluid up, ye ken. And this is nae great matter, after a’; just to cut the comb of a young cock that has been era wing a little ower crousely.” “ Not young Earnscliff?” said tho Solitary, with some emotion. “ No; not young Eamscliff—not young Earnscliff yet; but his time may come, if he will not take warning, and get him back to the bur- row-town that he’s fit for, and no keep skelping about here, destroying the few deer that are left in the country, and pretending to act as a magistrate, and writing letters to the great folk at Auld Reekie, about the disturbed state of the land. Let him take care o’ himsel.” “ Then it must be Hobbie of the Heughfoot. What harm has tho lad dune you ?” “ Harm! nae great harm; but I hear he says I staid away from the Ba’spiel on Fastern’s E’en, for fear of him, and it was only for fear of the Country Keeper, for there was a warrant against me. I’ll stand Hobble’s feud, and a’ his clan’s. But it’s no so much for that, as to gi’e him a lesson no to let his tongue gallop ower freely about his betters. I trow he will hae lost the best pen-feather o’ his wing before to-morrow morning.—Farewell, Elshie; there’s some canny boys wait- ing for me down amang the shaws, owerby; I will see you as I como back, and bring ye a blythe tale in return for your leech-craft.” Ere the Dwarf could collect himself to reply, the Reiver of West- burnflat set spurs to his horse. The animal, starting at one of the stones which lay scattered about, flew from the path. The rider exer- cised his spurs without moderation or mercy. The horse became furious, reared, kicked, plunged and bolted like a deer, with all his four feet off the ground at once. It was in vain; the unrelenting rider sate as if he had been a part of the horse which he bestrode; and, after a short but furious contest, compelled the subdued animal to proceed upon the path at a rate which soon carried him out of sight of the Solitary. “That villain,” exclaimed tho Dwarf,— “that cool-blooded, har- dened, unrelenting ruffian,—that wretch, whose every thought is infected with crimes,—has thowes and sinews, limbs, strength, and activity enough to compel a nobler animal than himself to carry him to the place where he is to perpetrate his wickedness; while I, had I 42 THE BLACK LWAEF. [WAYEELEV

tlie wealiness to •ffish to put Ms wretched victim on his guard, and to save the helpless family, would see my good intentions frustrated by the decreptitude which chains mo to the spot.—Why should I wish it were otherwise? What has my screech-owl voice, my hideous form, and my mis-shapen features, to do with the fairer workmanship of nature ? Do not men receive even my benefits with shrinking horror and ill-suppressed disgust ? And why should I interest myself in a race which accounts me a prodigy and an outcast, and who have treated me as such ? No; by all the ingratitude which I have repaid—by all the wrongs which I have sustained—by my imprisonment, my stripes, my chains, I will wrestle down my feelings of rebellious humanity; I will not be the fool I have been, to swerve from my principles when- ever there was an appeal, forsooth, to my feelings, as if I, towards whom none show sympathy, ought to have sympathy with any one. Let Destiny drive forth her scythed car through the overwhelmed and trembling mass of humanity! Shall I be the idiot to throw this docre- pid form, this mis-shapen lump of mortality, under her wheels, that the Dwarf, the Wizard, the Hunch-back, may save from destruction some fair form or some active frame, and all the world clap their hands at the exchange! No, never!—And yet this Elliot—this Hobbie, so young and gallant, so frank, so—1 will think of it no longer. I can- not aid him if I would, and I am resolved—firmly resolved, that I would not aid him, if a wish were the pledge of his safety ? ” Having thus ended his soliloquy, he retreated into his hut for shelter from the storm which was fast approaching, and now began to burst in large and heavy drops of rain. The last rays of the sun now disap- peared entirely, and two or three claps of distant thunder followed each other at brief intervals, echoing and rc-echoing among the range of heathy fells like the sound of a distant engagement.

CHAPTER VII. Proud bird of the mountain, thy plume shall be torn!— ***** Return to thy dwelling; all lonely return; For the blackness of ashes shall mark where it stood, And a wild mother screamed o’er her famishing brood.—Campbell. The night continued to be sullen and stormy; but morning rose as if refreshed by the rains. Even the Mucklestane-Moor with its broad bleak swells of barren grounds, interspersed with marshy pools of water, seemed to smile under the serene influence of the sky, just as good- humour can spread a certain inexpressible charm over the plainest human countenance. The heath was in its thickest and deepest bloom. The bees, which the Solitary had added to his rural establishment, HOVELS.] THE BLACK DWARF. 43 were abroad and on the wing, and filled the air with the murmurs of their industry. As the old man crept out of his little hut, his two she- goats came to meet him, and licked his handsdn gratitude for the vege- tables with which he supplied them from his garden. “ You, at least,” he said—‘1 you, at least, see no differences in form which can alter your feelings to a benefactor—to you, the finest shape that ever statuary moulded would be an object of indifference or of alarm, should it pre- sent itself instead of the mutilated trunk to whose services you are ac- customed. While I was in the world, did I ever meet with such a return of gratitude ? No; the domestic whom I had bred from infancy made mouths at me as he stood behind my chair; the friend whom I had sup- ported with my fortune, and for whose sake I had even stained (he stopped^with a strong convulsive shudder) even he thought me more fit for the society of lunatics—for their disgraceful restraint—for their cruel privations, than for communication with the rest of humanity. Hubert alone—and Hubert too will one day abandon me. All are of a piece, one mass of wickedness, selfishness, and ingratitude—wretches, who sin even in their devotions; and of such hardness of heart, that they do not, without hypocrisy even thank the Deity himself for his warm sun and pure air.” As he was plunged in these gloomy soliloquies, he heard the tramp of a horse on the other side of his inclosure, and a strong clear bass voice singing with the liveliness inspired by a light heart, Canny Hobbie Elliot, canny Hobble now, Canny Hobbie Elliot, I’sc gang alang wi’ you. At the same moment, a largo deer greyhound sprung over the Her- mit’s fence. It is well known to the sportsmen in these wilds, that the appearance and scent of the goat so much resemble those of their usual objects of chase, that the best broke greyhounds will sometimes fly upon them. The dog in question instantly pulled down and throttled one of the Hermit’s she-goats, while Hobbie Elliot, who came up, and jumped from his horse for the purpose, was unable to extri- cate the harmless animal from the fangs of his attendant until it was expiring. The Dwarf eyed, for a few moments, the convulsive starts of his dying favourite, until the poor goat stretched out her limbs with the twiches and shivering fit of the last agony. He then started into an access of frenzy, and, unsheathing a long sharp knife, or dagger, which he wore under his coat, ho was about to launch it at the dog, when Hobbie, perceiving his purpose, interposed, and caught hold of his hand, exclaiming, “ Let a-be the hound, man—let a-be the hound —na, na, Killbuck mauna be guided that gate, neither.” The Dwarf turned his rage on the young farmer; and, by a sudden effort, far more powerful than Ilobbie expected from such a person, freed his wrist from his grasp, and offered the dagger at his heart. All this was done in the twinkling of an eye, and the incensed Recluse 44 THE BLACK DWARF. [WAVEItLEY

might have completed his vengeance by plunging the weapon in Elliot’s bosom, had he not been checked by an internal impulse which made him hurl the knife to a distance. “No,” he exclaimed, as he thus voluntarily deprived himself of the means of gratifying his rage; “not again—not again!” Hobbie retreated a step or two in great surprise, discomposure, and disdain, at having been placed in such danger by an object apparently so contemptible. “ The de’il’s in the body for strength and bitterness! ” were the first words that escaped him, which he followed up with an apology for tho accident that had given rise to their disagreement. “ I am no justify- ing Killbuck a’thegither neither, and I am sure it is as vexing to mo as to you, Elshie, that the mischance should hae happened; but I’ll send you twa goats and twa fatgimmers, man, to make a’ strait again. A wise man like you shouldna bear malice against a poor dumb thing; ye see that a goat’s like first cousin to a deer, sae he acted but accord- ing to his nature after a’. Had it been a pet-lamb, there wad hae been mair to be said. Ye suld keep sheep, Elshie, and no goats, where there’s sae mony deer-hounds about—but I’ll send ye baith.” “Wretch!” said the Hermit, “your cruelty has destroyed one of the only creatures in existence that would look on me with kindness ! ” “Dear, Elshie, I’m wae ye suld hae cause to say sae; I’m sure it was na wi’ my will. And yet, it’s true, I should hae minded your goats, and coupled up the dogs. I’m sure I would rather they had worried the primest wether in my faulds.—Come, man, forget and forgi’e. I’m e’en as vexed as ye can be—But I am a bridegroom, ye see, and that puts a’ things out o’ my head, I think. There’s the mar- riage dinner, or gude part o’t, that my twa brithers are bringing on a sled round by the Riders’ Slack, three goodly bucks as ever ran on Dallom-lea, as the sang says; they couldna come the straight road for the saft grund, I wad send ye a bit venison, but ye wadna take it weel maybe, for Killbuck catched it.” During this long speech, in which the good-natured Borderer en- deavoured to propitiate the offended Dwarf by every argument he could think of, he heard him with his eyes bent on the ground, as if in tho deepest meditation, and at length broke forth—“Nature?—yes it is indeed in the usual beaten path of Nature. The strong gripe and throttle the weak; the rich depress and despoil the needy; the happy (those who are idiots enough to think themselves happy) insult the misery and diminish the consolation of the wretched,—Go hence, thou who hast contrived to give an additional pang to the most miserable of human beings—thou who hast deprived me of what I half considered as a source of comfort. Go hence, and enjoy the happiness prepared for thee at homo! ” “Never stir,” said Hobbie, “if I wadna take you wi’ me, man, if ye wad but say it wad divert ye to be at the bridal on Monday. There KOVELS.] THE BLACK LAY ABE. 43 will be a hundred strapping Elliots to ride the brouse—the like’s no been seen sin’ the days of auld Martin of the Preakin tower—I wad send the sled for ye wi’ a canny powny.” “Is it to me you propose once more to mix in the society of the com- mon herd?” “Commons!” retorted Hobbie, “nae siccan commons neither; the Elliots hae been lang kenn’d a gentle race.” “Hence! begone!” reiterated the Dwarf; “may the same evil luck attend thee that thou hast left behind with me! If I go not with you myself, see if you can escape what my attendants, Wrath and Misery, have brought to thy threshold before thee.” “I wish ye wadna speak that gate,” said Hobbie. “Ye ken yoursel, Elshie, naebody judges you to be ower canny; now I’ll tell ye just ao word for a’—ye hae spoken as muckle as wussing ill to me and mine; now, if ony mischance happen to Grace, which God forbid, or to mysel, or to the poor dumb tyke; or if I be skaithed and injured in body, gudes, or gear, I’ll no forget wha it is that it’s owing to.” “ Out, hind !” exclaimed the Dwarf, “ home 1 home to your dwel- ling, and think on me when you find what has befallen there.” “ Aweel, aweel,” said Hobbie, mounting his horse., “ it serves nae- thing to strive wi’ cripples, they are aye cankered; but Pil just tell ye ae thing, neighbour, that if things be otherwise than weel wi’ Grace Armstrong, I’se gi’e you a scouther if there be a tar-barrel in the fivr parishes.” So saying, he rode off; and Elshie, after looking at him with a scorn- ful and indignant laugh, took spade and mattock, and occupied him- self in digging a grave for his deceased favourite. A low whistle and the words, “Hist, Elshie, hist!” disturbed him in this melancholy occupation. He looked up, and the Bed Beiver of AVestburnflat was before him. Like Banquo’s murderer, there was blood on his face, as well as upon the rowels of his spurs and the sides of his over-ridden horse. “ How now, ruffianP” demanded the Dwarf, “is thy job chared P” “Ay, ay, doubt not that, Elshie,” answered the freebooter; “when I ride, my foes may moan. They have had mair light than comfort at the Heugh-foot this morning; there’s a toom byre and a wide, and a wail and a cry for the bonnie bride.” “ The bride P ” “ Ay; Charlie Cheat-the-Woodie, as We ca’ him, that’s Charlie Pos- ter of Tinning Beck, has promised to keep her in Cumberland till the blast blaw bye. She saw me, and kenn’d me in the splore, for the mask fell frae my face for a blink. I am thinking it wad concern my safety if she were to come back here, for there’s mony o’, the Elliots, and they band weel thegither for right or wrang. Now, what I chiefly come to ask your rede in, is how to make her sure ? ” “ AVould’st thou murder her, then P ” 46 THE BLACK DWABP. [WA'^EELEi'

“ Umjih! no, no; that I would not do, if I could help it. But they say they can whiles get folk cannily away to the plantations from some of the out-ports, and something to hoot for them that brings a bonny wench. They’re wanted beyond seas thae female cattle, and they’re no that scarce here. But I think o’ doing better for this lassie. There’s a lady, that, unless she be a’ the better bairn, is to he sent to foreign parts whether she will or no; now, I think of sending Grace to wait on her—she’s a bonny lassie. Hobbie will hae a merry morning when he comes hame, and misses baith bride and gear.” “ Ay; and do you not pity him F ” “Wad he pity me, were I gaeing up the Castle hill at JeddartF* And yet I rue something for the bit lassie; hut he’ll get anither, and little skaith done—ane is as gude as anither. And now, you that like to hear, o’ splores, heard ye over o’ a better ane than I hao had this morning P ” “Air, ocean, and fire,” said the Dwarf, speaking to himself, “the earthquake, the tempest, the volcano, are all mild and moderate, com- pared to the wrath of man. And what is this follow, hut one more skilled than others in executing the end of his existence F —Hear mo, felon, go again where I before sent thee.” “ To the Steward F ” “Ay; and tell him, Elshender the Recluse commands him to give thee gold. But, hear me, let the maiden he discharged free and un- injured; return her to her friends, and let her swear not to discover thy villainy.” “SwearF” said Westburnflat, “hut what if she break her aithP Women are not famous for keeping their plight. A wise man like you should ken that.—And uninjured—wha kens what may happen were she to be left lang at Tinning-Beck F Charlie Cheat-tho-Woodie is a rough customer. But if the gold could he made up to twenty pieces, I think I could insure her being wi’ her friends within the twenty-four hours.” The Dwarf took his tablets from his pocket, marked a line on them, and tore out the leaf. “There,” he said, giving the robber the leaf. —‘ ‘ But mark me; thou knowest I am not to be fooled by thy treach- ery ; if thou darest to disobey my directions, thy wretched life, be sure, shall answer it.” “I know,” said the fellow, looking down, “that you have power on earth, however you came by it, you can do what nae other man can do, baith by physic and foresight, and the gold is shelled down when ye command, as fast as I have seen the ash keys fall in a frosty morning in October. I will not disobey you.” “ Begone, then, and relieve me of thy hateful presence.”

*'Dhe place of execution at that ancient burgh, where many of Westburnflat’s profession have made their final exit. NOVELS.] THE BLACK DWARF. 47

Tho robber set spurs to bis borse, and rode on without reply. Ilobbie Elliot bad, in the meanwhile, pursued bis journey rapidly, harassed by those oppressive and indistinct fears that all was not right, which men usually term a presentiment of misfortune. Ere he reached tho top of the bank from which he could look down on his own habi- tation, ho was met by his nurse, a person, then, of great consequence in all families in Scotland, whether of the higher or middling classes. The connection between them and their foster children was considered a tie far too dearly intimate to be broken, and it usually happened, in the course of years, that the nurse became a resident in the family of her foster son, assisting in the domestic duties, and receiving all marks of attention and regard from the heads of tho family. So soon as Hobbie recognized the figure of Annaplo, in her red cloak and black hood, he could not not help exclaiming to himself, “ What ill luck can hao brought the auld nurse sao far frao hame, her that never stirs a gun-shot frac tho door-stane for ordinar ?—Hout, it will just bo to got crane-berries, or whortle-berrics, or some such stuff, out of tho moss, to make tho pies and tarts for the feast on Monday.—I cannot get tho words of that cankered auld cripple do’il’s-buckie out o’ my head—tho least thing makes me dread some ill news.—0, Killbuck, man ! were there nao deer and goats in the country besides, brrt ye behoved to gang and worry his creature, bye a’ other folks’ ?” By this time Annaple, with a brow like a tragic volume, had hobbled towards him, and caught his horse by the bridle. Tho despair in her look was so evident as to deprive even him of the power of asking tho cause. “ O my bairn!” she cried, “ gang na forward—gang na for- ward—it’s a sight to kill ony body, let alane thee.” “In Grod’s name, what’s the matter?” said the astonished horseman, endeavouring to extricate his bridle from tho grasp of the old woman; “ for Heaven’s sake, let me go and see what’s the matter. “ Ohon! that I should have lived to see the day!—Tho steading’s a’ in a low, and tho bonny stack-yard lying in tho red ashes, and tho gear a’ driven away. But gang na forward; it wad break your young heart, hinny, to see what my auld een has seen this morning.” “ And who has dared to do this? let go my bridle, Annaple —Whore is my grandmother—my sisters ?—Where is Grace Armstrong!—God! -—tho words of the warlock are knelling in my ears! ” Ho sprang from his horse to rid himself of Annaplo’s interruption, and, ascending the hill with great speed, soon came in view of tho spec- tacle with which she had threatened him. It was indeed a hcar-t- breaking sight. The habitation which he had left in its seclusion, be- side the mountain stream, surrounded with every evidence of rustic plenty, was now a wasted and blackened ruin. From amongst tho shattered and sable walls the smoke continued to rise. The turf-stack, tho barn-yard, the offices stocked with cattle, all tho wealth of an up- land cultivator of tho period, of which poor Elliot possessed no common 48 THE BLACK DWARF. [WAVERLEY

share, had been laid waste or carried off in a single night. He stood a moment motionless, and then exclaimed, ‘ ‘ I am ruined—ruined to tho ground!—But curse on the warld’s gear—Had it not been the week before the bridal—But I am nae babe, to sit down and greet about it. If I can but find Grace, and my grandmother, and my sisters weel, I can go to the wars in Flanders, as my guid-sires did wi’ auld Buc- cleuch. At ony rate, I will keep up a heart, or they will lose theirs a’thegither.” • Manfully strode Hobbie down the hill, resolved to suppress his own despair, and administer consolation which he did not feel. The neigh- bouring inhabitants of the dell, particularly those of his own name, had already assembled. The younger part were in arms and clamorous for revenge, although they knew not upon whom; the elder were taking measures for the relief of the distressed family. Annaple’s cottage, which was situated down the brook, at some distance from the scene of mischief, had been hastily adapted for the temporary accommodation of the old lady and her daughters, with such articles as had been contri- buted by the neighbours, for very little was saved from the wreck. “Are we to stand here a’ day, sirs,” exclaimed one tall young man, “ and look at the burnt wa’s of our kinsman’s house ? Every wreath of the reek is a blast of shame upon us! Let us to horse, and take the chase.—Who has the nearest bloodhound ? ” “It’syoung Earnscliff,” answered another; “ and he’s been on and away wi’ six horse lang syne, to see if he can track them.” “Let us follow him then, and raise the country, and make mairhelp as we ride, and then have at the Cumberland reivers. Take, burn, and slay—they that lie nearest us shall smart first.” ‘ ‘ Whisht! baud your tongues, daft callants,” said an old man, “ ye dinna ken what ye speak about. What! wad ye raise war atween twa paci heated countries ? ” “And what signihes deaving us wi’ tales about our fathers,” re- torted the young man, “ if we’re to sit and see our friends’ houses burnt ower their heads, and no put out a hand to revenge them ? Our fathers didna do that, I trow,” “ I am no saying ony thing against revenging Hobbie’s wrang, puir chield, but we maun take the law wi’ us in thae days, Simon,” answered the more prudent elder. “ And, besides,” said another old man, “ I dinna believe there’s ane now living that kens the lawful mode of following a fray across the Border. Tam o’ Whittram kenn’d a’ about it, but he died in the hard winter.” “ Ay,” said a third, “he was at the great gathering when they chased as far as Thirlwall it was the year after the fight of Philip- haugh.” “Hout,” exclaimed another of these discording counsellors, “there's nao great skill needed; just put a lighted peat on the end of a spear, NOVELS.] THE BLACK DWARF. 49 or hay-fork, or something, and blaw a horn, and cry the gathering- word, and then it’s lawful to follow gear into England, and recover it by the strong hand, or to take gear fi’ae some other Englishman, pro- viding ye lift nae mair than’s been lifted frae you. That’s the auld Border law, made at Dundrennan, in the days of the Black Douglas. De’il ane need doubt it. “ Come away, then, lads,” cried Simon, “get to your geldings, and we’ll take auld Cuddy the muckle tasker wi’ us, he kens the value o’ the stock and plenishing that’s been lost. Hobble’s stalls and stakes shall be fou again or night; and if we canna big up the auld house sae soon, we’se lay an English ane as low as Heughfoot is—and that’s fair play, a’ the warld ower.” This animating proposal was received with great applause by the younger part of the assemblage, when a whisper ran among them, “ There’s Hobbie himsel, puir fallow; we’ll be guided by him.” The principal sufferer, having now reached the bottom of the hill, pushed on through the crowd, unable, from the tumultuous state of his feelings, to do more than receive and return the grasps of the friendly hands by which his neighbours and kinsmen mutely expressed their sympathy in his misfortune. While he pressed Simon of Hack- burn’s hand, his anxiety at length found words. “ Thank ye, Simon—• thank ye, neighbours—I ken what ye wad a’ say. But where are they ? —Where are ” He stopped, as if afraid even to name the objects of his enquiry; and, with a similar feeling, his kinsmen, without re- ply, pointed to the hut, into which Hobbie precipitated himself with the desperate air of one who is resolved to know the worst at once. A general expression of sympathy accompanied him. “ Ah, puir fallow —puir Hobbie! ” ‘ ‘ He’ll learn the warst o’t, now! ” “ But I trust Earnscliff will get some speerings o’ the puir lassie.” Such were the exclamations of the group, which, having no acknow- leged leader to direct their motions, passively awaited the return of the sufferer, and determined to be guided by his directions. The meeting between Hobbie and his family was in the highest de- gree affecting. His sisters threw themselves upon him, and almost stifled him with their caresses, as if to prevent his looking round to distinguish the absence of one yet more beloved. “ God help thee, my son! He can help when worldly trust is a broken reed.”—Such was the welcome of the matron to her unfortu- nate grandson. He looked eagerly round, holding two of his sisters by the hand, while the third hung about his neck—“I see you—I count you—My grandmother, Lilias, Jean, and Annot; but where is ” (he hesitated, and. then continued, as if with an effort,) “Where is Grace ? Surely this is not a time to hide hersel frae mo—there’s nae time for daffing now.” “ 0, brother! ” and “ our poor Grace ! ” was the only answer his 50 THE BLACK DWAKB. [waveeLey questions could procure, till his grandmother rose up, and gently dis- engaging him from the weeping girls, led him to a seat, and, with the affecting serenity which sincere piety, like oil sprinkled ou the wares, can throw over the most acute feelings, she said, “ My bairn, when thy grandfather was killed in the wars, and left me with six orphans around me, with scarce bread to eat, or a roof to cover us, I had strength—not of mine own—but I had strength given me to say, The Lord’s will be done !—-My son, our peaceful house was last night broken into by moss-troopers, armed and masked; they have taken and destroyed all, and carried off our dear Grace. Pray for strength to say, His will bo done! ” ‘ ‘ Mother! mother! urge mo not—I cannot—not now—I am a sinful man, and of a hardened race. Masked—armed—Grace carried off! Gi’e me my sword, and my father’s knapsack—I will have vengeance, if I should go to the pit of darkness to seek it! ” “ 0 my bairn, my bairn ! be patient under the rod. Who knows when He may lift his hand off from us ? Young Earnscliff, Heaven bless him, has ta’en the chase, with Davie of Stenhouse, and the first comers. I cried to let house and plenishing burn, and follow the reivers to recover Grace, and Earnscliff and his men were ower the Pell within throe hours after the deed. God bless him! he’s a real Earnsclilf; he’s his father’s true son—a leal friend.” “ A true friend, indeed; God bless him!” exclaimed Hobbie, “lot’s on and away, and take the chase after him.” “ O, my child, before you run on danger, let mo hear you but say, His will be done! ” “Urge mo not, mother—not now.” He was rushing out, when, looking back, he observed his grandmother make a mute attitude of affliction. Ho returned hastily, threw himself into her arms, and said, “ Yes, mother, I can say, His will be done, since it will comfort you.” “ May He go forth—may He go forth with you, my dear bairn ; and O, may He give you cause to say on your return, His name bo praised! ” “ Farewell, mother !—-farewell, my dear sisters ! ” exclaimed Elliot, and rushed out of the house.

CHAPTER VIII. Now horse and hattock, cried the laird,— Now horse and hattock, speedilie; They that winna ride for Tclfer’s kye, Lot them never look in the face o’ nr\—Border Ballad. “ Hoese ! horse! and spear!” exclaimed Ilobbie to his kinsmen. Many a ready foot was in the stirrup, and, while Elliot hastily col- NOVELS.] THE BLACK DWARF. ol loctocl arms and accoutrements, no easy matter in sucR a confusion, the glen resounded with the approbation of his younger friends. “ Ay, ay ! ” exclaimed Simon of Hackburn, “ that’s the gate to take it, Ilobbie. Let women sit and greet at kame, men must do as they have been done by ; it’s the Scripture says’t.” “ Haud your tongue, sir,” said one of the seniors sternly ; dinna abuse the Word that gate, ye dinna ken what ye speak about.” “ Ilae ye ony tidings?—Hae ye ony speerings, Hobbio?—0, Gal- lants, dinna be ower hasty,” said old Dick of the Dingle. “What signifies preaching to us e’ennow!” said Simon; “if yo canna make help yoursel, dinna keep back them that can.” “ Whisht, sir; wad ye take vengeance or ye ken wha has wrang’d ye?” “ D’ye think we dinna ken the road to England, as weel as our fathers before us ?—All evil comes out o’ thereaway—it’s an auld say- ing and a true ; and we’ll e’en away there, as if the devil was blawing us south.” “ Wo’ll follow the track o’ Earnscliff’s horses ower the waste,” cried one Elliot. “ I’ll prick thorn out through the blindest moor in the Border, an there had been a fair held there the day before,” said Hugh, the blacksmith of Eingloburn, “for I aye shoe his horse wi’ my ain hand. ’ “ Lay on the deer-hounds,” cried another ; “ where are they ? ” “ Ilout, man, the sun’s been lang up, and the dew is aff the grund —the scent will never lie.” Ilobbie instantly whistled on his hounds, which were roving about the ruins of their old habitation, and filling the air with their doleful howls. “Now, Killbuck,” said Hobbie, “try thy skill this day”—and then, as if a light had suddenly broke on him,—“ that ill-fa’ard goblin spak something o’ this. He may ken mair o’t, either by villains on earth, or devils below—I’ll hae it frae him, if I should cut it out o’ his mis- shapen bouk wi’ my whinger.” He then hastily gave directions to his comrades. “ Four o’ ye, wi’ Simon, haud right forward to G nemos’- gap. If they’re English, they’ll be for being back that way. The rest disperse by twasome and threesome through the waste, and meet mo at the Trysting-pool. Tell my brothers, when they come up, to follow and meet us there. Poor lads, they will hae hearts weel nigh as sair as mine; little think they what a sorrowful house they are bringing their venison to. I’ll ride ower Mucklestane-Moor mysel.” “ And if I were you,” said Dick of the Dingle, “ I would speak to canny Elshie. He can toll you whatever betides in this land, if he’s sao minded.” “ Ho shall tell me,” said Hobbie, who was busy putting his arms in order, “what he kens o’ this night’s job, or I shall right weel ken wherefore ho does not.” 52 THE BLACK DWARF. [WAVEliXEY

‘ ‘ Ay, but speak him fair, my bonny man—speak bim fair, Hobbie; the like o’ bim will no bear thrawing. They converse sae muckle wi’ tbae fractious ghaists and evil spirits, that it clean spoils their temper.” “Let me alane to guide him,” answered Hobbie; “there’s that in my breast this day, that would owor-maister a’ the warlocks on earth, and a’ the devils in hell.” And being now fully equipped, he threw himself on his horse, and spurred him at a rapid trot against the steep ascent. Elliot speedily surmounted the hill, rode down the other side at the same rate, crossed a wood, and traversed a long glen, ere he at length regained Mucklestane-Moor. As he was obliged, in the course of his journey, to relax his speed in consideration of the labour which his horse might still have to undergo, he had time to consider maturely in what manner he should address the Dwarf, in order to extract from him the knowledge which he supposed him to be in possession of con- cerning the authors of his misfortunes. Hobbie, though blunt, plain of speech, and hot of disposition, like most of his countrymen, was by no means deficient in the shrewdness which is also their characteristic. He reflected, that from what he had observed on the memorable night when the Dwarf was first seen, and from the conduct of that mysterious being ever since, he was likely to be rendered even more obstinate in his suilenness by threats and violence. “I’ll speak him fair,” he said, “as auld Dickon advised me. Though folk say he has a league wi’ Satan, he canna be sic an incarnate devil as no to take some pity in a case like mine; and folk threep he’ll ■whiles do good, charitable sort o’ things. I’ll keep my heart doun as weel as I can, and stroke him wi’ the hair; and if the warst come to the •warst, it’s but wringing the head o’ him about at last.” In this disposition of accommodation he approached the hut of the Solitary. The old man was hot upon his seat of audience, nor could Hobbie perceive him in his garden, or enclosures. “ He’s gotten into his very Keep,” said Ilobbie, “ maybe to be out o’ the gate; but I’se pu’ it doun about his lugs, if I canna win at him otherwise.” Having thus communed with himself, he raised his voice, and in- voked Elshie in a tone as supplicating as his conflicting feelings would permit. “Elshie, my gude friend.” No reply. “Elshie, canny Father Elshie.” The Dwarf remained mute. “ Sorrow be in the crooked carcase of thee,” said the Borderer between his teeth, and then again attempting a soothing tone; “good Father Elshie, a most miser- able creature desires some counsel of your wisdom.” “The better!” answered the shrill and discordant voice of the Dwarf through a very small window, resembling an arrow-slit, which he had constructed near the door of his dwelling, and through which KOVELS.] THE BLACK DAVARF. 53 lie could see any one wlio approaclied it, -witliout the possibility of their looking in upon him. “The better!” said Hobbie impatiently; “what is the hotter, Elshie F Do you not hear me tell you I am the most miserable wretch living ? ” ‘ ‘ And do you not hear me tell you it is so much the better ? and did I not tell you this morning, when you thought yourself so happy, what an evening was coming upon you ? ” “ That ye did e’en,” replied Hobbie, “and that gars me come to you for advice now; they that foresaw the trouble maun ken the cure.” “ I know no cure for earthly trouble,” returned the Dwarf; “ or, if I did, why should I help others, when none hath aided me P Have I not lost wealth, that would have bought all thy barren hills a hundred times over? rank, to which thine A as mat of a peasant? society, where there was an interchange of all that was amiable—of all that was intel- lectual ? Have I not lost all this ? Am I not residing here, the veriest outcast on the face of Nature, in the most hideous and most solitary of her retreats, myself more hideous than all that is around me ? And why should other worms complain to me when they are trodden on, since I am myself lying crushed and writhing under the chariot-wheel ? ” “ Ye may have lost all this,” answered Hobbie, in the bitterness of emotion; ‘ ‘ land and friends, goods and gear; ye may hae lost them a’,—but ye ne’er can hae sae sair a heart as mine, for ye ne’er lost nae Grace Armstrong. And now my last hopes are gano, and I shall ne’er see her mair.” This he said in the tone of deepest emotion—and there followed a long pause, for the mention of his bride’s name had overcome the moro angry and irritable feelings of poor Hobbie. Ere he had again address- ed the Solitary, the bony hand and long fingers of the latter, holding a large leathern bag, was thrust forth at the small window, and as it unclutched the burden, and let it drop with, a clang upon the ground, his harsh voice again addressed Elliot. ‘ ‘ There—there lies a salve for every human ill; so, at least, each human wretch readily thinks.—Begone, return twice as wealthy as thou wert before yesterday, and torment me no more with questions, complaints, or thanks ; they are alike odious to me.” “It is a’ gowd, by Heavens! ” said Elliot, having glanced at the contents; and then again addressing the Hermit, ‘ ‘ Muckle obliged for your good-will; and I wad blythely gi’e you a bond for some o’ the siller, or a wadset ower the lands o’ AVideopen. But I dinna ken, Elshie; to be free wi’ you, I dinna like to use siller unless I kenn’d it was decently come by; and maybe it might turn into sclate-stanes, and cheat some poor man.” “Ignorant idiot!” retorted the Dwarf, “the trash is as genuine poison as ever was dug out of the bowels of the earth. Take it—use it, and may it thrive with you as it hath done with me ! ” THE BLACK DWARF, [WAVEIILEY

“ But I toll you,” said Elliot, “ it was na about the gear that I was consulting you,—it was a braw barn-yard, doubtless, and thirty head of finer cattle there wore na on this side of the Cat-rail; but let the gear gang,—if ye could but gi’e me speerings o’ puir Grace, I would be content to be your slave for life, in ony thing that didna touch my sal- vation. O, Elshie, Speak, man, speak! ” “Well, then,” answered the Dwarf, as if worn out by his importu- nity, “since thou hast not enough of woes of thine own, but must needs sock to burden thyself with those of a partner, seek her whom thou hast lost in the West.” “ In the West 1 That’s a wide word.” “ It is the last,” said the Dwarf, “ which I design to utter ; ” and he drew the shutters of his window, leaving Hobbie to make the most of the hint he had given. “The west! the west!”—thought Elliot; “the country is pretty quiet ] down that way, unless it were Jock o’ the Todholes; and he’s owor auld now for the like o’ thao jobs.—West!—By my life, it must bo Westburnflat.” “Elshio, just tell mo one word. Am I right ? Is it ; Westburnllat F If I am wrang, say sae. I wadna like to wyte an in- nocent neighbour wi’ violence—No answer P—It must be the Red Reiver—I didna think ho wad hao ventured on me, neither, and sao | mony kin as there’s o’ us—I am thinking ho’ll hae some better back- : ing than his Cumberland friends.—Fareweel to you, Elshie, and mony thanks—I douna be fashed wi’ the siller e’ennow, for I maun awa’, to meet my friends at the Trysting-place—-Sae, if ye carena to open the window, ye can fetch it in after I am awa’.” Still there was no reply. “ He’s deaf, or he’s daft, or he’s baith; but I hae nae time to stay to claver wi’ him.” And off rode Hobbie Elliot towards the place of rendezvous which ho had named to his friends. Four or five riders were already gathered at the Trysting-pool. They stood in close consultation together, while their horses wore permitted to graze among the poplars which overhung the broad still pool. A . more numerous party wore seen coming from the southward. It ■ proved to be Eamscliff and his party, who had followed the track of the cattle as far as the English border, but had halted on the informa- tion that a considerable force was drawn together under some of the Jacobite gentlemen in that district, and there were tidings of insurrec- tion in different parts of Scotland. This took away from the act which had been perpetrated, the appearance of private animosity, or love of plunder; and Earnscliff was now disposed to regard it as a symptom of civil war. The young gentleman greeted Hobbie with the most sin- cere sympathy, and informed him of the news ho had received. “Then, may I never stir frae the bit,” said Elliot, “ if auld Ellieslaw is not at the bottom o’ the hail villainy ! Yo see he’s leagued wi’ the Cumber- NOVELS.] THE BLACK DWARF. on and Catholics; and that agrees wool wi’ what Elahie hinted about Westburnflat, for Eilieslaw aye protected him, and he will want to mrry and disarm the country about his ain hand before he breaks )ut.” Some now remembered that the party of ruffians had been heard to say they were acting for James VIII., and were charged to disarm ill rebels. Others had heard Westbnrnllat boast that Eilieslaw would Boon be in arms for the Jacobite cause, and that he himself was to hold command under him, and that they would be bad neighbours for young Eamscliff, and all that stood out for the established govern- ment. The result v'as a strong belief that Wesburnflat had headed the party under Ellioslaw’s order, and they resolved to proceed in- stantly to the house of the former, and, if possible, to secure his person. They were by this time joined by so many of their dispersed friends, that their number amounted to upwards of twenty horsemen, well mounted, and tolerably, though variously, armed. A brook, which, issued from a narrow glen among the hills, entered, at Westburnflat, upon the open marshy level, which, expanding about half a mile in every direction, gives name to the spot. In this place the character of the stream becomes changed, and, from being a lively brisk-running mountain-torrent, it stagnates, like a blue swollen snake, in dull deep windings through the swampy level. On the sido of the stream, and nearly about the centre of the plain, arose the Tower of Westbumflat, one of the few remaining strongholds formerly so numerous upon the Borders. The ground upon which it stood was gently elevated above the marsh for the space of about a hundred yards, affording an esplanade of dry turf, which extended itself in the im- mediate neighbourhood of the tower; but, beyond which, the surface presented to strangers was that of an impassable and dangerous bog. The owner of the tower and his inmates alone knew the winding and intricate paths; which, leading over ground that was comparatively sound, admitted visitors to his residence. But among the party which were assembled under Earnscliff’s directions, there was more than one person qualified to act as a guide. For although the owner’s character and habits of life were generally known, yet the laxity of feeling with respect to property prevented his being looked on with the abhorrence with which ho must have been regarded in a more civilized country. Ho was considered, among his more peaceable neighbours, pretty much as a gambler, cock-fighter, or horse-jockey, would be regarded at the present day; a person, of course, whose habits were to be condemned, and his society, in general, avoided, j’et who could not bo considered as marked with the indelible infamy attached to his profession, where laws have been habitually observed. And their indignation was awakened against him upon this occasion, not so much on account of the general nature of the transaction, which was just such as was to be expected from this marauder, as that the violence had been perpetrated 56 THE BLACK DWARF. [WAVEELEV upon a neighbour against whom he had no cause of quarrel, against a| friend of their own,—above all, against one of the name of Elliot, to which clan most of them belonged. It was not, therefore, wonderful, that there should be several in the band pretty well acquainted with the locality of his habitation, and capable of giving such directions and! guidance as soon placed the whole party on the open space of firm ground in front of the Tower of Westburnflat.

CHAPTER IX. S j spak the kniclit; the geaunt sed, Lead forth with the, the scly maid, And mak me quite of the and schc; For pi musing ee, or brow so brent, Or cheek with rose and lilye blent, Me lists not ficht with the.—Romance of the Falcon. The tower, before which the party now stood, was a small square build- ing, of the most gloomy aspect. The walls were of great thickness, and the windows, or slits which served the purpose of windows, seemed rather calculated to afford the defenders the means of employing mis- sile weapons, than for admitting air or light to the apartments within. A small battlement projected over the walls on every side, and af- forded farther advantage of defence by its niched parapet, within which arose a steep roof, flagged with grey stones. A single turret at one angle, defended by a door studded with huge iron nails, rose above the battlement, and gave access to the roof from within, by the spiral stair- case which it inclosed. It seemed to the party that their motions were watched by some one concealed within this turret; and they were con- firmed in their belief, when, through a narrow loop-hole, a female hand was seen to wave a handerchief, as if by way of signal to them. Hobbie was almost out of his senses with joy and eagerness. “ It was Grace’s hand and arm,” he said; “I can swear to it amang a thousand. There is not the like of it on this side of the Lowdens—WeTl have her out, lads, if we should carry off the Tower of Westburnflat stane by stane.” Earnscliff, though he doubted the possibility of recognizing a fair maiden’s hand at such a distance from the eye of the lover, would say nothing to damp his friend’s animated hopes, and it was resolved to summon the garrison. The shouts of the party, and the winding of one or two horns, at length brought to a loop-hole, which flanked the entrance, the haggard face of an old woman.—“ That’s the Reiver’s mother,” said one of the Elliots; “ she’s ten times waur than himsel, and is wyted for muckle of the ill he does about the country.” “ Wha are ye ? What d’ye want hero ? ” wore the queries of the re- spectable progenitor. i NOVELS.] THE BLACK DWARF. 57

“We are seeking William Groeme of Westbumflat,” said EarnsclifF. ‘ “ He’s no at kamo,” returned the old dame. ' “ When did he leave home ? ” pui'sued EarnsclifF. “ I canna tell,” said the portress. “ "When will he return ? ” said Hobbie EUiot. “I dinna ken naething about it,” replied the inexorable guardian of the Keep. “ Is there ony body within the tower with you ? ” again demanded : EarnsclifF. “ Naebody but mysel and baudrons,” said the old woman. “ Then open the gate and admit us,” said EamsclifF; “ I am a jus- tice of peace, and in search of the evidence of a felony.” “Do’il be in their fingers that draws a bolt for ye,” retorted the portress; “for mine shall never do it. Think na ye shame o’ your- sels, to come here siccan a band o’ ye, wi’ your swords and spears, and steel-caps, to frighten a lone widow woman ? ” “Our information,” said EamsclifF, “is positive; we are seeking i goods which have been forcibly carried off, to a great amount.” “And a young woman, that’s been cruelly made prisoner, that’s worth mail’ than a’ the gear, twice told,” said Hobbie. I! “And I warn you,” continued EarnsclifF, “that your only way to prove your son’s innocence is to give us quiet admittance to search the house.” “ And what will ye do, if I carena to thraw the keys, or draw the bolts, or open the grate to sic a clamjamfrie ? ” said the old dame; scoffingly. “Force our way with the king’s keys, and break the neck of every ij living soul we find in the house, if ye dinna gi’e it ower forthwith ? ” il menaced Hobbie. “Threatened folks live lang,” said the hag, in the same tone of irony; “there’s the iron grate—try your skeel on’t, lads—it has kept out as gude men as you, or now.” So saying, she laughed, and withdrew from the aperture through which she had held the parley. The besiegers now held a serious consultation. The immense thick- ness of the walls, and the small size of the windows, might, for a time, have even resisted cannon-shot. The entrance was secured, first by a | strong grated door, composed entirely of hammered iron, of such pon- derous strength as seemed calculated to resist any force that could be brought against it. “Pinches or forehammers will never pick upon’t,” said Hugh, the blacksmith of Ringleburn; ye might as weel batter at it wi’ pipe staples.” Within the door-way, and at the distance of nine feet, which was the solid thickness of the wall, there was a second door of oak, crossed, both breadth and lengthways, with clenched bars of iron, and studded full of broad-headed nails. Besides all these defences, they were by no 58 THE BLACK DWARF. [waverley

means confident in the truth of the old dame’s assertion, that she alone composed the garrison. The more knowing of the party had observed hoof-marks in the track by which they approached the tower, "which seemed to indicate that several persons had very lately passed in that direction. To all these difficulties were added their want of moans for attacking the place. There was no hope of procuring ladders long enough to roach the battlements, and the windows, besides being very narrow, were secured with iron bars. Scaling was therefore out of the ques- tion ; mining was still more so, for want of tools and of gunpowder; neither wrere the besiegers provided with food, means of shelter, or other conveniences, which might have enabled them to convert the siege into a blockade; and there would, at any rate, have been a risk of relief from some of the marauder’s comrades. Hobbio grinded and gnashed his teeth, as walking round the fastness, he could devise no means of making a forcible entry. At length he suddenly exclaimed, “And what for no do as our fathers did lang syne ?—Put hand to the wark, lads. Let us cut up bushes and briars, pile them before the door and set fire to them, and smoke that auld devil’s dam as if she were to bo reested for.bacon.” All immediately closed with this proposal, and some wont to work with swords and knives to cut down the alder and hawthorn bushes which grew by the side of the sluggish stream, many of which were sufficiently decayed and dried for their purpose, while others began to collect them in a large stack, properly disposed for burning, as close to the iron grato as they could be pilled. Eire was speedily obtained from one of their guns, and Hobbie was already advancing to the pile with a kindled brand, when the surly face of the robber, and the muzzle of a musquetoon, were partially shewn at a shot hole which flanked the entrance. “ Mony thanks to ye,” he said scoffingly, “ for collecting sae mucklo winter eilding for us; but if ye step a foot nearer it wi’ that lunt, it’s be the dearest step ye ever made in your days.” We’ll sune see that,” said Ilobbie, advancing fearlessly with the torch. Tho marauder snapped his pioco at him, which, fortunately for our honest friend, did not go off; while Earnscliff, firing at tho same mo- ment at tho narrow aperture and slight mark afforded by tho robber’s face, grazed the side of his head with a bullet. He had apparently cal- culated upon his post affording him more security, for he no sooner felt the wound, though a very slight one, than ho requested a parley, and demanded to know what they meant by attacking in this fashion a peaceable and honest man, and shedding his blood in that lawless manner? “Wo want your prisoner,” said Earnscliff, “ to be delivered up to us in safety.” “And what concern have you with her ? ” replied the marauder. NOVELS.] THE BLACK DWARF. 59

“ That,” retorted Earnscliff, “ j'ou, who are detaining her by force, !have no right to enquire.” “ Aweel, I think I can gi’e a guess,” said the robber. “Weel, sirs, I am laith to enter into deadly feud with you by spilling ony of your Ibluid, though Earnscliff hasna stopped to shod mine—and ye can hit a mark to a groat’s breadth—so, to prevent mair skaith, I am willing to deliver up the prisoner, since nae less will please you.” i“And Hobble’s gear?” cried Simon of Hackburn. “D’ye think you’re to be free to plunder our faulds and byres, as if it wore an auld wife’s hon’s-cavey ? ” “ As I live by bread,” replied Willie of Westburnflat, “ as I live by bread, I have not a single cloot o’ them ! They’re a’ ower the march [ lang syne; there’s no a horn o’ them about the tower. But I’ll see 1 what o’ them can be gotten back, and I’ll take this day twa days to i; meet Hobble at the Castleton wi’ twh friends on ilka side, and see to i: make an agreement about a’ the wrang he can wyto me wi’.” “ Ay, ay,” said Elliot, “that will do weel aneugh ”—And then aside i to his kinsman, “Murrain on tho gear! Lordsake, man ! say nought :! about them. Let us but get puir Grace out o’ that auld Ilellicat’s i| clutches.” “Will ye gi’e me your word, Earnscliff,” said the marauder, who still (lingered at the shot-hole, “ your faith and troth, with hand and glove, Jj that I am free to come and free to gae, with five minutes to open tho grate, and five minutes to stock it and to draw tho bolts ? loss winna do, for they want croishing sairly. Will yo do this ? ” “ You shall have full time,” said Earnscliff; “ I plight my faith and troth, my hand and my glove.,” “ Wait there a moment, then,” said Westburntlat; “ or hear ye, 1 wad rather ye wad fa’ back a pistol shot from the door. It’s no that I mistrust your word, Earnscliff, but it’s best to bo sure.” “0, friend,” thought Ilobbie to himself, as he drew back, “an’ I had you but on Turner’s-holm, and naobody bye but twa honest lads to soe fair play, I wad make ye wish ye had broken your leg ero yo had touched beast or body that belanged to me.” “He has a white feather in his wing, this same Wcstburnflat after a’,” said Simon of Hackburn, somewhat scandalized by his ready sur- surrender. “ He’ll ne’er fill his father’s boots.” In tho meanwhile, the inner door of tho towor was opened, and tho mother of the freebooter appeared in tho space betwixt that and tho outer grate. Willie himself was next seen leading forth a female, and the old woman, carefully bolting the grato behind them, remained on tho post as a sort of sentinel. “ Ony ane or twa o’ ye come forward,” said the outlaw, “and take her frae my hand hale and sound.” Hobbie advanced eagerly to meet his betrothed bride. Earnscliff followed more slowly to guard against treachery. Suddenly Ilobbio GO THE BLACK DWARF. [WAVERLEY

slackened Ms pace in the deepest mortification, while that of Earnscliff was hastened by impatient surprise. It was not Grace Armstrong, but Miss Isabella Yere whose liberation had been effected by their appear- ance before the tower. ‘ ‘ Where is Grace ? Where is Grace Armstrong ? ” exclaimed Hobbie, in the extremity of wrath and indignation. “ Not in my hands,” answered Westburnflat ? “ye may search the tower, if ye misdoubt me,” “You false villain, you shall account for her, or die on the spot,” said Elliot, presenting his gun. But his companions, who now come up, instantly disarmed him of his weapon, exclaiming all at once, ‘ ‘ Hand and glove ! faith and troth! Haud a care, Hobbie, we maun keep our faith with Westburnflat, were ho the greatest rogue ever rode.” Thus protected, the outlaw recovered his audacity, which had been somewhat daunted by the menacing gesture of Elliot. “I have kept my word, sirs!” he said, “and I look to have nae wrang amang ye. If this is no the prisoner ye sought,” he said, ad- dressing Earnscliff, “ye’ll render her back to me again. I am answer- able for her to those that aught her.” “For God’s sake, Mr Earnscliff, protect me! ” said Miss Yere, cling- ing to her deliverer; “ do not you abandon one whom the whole world seems to have abandoned.” “ Fear nothing,” whispered Earnscliff, “I will protect you with my life.” Then turning to Westburnflat, “ Yillain ! ” he said, “how dared you to insult this lady ? ” “For that matter, Earnscliff,” answered the freebooter, “I can answer to them that has better right to ask me than you have; but if you come with an armed force, and take her awa’ from them that her friends lodged her wi’, how will you answer that ?—But it’s your ain affair—Nae single man can keep a tower against twenty—A’ the men o’ the Mearns downa do mair than they dow.” “ He lies most falsely,” said Isabella: “he carried me off by violence from my father.” “ Maybe he only wanted ye to think say, hinny; but it’s nae busi- ness o’ mine, let it be as it may.—So ye winna resign her back to mo ? ” “Back to you, fellow? Surely no,” answered Earnscliff? “I will protect Miss Yere, and escort her safely wherever she is pleased to be conveyed.” “ Ay, ay, maybe you and her hae settled that already.” “ And Grace ?” interrupted Hobbie, shaking himself loose from the friends who had been preaching to him the sanctity of the safe conduct, upon the faith of which the freebooter had ventured from his tower,— “ Where’s Grace? ” and he rushed on the marauder, sword in hand. Westburnflat, thus pressed, after calling out, “Godsake, Hobbie hear me a gliff! ” fairly turned his back and fled. His mother stood NOVELS.] THE BLACK DWARF. 61

ready to open and shut the grate: but Hobbie struck at the freebooter as he entered with so much force, that the sword made a considerable Eleft in the lintel of the vaulted door, which is still shewn as a memo- ial of the superior strength of those who lived in the days of yore. Ire Hobbie could repeat the blow, the door was shut and secured, and he was compelled to retreat to his companions, who were now prepar- ing to breakup the siege of Westburnfiat. They insisted upon his ac- companying them in their return. “Ye hae broken truce already” said old Dick of the Dingle: “an ;'we take na the better care, ye’ll play mair gowk’s tricks, and make yoursel the laughing stock of the hail country, besides having your friends charged with slaughter under trust. Bide till the meeting at Castleton, as ye hae agreed; and if he doesna make ye amends, then [’e’ll hae it out o’ his heart’s blood. But let us gang reasonably to rark and keep our tryst, and I’se warrant we get back Grace, and the ye an a’.” This cold-blooded reasoning went ill down with the unfortunate lover; ut, as he could only obtain the assistance of his neighbours and kins- len on their own terms, he was compelled to acquiesce in their notions f good faith and regular procedure. Earnscliff now requested the assistance of a few of the party to con- ey Miss Vere to her father’s castle of Ellieslaw, to which she was per- emptory in desiring to be conducted. This was readily granted; and five or six young men agreed to attend him as an escort. Hobbie was not of the number. Almost heart-broken by the events of the day, and his final disappointment, he returned moodily homo to take such measures as he could fqy the sustenance and protection of his family, and to arrange with his neighbours the farther steps which should be :i, adopted for the recovery of Grace Armstrong. The rest of tho party dispersed in different directions, as soon as they had crossed the mor- ass. The outlaw and his mother watched them from tho tower until they entirely disappeared.

CHAPTER X. I left my ladye’s bower last night— It was clad in wreaths of snaw,— I sought it when the sun was bright, And sweet the roses blaw.—OM Ballad. Incensed at what he deemed the coldness of his friends, in a cause which interested him so nearly, Hobbie had shaken himself free of their company, and was now upon his solitary road homeward. “Tho fiend founder thee! ” said he, as he spurred impatiently his over- fatigued and stumbling horse; “thou art like a’ the rest o’ them. Hae I not fed thee, and bred thee, and dressed thco wi’ mine ain hand, 62 THE BLACK DWABE. [ WAVERLKY and wouldst thou snapper now and break my neck at my utmost need? But thou’rt e’en like the laye—the farthest off o’ them a’ is my cousin ten times removed; and day or night I wad hae served them wi’ my best blood; and now, I think they shew mair regard to the common thief of Westburnflat than to their ain kinsman. But I should see the lights now in Heughfoot—Waes me! ” he continued, re- collecting himself, “ there will neither coal nor candle-light shine in the Heughfoot ony mair ! An it werena for my mother and sisters, and poor Grace, I could find in my heart to put spurs to the beast, and loup ower the scaur into the water to make an end o’t a’.”—In this discon- solate mood he turned his horse’s bridle toward the cottage in which his family had found refuge. As he approached the door, he heard whispering and tittering amongst his sisters. “The devil’s in the women,” said poor Hobbie; “they would nicker, and laugh, and giggle, if their best friend was lying a corp—and yet I am glad they can keep up their hearts sae weel, poor silly things; but the dirdum fa’s on me, to be sure, and no on them.” While he thus meditated, ho was engaged in fastening up his horse in a shed. “Thou maun do without horse-sheet and surcingle now, lad,” ho said, addressing the animal; “ you and me hae had a down- come alike; we had better hae fa’en in the deepest pool o’ Tarras.” Ho was interrupted by the youngest of his sisters, who came running out, and, speaking in a constrained voice, as if to stifle some emotion, called out to him, “ What are ye doing there, Hobbie, fiddling about the naig, and there’s ano frae Cumberland been waiting here for ye this hour and mair ? Haste ye in, man; I’ll take off the saddle.” “ Ane frae Cumberland ! ” exclaimed Elliot; and putting the bridle of his horse into the hand of his sister, he rushed into the cottage. “ Where is he ? where is he?” he exclaimed, glancing eagerly around, and seeing only females : “ Did he bring news of Grace?” “He dought na bide an instant langer,” said the elder sister, still with a suppressed laugh. “ Hout fie, bairns!” said the old lady, with something of a good- humoured reproof, “ye shouldna vex your billy Hobbie that way. Look round, my bairn, and see if there isna ane here mair than you loft this morning.” Hobbie looked eagerly round. “ There’s you, and the three titties.” “There’s four of us now, Hobbie, lad,” said the youngest, who at this moment entered. In an instant Hobbie had in his arms Grace Armstrong, who, with one of his sister’s plaids around her, had passed unnoticed at his first entrance. “ How dared you do this ? ” said Hobbie. “ It wasna my fault,” said Grace, endeavouring to cover her face with her hands, to hide at once her blushes, and escape the storm of hearty kisses with which her bridegroom punished her simple strata- NOVELS. J THE EI AUK I)WARE. G3 gem.—“It wasna my fault, Hobble; ye should kiss Jeanie and the rest o’ them, for they kae the wyte o’t.” “And so I will,” said Hobbie, and embraced and kissed his sisters and grandmother ahundred times, while the whole party half-laughed, half-cried in the extremity of their joy. “I am the happiest man,” said Hobbie, throwing himself dowrn on a seat, almost exhausted,—“I am the happiest man in the world.” “Then, 0 my dear bairn,” said the good old dame, who lost no op- portunity of teaching her lesson of religion at those moments when the heart was best open to receive it—Then, 0 my son, give praise to Him that brings smiles out o’ tears and joy out o’ grief, as ho brought light out o’ darkness and the world out o’ naething. Was it not my wTord, that, if ye could say His will be done, ye might hae cause to say His name be praised P” ‘ ‘ It was—it was your word, grannie ; and I do praise Him for his mercy, and for leaving me a good parent when my ain were gane,” said honest Hobbie, taking her hand, “ that puts me in mind to think of Him, baith in happiness and distress.” There was a solemn pause of one or two minutes, employed in the exercise of mental devotion, which expressed, in purity and sincerity, the gratitude of the affectionate family to that Providence who had un- expectedly restored to their embraces the friend whom they had lost. Hobbic’s first enquiries were concerning the adventures which Grace had undergone. They were told at length, but amounted in substance to this:—That she was awaked by the noise which the ruffians made in breaking into the house, and by the resistance made by one or two of the servants which was soon overpowered; that, dressing herself hastily, she ran down stairs, and having seen, in the scuffle, Westburnflat’s viz- ard drop off, imprudently named him by his name, and besought him for mercy; that the ruffian instantly stopped her mouth, dragged her from the house, and placed her on horseback, behind one of his associates. “I’ll break the accursed neck of him,” said Hobbie, “if there werena another Graeme in the land but himsel! ” She proceeded to say, that she was carried southward along with tho party, and tho spoil which they drove hoforo them, until they had crossed tho Border. Suddenly a person, known to her as a kinsman of Westbumflat, came riding very fast after the marauders, and told their leader, that his cousin had learmt from a sure hand that no luck would come of it, unless the lass was restored to her friends. After some discussion the chief of the party seemed to acquiesce. Grace was placed behind her new guardian, who pursued in silence, and with great speed, the least-frequented path to the Heughfoot, and ere even- ing closed set down the fatigued and terrified damsel within a quarter of . a mile of tho dwelling of her friends. Many and sincere were tho congratulations which passed on all sides. As these emotions subsided, loss pleasing considerations began to intrude themselves. fi4 THE BLACK DWARF. [WAVIUtLEY

“ This is a miserable place for ye a’,” said Hobbie, looking around him; “I can sleep weel aneugh mysel out-bye beside the naig, as I hae done mony a lang night on the hills ; but how ye are to put your- sels up, I canna see ! And, what’s waur, I canna mend it; and, what’s waur than a’, the morn may come, and the day after that, without your being a bit better off.” “It was a cowardly cruel thing,” said one of the sisters, looking round, “ to harry a puir family to the bare wa’s this gate.” “ And leave us neither stirk nor stot,” said the youngest brother, who now entered, “ nor sheep nor lamb, nor aught that eats grass and corn.” “ If they had ony quarrel wi’ us,” said Harry, the second brother, “ were we na ready to have fought it out ? And that we should have been a’ from hame, too,—ane and a’ upon the hill—Odd, an we had been at hame, Will Grseme’s stamach shouldna hae wanted its morn- ing ; but it’s biding him, is it na, Hobbie P ” “ Our neighbours hae ta’en a day at the Castleton to gree wi’ him at the sight o’ men,” said Hobbie mournfully, “they behoved to have it at a’ their ane gate, or there was nae help to be got at their hand.” “To gree wi’ him!” exclaimed both his brothers at once, “after siccan an act of stouthrife as hasna been heard o’ in the country since the auld riding days ! ” “ Very true, billies, and my blood was e’en boiling at it; but—the sight o’ Grace Armstrong has settled it brawly-” “But the stocking, Hobbie?” said John Elliot; “we’re utterly ruined. Harry and I hae been to gather what was on the out-bye land, and there’s scarce a cloot left. I kenna how we’re to carry on— We maun a’ gang to the wars, I think. Westbumflat hasna the means, e’en if he had the will, to make up our loss, there’s nae mends to be got out o’ him, but what ye take out o’ his banes. He hasna a four- footed creature but the vicious blood thing he rides on, and that’s sair trash’d wi’ his night wark. We are ruined stoop and roop.” Hobbie cast a mournful glance on Grace Armstrong, who returned it with a downcast look and a gentle sigh. “ Dinna be cast down, bairns,” said the grandmother, “we hae gude friends that winna forsake us in adversity. There’s Sir Thomas Kittleloof is my third cousin by the mother’s side, and he has come by a hantle siller, and been made a knight-baronet into the bargain, for being ane o’ the commissioners at the Union.” “He wadna gi’e a boddle to save us frae famishing,” said Hobbie; “ and, if he did, the bread that I bought wi’t would stick in my throat, ♦; when I thought it was part of the price of puir auld Scotland’s crown and independence.” “There’s the Laird o’ Dunder, ane o’ the auldest families in Teviot- dale.” NOVELS.] THE BLACK BWAIlP, Gj

“He’s in the tolbooth, mother—he’s in the heart of Mid-Lowdcn for ) a thousand merk he borrowed from Saunders AVyliecoat the writer.” “ Poor man! ” exclaimed Mrs Elliot, “ can we no send him some- thing, HobbieP” “Ye forget, grannie, ye forget we want help oursels,” said Hobbie, I somewhat peevishly. “ Troth did I, hinny,” replied the good-natured lady, “just at the instant; it’s sae natural to think on ane’s bludo relations before them- sels.—But there’s young Earnscliff.” “ Ho has ower little o’ his ain; and siccan a name to keep up, it wad be a shame,” said Hobbie, “to burden him wi’ our distress. And I’ll toll ye, grannie, it’s needless to sit rhyming ower the stile of a’ your kith, kin, and allies, as if there was a charm in their braw names to do us good; the grandees hae forgotten us, and those of our ain ! degree hae just little aneugh to gang on wi’ themsels; ne’er a friend hae we that can, or will, help us to stock the farm again,” “ Then, Hobbie, we maun trust in Him that can raise up friends ii and fortune out o’ the bare moor, as they say.” Hobbie sprung upon his feet. “Ye are right, grannie!” he ex- i claimed; “ye are right. I do ken a friend on the bare moor, that baith can and will help us—The turns o’ this day hae dung my head ! clean hirdie girdie. I left as muckle gowd lying on Mncklestane* i Moor this morning as would plenish tho house and stock the Hough- ) foot twice ower, and I am sure Elshio wadna grudge us the use of it.” “ Elshie ! ” said his grandmother in astonishment; “what Elshie do : you mean ? ” “ What Elshie should I mean, but canny Elshie, the Wise Wight o’ IMucklestane,” replied Hobbie. “ God forfend, my bairn, you should gang to fetch water out o’ broken cisterns, or seek for relief frae them that deal wi’ the Evil One! There was never luck in their gifts, nor grace in their paths. And the haill country kens that body Elshie’s an unco man. 0, if there was the law, and the douce quiet administration of justice, that makes a kingdom flourish in righteousness, the like o’ them suldna be suffered t to live! The wizard and the witch are the abomination and the evil 1 thing in the land.” “Troth, mother,” answered Hobbie, “ye may say what ye like, but I am in the mind that witches and warlocks havena half the power s I they had lang syne; at least, sure am I, that ae ill-deviser, like auli ! Ellieslaw, or ae ill-doer, like that d—d villain, Westburnflat, is a ij greater plague and abomination in a country-side than a haill curnio B o’ the warst witches that ever capered on a broomstick, or played can- a trips on Eastren’s E’en. It wad hae been lang or Elshie had burnt n down my house and barns, and I am determiqed to try if he will dq . ii aught to build them up again. He’s weel kenn’d a skilfu’ man ower “ a’ the country, qs far as Brough under Stanmoro.” P G8 THE BLACK DWARF. [WAVEIILEY

“Bide a wee, my bairn; mind bis benefits havena thriven wi’ a’ body. Jock Howden died o’ the very same disorder Elshie pretended! to cure him of, about the fa’ o’ the leaf; and though he helped Lamb- side’s cow weel out o’ the moor-ill, yet the louping-ill’s been sairerj amang his sheep than ony season before. And then I have heard he uses sic words abusing human nature, that’s like a fleeing in the facoi of Providence; and ye mind ye said yoursel, the first time ye ever saw him, that he was mair like a bogle than a living thing.” “ Hout, mother,” said Hobbie, “ Elshie’s no that bad a chield; he’s; a grewsomo spectacle for a crooked disciple, to be sure, and a rough talker, but his bark is waur than his bite; sae, if I had anes something to eat, for I havena had a morsel ower my throat this day, I wad streek mysel down for twa three hours aside the beast, and be on and awa’ to Mucklestane wi’ the first skreigh o’ morning.” “And what for no the night, Hobbie,” said Harry, “and I will ride wi’ ye P ” “ My naig is tired,” said Hobbio. “Ye may take mine, then,” said John. “ But I am a wee thing wearied mysel.” “You wearied P” said Harry, “shame on ye! I have kenn’d ye keep the saddle four-and-twenty hours thegither, and ne’er sic a word as weariness in your wame.” “ The night’s very dark,” said Hobbie, rising and looking through i the casement of the cottage; “and, to speak truth, and shame the do’il, though Elshie’s a real honest fallow, yet somegato I would rather take day-light wi’ me when I gang to visit him.” This frank avowal put a stop to farther argument; and Hobbie, | having thus compromised matters between the rashness of his brothers’ | counsel, and the timid cautions which he received from his grand- mother, refreshed himself with such food as the cottage afforded ; and, after a cordial salutation all round, retired to the shed, and stretched himself beside his trusty palfrey. His brothers shared between them some trusses of clean straw, disposed in the stall usually occupied by | old Annaplo’s cow ; and the females arranged themselves for repose as | well as the accommodations of the cottage would permit. With the first dawn of morning, Hobbie arose; and, having rubbed down and saddled his horse, he set forth to Mucklestane-Moor. He avoided the company of either of his brothers, from an idea, that the Dwarf was most propitious to those who visited him alone. “The creature,” said he to himself, as he went along, “is no neigh- bourly ; ae body at a time is fully mair than he weel can abide. I wonder if he’s looked out o’ the crib o’ him to gather up the bag o’ siller. If he hasna done that, it will hae been a braw windfa’ for sombody, and I’ll be finely flung.—Come, Tarras,” said he to his horse, striking him at the same time with the spur, “ make mair fit, man; we maun be first on the field if we can. NOVELS.] THE BLACK; DWAKE. 07

He was now on the heath, which began to be illuminated by tho beams of the rising sun ; the gentle declivity which he was descending presented him a distinct, though distant view, of the Dwarf’s dwelling. The door opened, and Hobbie witnessed with his own eyes that pheno- menon which he had frequently heard mentioned. Two human figures (if that of the Dwarf could bo termed such) issued from the solitary abode of the Kecluse, and stood as if in converse together in the open air. The taller form then stooped, as if taking something up which lay beside the door of the hut, then both moved forward a little way, and again halted, as in deep conference. All Hobble’s superstitious terrors revived on witnessing this spectacle. That the Dwarf would open his dwelling to a mortal guest, was as improbable as that any ono would choose voluntarily to be his nocturnal visitor; and, under full conviction that he beheld a wizard holding intercourse with his fami- liar spirit, Hobbie pulled in at once his breath and his bridle, resolved not to incur the indignation of either by a hasty intrusion on their con- ference. They were probably aware of his approach, for he had not halted for a moment before the Dwarf returned to his cottage; and tho taller figure who had accompanied him, glided round the inclosuro of the garden, and seemed to disappear from the eyes of the admiring Hobbio. “ Saw ever mortal the like o’ that! ” said Elliot; “ but my case is desperate, sae, if he were Beelzebub himsel, I’se venture down the brae on him.” Yet, notwithstanding his assumed courage, he slackened his pace, when, nearly upon the very spot where he had last seen the tall figure, ho discerned, as if lurking among the long heather, a small black rough-looking object, like a terrier dog. “He has nae dog that ever I heard of,” said Hobbie, “but mony a de’il about his hand—Lord forgi’o mo for saying sic a word !—It keeps its grund, bo what it like —I’m judging it’s a badger ; but whao kens what shapes thao bogles will take to fright a body P it will maybe start up like a lion or a crocodile when I come nearer. I’se e’en drive a stane at it, for if it change its shape when I’m ower near, Tarras will never stand it, and it will be ower muckle to hae him and the de’il to fight wi’ baith at ance.” He therefore cautiously threw a stone at the object, which continued motionless. “ It’s nae living thing, after a’,” said Hobbie, approach- ing, “but the very bag o’ siller he flung out o’ the window yesterday! and that other queer lang creature has just brought it sae muckle far- ther on the way to me.” He then advanced and lifted the heavy fur pouch, which was quite full of gold. “ Mercy on us ! ” said Hobbie, whose heart fluttered between glee at the revival of his hopes and prospects in life, and suspicion of the purpose for which this assistance was afforded him—“ Mercy on us ! it’s an awfu’ thing to touch what has been sae lately in claws of something no canny. X canna 68 THE BLACK IAVAkF. [avayerlev

shake in3'sel loose o’ the belief that there has been some jookery- paukery of Satan’s in a’ this; but I am determined to conduct mysel like an honest man and a good Christian, come o’t what will.” Ho advanced accordingly to the cottage door, and having knocked repeatedly without receiving any answer, he at length elevated his voice and addressed the inmate of the hut. “ Elshie ! Father Elshie !, I ken ye’re within doors, and wanking, for I saw ye at the door-cheek as I cam ower the bent; will ye come out and speak just a gliff to ane that has mony thanks to gie ye ?—It was a’ true ye toll’d me about Westburnflat; but he’s sent hack Grace safe and skaithless, sae there’s nae ill happened yet hut what may be suffered or sustained.—• Wad ye but come out a gliff, man, or but say ye’re listening?—Aweel, since ye winna answer, I’se e’en proceed wi’ my tale. Ye see I hae been thinking it wad be a sair thing on twa young folk, like Grace and me, to put aff our marriage for mony years till I was abroad and came back again wi’ some gear; and they say folk mauna take booty in the wars as they did lang syne, and the pay’s a sma’ matter; there’s nae gathering gear on that—and then my gude-dame’s auld—and my sisters wad sit pinging at the ingle-side for want o’ me to ding them about—and Earnscliff, or the neighbourhood, or maybe your ain sell, Elshie, might want some gude turn that Hob Elliot could do j-e—and it’s a pity that the auld house o’ the Heughfoot should be wrecked a’thegither—Sae I was thinking—But de’il hae me, that I should say sae,” continued he, checking himself, “if I can bring mysel to ask a favour of ane that winna sae muckle as ware a word on me, to tell me if he hears me speaking till him.” “Say what thou wilt—do what thou wilt,” answered the Dwarf from ; his cabin, “ but begone, and leave me at peace.” “Weel, weel,” replied Elliot, “since ye are content to hear me, I’so ‘ make my tale short. Since ye are sae kind as to say ye are content to lend me as muckle siller as will stock and plenish the Heughfoot, I am content, on my part, to accept the courtesy wi’ mony kind thanks; and troth, I think it will be as safe in my hands as yours, if j-o leave it flung about in that gate for the first loon body to lift, forbye the risk : o’ bad neighbours that can win through steekit doors and lock-fast places, as I can tell to my cost. I say, since j^o hae sae muckle con- -i sideration for me, I’se be blythe to accept j-our kindness; and my mother and me (she’s a life-renter, and I am fiar o’ the lands o’ Wide- open) would grant you a wadset, or an heritable bond, for the siller, and to pajT the annual rent half-yearly; and Saunders Wyliecoat to draw the bond, and you to be at nae charge wi’ the writings.” “ Cut short thy jargon, and begone,” said the Dwarf; “thy locqua- cious bull-headed honesty makes thee a more intolerable plague than the light-fingered courtier who would take a man’s all without troub- ling him with either thanks, explanation, or apology. Hence, I say ! thou art one of those tamo slaves whose word is as good as their bond. ; NOVELS.] THE BLACK DWARF. 69

Keep the money, principal and interest, until I demand it of thee.” “But,” continued the pertinacious Borderer, “we are a’ life-like and death-like, Elshie, and there really should be some black and white on this transaction. Sae just make me a minute, or missive, iu ony form ye like, and I’se write it fair ower, and subscribe it before famous witnesses. Only, Elshie, I wad wuss ye to pit naething in’t that may be prejudicial to my salvation, for I’ll hae the minister to read it ower, and it wad only be exposing yoursel to nae purpose. And now I’m ganging awa’, for ye’ll be wearied o’ my cracks, and I am wearied wi’ cracking without an answer—and I’se bring ye a bit o’ bride’s-cake ane o’ thae days, and maybe bring Grace to see you. Ye wad like to see Grace, man, for as dour as ye are—Eh, Lord ! I wish he may be weel, that was a sair grane! or, maybe, he thought I was speaking of heavenly grace, and no of Grace Armstrong. Poor man, I am very doubtfu’ o’ his condition, but I am sure he is as kind to me as if I were his son, and a queer looking father I wad hae had, if that had been e’en sae.” Hobbie now relieved his benefactor of his presence, and rode blythely home to display his treasure, and consult upon the means of repairing the damage which his fortune had sustained through the aggression of the Red Reiver of Westburnflat.

CHAPTER XL Three ruffians seized me yester morn, Alas! a maiden most forlorn; They choked my cries with wicked might, And bound me on a palfrey white : As sure as Heaven shall pity me, I cannot tell what men they he.—ChrMabclle. The course of our story must here revert a little, to detail the circum- stances which had placed Miss Yere in the unpleasant situation from which she was unexpectedly, and indeed unintentionally, liberated, by the appearance of Earnscliff and Elliot, with their friends and followers, before the Tower of Westburnflat. On the morning preceding the night in which Ilobbie’s house was plundered and burnt, Miss Yere was requested by her father to accom- pany him in a walk through a distant part of the romantic grounds which lay round his castle of Ellieslaw. “ To hear was to obey,” in the true style of oriental despotism; but Isabella trembled in silence while she followed her father through rough paths, now winding by the side of the river, now ascending the cliffs which serve for its banks. A single servant, selected perhaps for his stupidity, was the only per- son who attended them. From her father’s silence, Isabella little doubted that he had chosen this distant and sequestered scene to re- sume the argument which they had so frequently maintained upon the 7u THE BLACK HWAIiE. [WKVEELEY

subject of Sir Frederick’s addresses, and that he was meditating in what manlier ho should most effectually impress upon her the neces- eity of receiving him as a suitor. But her fears seemed for some time to bo unfounded. The only sentences which her father from time to time addressed to her, respected the beauties of the romantic landscape through which they strolled, and which varied its features at every step. To these observations, although they seemed to come from a heart occupied by more gloomy as well as more important cares, Isa- bella endeavoured to answer in a manner as free and unconstrained as it was possible for her to assume, amid the involuntary apprehensions which crowded upon her imagination. Sustaining with mutual difficulty, a desultory conversation, they at length gained the centre of a small wood, composed of large old oaks, intermingled with birches, mountain-ashes, hazel, holly, and a variety of underwood. The boughs of the tall trees met closely above, and the underwood filled up each interval between their trunks below. The spot on which they stood was rather more open; still, however, em- bowered under the natural arcade of tall trees, and darkened on the sides for a space around by a great and lively growth of copse-wood and bushes. “And here, Isabella,” said Mr Vere, as he pursued the conversation, so often resumed, so often dropped, “here 1 would erect an altar to Friendship.” “To Friendship, sir!” said Miss Vere, “and why on this gloomy and sequestered spot, rather than elsewhere ? ” “ O, the propriety of the locale is easily vindicated,” replied her father with a sneer. “ You know, Miss Vere, (for you, I am well aware, are a learned young lady,) you know, that the Komans were not satisfied with embodying, for the purpose of worship, each useful quality and moral virtue to which they could give a name, but they, moreover, worshipped the same under each variety of titles and attri- butes which could give a distinct shade, or individual character, to the virtue in question. Now, for example, the Friendship to whom a temple should be here dedicated, is not Masculine Friendship, which abhors and despises duplicity, art, and disguise; but Female Friend- i ship, which consists in little else than a mutual disposition on the part of the friends, as they call themselves, to abet each other in obscure fraud and petty intrigue.” “ You are severe, sir,” said Miss Vere. “ Only just,” said her father; “ a humble copier I am from nature, with the advantage of contemplating two such excellent studies as Lucy Ilderton and yourself.” “ If I have been unfortunate enough to offend, sir, I can conscien- tiously excuse Miss Ilderton from being either my counsellor, or con- fidant.” “ Indeed! how came you then,” said Mr Vere, “by the flippancy of KOVELS.] THE BLACK DWA1U-’. Tl

speech, and pertness of argument, by which you have disgusted Sin Frederick, and given mo of late such deep offence ? ” “ If my manner has been so unfortunate as to displease you, sir,, it! is impossible for me to apologize too deeply, or too sincerely; but II cannot confess the same contrition for having answered Sir Frederick: flippantly when he pressed me rudely. Since he forgot I was a lady,, it was time to show him that I am at least a woman.” '* Reserve then your pertness for those who press you on the topic,. Isabella,” said her father coldly; “for my part, I am weary of the subject, and will never speak upon it again.” “God bless you, my dear father,” said Isabella, seizing his reluctant hand; “there is nothing you can impose on me, save the task of listening to this man’s persecution, that I will call, or think, a hard- ship.” “ You are very obliging, Miss Yere, when it happens to suit you to be dutiful,” said her unrelenting father, forcing himself at the same time from the affectionate grasp of her hand; “but henceforward, child, I shall save myself the trouble of offering you unpleasant advice on any topic. You must look to yourself.” At this moment four ruffians rushed upon them. Mr Yore and his-. servant drew their hangers, which it was the fashion of the time to- wear, and attempted to defend themselves and protect Isabella. But; while each of them was engaged by an antagonist, she was forced into the thicket by the two remaining villains, who placed her and them- selves on horses which stood ready behind the copse-wood. They mounted at the same time, and, placing her between them, set off at a round gallop, holding the reins of her horse on each side. By many an obscure and winding path, over dale and down, through moss and! moor, she was conveyed to the Tower of Westburnflat, where she re- !mained strictly watched, but not otherwise ill treated, under tho: guardianship of the old woman, to whoso son that retreat belonged.. No entreaties could prevail upon tho hag to give Miss Yere any infor- |mation on the object of her being carried forcibly off and confined in this secluded place. The arrival of Earnscliff, with a strong party of horsemen, before the tower, alarmed the robber. As ho had already directed Grace Armstrong to be restored to her friends, it did not oc- cur to him that this unwelcome visit was on her account; and seeing Ijat the head of tho party, Earnscliff, whose attachment to Miss Yere was whispered in the country, he doubted not that her liberation was the sole object of the attack upon his fastness. The dread of personal .consequences compelled him to deliver up his prisoner in the manner we have already related. At tho moment the tramp of the horses was heard which carried off he daughter of Ellieslaw, her father fell to the ground, and his servant, stout young fellow, who was gaining ground on the ruffian with fyhom he had been engaged, left the combqt to come tq his piaster’s 72 THE BLACK DWARF, [WAVEKLEY

assistance, little doubting that he had received a mortal wound. Both the villains immediately desisted from farther combat; and retreating into the thicket, mounted their horses, and went off at full speed after their companions. Mean time, Dixon had the satisfaction to find Mr Vere not only alive but unwounded. He had overreached himself, and stumbled, it seemed, over the root of a tree in making too eager a blow at his antagonist. The despair he felt at his daughter’s disappearance, was, in Dixon’s phrase, such as would have melted the heart of a whin-stane, and he was so much exhausted by his feelings, and the vain researches which he made to discover the track of the ravishers, that a considerable time elapsed ere he reached home, and communi- cated the alarm to his domestics. All his conduct and gestures were those of a desperate man. “Speak not to me, Sir Frederick,” he said impatiently; “you are no father—she was my child, an ungrateful one, I fear, but still my j child—my only child. Where is Miss Ilderton ? she must know some- thing of this. It corresponds with what I was informed of her schemes. Go, Dixon, call Ratcliffe here—Let him come without a minute’s delay.” The person he had named at this moment entered the room. “I say, Dixon,” continued Mr Vere in an altered tone, “let Mr Ratcliffe know, I beg the favour of his company on particular business. —Ah! my dear sir,” he proceeded, as if noticing him for the first time, “ you are the very man whose advice can be of the utmost service in this cruel extremity.” “ What has happened, Mr Vere, to discompose you ? ” said Mr Rat- ] cliffe gravely; and while the Laird of Ellieslaw details to him, with ; the most animated gestures of grief and indignation, the singular ad- : venture of the morning, we shall take the opportunity to inform our readers of the relative circumstances in which these gentlemen stood to each other. In early youth, Mr Vere of Ellieslaw had been remarkable for a |i career of dissipation, which, in advanced life, he had exchanged for I the no less destructive career of dark and turbulent ambition. In both li cases, he had gratified the predominant passion without respect to the Ic diminution of his private fortune, although, where such inducements were wanting, he was deemed close, avaricious, and grasping. His i affairs being much embarrassed by his earlier extravagance, he went; . to England, where he was understood to have formed a very advan- ■ tageous matrimonial connection. He was many years absent from his i family estate. Suddenly and unexpectedly he returned a widower, j bringing with him his daughter, then a girl of about ten years old. ! From this moment his expence seemed unbounded in the eyes of the ; simple inhabitants of his native mountains. It was supposed he must i necessarily have plunged himself deeply in debt. Yet he continued to ; live in the same lavish expence, until some months before the com- KOVELS.] THE BLACK DWARF. 73

mencement of our narrative, when the public opinion of his embarras- sed circumstances was confirmed, by the residence of Mr Ratcliffe at Ellieslaw Castle, who, by the tacit consent, though obviously to the great displeasure, of the lord of the mansion, seemed, from the moment of his arrival, to assume and exercise a predominant and unaccount- able influence in the management of his private affairs. Mr Ratcliffe was a grave, steady, reserved man, in an advanced period of life. To those with whom he had occasion to speak upon business, he appeared uncommonly well versed in all its forms. With others he held little communication; but in any casual intercourse, or conversation, displayed the powers of an active and well-informed mind. For some time before taking up his final residence at the castle, he had been an occasional visitor there, and was at such times treated by Mr Yere (contrary to his general practice towards those who were inferior to him in rank) with marked attention, and even deference. Yet his arrival always appeared to be an embarrassment to his host, and his departure a relief, so that, when he became a constant inmate of the family, it was impossible not to observe indications of the displea- sure with which Mr Yere regarded his presence. Indeed, their inter- course formed a singular mixture of confidence and constraint. Mr Vere’s most important affairs were regulated by Mr Ratcliffe; and al- though he was none of those indulgent men of fortune, who, too in- dolent to manage their own business, are glad to devolve it upon another, yet, in many instances, he was observed to give up his own opinion, and submit to the contradictions which Mr Ratcliffe did not hesitate distinctly to express. Nothing seemed to vex Mr Vere more than when strangers indicated any observation of the state of tutelage under which he appeared to labour. When it was noticed by Sir Frederick, or any of his intimates, he sometimes repelled their remarks haughtily and indignantly, and sometimes endeavoured to evade them, by saying, with a forced laugh, “ That Ratcliffe knew his own importance, but that he was the most * honest and skilful fellow in the world; and that it would be impossible for him to manage his English affairs without his advice and assist- ance.” Such was the person who entered the room at the moment Mr Yere was summoning him to his presence, and who now heard with surprise, mingled with obvious incredulity, the hasty narrative of what had befallen Miss Vere. Her father concluded, addressing Sir Frederick, and the other gentlemen, who stood around in astonishment, “And now, my friends, you see the most unhappy father in Scotland. Lend me your assist- ance, gentlemen—give me your advice, Mr Ratcliffe. I am incapable of acting, or thinking, under the unexpected violence of such a blow.” “ Let us take our horses, call our attendants, and scour the country in pursuit of the villains,” said Sir Frederick. “ Is there no one whom you can suspect,” said Ratcliffe, gravely, [waVekleY 74 Wifi MACK DWAKI*.

yet more effectually. Look particularly at tke penciff ^ c ° b Eatcliffe, where this meddling girl recommends bold m. - q ^ an assurance that his suit would be successful any where e bounds of the barony of Ellieslaw.” “And jtou argue, from this romantic letter of a very romantic yo. ’A lady, Mr Vere,” said Eatcliffe, “ that young Earnscliff has carried oli J'our daughter, and committed a very great and criminal act of violence, on no better advice and assurance than that of Miss Lucy Ilderton P ” “ What else can I think ? ” said Ellieslaw. “What else can you think P” said Sir Frederick; “or who else could have any motive for committing such a crime ? ” “Were that the best mode of fixing the guilt,” said Mr Eatcliffe, calmly, “ there might easily be pointed out persons to whom such ac- tions are more congenial, and who have also sufficient motives of in- stigation. Supposing it were judged advisable to remove Miss Vere to some place in which constraint might be exercised upon her inclina- tions to a degree which cannot at present be attempted under the roof of Ellicslaw Castle—What says Sir Frederick Langley to that sup- position ? ” “I say,” returned Sir Frederick, “that although Mr Vere may choose to endure in Mr Eatcliffe freedoms totally inconsistent with his- situation in life, I will not permit such licence of inuondo, by word or look, to be extended to me with impunity. ” “ And I say,” said young Mareschal of Mareschal-Wells, who was ■also a guest at the castle, “ that you are all stark-mad to bo standing Wrangling hero, instead of going in pursuit of the ruffians.” “ I have ordered off the domestics already in the track most likely to overtake them,” said Mr Vere; “if you will favour me with your company, we will follow them and assist their search.” The efforts of the party were totally unsuccessful, probably because Ellieslaw directed the pursuit to proceed in the direction of Earnscliff- Tower, under the supposition that the owner would prove to be the author of the violence, so that they followed a direction diametrically opposite to that in which the ruffians had actually proceeded. In the •evening they returned, harassed and out of spirits. But other guests had, in the meanwhile, arrived at the castle; and, after the recent loss ■ KOVELS.] THE BLACK IAVARE. io sustained by the owner had been related, wondered at, and lamented, the recollection of it was, for the present, drowned in tho discussion of deep political intrigues, of which the crisis and explosion were mo- mentarily expected. Several of tho gentlemen who took part in this divan were Catholics, and all of them staunch Jacobites, whose hopes were at present at tho highest pitch, as an invasion, in favour of the Pretender, was daily expected from Prance, which Scotland, between the defenceless state of its garrisons and fortified places, and the general disaffection of the inhabitants, was rather prepared to welcome than to resist. Eatcliffe, who neither sought to assist at their consultations on this subject, nor was. invited to do so, had, in the meanwhile, retired to his own apart- ment. Miss Ilderton was sequestered from society in a sort of hon- ourable confinement, “until,” said Mr Vere, “she should be safely conveyed home to her father’s house,” an opportunity for which oc- curred on the following day, The domestics could not help thinking it remarkable how soon the loss of Miss Yere, and the strange manner in which it had happened, seemed to be forgotten by the other guests at the castle. They knew not, that those the most interested in her fate wore well acquainted with the cause of her being carried off, and the place of her retreat; and that the others, in tho anxious and doubtful moments which pro- ceeded the breaking forth of a conspiracy, were little accessible to any feelings but what arose immediately out of thoir own machinations.

CHAPTER XII. Some one way, some another—Do you know Where we may apprehend her ? The researches after Miss Yore were (for the sake of appearances^ perhaps) resumed in the succeeding day, with similar bad success, and the party were returning towards Ellieslaw in the evening. “ It is singular,” said Maroschal to Eatcliffo, “ that four horsemen and a female prisoner should have passed through the country without leaving tho slightest trace of thoir passage. One would think they had traversed the air, or sunk through tho ground.” “ Men may often,” answered EatcHffe, “ arrive at tho knowledge of that which is, from discovering that which is no(. We have now scoured every road, path, and track leading from the castle, in all tho various points of the compass, saving only that intricate and difficult pass which leads southward down the Westburn, and through the morasses.” “ And why have we not examined that P ” said Mareschal. “0, Mr Yere can best answer that question,” replied his companion^, drily. ?0 THE BLACK DWARF. [WAVERLEY

“ Then I will ask it instantly,” said Mareschal; and, addressing Mr Yere, “I am informed, sir, there is a path we have not examined, leading by Westburnflat.” “0,” said Sir Frederick, laughing, “ we know the owner of West- burnflat well—a wild lad that knows little difference between his neighbour’s goods and his ownj but) withal, very honest to his princi- ples : He would disturb nothing belonging to Ellieslaw.” “ Besides,” said Mr Yere, smiling mysteriously, “ he had other tow on his distaff last night. Have you not heard young Elliot of the Heughfoot has had his house burnt, and his cattle driven away, be- cause he refused to give up his arms to some honest men that think of starting for the king ? ” The company smiled upon each other, as at hearing of an exploit which favoured their own views. “Yet, nevertheless,” resumed Mareschal, “I think we ought to ride on this direction also, otherways we shall certainly be blamed for our negligence.” No reasonable objection could be offered to this proposal, and the party turned their horses’ heads towards Westburnflat. They had not proceeded very far in that direction when the tramp- ling of horses was heard, and a small body of riders were perceived advancing to meet them. “ There comes Earnscliff,” said Mareschal. “I know his bright bay with the star in his front.” “ And there is my daughter along with him,” exclaimed Yore, furi- ously. “Who shall call my suspicions false or injurious nowP Gentle- men—friends—lend me the assistance of your swords for the recovery of my child.” He unsheathed his weapon, and was imitated by Sir Frederick and several of the party, who prepared to charge those that were advancing towards them. But the greater part hesitated. “They come to us in all peace and security,” said Mareschal Wells; “ let us first hear what account they give us of this mysterious affair. If Miss Yere has sustained the slightest insult or injury from Earns- cliff, I will be first to revenge her; but let us hear what they say.” “ You do me wrong by your suspicions, Mareschal,” continued Vere; “you are the last I would have expected to hear express them.” “You injure 3,ourself, Ellieslaw, by your violence, though the cause may excuse it.” He then advanced a little before the rest, and called out, with a loud voice,—“Stand, Mr Earnscliff, or do you and Miss Vere advance alone to meet us. You are charged with having carried that lady off from her father’s house; and we are here in arms to shed our best blood for her recovery, and for bringing to justice those who have injured her.” “ And who would do that more willingly than I, Mr Mareschal ? ” KOVELS. ] THE BLACK DWARF. 77 said Earnscliff, haughtily,—“ than I who had the satisfaction this morning to liberate her from the dungeon in which I found her con- fined, and who am now escorting her back to the Castle of Ellieslaw? ” “ Is this so, Miss Yere ? ” said Mareschal. “It is,” answered Isabella, eagerly,—“it is so; for Heaven’s sake sheath your swords. I will swear by all that is sacred, that I was carried off by ruffians, whose persons and objects were alike unknown to me, and am now restored to freedom by means of this gentleman’s gallant interference.” “ By whom, and wherefore, could this have been done ? ” pursued Mareschal.— “ Had you no knowledge of the place to which you were conveyed ?—Earnscliff, were did you find this lady ? ” But ere either question could be answered, Ellieslaw advanced, and, returning his sword to the scabbard, cut short the conference. “ When I know,” he said, “ exactly how much I owe to Mr Earns- cliff, he may rely on suitable acknowledgments; mean time,” taking the bridle of Miss Vere’s horse, “ thus far I thank him for replacing my daughter in the power of her natural guardian.” A sullen bend of the head was returned by Earnscliff with equal haughtiness; and Ellieslaw, turning back with his daughter upon the road to his own house, appeared engaged with her in a conference so earnest, that the rest of the company judged it improper to intrude by approaching them too nearly. In the mean time, Earnscliff, as he took leave of the other gentlemen, belonging to Ellieslaw’s party, said aloud, “Although I am unconscious of any circumstance in my con- duct that can authorize such a suspicion, I cannot but observe, that Mr Yere seems to believe that I have had some hand in the atrocious violence which has been offered to his daughter. 1 request you, gentlemen, to take notice of my explicit denial of a charge so dishon- ourable ; and that, although I can pardon the bewildering feelings of a father in such a moment, yet, if any other gentleman,” (he looked hard at Sir Frederick Langley) “thinks my word and that of Miss Vere, with the evidence of my friends who accompany me, too slight for my exculpation, I will be happy—most happy—to repel the charge, as becomes a man who counts his honour dearer than his life.” “And I’ll be his second,” said Simon of Hackburn, “ and take up ony twa o’ ye, gentle or semple, laird or loon, it’s a’ ano to Simon.” “ Who is that rough-looking fellow? ” said Sir Frederick Langley, ‘‘ and what has he to do with the quarrels of gentlemen ? ” “ I’se be a lad frae the Hie Te’iot,” said Simon, “ and I’se quarrel wi’ ony body I like, except the king, or the laird I live under.” “Come,” said Mareschal, “let us have no brawls.—Mr Earnscliff, although wo do not think alike in some things, I trust we may be op- ponents, even enemies, if fortune will have it so, without losing our respect for birth, fair-play, and each other. I believe you as innocent of this matter as I am myself; and I will pledge myself that my cousin 78 Till] BLACK DWAI1R [WAVEELEY

Ellieslaw, so soon as the perplexity attending these sudden events has left his judgment to its free exercise, shall handsomely acknowledge the very important service you have this day rendered him.” “ To have served your cousin is a sufficient reward in itself.—Good evening, gentlemen,” continued Earnscliff, “ I see most of your party are already on their way to Ellieslaw.” Then saluting Mareschal with courtesy, and the rest of the party with indifference, Earnscliff turned his horse and rode towards the Heughfoot, to concert measures with Hobbio Elliot for farther re- searches after his bride, of whose restoration to her friends he was still ignorant. “ There he goes,” said Mareschal; “ ho Is a fine, gallant young fel- low, upon my soul; and yet I should like well to have a thrust with him on the green turf. I was reckoned at college nearly his equal with the foils, and I should like to try him at sharps.”' “In my opinion,” answered Sir Frederick Langley, “ we have done very ill in having suffered him, and those men who are with him to go off without taking away their arms; for the Whigs are very likely to draw to a head under such a young fellow as that.” “ For shame, Sir Frederick,” exclaimed Mareschal; “do you think that Ellieslaw could, in honour, consent to any violence being offered to Earnscliff, when he entered his bounds only to bring back his daughter ? or, if he were to be of your opinion, do you think that I, and the rest of these gentlemen, would disgrace ourselves by assisting in such a transaction ? No, no, fair-play and auld Scotland for ever. When the sword is drawn, I will be as ready to use it as any man ; but while it is in the sheath, let us behave like gentlemen and neigh- bours.” Soon after this colloquy they reached the castle, when Ellieslaw, wrho had been arrived a few minutes before, met them in the court- yard. “ How is Miss Vere ? and have you learned the cause of her being carried off?” asked Mareschal hastily. “ She is retired to her apartment greatly fatigued, and I cannot ex- pect much light upon her adventure till her spirits are somewhat re- cruited,” replied her father. “ She and I were not the less obliged to you, Mareschal, and to my other friends, for their kind enquiries. But I must suppress the father’s feelings for a while to give myself up to those of the patriot. You know this is the day fixed for our final de- cision-time passes—our friends are arriving, and I have opened house, not only for the gentry, but for the under spur-leathers whom wo must necessarily employ. We have, therefore, little time to pre- pare to meet them.—Look over these lists, Marchie, (an abbreviation by which Mareschal-Wells was known among his friends.) Do you, Sir Frederick, read these letters from Lothian and the west—all is ripe for the sickle, and wo haye but to summon out the reapers.” NOVELS.] THE BLACK DWARK.

“ With all my heart,” said Mareschal; “ the more mischief the bet- [I ter sport.” Sir Frederick looked grave and disconcerted. “Walk aside with me, my good friend,” said Ellieslaw to the sdmbro Baronet, “ I have something for your private ear; with which I know you will be gratified.” They walked into the house, leaving Ratcliffo and Uarcschal stand- :i ing together in the court. “And so,” said the former to the latter, “the gentlemen of your i political persuasion think the downfall of this government so certain; that they disdain even to throw a decent disguise over the machina- ; tions of their party ? ” “ Faith, Mr Ratcliffe,” answered Mareschal, ‘ ‘ the actions and senti- ments of your friends may require to be veiled, but I am better pleased i that ours can go barefaced.” “ And is it possible,” continued Ratcliffe, “that you, who, notwith- 1 standing your thoughtlessness and heat of temper, (I. beg pardon, Mr Mareschal, I am a plain man)—that 5Tou, who, notwithstanding these i constitutional defects, possess natural good sense and acquired infor- i: mation, should be infatuated enough to embroil yourself in such des- perate proceedings P How does your head feel when you are engaged i: in these dangerous conferences ? ” “Not quite so secure on my shoulders,” answered Mareschal, “as if I were talking of hunting and hawking. I am not of so indifferent a mould as my cousin Ellieslaw, who speaks treason as if it were child’s nursery rhymes, and loses and recovers that sweet girl, his i daughter, with a good deal less emotion on both occasions, than would have affected me had I lost and recovered a greyhound puppy. My temper is not quite so inflexible, nor my hate against government so inveterate, as to blind mo to the full danger of the attempt.” “ Then why involve yourself in it?” said Ratcliffe. “Why, I love this poor exiled king with all my heart; and my father was an old Gilliecrankie-man, and I long to see some amends ' on the courtiers that have bought and sold old Scotland, whose crown ■ has been so long independent.” “ And for the sake of these shadows,” said his monitor, “ you are i going to involve your country in war, and yourself in trouble ? ” “/involve? No!—but, trouble for trouble, I had rather it came to-morrow than a month hence. Come, I know it will; and, as our country folks say, better soon than syne—it will never find mo younger —and, as for hanging, as Sir John Falstaff says, I can become a gal- >. lows as well as another. You know the end of the old ballad; “ Sac dauntonly, sac wantonly, Sac rantingly gaed he, lie play’d a spring, and danced a round Beneath the gallows tree.” go THE BLACK DWARF. [WAVEELEY

“ Mr Mareschal, I am sorry for you,” said his grave adviser. “I am obliged to you, Mr Ratcliffe; but I ■would not have you j udge of our enterprise by my way of vindicating it; there are wiser heads than mine at the work.” “Wiser heads than yours may lie as low,” said Ratcliffe, in a warn- ing tone. “ Perhaps so; but no lighter heart shall; and, to prevent it being made heavier by your remonstrances, I will bid you adieu, Mr Rat- cliffe, till dinner time, when you shall see that my apprehensions have not spoiled my appetite.”

CHAPTER XIII To face the garment of rebellion With some fine colour, that may please the eye Of fickle changelings, and poor discontents, Which gape cud rub the elbow at the news Of hurly-burly innovation.—.Henry the Fourth, Part II. Tiieee had been great preparations made at Ellieslaw-Castle for the entertainment of this important day, when not only the gentlemen of note in the neighbourhood, attached to the Jacobite interest, were expected to rendezvous, but also many subordinate malcontents, whom difficulty of circumstances, love of change, resentment against Eng- land, or any of the numerous causes which inflamed men’s passions at the time, rendered apt to join in perilous enterprise. The men of rank and substance were not many in number, for almost all the large pro- prietors stood aloof, and most of the smaller gentry and yeomanry were of the Presbyterian persuasion, and, therefore, however dis- pleased with the Union, unwilling to engage in a Jacobite conspiracy. But there were some gentlemen of property, who, either from early principle, from religious motives, or sharing the ambitious views of Ellieslaw, had given countenance to his scheme; and there were, also, some fiery young men, like Mareschal, desirous of signalizing them- selves by engaging in a dangerous enterprise, by which they hoped to vindicate the independence of their country. The other members of the party were persons of inferior rank and desperate fortunes, who were now ready to rise in that part of the country, as they did after- wards in the year 1715, under Forster and Derwentwater, when a troop, commanded by a Border gentleman, named Douglas, consisted almost entirely of freebooters, among whom the notorious Luck-in-a- bag, as he was called, held a distinguished command. We think it necessary to mention these particulars, applicable solely to the pro- vince in which our scene lies, because, unquestionably, the Jacobite party, in the other parts of the kingdom, consisted of much more for- midable, as well as much more respectable, materials. One long table extended itself down the amjdo hall of Ellieslaw* NOVELS.] THE BLACK DWARF. 81

Castle; which was still left much in the state in which it had been one hundred years before, stretching, that is, in gloomy length, through the whole side of the castle, vaulted with ribbed arches of freestone, the groins of which sprung from projecting figures, which, carved into all the wild forms that the fantastic imagination of a Gothic architect could devise, grinned, frowned, and gnashed their tusks at the assem- bly below. Long narrow windows lighted the banquetting-room on both sides, filled up with stained glass, through which the sun emitted a dusky and discoloured light. A banner, which tradition averred to have been taken from the English at the battle of Sark, waved over the chair in which Ellieslaw presided, as if to inflame the courage of the guests, by reminding them of ancient victories over their neigh- bours. He himself, a portly figure, dressed upon this occasion with uncommon care, and with features, which, though of a stern and sini- ster expression, might well be termed handsome, looked the old feudal baron extremely well. Sir Frederick Langley was placed on his right hand, and Mr Mareschal of Mareschal-Wells upon his left. Some gentlemen of consideration, with their sons, brothers, and nephews, occupied the upper end of the table, and amongst these Mr Ratcliffe had his place. Beneath the salt-cellar (a massive piece of plate which occupied the midst of the table) sate the sine nomine turba, men whose vanity was gratified by occupying even this subordinate space at the social board, while the distinction observed in ranking them was a salvo to the pride of their superiors. That the lower-house was not very select must be admitted, since Willie of Westburnflat was one of the party. The unabashed audacity of this fellow, in daring to present himself in the house of a gentleman, to whom he had just offered so flagrant an insult, can only be accounted for by supposing him con- scious that his share in carrying off Miss Yere was a secret, safe in her possession and that of her father. Before this numerous and miscellaneous party was placed a dinner, consisting, not indeed of the delicacies of the season, as the newspapers express it, but of viands, ample, solid, and sumptuous, under which the very board groaned. But the mirth was not in proportion to the good cheer. The lower end of the table were, for some time, chilled by constraint and respect upon finding themselves members of so august an assembly, and those who were placed around it had those feelings of awe with which P. P., clerk of the parish, describes himself oppressed, when he first uplifted the psalm in presence of those per- sons of high worship, the wise Mr Justice Freeman, the good Lady Jones, and the great Sir Thomas Truby. This ceremonious frost, how- ever, soon gave way before the incentives to merriment, which were liberally supplied and as liberally consumed by the guests of the lower description. They became talkative, loud, and even clamorous in their mirth. But it was not in the power of wine or brandy to elevate the spirits 82 THE BLACK DWAKE. [waVekley

of those who held the higher places of the banquet. They experienced the chilling revulsion of spirits which often takes place when men are railed upon to take a desperate resolution after having placed them- selves in circumstances where it is alike difficult to advance or to re- cede. The precipice looked deeper and more dangerous as they ap- proached to the brink, and each waited with an inward emotion of awe, expecting which of his confederates would set the example by plunging himself down. This inward sensation of fear and reluctance acted differently, according to the various habits and characters of the company. One looked grave, one looked silly, one gazed with appre- hension on the empty seats of the higher end of the table, designed for members of the conspiracy whose prudence had prevailed over their political zeal, and who had absented themselves from their consulta- tions at this critical period, and some seemed to be reckoning up in their minds the comparative rank and prospects of those who wore present and absent. Sir Frederick Langley was absent, moody, and discontented. Ellieslaw himself made such forced efforts to raise the spirits of the company as plainly marked the flagging of his own. Batcliffe watched the scene with the composure of a vigilant but unin- terested spectator. Mareschal alone, true to the thoughtless vivacity of his character, eat and drank, laughed and jested, and seemed even to find amusement in the embarrassment of the company. “What has damped our noble courage this morning! ” he exclaimed; “ we seem to be met at a funeral, where the chief mourners must not speak above their breath, while the mutes and the saulees (looking to the lower end of the table) are carousing below. Ellieslaw, when will you lift ? where sleeps your spirit, man ? and what has quelled the high hope of the Knight of Langley-dale P ” “ You speak like a madman,” said Ellieslaw; “ Do you not see how many are absent ? ” “ And what of that ? Did you not know before, that one-half of the world are better talkers than doers P For my part, I am much en- couraged by seeing at least two-thirds of our friends true to the ren- dezvous, though I suspect one-half of these came to secure the dinner, in case of the worst.” “There is no nows from the coast which can amount to certainty of the King’s arrival,” said another of the company, in that tone of sub- dued and tremulous whisper which implies a failure of resolution. “Not a line from the Earl of D , nor a single gentleman from the southern side of the Border.” “ What’s he that wishes for more men from England,” exclaimed Mareschal, in a theatrical tone of affected heroism, “ Mj- cousin Ellicsiaw ? No, my fair cousin. If we are doomed to die” “For God’s sake,” said Ellieslaw, “spare us your folly at present; Mareschal,” NOVELS.] THE BLACK DWARF. 83

“ Well, then,” said his kinsman, “ I’ll bestow my wisdom upon you instead, such as it is. If we have gone forward like fools, do not let us go back like cowards. We have done enough to draw upon us both the suspicion and vengeance of the government; do not let us give up before we have done something to deserve it.—What, will no one speak? Then I’ll leap the ditch the first.” And, starting up, he filled a beer- glass to the brim with claret, and waving his hand, commanded all to follow his example, and to rise up from their seats. All obeyed—the more qualified guests as if passively, the others with enthusiasm. “Then, my friends, I give you the pledge of the day.—The indepen- dence of Scotland, and the health of our lawful sovereign, King James the Eighth, now landed in Lothian, and, as I trust and believe, in full possession of his ancient capital! ” He quaffed off the wine, and threw the glass over his head. “It should never,” he said, “ be profaned by a meaner toast.” All followed his example, and, amid the crash of glasses and the shouts of the company, pledged themselves to stand or fall with the principles and political interest which their toast expressed. “ You have leaped the ditch with a witness,” said Ellieslaw, apart to Mareschal; “ but I believe it is all for the best; at all events, we cannot now retreat from our undertaking. One man alone,” (looking at Ratcliffe) “has refused the pledge; but of that by and by.” Then, rising up, he addressed the company in a style of inflamma- tory invective against the government and its measures, especially the Union, a treaty, by means of which, he affirmed, Scotland had been at once cheated of her independence, her commerce, and her honour, and laid as a fettered slave at the foot of the rival, against whom, through such a length of ages, through so many dangers, and by so much blood, she had honourably defended her rights. This was touching a theme which found a responsive chord in the bosom of every man present. “ Our commerce is destroyed,” hollowed old John Rewcastle, a Jed- burgh smuggler, from the lower end of the table. “ Our agriculture is ruined,” said the Laird of Broken-girth-flow, a territory, which, sinco the days of Adam, had borne nothing but ling and whortleberries. “ Our religion is cut up, root and branch,” said the pimple-nosed pastor of the Episcopal meeting-house at Kirkwhistle. “We shall shortly neither dare shoot a deer nor kiss a wench, with- out a certificate from the presbytery and kirk-treasurer,” said Mare- schal-Wells. “ Or make a brandy Jeroboam in a frosty morning, without licence from a commissioner of excise,” said the smuggler. “ Or ride over the fell in a moonless night,” said Westburnflat, “ without asking leave of young Earnscliff, or some Englified justice of the peace: thae were gude days on the Border, when there was neither peace nor justice hoard of.” 84 THE BLACK DWALE. [WAVEELE ?

“ Let us remember our wrongs at Darien and Glencoe,” continued Ellieslaw, ‘ ‘ and take arms for the protection of our rights, our fortunes, our lives, and our families.” “ Think upon genuine episcopal ordination, without which there can be no lawful clergy,” said the divine. “ Think of the piracies committed on our East-Indian trade by Green and the English thieves,” said William Willieson, half-owner and sole skipper of a brig that made four voyages annually between Cock- pool and Whitehaven. “ Bemember your liberties,” rejoined Mareschal, who seemed to take a mischievous delight in precipitating the movements of the enthusiasm which hehad excited, like a roguish boy, that, having lifted the sluice of a mill-dam, enjoys the clatter of the wheels which he has put into motion, without thinking of the mischief he may have occasioned. “ Bemember your liberties,” he exclaimed; “confound cess, press, and presbytery, and the memory of old Willie that first brought them upon us ! ” “ Damn the gauger,” echoed old John Bewcastle; “ I’ll cleave him wi’ my ain hand.” “And confound the country-keeper and the constable,” re-echoed Westburnflat; “I’ll weize a brace of balls through them before morn- ing.” “We are agreed, then,” said Ellieslaw, when the shouts had some- thing subdued, “ to bear this state of things no longer f ” “ Wo are agreed to a man,” answered his guests. “Not literally so,” said Mr Batcliffe; “for though I cannot hojie to assuage the violent symptoms which seem so suddenly to have seized upon the company, yet I beg to observe, that so far as the opinion of a single member goes, I do not entirely coincide in the list of grievances which has been announced, and that I do utterly protest against the frantic measures which you see disposed to adopt for removing them. I can easily suppose much of what has been spoken may have arisen out of the heat of the moment, or be said perhaps in jest. But there are some jests of a nature very apt to transpire ; and you ought to remem- ber, gentlemen, that stone walls have ears.” “ Stone walls may have ears,” returned Ellieslaw, eyeing him with a look of triumphant malignity, “but domestic spies, Mr Batcliffe, will soon find themselves without any, if any such dares to continue his abode in a family where his coming was an unauthorized intrusion, where his conduct has been that of a presumptuous meddler, and from which his exit shall be that of a baffled knave, if ho does not know how to take a hint.” “ Mr Yere,” returned Batcliffo, with calm contempt, “I am fully aware that as soon as my presence becomes useless to jmu, which it must through the rash step you are about to adopt, it will immediately become unsafe to myself, as it has always been hateful to you. But I have one protection, and it is a strong one; for you would not willingly IfOVELS.] THE BLACK DWARF. 8d hear me detail before gentlemen, and men of honour, the singular cir- cumstance in 'which our connection took its rise. As to the rest, I re- joice at its conclusion; and as I think that Mr Mareschal and some other gentlemen will guarantee the safety of my ears and of my throat (for which last I have more reason to be apprehensive) during the course of the night, I shall notleaye your castle till to-morrow morning.” “Be it so, sir,” replied Yere; “you are entirely safe from my re- sentment, because you are beneath it, and not because I am afraid of your disclosing any family secrets, although for your own sake, I warn you to beware how you do so. Your agency and intermediation can be of little consequence to one who will win or loose all, as lawful right or unjust usurpation shall succeed in the struggle that is about to en- sue. Farewell, sirs.” Eatcliffe cast upon him a look, which Yere seemed to sustain with difficulty, and, bowing to those around him, arose and left the room. This conversation made an impression on many of the company, which Ellieslaw hastened to dispel, by entering upon the business of the day. Their hasty deliberations went to organize an immediate insur- rection. Ellieslaw, Mareschal, and Sir Frederick Langley, were chosen leaders, with powers to direct their farther measures. A place of ren- dezvous was appointed, at which all agreed to meet early on the ensu- ing day, with such followers and friends to the cause as each could collect around him. Several of the guests retired to make the neces- sary preparations; and Ellieslaw made a formal apology to the others, who with Westburnflat and the old smuggler continued to ply the bottle staunchly, for leaving the head of the table, as he must necessarily hold a separate and sober conference with the coadjutors whom they had associated with him in the command. The apology was the more readily accepted, as he prayed them at the same time, to continue to amuse themselves with such refreshments as the cellars of the castle afforded. Shouts of applause followed their retreat; and the names of Yere, Langley, and, above all, of Mareschal, were thundered forth in chorus, and bathed with copious bumpers repeatedly, during the re- mainder of the evening. When the principal conspirators had retired into a separate apart- ment, they gazed on each other for a minute with a sort of embarrass- ment, which in Sir Frederick’s dark features, amounted to an expression of discontented sullenness. Mareschal was the first to break the pause, saying, with a loud burst of laughter,—“Well! we are fairly embarked now, gentlemen—vogue la galere /” “We may thank you for the plunge,” said Ellieslaw. “Yes; but I don’t knowhow far you will thank me,” answered Mareschal, “ when I shew you this letter which I received just before we sate down. My servant told me it was delivered by a man ho had never seen before, who went off at the gallop after charging him to put it into my own hand.” 8G THE BLACK DWARF. [WAVEK.LEY

Ellieslaw impatiently opened the letter, and read aloud— Edinburou, IIond. Sir, Having obligations to your family, which shall bo nameless, and learning that you are one of the company of adventurers doing busi- ness for the house of James and Company; late merchants in London, now in Dunkirk, I think it right to send you this early and private information, £kat the vessels you expected have been driven off the coast, without having been able to break bulk, or to land any part of their cargo; and that the west-country partners have resolved to with- draw their name from the firm, as it must prove a losing concern. Having good hope you will avail yourself of this early information, to do what is needful for your own security, I rest your humble servant. Nihil Nameless. For KALm Mareschal, of Marcschal- Wells —These, with care and speed. Sir Frederick’s jaw dropped, and his countenance blackened, as the letter was read, and Ellieslaw exclaimed,—“ Why, this affects the very main-spring of our enterprise. If the French fleet, with the king on board, has been chased off by the English, as this d—d scrawl seems to intimate, where are we ?” “Just where we were this morning, I think,” said Mareschal, still laughing. “ Pardon mo, and a truce to your ill-timed mirth, Mr Mareschal; this morning we were not committed publicly, as wo now stand com- mitted by your own mad act, when you had a letter in your pocket apprizing you that our undertaking was desperate.” “ Aye, aye, I expected you would say so. But, in the first place, my friend Nihil Nameless and his letter may be all a flam; and more- over, I would have you know I am tired of a party that does nothing but form bold resolutions over night, and sleep them away with their wine before morning. The government are now unprovided of men and ammunition ; in a few weeks they will have enough of both ; tho country is now in a flame against them; in a few weeks, betwixt tho effects of self-interest, of fear, and of lukewarm indifference, which aro already so visible, this first fervour will bo as cold as Christmas. So, as I was determined to go the vole, I have taken care you shall dip as deep as I; it signifies nothing plunging. You are fairly in the bog, and must struggle through.” “You are mistaken with respect to one of us, Mr Mareschal,” said Sir Frederick Langley ; and, applying himself to the bell, desired the attendant who entered to order his servants and horses instantly. “You must not leave us, Sir Frederick,” said Ellieslaw; “we have our musters to go over.” “ I will go to-night, Mr Yere,” said Sir Frederick, “ and write you my intentions in this matter when I am at home,” NOVELS.] THE BLACK DWARF. 8?

"Aye” said Marc Sell a], “and send them by a troop of horse from Carlisle to make us prisoners ? Look ye, Sir Frederick, I for one will neither be deserted nor betrayed; and if you leave Ellieslaw-Castle to-night, it shall be by passing over my dead body.” “ For shame! Mareschal,” said Mr Vere, “how can you so hastily misinterpret our friend’s intentions ? I am sure Sir Frederick can only bo jesting with us; for, were ho not too honourable to dream of desert- ing the cause, he cannot but remember the full proofs we have of his accession to it, and his eager activity in advancing it. He cannot but be conscious, besides, that the first information will bo readily received i by government, and that if the question bo, which can first lodge iutel- ! ligence of the affair, we can easily save a few hours on him.” “You should say you, and not we, when you talk of priorities in such a race of treachery ; for my part, I won’t enter my horse for such a | j plate,” said Mareschal; and, added betwixt his teeth, “a pretty pair I! of fellows to trust a man’s neck with! ” | |r. “I am not to be intimidated from doing what I think proper,” said i! Sir Frederick Langley; “and my first step shall be to leave Ellieslaw. ' I have no reason to keep faith with one (looking at Vere,) who has kept none with me.” ' f! lu what respect,” said Ellieslaw, silencing, with a motion of his ! hand, his impetuous kinsman—“how have I disappointed you, Sir il Frederickf” “ In the nearest and most tender point—you have trifled with me concerning our proposed alliance, which you well knew was the gage i of our political undertaking. This carrying off and this bringing back of Miss Vero,—the cold reception I have mot with from her, and the 1 excuses with which you cover it, I believe to bo more evasions, that you may yourself retain possession of the estates which are hers by right, and make mo, in the meanwhile, a tool in your desperate en- terprize, by holding out hopes and expectations which you are resolved never to realize.’ ’ “ Sir Frederick, I protest by all that is sacred ” “ I will listen to no protestations; I have been cheated with them jtoo long,” answered Sir Frederick. ^ If y°u leave us,” said Ellieslaw, “you cannot but know both your ruin and ours is certain; all depends on our adhering together.” “ Leave m0 to take care of myself,” returned the knight; “but were what you say true, I would rather perish than bo fooled any far- ther.” “ Can nothing—no surety convince you of my sincerity ? ” said Ellies- ilaw, anxiously; “ this morning I should have repelled your unjust sus- .picions as an insult, but situated as we now are “ You feel yourself compelled to be sincere ?” retorted Sir Frederick. -« xf you would have me think so, there is but one way to convince mo •of it—lot your daughter bestow her hand on mo this evening.” 88 THE BLACK DWARF. [WAVERLEY

“ So soon ?—impossible,” answered Yere; “think of her late alarm— of our present undertaking.” “I will listen to nothing but to her consent, plighted at the altar. You have a chapel in the castle—Doctor Hobbler is present among the company—this proof of your good faith to-night, and we are again join- ed in heart and hand. If you refuse me when it is so much for your advantage to consent, how shall I trust you to-morrow, when I shall stand committed in your undertaking, and unable to retract P ” “And I am to understand, that, if you can be made my son-in-law to-night, our friendship is renewed ? ” said Ellieslaw. “ Most infallibly, and most inviolably,” replied Sir Frederick. “Then,” said Yere, “ though what you ask is premature, indelicate, and unjust towards my character, yet, Sir Frederick, give me your hand—my daughter shall be your wife.” “ This night? ” “ This very night,” replied Ellieslaw, “ before the clock strikes twelve.” “ With her own consent, I trust,” said Mareschal; “ for I promise you both, gentlemen, I will not stand tamely by, and see any violence put on the will of my pretty kinswoman.” “ Another pest in this hot-headed fellow,” muttered Ellieslaw; and then aloud, “ With her own consent ? For what do you take me, Mareschal, that you should suppose your interference necessary to pro- tect my daughter against her father ? Depend upon it, she has no re- pugnance to Sir Frederick Langley.” “Or rather to be called Lady Langley? faith, like enough—there are many women might be of her mind ; and I beg your pardon, but these sudden demands and concessions alarmed me a little on her ac- count.” “It is only the suddenness of the proposal that embarrasses me,” said Ellieslaw; “but perhaps if she is found intractable, Sir Frederick will consider ” “I will consider nothing, Mr Yere—your daughter’s hand to-night, or I depart, were it at midnight—there is my ultimatum.” “ I embrace it,” said Ellieslaw; “ and I will leave you to talk upon our military preparations, while I go to prepare my daughter for so sudden a change of condition.” So saying, he left the company. NOVELS.] THE BLACK I) WAKE. 89

CHAPTER XIY. He brings Earl Osmond to receive my vows, 0 dreadful change' for Tancred, haughty Osmond. Tancred and Sigismnnda. Mr Yere, whom long practice of dissimulation had enabled to model his very gait and footsteps to aid the purpose of deception, walked along the stone passage, and up the first flight of steps towards Miss Vere’s apartment, with the alert, firm, and steady pace of one, who is hound, indeed, upon important business, but who entertains no doubt he can terminate his affairs satisfactorily. But when out of hearing of the gentlemen whom he had left, his step became so slow and irresolute, as to correspond with his doubts and his fears. At length he paused in an anti-chamber to collect his ideas, and form his plan of argument, before approaching his daughter. ‘1 In what more hopeless and inextricable dilemma was ever an un- fortunate man involved ? ”—Such was the tenor of his reflections.—“ If we now fall to pieces by disunion, there can be little doubt that the government will take my life as the prime agitator of the insurrection. Or, grant I could stoop to save myself by a hasty submission, am I not, even in that case, utterly ruined P I have broken irreconcileably with Ilatcliffe, and can have nothing to expect from that quarter but insult and persecution. I must wander forth an impoverished and dishonoured man, without even the means of sustaining life, far less wealth suffi- cient to counterbalance the infamy which my countrymen, both those whom I desert and those whom I join, will attach to the name of the political renegade. It is not to be thought of. And yet, what choice remains between this lot and the ignominious scaffold P Nothing can save me but reconciliation with these men; and, to accomplish this, I have promised to Langley that Isabella shall marry him ere midnight, and, to Mareschal, that she shall do so without compulsion. I have but one remedy betwixt me and ruin—her consent to take a suitor whom she dislikes, upon such short notice as would disgust her, even were ho a favoured lover—But I must trust to the romantic generosity of her disposition; and let me paint the necessity of her obedience ever so strongly, I cannot overcharge its reality.” Having finished this sad chain of reflections upon his perilous condi- tion, he entered his daughter’s apartment with every nerve bent up to the support of the argument which he was about to sustain. Though a deceitful and ambitious man, he was not so devoid of natural affection but that he was shocked at the part he was about to act, in practising on the feelings of a dutiful and affectionate child; but the recollections, that, if he succeeded, his daughter would only be trepanned into an ad- vantageous match, and that, if he failed, he himself was a lost man, were quite sufficient to drown all scruples. He found Miss Yere seated by the window of her dressing-room, 90 THE BLACK LAY ABE. [WAVEliLEY

her head reclining on her hand, and either sunk in slumber, or so deeply engaged in mediation, that she did not hear the noise ho made | at his entrance. He approached with his features composed to a deep expression of sorrow and sympathy, and, sitting down beside her, soli- cited her attention by quietly taking her hand, a motion which he did not fail to accompany with a deep sigh. “ My father ! ” said Isabella, with a sort of start, which expressed at least as much fear, as joy or affection. “Yes, Isabella,” said Yere, “your unhappy father, who comes now as a penitent to crave forgiveness of his daughter for an injury done to her in the excess of his affection, and then to take leave of her for over.” “Sir? Offence to me? Take leave for ever? What does all this mean ? ” said Miss Yere. “ Yes, Isabella, I am serious. But first let mo ask you, have you no suspicion that I may have been privy to the strange chance which befel you yesterday morning ! ” “ You, sir ? ” answered Isabella, stammering, between a conscious- ness that he had guessed her thoughts justly, and the shame as well as fear which forbade her to acknowledge a suspicion so degrading and So unnatural. “ Yes ! ” he continued, “ your hesitation confesses that you enter- tained such an opinion, and I have now the painful task of confessing that your suspicions have done me no injustice. But listen to my motives. In an evil hour I countenanced the addresses of Sir Frederick Langley, conceiving it impossible that you could have any permanent objections to a match where the advantages were, in most respects, on your side. In a worse, I entered with him into measures calculated to restore our banished monarch, and the independence of my country. He has taken advantage of my unguarded confidence, and now has my life at his disposal.” “ Your life, sir ?” said Isabella faintly. “ Yes, Isabella, the life of him who gave life to you. So soon as I foresaw the excesses into which his headlong passion (for, to do him justice, I believe his unreasonable conduct arises from excess of attach- ment to you) was like to hurry him, I endeavoured, by finding a plausi- ble jirctext for your absence for some weeks, to extricate myself from the dilemma in which I am placed. For this purpose I wished, in case your objections to the match continued insurmountable, to have sent you privately for a few months to the convent of your maternal aunt at Paris. By a series of mistakes you have been brought from the place qf secrecy and security which I had destined for your temporary abode. Fate has baffled my last chance of escape, and I have only to give you my blessing, and send you from the castle with Mr Batcliffe, who now leaves it; my own fate will soon be decided.” Good Heaven, sir! can this be possible?” e^clajmed Isabplla. KOVELS.] THE JBLAOK DWAKi’. 91

“ 0, viiy was I freed from the restraint in which you placed mo ? or why did you not impart your pleasure to me ? ” “ Think an instant, Isabella. Would you have had mo prejudice in your opinion the friend I was most desirous of serving, by communi- cating to yon the injurious eagerness with which ho pursued his object ? Could I do so honourably, having promised to assist his suit ?—But it is all over. I and Mareschal have made up our minds to die like men ; it only remains to send you from hence under a safe escort.” “ Great powers ' and is there no remedy ?” “ None, my child,” answered Vere gently, “ unless one which you would not advise your father to adopt—to he the first to betray his friends.” “ 0, no ! no! ” she answered, abhorrently yet hastily, as if to reject the temptation which the alternative presented to her. “ But is there no other hope—through flight—through mediation—through sup- plication ?—I will bend my knee to Sir Frederick! ” ‘ ‘ It would be a fruitless degradation, he is determined on his course, and I am equally resolved to stand the hazard of my fate. On one con- dition only he will turn aside from his purpose, and that condition my lips shall never utter to you.” “Name it, I conjure you, my dear father! What can he ask that we ought not to grant, to prevent the hideous catastrophe with which you are threatened ? ” “ That, Isabella,” said Vere, solemnly, “you shall never know until your father’s head has rolled on the bloody scaffold; then indeed you will learn there was one sacrifice by which he might have been saved.” ‘ ‘ And why not speak it now; Do you fear I would flinch from tho sacrifice of fortune for your preservation ? or would you bequeath me the bitter legacy of life-long remorse, so oft as I shall think that you perished, while there remained one mode of preventing the dreadful misfortune that overhangs you ? ” “ Then, my child,” said Vere, “ since you press me to name what I would a thousand times rather leave in silence, I must inform you that he will accept for ransom nothing but your hand in marriage, and that conferred before midnight this very evening! ” “This evening, sir?—and to such a man!—A man?—a monster, who could wish to win the daughter by threatening tho life of the father—it is impossible! ” “ You say right, my child,” answered her father, “ it is indeed im- possible ; nor have I either the right or the wish to exact such a sacri- fice—It is tho course of nature that tho old should die and be forgot, and the young should live and be happy.” “ My father die, and his child can save him !—but no—no—my dear father, pardon me, it is impossible; you only wish to guide me to your wishes. I know your object is what you think my happiness, and this 92 THE BLACK DWABE. [wavekley dreadful tale is only told to influence my conduct and subdue my scruples.” “ My daughter,” replied Ellieslaw, in a tone where offended autho- rity seemed to struggle with parental affection, “my child suspects me of inventing a false tale to work upon her feelings! Even this I must bear, and even from this unworthy suspicion I must descend to vindi- cate myself. You know the stainless honour of your cousin Mareschal —mark what I shall write to him, and judge from his answer, if tho danger in which we stand is not real, and whether I have not used every means to avert it.” He sate down, wrote a few lines hastily, and handed them to Isa- bella, who, after repeated and painful efforts, cleared her eyes and head sufficiently to discern their purport. “Dear Cousin,” said the billet, “I find my daughter, as I expected, in despair at the untimely and premature urgency of Sir Frederick Langley. She cannot even comprehend the peril in which we stand, or how much we are in his power—Use your influence with him, for Heaven’s sake, to modify proposals, to the acceptance of which I can- not, and will not, urge my child against all her own feelings, as well as those of delicacy and propriety, and oblige your loving cousin,—R. Y.” In the agitation of the moment, when her swimming eyes and dizzy brain could hardly comprehend the sense of what she looked upon, it is not surprising that Miss Yere should have omitted to remark that this letter seemed to rest her scruples rather upon the form and time of the proposed union, than on a rooted dislike to the suitor proposed to her. Mr Vere rang the bell, and gave the letter to a servant to be delivered to Mr Mareschal, and, rising from his chair, continued to traverse the apartment in silence and in great agitation until the answer was returned. He glanced it over, and wrung the hand of his daughter as he gave it to her. The tenor was as follows:— “ My dear kinsman, I have already urged the knight on the point you mention, and I find him as fixed as Cheviot. I am truly sorry my fair cousin should be pressed to give up any of her maidenly rights. Sir Fi’ederiek consents, however, to leave the castle with me the instant the ceremony is performed, and we will raise our followers and begin the fray. Thus there is great hope the bridegroom may be knocked on the head before he and the bride can meet again, so Bell has a fair chance to be Lady Langley a tres Ion marche. For the rest, I can only say, that if she can make up her mind to the alliance at all —it is no time for mere maiden ceremony—my pretty cousin must needs consent to marry in haste, or we shall all repent at leisure, or rather have very little leisure to repent, which is all at present from him who rests your affectionate kinsman,—R. M.” “P.S.—Tell Isabella that I would rather cut the Knight’s throat after all, and end the dilemma that way, than see her constrained to marry him against her will,” NOVELS.] THE BLACK DWARF. 93

When Isabella had read this letter, it dropped from her hand, and she would, at the same time, have fallen from her chair, had she not been supported by her father. “My Gcd, my child will die!” exclaimed Vere, the feelings of nature overcoming, even in Ms breast, the sentiments of selfish policy; “ look up, Isabella—look up, my child—come what will, you shall not be the sacrifice—I will fall myself with the consciousness I leave jmu happy—My child may weep on my grave, but she shall not—not in this instance—reproach my memory.” He called a servant.—“Go, bid Ratcliffe come hither directly.” During this interval, Miss Yere became deadly pale, clenched her hands, pressing the palms strongly together, closed her eyes, and drew her lips with strong compression, as if the severe constraint which she put upon her internal feelings extended even to her muscular organiza- tion. Then raising her head, and drawing in her breath strongly ere she spoke, she said, with • firmness,—‘1 Father, I consent to the mar- riage.” “You shall not—you shall not, my child—my dear child—you shall not embrace certain misery to free me from uncertain danger.” So exclaimed Ellieslaw; and, strange and inconsistent beings that we are ! he expressed the real though momentary feelings of his heart. “ Father,” repeated Isabella, “I will consent to this marriage.” “ No, my child, no—not now at least—we will humble ourselves to obtain delay from him; and yet, Isabella, could you overcome a dis- like which has no real foundation, think, in other respects, what a match—wealth—rank—importance. ’ ’ “ Father ! ” reiterated Isabella, “ I have consented.” It seemed as if she had lost the power of saying any thing else, or even of varying the phrase which, with such effort, she had compelled herself to utter. “Heaven bless thee, my child!—Heaven bless thee!—And it will bless thee with riches, with pleasure, with power.” Miss Yere faintly entreated to be left by herself for the rest of the evening. “But will you not receive Sir Frederick?” said her father anxiouslj-. “I will meet him,” she replied, “ I will meet him—when I must, and where I must, but spare mo now.” “ Be it so, my dearest; you shall know no restraint that I can save you from. Do not think too hardly of Sir Frederick for this, it is an excess of passion.” Isabella waved her hand impatiently. “Forgive me, my child—I go—Heaven bless thee. At eleven—if you call me not before—at eleven I come to seek you.” When he left Isabella she dropped upon her knees—“Heaven aid me to support the resolution I have taken—Heaven only can 0, poor Earnscliff! who shall comfort him ? and with what contempt will he 94 THE BLACK DWARF. [WAVERLEY

pronounce her name, who listened to him to-day and gave herself to another at night! But let him despise me—better so than that he should know tho truth—Let him despise me; if it will but lessen his grief, I should feel comfort in the loss of his esteem.” She wept bitterly; attempting in vain, from time to time, to com- mence the prayer for which she had sunk on her knees, but unable to calm her spirits sufficiently for the exercise of devotion. As she re- mained in this agony of mind, the door of her apartment was slowly opened.

CHAPTER XY The darksome cave they enter, where they found The woeful man, low sitting on the ground Musing full sadly in his sullen mind.—Faery Queen. The intruder on Miss Yere’s sorrows was Ratcliffe. Ellioslaw had, in the agitation of his mind, forgotten to countermand the order ho had given to call him thither, so that he opened the door with the words, “You sent for mo, Mr Yerc.” Then looking around—“Miss Vere, alone! on the ground ! and in tears! ” “Leave me—leave me, Mr Ratcliffe,” said the unhappy young lady. “ I must not leave you,” said Ratcliffe, “I have been repeatedly requesting admittance to take my leave of you, and have been refused, until your father himself sent for me. Blame me not, if I am bold and intrusive ; I have a duty to discharge which makes me so.” “ I cannot listen to you—I cannot speak to you, Mr Ratcliffo ; take my best wishes, and, for God’s sake, leave me.” “Tell mo only, is it true that this monstrous match is to go forward, and this very night ? I heard the servants proclaim it as I was on tho great stair-case—I heard the directions given to clear out tho chapel.” “ Spare me, Mr Ratcliffe , and, from the state in which you see mo, judge of the cruelty of these questions.” “ Married ? to Sir Frederick Langley ? and this night ? It must not •—cannot—shall not be.” “ It must be, Mr Ratcliffe, or my father is ruined.” “ Ah ! I understand,” answered Ratcliffe , “ and you have sacrificed yourself to save him who—but let the virtue of the child atone for his faults.—What cun be done ? Time presses—I know but one remedy— with four-and-twenty hours 1 might find many—Miss Yore, you must implore the protection of the only human being who has it in his power to controul tho course of events which threatens to hurry you before it.” “And what human being,” answered Miss Yere, “has such power?” “ Start not when I name him,” said Ratcliffe, coming near her, and speaking in a low but distinct voice. “ It is he who is called Elshen- der, the Recluse of M^icklestaue-Moor.” KOVELS.] THE BLACK DWARF. 93

“You are mad, Mr Ratcliffe, or you mean to insult my misery by an ill-timed jest! ” “ I am as much in my senses, young lady, as you are ; and I am no idle jester, far less with misery, least of all with your misery. I swear to you that this being (who is other far than what ho seems) actually possesses the means of redeeming you from this hateful union.” ‘1 And of insuring my father’s safety P ” “ Yes! even that,” said Ratcliffe, “ if you plead his cause with him —yet how to obtain admittance ! ” ‘•Fear not that,” said Miss Yere, suddenly recollecting the incident of the rose; “ I remember ho desired me to call upon him for aid in my extremity, and gave me this flower as a token. Ere it faded away entirely, I would need he said, his assistance, is it possible his words can have been aught but the ravings of insanity ? ” “ Doubt it not—fear it not—but, above all,” said Ratcliffe, “ let us lose no time—Are you at liberty, and unwatched ? ” “ I believe so,” said Isabella ; “ but what would you have me do ? ” “Leave the castlo instantly, and throw yourself at the feet of this extraordinary man, who, in circumstances that seem to argue the ex- tremity of the most contemptible poverty, possesses yet an almost abso- lute influence over your fate.—Guests and servants are deep in their carouse—the leaders sitting in conclave on their treasonable schemes —my horse stands ready in the stable—I will saddle one for you, and meet you at the little garden-gate—0, let no doubt of my prudence or fidelity prevent your taking the only step in your power to escape tho dreadful fate which must attend the wife of Sir Frederick Langley ! ” “ Mr Ratcliffe,” said Miss Yere, “you have always been esteemed a man of honour and probity, and a drowning wretch will always catch at tho feeblest twig—I will trust you—I will follow your advice—I will meet you at tho garden-gate.” She bolted the outer-door of her apartment as soon as Mr Ratcliffo left her, and descended to the garden by a separate stair of communi- cation which opened to her dressing-room. On the way she felt in- clined to retract the consent she had so hastily given to a plan so hopeless and extravagant. But as she passed in her descent a private door which entered into the chapel from tho back-stair, she hoard the voice of the female servants as they were employed in tho task of cleaning it. “Married! and to sae bad a man—Ewhow, sirs! ony thing rather than that.” “They are right—they are right,” said Miss Yere, “any thing rather than that.” She hurried to the garden. Mr Ratcliffe was true to his appoint- ment—tho horses stood saddled at tho garden-gate, and in a few minutes they were advancing rapidly towards tho hut of tho Solitary. While the ground was favourable, tho speed of their journey was 9G THE BLACK JAY ABE. [WAVEELEY

such as to prevent much communication; hut when a steep ascent compelled them to slacken their pace, a new cause of apprehension oc- curred to Miss Yere’s mind. “Mr Katcliffe,” she said, pulling up her horse’s bridle, “let us pro- secute no farther a journey, which nothing hut the extreme agitation of my mind can vindicate my having undertaken—I am well aware that this man passes among the vulgar as being possessed of super- natural powers, and carrying on an intercourse with beings of another world; but I would have you aware I am neither to be imposed on by such follies, nor, were I to believe in their existence, durst I, with my feelings of religion, apply to this being in my distress.” “I should have thought, Miss Vere,” replied Ratcliife, “my charac- ter and habits of thinking were so well known to you, that you might have held me exculpated from crediting in such absurdity.” “ But in what other mode can a being so miserable himself in ap- pearance possess the power of assisting me ? ” “Miss Yere,” said Batcliffe, after a momentary pause, “I am bound by a solemn oath of secrecy—You must, without farther explanation, be satisfied with my pledged assurance, that ho does possess the power, if you can inspire him with the will, and that I doubt not.” “ Mr Batcliffe,” said Miss Yere, “j7ou may yourself be mistaken; you ask an unlimited degree of confidence from me.” “ Becollect, Miss Vere,” he replied, “ that when, in your humanity, you asked me to interfere with your father in favour of Haswell and his ruined family—when you requested me to prevail on him to do a thing most abhorrent to his nature—to forgive an injury and remit a penalty—I stipulated that you should ask me no questions concerning the sources of my influence—You found no reason to distrust me then, do not distrust me now.” “ But the extraordinary mode of life of this man,” said Miss Yere; “ his seclusion—his figure—the deepness of misanthropy which he is said to express in his language—Mi Batcliffe, what can I think of him, if he really possesses the powers you ascribe to him ? ” “ This man, young lady, was bred a Catholic, a sect which affords a thousand instances of those who have retired from power and afflu- ence to voluntary privations more strict even than his.” “But he avows no religious motive.” “ No,” replied Batcliffe; “ disgust with the world has operated his retreat from it without assuming the veil of superstition. Thus far I may tell you—He was born to great wealth, which his parents designed should become greater bj7 his union with a kinswoman, whom for that purpose they bred up in their own house. You have seen his figure; judge what the young lady must have thought of the lot to which she was destined—Yet, habituated to his appearance, she shewed no re- luctance, and the friends of of the person whom I speak of, doubted not that the excess of his attachment, the various acquisitions NOVELS.] THE BLACK DWARF. 97

; of his mind, his many and amiable qualities, had overcome the natural horror -which his destined bride must have entertained at an exterior ;) so dreadfully inauspicious.” “ And did they judge truly ? ” | “You shall hear. He at least was fully aware of his own deficiencj’; :j the sense of it haunted him like a phantom. ‘ I am,’ was his own ex- il pression to me,—I mean to a man whom he trusted, ‘ I am, in spite of 1 what you would say, a poor miserable outcast, fitter to have been i smothered in the cradle than to have been brought up to scare tha world in which I crawl.’ The person whom he addressed in vain endea- i voured to impress him with the indifference to external form, which is, the natural result of philosophy, or entreat him to recal the superiority 1 of mental talents to the more attractive attributes that are merely per- isonal. ‘ I hear j’ou,’ he would reply; ‘ but you speak the voice o! icold-blooded Stoicism, or, at least, of friendly partiality. But look at i every book which we have read, those excepted of that abstract philo- sophy which feels no responsive voice in our natural feelings. Is not i jpersonal form, such as at least can be tolerated without horror and I disgust, always represented as essential to our ideas of a friend, far more a lover ? Is not such a mutilated monster as I am, excluded, by jijthe very fiat of Nature, from her fairest enjoyments ? What but my wealth prevents all—perhaps even Letitia, or you, from shunning me as something foreign to your nature, and more odious, by bearing that distorted resemblance to humanity which we observe in the animal ! tribes that are more hateful to man because they seem his caricature ?’” ■ “You repeat the sentiments of a madman,” said Miss Vere. j “ No,” replied her conductor, “ unless a morbid and excessive sen- sibility on such a subject can be termed insanity. Yet I will not lenj’ that this governing feeling and apprehension carried the person Iwho entertained it, to lengths which indicated a deranged imagination. i He appeared to think that it was necessary for him, by exuberant, and toot always well-chosen instances of liberality, and even profusion, to iunite himself to the human race, from which he conceived himself tcaturally dissevered. The benefits which he bestowed, from a disposi- tion naturally philanthropical in an uncommon degree, were exag- gerated by the influence of the goading reflection, that more was iiecessary from him than from others, as if it were to reconcile man- ndnd to receive him into their class. It is scarcely necessary to say, nhat the bounty which flowed from a source so capricious was often abused, and his confidence frequently betrayed. These disappoint- jnents, which occur to all, more or less, and most to such as confer oenefits without just discrimination, his diseased fancy set down to the Hatred and contempt excited by lib personal deformity. But I fatigue jfou, Miss Vere.” “ No, by no means; I—I could not prevent my attention from wandering an instant; pray proceed.” D 98 THE BLACK BWARE. [WAVEELEY

“He became at length,” continued Batcliffe, “the most ingenious self-tormentor of whom I have ever heard; the scoff of the rabble, and the sneer of the yet more brutal vulgar of his own rank, was to him agony and breaking on the wheel. He regarded the laugh of the common people whom he passed on the street, and the sujipressed titter, or yet more offensive terror of the girl to whom he was intro- duced in company, as proofs of the true sense which the world enter- tained of him, as a prodigy unfit to be received among them on the usual terms of society, and as vindicating the wisdom of his purpose in withdrawing himself from among them. On the faith and sincerity of two persons alone, he seemed to rely implicitly—on that of his be- trothed bride, and of a friend eminently gifted in personal accomplish- ments, who seemed, and indeed was probably, sincerely attached to him. He ought to have been so at least, for he was literally loaded with benefits by him whom you are now about to see. The parents of the subject of my story died within a short space of each other. Their death postponed the marriage, for which the day had been fixed. The lady did not seem greatly to mourn this delay,—perhaps that was not to have been expected; but she intimated no change of intention, when after a decent interval, a second day was named for their union. The friend of whom I spoke was then a constant resident at the Hall. In an evil hour, at the earnest request and entreaty of this friend, they joined a general party where men of different political opinions were mingled, and where they drank deep. A quarrel ensued; the friend drew his sword with others, and was thrown down and disarmed by a more powerful antagonist. They fell in the struggle at the feet of the Recluse, who, maimed and truncated as his form appears, possesses, nevertheless, great strength, as well as strong passions. He caught up a sword, pierced the heart of his friend’s antagonist, was tried, and his life, with difficulty, redeemed from justice at the expence of a year’s close im- prisonment, the punishment of manslaughter. The incident affected him most deeply, the more that the deceased was a man of excellent character, and had sustained gross insult and injury ere he drew his sword. I think, from that moment, I observed—I beg pardon—The fits of morbid sensibility which had tormented this unfortunate gentleman, were rendered henceforth more acute by remorse, which he, of all men, was least capable of having incurred, or of sustaining when it became his unhappy lot. His paroxysms of agony could not be concealed from the lady to whom he was betrothed; and it must be confessed they were of an alarming and fearful nature. He comforted himself, that at the expiry of his imprisonment, he could form with his wife and friend a society, encircled by which ho might dispense with more ex- tensive communication with the world. He was deceived; before that term elapsed, his friend and his betrothed bride were man and wife. The effects of a shock so dreadful on an ardent temperament, a disposi- tion already soured by bitter remorse, and loosened by the indulgence KOVELS.] THE BLACK DWARF. 99 of a gloomy imagination from the rest of mankind, I cannot describe to you ; it was as if the last cable at which the vessel rode had sud- denly parted, and left her abandoned to all the wild fury of the tem- pest. He was placed under restraint. As a temporary measure this might have been justifiable; but his hard-hearted friend, who, in con- sequence of his marriage, was now his nearest ally, prolonged his con- finement, in order to enjoy the management of his immense estates. There was one who owed his all to the sufferer, an humble friend, but grateful and faithful. By unceasing exertion, and repeated invocation of justice, he at length succeeded in obtaining his patron’s freedom and reinstatement in the management of his own property, to which was soon added that of his intended bride, who, having died without male issue, her estates reverted to him as heir of entail. But freedom and wealth were unable to restore the equipoize of his mind ; the first he despised, the last only served him as far as it afforded him the means of indulging his strange and wayward fancy. He had renounced the Catholic religion, but perhaps some of its doctrines continued to influence his mind, over which remorse and misanthropy now assumed, in appearance, an unbounded authority. His life has since been that alternately of a pilgrim and a hermit, suffering the most severe priva- tions, not indeed in ascetic devotion, but in abhorrence of mankind. Yet no man’s words and actions have been at such a wide difference, nor has any hypocritical wretch ever been more ingenious in assigning good motives for his vile actions, than this unfortunate in reconciling to his abstract principles of misanthropy, a conduct which flows from his natural generosity and kindness of feeling.” “ Still, Mr Ratcliffe—still you describe the inconsistencies of a mad- man.” “ By no means,” replied Ratcliffe. “ That the imagination of this gentleman is disordered, I will not pretend to dispute; I have already told you that it has sometimes broken out into paroxysms approaching to real mental alienation. But it is of his common state of mind which I speak; it is irregular, but not deranged; the shades are as gradual as those that divide the light of noon-day from midnight. The courtier who ruins his fortune for the attainment of a title which can do him no good, or power of which he can make no suitable or creditable use, the miser who hoards his useless wealth, and the prodigal who squanders it, aro all marked with a certain shade of insanity. To criminals who are guilty of enormities, when the temptation to a sober mind bears no proportion to the horror of the act, or the probability of detection and punishment, the same observation applies; and all violent passions, as well as anger, may be termed a short madness.” “ This may bo all good philosophy, Mr Ratcliffe,” answered Miss Yore; “but, excuse me, it by no means emboldens me to visit, at this late hour, a person whose extravagance of imagination you yourself can only palliate.” 100 THE BLACK DWARF. [WAVEKLEY

“Rather, then,” said Ratcliffe, “receive my solemn assurances, that you do not incur the slightest danger. But what I have been hitherto afraid to mention for fear of alarming you, is, that now when we are within sight of his retreat, for I can discover it through the twilight, I must go no farther with you; you must proceed alone.” “ Alono ?—I dare not.” “ You must,” continued Ratcliffe; “I will remain hero and wait for you.” “ You will not then stir from this place,” said Miss Yere; “ yot the distance is so great, jrou could not hear me were I to cry for assist- ance.” “ Fear nothing,” said her guide ; “ or observe, at least, the utmost caution in stifling every expression of timidity. Remember that his predominant and most harassing apj r jhension arises from a conscious- ness of the hideousness of his appearance. Your path lies straight beside yon half-fallen willow; keep the left side of it; the marsh lies on the right. Farewell for a time. Remember the evil you are threat- ened with, and let it overcome at once your fears and scruples.” “ Mr Ratcliffe,” said Isabella, “ Farewell; if you have deceived one so unfortunate as myself, you have forfeited the fair character for pro- bity and honour to which I have trusted.” “ On my life—on my soul,” continued Ratcliffe, raising his voice as the distance between them increased, “ you are safe—perfectly safe.”

CHAPTER XVI. ’Twas time and griefs That framed him thus : Time, with his fairer hand, Offering the fortunes of his former days, The former man may make him.—Bring us to him, And chance it as it may. The sounds of Ratcliffe’s voice had died on Isabella’s ear; but as she frequently looked back, it was some encouragement to her to discern his form now darkening in the gloom. Ere, however, she went much farther, she lost the object in the increasing shade. The last glimmer of twilight placed her before the hut of the Solitary. She twice ex- tended her hand to the door, and twice she withdrew, and when she did at length make the effort, the knock did not equal in violence the throb of her own bosom. Her next effort was louder; her third was reiterated, for the fear of not obtaining the protection from which Rat- cliffe promised so much, began to overpower the terrors of his presence from whom she was to request it. At length, as she still received no answer, she repeatedly called upon the Dwarf by his assumed name, and requested him to answer and open to her. “ What miserable being is reduced,” said the appalling voice of the NOVELS.] THE BLACK DWAKJA 1.01

Solitary, “ to seek refuge here ? Go hence ; when the heath-fowl need shelter, they seek it not in the nest of the night-raven.” “I come to you, father,” said Isabella, “in my hour of adversity, even as you yourself commanded, when you promised your heart and your door should be open to my distress ; but I fear” 1“ Ha ! ” said the Solitary, “ then thou art Isabella Yere? Give me a token that thou art she.” “ I have brought you back the rose which you gave me ; it has not had time to fade ere the hard fate you foretold has come upon me! ” “ And if thou hast thus redeemed thy pledge,” said the Dwarf, “ I I will not forfeit mine. The heart and the door that are shut against every other earthly being, shall be open to thee and to thy sorrows.” She hoard him move in his hut, and presently afterwards strike a light. One by one, bolt and bar were then withdrawn, the heart of Isabella throbbing higher as these obstacles to their meeting were successively removed. The door opened, and the Solitary stood before her, his uncouth form and features illuminated by the iron lamp which he held in his hand. “Enter, daughter of affliction,” he said,—“enter the house of misery.” She entered, and with a precaution which increased her trepidition. The Recluse’s first act, after setting the lamp upon the table, was to i:j replace the numerous bolts which secured the door of his hut. She i| shrunk as she heard the noise which accompanied this ominous opera- I tion, yet remembered Ratcliffe’s caution, and endeavoured to suppress I all appearance of apprehension. The light of the lamp was weak and r uncertain; but the Recluse, without taking immediate notice of Isa- [i bella, otherwise than by motioning her to sit down on a small settle k beside the fire-place, made haste to kindle some dry furze, which pre- Isently cast a blaze through the cottage. Wooden shelves, which bore a few books, some bundles of dried herbs, and one or two cups and platters, were on one side of the fire; on the other were placed the ordinary tools of field-labour, mixed with those used by mechanics. Where the bed should have been, there was a wooden frame, strewed with withered moss and rushes, the couch of the ascetic. The whole space of the cottage did not exceed ten feet by six within the walls; and its only furniture, besides what we have mentioned, were a table and two stools formed of rough deals. Within these narrow precincts Isabella now found herself enclosed with a being whose history had nothing to reassure her, and the fear- ful conformation of whose hideous countenance inspired an almost P superstitious terror. He occupied the seat opposite to her, and drop- q ping his huge and shaggy eyebrows over his piercing black eyes, gazed at her in silence, as if agitated by a variety of contending feelings, u On the other side sate Isabella, pale as death, her long hair uncurled : <1 by the evening damps, and falling over- her shoulders and breast, as 102 THE BLACK DWARE. [wavekley

the wet streamers droop from the mast when the storm has passed away, and left the vessel stranded on the beach. The Dwarf first broke the silence with the sudden, abrupt, and alarming question,— “ Woman, what evil fate has brought thee hither ? ” “ My father’s danger, and your- own command,” she replied faintly, but firmly. “ And you hope for aid from me ? ” “ If you can bestow it,” she replied, still in the same tone of mild submission. “And how should I possess that power?” continued the Dwarf, with a bitter sneer; “ Is mine the form of a redresser of wrongs ? Is this the castle in which one powerful enough to be sued to by a fair suppliant is likely to hold his residence? I but mocked thee, girl, when I said I would relieve thee.” “ Then must I depart, and face my fate as I best may! ” “ No,” said the Dwarf, rising and interposing between her and the door, and motioning to her sternly to resume her seat—“ No ! you leave me not in this way; we must have farther conference. Why should one being desire aid of another? Why should not each be sufficient to itself ? Look round you—-I, the most despised and most decrepit on Nature’s common, have required sympathy and help from no one. These stones are of my own piling; these utensils I framed with my own hands; and with this ” and he laid his hand with a fierce smile on the long dagger which he always wore beneath his gar- ment, and unsheathed it so far that the blade glimmered clear in the fire-light—“With this,” he pursued, as he thrust the weapon back into the scabbard, “I can, if necessary, defend the vital spark enclosed in this poor trunk, against the fairest and strongest that shall threaten me with injury.” It was with difficulty Isabella refrained from screaming out aloud ; but she did refrain. “ This,” continued the Rocluse, “is the life of nature, solitary, self- sufficing, and independent. The wolf calls not the wolf to aid him in forming his den ; and the vulture invites not another to assist her in striking down her prey.” “And when they are unable to procure themselves support,” said Isabella, judiciously thinking that ho would be most accessible to argument couched in his own metaphorical style, “what, then, is to befal them! ” ‘ ‘ Lot them starve, die, and bo forgotten, it is the common lot of humanity.” “It is the lot of the wild tribes of nature,” said Isabella, “but chiefly of those who aro destined to support themselves by rapine, which brooks no partner; but it is not the law of nature in general; even the lower orders have confederacies for mutual defence. But mankind—the race would perish did they cease to aid each other,— NOVELS.] THE BLACK DWARF. 103

From the time that the mother hinds the child’s head, till the moment that some kind assistant wipes the death-damp from the brow of the dying, wo cannot exist without mutual help. All, therefore, that need aid, have right to ask it of their fellow-mortals; no one who has the power of granting can refuse it without guilt.” “And in this simple hope, poor maiden,” said the Solitary, “ thou hast come into the desert, to seek one whose wish it were that the league thou hast spoken of were broken for ever, and that, in very truth, the whole race should perish ? Wert thou not frightened P ” “ Misery,” said Isabella firmly, “is superior to fear.” “ Hast thou not heard it said in thy mortal world, that I have leagued myself with other powers, deformed to the eye and malevolent to the human race as myself ? Hast thou not heard this ? And dost thou seek my cell at midnight ? ” “ The being I worship supports me against such idle fears,” said Isabella; but the increasing agitation of her bosom belied the affected courage which her words expressed. “ Ho ! ho ! ” said the Dwarf, “thou vauntest thyself a philosopher ? Yet, should’st thou not have thought of the danger of entrusting thy- self, young and beautiful, in the power of one so spited against hu- manity, as to place his chief pleasure in defacing, destroying, and de- grading her fairest works ? ” Isabella, much alarmed, continued to answer with firmness, “what- ever injuries you may have sustained in the world, you are incapable of revenging them on one who never wronged you, nor, wilfully, any other.” “Ay, but maiden,” he continued, his dark eyes flashing with an ex- pression of malignity which communicated itself to his wild and dis- torted features, ‘ ‘ revenge is the hungry wolf, which asks only to tear flesh and lap blood. Think you the lamb’s plea of innocence would be listened to by him ? ” . “Man!” said Isabella, rising and expressing herself with much dignity, “ I fear not the horrible ideas with which you would impress me. I cast them from mo with disdain. Be you mortal or fiend, you would not offer injury to one who sought you as a suppliant in her utmost need. You would not—you durst not.” “ Thou say’st truly, maiden,” rejoined the Solitary; “I dare not—I would not. Begone to thy dwelling. Fear nothing with which they threaten thee. Thou hast asked my protection—thou shalt find it ef- fectual.” “ But, father, this very night I have consented to wed the man that I abhor, or I must put the seal to my father’s rain.” “ This night P—at what hour ? ” “ Ere midnight.” “And twilight,” said the Dwarf, “ has already passed away. But fear nothing, there is ample time to protect thee.” lot THE BLACK DWARF. [WAVEKLEY

“ And my father ? ” continued Isabella, in a suppliant tone. “Thy father,” replied the Dwarf, “has been, and is, my most bitter enemy. But fear not; thy virtue shall save him. And now, begone; were I to keep thee longer by me, I might again fall into the stupid dreams concerning human worth from which I have been so fearfully awakened. But fear nothing—at the very foot of the altar I will re- deem thee. Adieu, time presses, and I must act! ” He led her to the door of the hut, which he opened for her departure. She remounted her horse, which had been feeding in the outer inclo- sure, and pressed him forward by the light of the moon, which was now rising, to the spot where she had left Ratcliffe. “ Have you succeeded P ” was his first eager question. ‘ ‘ I have obtained promises from him to whom you sent me; but how can he possibly accomplish them ? ” “ Thank God ! ” said Ratcliffe ; “ doubt not his power to fulfil his promise.” At this moment a shrill whistle was heard to resound along the heath. “Hark!” said Ratcliffe, “he calls me—Miss Yere, return home, and leave unbolted the postern-door of the garden; to that which opens on the back-stairs I have a private key.” A second whistle was heard, yet more shrill and prolonged than the first. “I come, I come,” said Ratcliffe; and, setting spurs to his horse, rode over the heath in the direction of the Recluse’s hut. Miss Yere returned to the castle, the mettle of the animal on which she rode, and her own anxiety of mind, combining to accelerate her journey. She obeyed Ratcliffe’s directions, though without well apprehending their purpose, and leaving her horse at large in a paddock near the garden, hurried to her own apartment, which she reached without ob- servation. She now unbolted her door, and rang her bell for lights. Her father appeared along with the servant who answered her sum- mons. “He had been twice,” he said, “listening at her door during the two hours that had elapsed since he left her, and, not hearing her speak, had become apprehensive that she was taken ill.” “And now, my dear father,” she said, “permit me to claim the promise you so kindly gave; let the last moments of freedom which I am to enjoy be mine without interruption; and protract to the last mo- ment the respite which is allowed me.” “I will,” said her father; “nor shall you be again interrupted. But this disordered dross—this dishevelled hair—do not let me find you thus when I call on you again; the sacrifice to be beneficial must be voluntary.” “Must it be so?” she replied; “then fear not, my father! the victim shall be adorned.” KOVELS. J THE BLACK DWARF. 10a

CHAPTER XVII. This looks not like a nuptial.—Much Ado about Kothiug. ! The chapel in the castle of Ellicslaw, destined to be the scene of this ill- omened union, was a building of much older date than the castle itself, though that claimed considerable antiquity. Before the wars between i England and Scotland had become so common and of such long dura- tion, that the buildings along both sides of the Border were chiefly ! dedicated to warlike purposes, there had been a small settlement of monks at Ellieslaw, a dependency, it is believed by antiquaries, upon the rich Abbey of Jedburgh. Their possessions had long passed away under the changes introduced by war and mutual ravage. A feudal | castle had arisen on the ruin of their cells, and their chapel was in- | eluded in its precincts. The edifice, in its round arches and massive pillars, the simplicity of (i which referred their date to what has been called the Saxon archi- tecture, presented at all times a dark and sombre appearance, and had ; been frequently used as the cemetery of the family of the feudal lords, I as well as formerly of the monastic brethren. But it looked doubly | gloomy by the effect of the few and smoky torches which were used to :

others cleared him from the imputation of hypocrisy, and averred that the monument was constructed under the direction and at the sole expence of Mr Ratcliffe. Before these monuments tho wedding guests were assembled. They were few in number; for many had left the castle to prepare for tho ensuing political explosion, and Ellieslaw was, in tho circumstances of the case, far from being desirous to extend invitations farther than to those near relations whose presence the custom of the country rendered indispensable. Next to the altar, stood Sir Frederick Langley, dark, moody, and thoughtful, even beyond his wont, and near him, Mare- schal, who was to play the part of bridesman, as it was called. Tho thoughtless humour of this young gentleman, on which he never deigned to place the least restraint, added to the cloud which overhung the brow of the bridegroom. “ Tho brido is not yet come out of her chamber,” he whispered to Sir Frederick; “ I trust that we must not have recourse to the violent expedients of the Romans which I road of at College. It would be hard upon my pretty cousin to be run away with twice in two days, though I know none better worth such a violent compliment.” Sir Frederick attempted to turn a deaf ear to this discourse, hum- ming a tune and looking another way, but Mareschal proceeded in tho same wild manner. “ This delay is hard upon Dr Hobbler, who was disturbed to accele- rate preparations for this joyful event when he had successfully ex- tracted the cork of his third bottle. I hope you will keep him free of the censure of his superiors, for I take it this is beyond canonical hours.—But here come Ellieslaw and my pretty cousin—prettier than ever, I think, were it not she seems so faint and so deadly pale—Hark ye, Sir Knight, if she says not yes with right good will, it shall be no wedding, for all that has come and gone yet.” “ No wedding, sir ? ” returned Sir Frederick, in a loud whisper, the tone of which indicated that his angry feelings were suppressed with difficulty. “No—no marriage,” replied Mareschal, “there’s my hand and glove on t. Sir Frederick Langley took his hand, and as ho wrung it hard, said in a lower whisper, “ Mareschal, you shall answer this,” and then flung his hand from hin.. “ That I will readily do,” said Mareschal, “ for never word escaped my lips that my hand was not ready to guarantee—So, speak up, my < pretty cousin, and tell mo if it bo your free will and unbiassed resolu- tion to accept of this gallant knight for your lord and husband; for if you have the tenth part of a scruple upon the subject, fall back, fall edge, he shall not have you.” “ Are you mad, Mr Mareschal P” said Ellieslaw, who, having been this young man’s guardian during his minority, often employed a tone KOVELS.] THE BLACK DWARF. 107 of authority to him. “ Do you suppose I would drag my daughter to the foot of the altar, were it not her own choice ? ” “ Tut, Ellieslaw,” retorted the young gentleman, “ never tell me of the contrary; her eyes are full of tears, and her cheeks are whiter than her white dress. I must insist, in the name of common humanity, that the ceremony be adjourned till to-morrow.” “ She shall tell you herself, thou incorrigible intermeddler in what concerns thee not, that it is her wish the ceremony should go on.—Is it not, Isabella, my dear P ” “ It is,” said Isabella, half fainting—“ since there is no help either in God or man,” The first word alone was distinctly audible. Mareschal shrugged up his shoulders and stepped back. Ellieslaw led, or rather sup- ported, his daughter to the altar. Sir Frederick moved forward and placed himself by her side. The clergyman opened his prayer-book, and looked to Mr Yere for the signal to commence the service. “ Proceed,” said the latter. But a voice, as if proceeding from the tomb of his deceased wifo, called, in such loud and harsh accents as awakened every echo in the vaulted chapel, “ Forbear! ” All w'ere mute and motionless, till a distant rustle, and the clash of swords, or something resembling it, was heard from the remote apart- ments. It ceased almost instantly. “What new device is this?” said Sir Frederick, fiercely, eyeing Ellieslaw and Mareschal with a glance of malignant suspicion. “It can bo but the frolic of some intemperate guest,” said Ellieslaw, though greatly confounded; “we must make large allowances for the excess of this evening’s festivity. Proceed with the service.” Before the clergyman could obey, the same prohibition which they had before hoard, was repeated from the same spot. The female at- tendants screamed, and fled from the chapel; the gentlemen laid their hands on their swords. Ere the first moment of surprise had passed by, the Dwarf stepped from behind the monument, and placed himself full in front of Mr Yere. The effect of so strange and hideous an ap- parition, in such place and circumstances, appalled all present, but seemed to annihilate the Laird of Ellieslaw, who, dropping his daughter’s arm, staggered against the nearest pillar, and, clasping it with his hands as if for support, laid his brow against the column. “Who is this fellow?” said Sir Frederick, “and what does he mean by this intrusion?” “It is one who comes to tell you,” said the Dwarf, with the peculiar acrimony which usually marked his manner, “ that in marrying that young lady, you wed neither the heiress of Ellieslaw, nor of Mauley- Hall, nor of Polverton, nor of one furrow of land, unless she marries with my consent; and to thee that consent shall never be given. Down—down on thy knees, and thank Heaven that thou art prevented 108 THE BLACK DWARF. [WAVERLEY |i from ■wedding qualities with which thou hast no concern—portionless h truth, virtue, and innocence.—And thou, base ingrate,” he continued, I, addressing himself to Ellieslaw, “ what is thy wretched subterfuge jk now ? Thou, who would’st sell thy daughter to relievo thee from nj danger, as in famine thou would’st have slain and devoured her to |< preserve thy own vile life !—Ay, hide thy face with thy hands ; well U may’st thou blush to look on him whose body thou did’st consign to chains, his hand to guilt, and his soul to misery. Saved once more by the virtue of her who calls thee father, go hence, and may the pardon and benefits I confer on thee prove literal coals of fire, till thy brain is seared and scorched like mine ! ” Ellieslaw left the chapel with a gesture of mute despair. “Follow him, Hubert Ratcliffe,” said the Dwarf, “ and inform him of his destiny. He will rejoice—for to breathe air and to handle gold is to him happiness.” “I understand nothing of all this,” said Sir Frederick Langley; ‘ ‘ but we are here a body of gentlemen in arms and authority for King James; and whether you really, sir, be that Sir Edward Mauley, who has been so long supposed dead in confinement, or whether you be an impostor assuming his name and title, we will use the freedom of detaining you, till your appearance here, at this moment, is better accounted for, we will have no spies among us—Seize on him, my friends.” But the domestics shrunk back in doubt and alarm. Sir Frederick himself stepped forward towards the Recluse, as if to lay hands on his person, when his progress was suddenly stopped by the glittering point of a partizan, which the sturdy hand of Hobbie Elliot presented against his bosom. “ I’ll gar day-light shine through ye, if ye offer to steer him! Nae- body shall lay a finger on Elshie; he’s a canny neighbourly man, aye ready to make a friend help; and, though ye may think him a lamiter, yet, grippie for grippie, friend, I’ll wad a wether he’ll make the bludo spin frae under your nails. He’s a teugh carle, Elshie! he grips like a smith’s vice.” “What has brought you here, Elliot ?” said Mareschal, “ who called on you for interference ?” “ Troth, Mareschal-Wells,” answered Hobbie, “I am just come here, wi’ twenty or thretty mair o’ us, in my ain name and the King’s—or Queen’s, ca’ they her? and canny Elshie’s into the bargain, to keep the peace, and pay back some ill usage Ellieslaw has gi’en me. A bonnie breakfast the loons gae me the ither morning, and him at the bottom on’t; and trow ye I wasna ready to supper him up?—Ye needna lay your hands on your swords, gentlemen, the house is ours wi’ little din; for the doors were open, and there had been ower muckle punch amang your folk; we took their swords and pistols as easily as ye wad shiel pea-cods.” NOVELS.] THE BLACK DWARF. 10)

Mareschal rushed out, and immediately re-entered the chapel. “By Heaven! it is true, Sir Frederick; the house is filled with armed men, and our drunken beasts are all disarmed.—Draw, and let us fight our way.” “Binna rash—binna rash,” exclaimed Hobbie; “hear me a bit, hear me a bit. We moan ye nae harm; but, as ye are in arms for King James, as ye ca’ him, and the prelates, we thought it right to keep up the auld neighbour war, and stand up for the t’other ane and the Kirk; but we’ll no hurt a hair o’ your heads, if ye like to gang hamo quietly. And it will be your best way, for there’s sure news come frae Loudoun, that him they ca’ Bang, or Byng, or what is’t, has banged the French ships and the new king aff the coast however; sae, ye had best bide content wi’ auld Nanse for want of a better Queen.” Ratcliffe, who at this moment entered, confirmed these accounts so unfavourable to the Jacobite interest. Sir Frederick, almost instantly, and without taking leave of any one, left the castle, with such of his attendants as were able to follow him. “And what Vill you do, Mr. Mareschal?” said Ratcliffe. “Why, faith,” answered he, smiling, “I hardly know; my spirit is too great, and my fortune too small, for me to follow the example of the doughty bridegroom. It is not in my nature, and it is hardly worth my while.” “Well, then, disperse your men, and remain quiet, and this will be overlooked, as there has been no overt act.” “Hout, ay,” said Elliot, “just let byganes be byganes, and a’ friends again; de’il ane I bear malice at but Westburnflat, and I hao gi’en him baith a bet skin and a cauld ane. I hadna changed three blows of the broadsword wi’ him before he lap the window into the castle-moat, and swattered through it like a wild-duck. lie’s a clever fallow, indeed ! maun kilt awa wi’ ae bonny lass in the morning, and another at night, less wadna serve him ! but if he doesna kilt himsel out o’ the country I’se kilt him wi’ a tow, for the Castleton meeting’s clean blawn ower; his friends will no countenance him.” During the general confusion, Isabella had thrown herself at the feet of her kinsman, Sir Edward Mauley, for so we must now call the Solitary, to express at once her gratitude, and to beseech forgiveness for her father. The eyes of all began to be fixed on them, as soon as their own agitation and the bustle of the attendants had somewhat abated. Miss Yere kneeled beside the tomb of her mother, to whose statute her features exhibited a marked resemblance. She held the hand of the Dwarf, which she kissed repeatedly and bathed with tears. He stood fixed and motionless, excepting that his eyes glanced alter- nately on the marble figure and the living suppliant. At length, the large drops which gathered on his eye-lashes compelled him to draw his hand across them, 110 THE BLACK DWARF. [WAVERLEY

“I thought,” he said, “that tears and I had done; but Yre shed them at our birth, and their spring dries not until we are in our graves. But no melting of the heart shall dissolve my resolution. I part here, at once, and for ever, with all of which the memory,” (looking to the tomb,) “or the presence,” (he pressed Isabella’s hand,) “is dear to me.—Speak not to me! attempt not to thwart my determination! it will avail nothing; you will hear of and see this lump of deformity no more. To you I will be dead ere I am actually in my grave, and you will think of me as of a friend disencumbered from the toils and crimes of existence.” Ho kissed Isabella on the forehead, impressed another kiss on the brow of the statue by which she knelt, and left the chapel followed by Ratcliffe. Isabella, almost exhausted with the emotions of the day, was carried to her apartment by her women. Most of the other guests dispersed, after having separately endeavoured to impress on all who would listen to them their disapprobation of the plots formed against the government, or their regret for having engaged in them. Hobbie Elliot assumed the command of the castle for the night, and mounted a regular guard. He boasted not a little of the alacrity with which his friends and he had obeyed a hasty summons received from Elshie through the faithful Ratcliffe. And it was a lucky chance, he said, that on that very day they had got notice that Westburnflat did not intend to keep his tryste at Castleton, but to hold them at defiance; so that a considerable party had assembled at the Heughfoot with the intention of paying a visit to the robber’s tower on the ensuing morn- ing, and their course was easily directed to Ellieslaw Castle.

CHAPTER X Y III. Last scene of all, To close this strange eventful history. As You Like it. On the next morning, Mr Ratcliffe presented Miss Vere with a letter from her father, of which the following is the tenor:— ■ “My dearest Child, ‘ ‘ The malice of a persecuting government will compel me, for my own-safety, to retreat abroad, and to remain for some time in foreign parts. I do not ask you to accompany or follow me; you will attend to my interest and your own more effectually by remaining where you are. It is unnecessary to enter into a minute detail concerning the causes of the strange events which yesterday took place. I think I have reason to complain of the usage I have received from Sir Edward Mauley, who is your nearest kinsman by the mother’s side; but as he has declared you his heir, and is to put you in immediate possession - NOVELS.] THE BLACK DWARF. Ill

(] of a large part of Bis fortune, I account it a full atonement. I am aware he has never forgiven the preference which your mother gave ; to my addresses, instead of complying with the terms of a sort of family compact which absurdly and tyrannically destined her to wed her deformed relative. The shock was even sufficient to unsettle his wits, (which, indeed, were never over-well arranged;) and I had, as » the husband of his nearest kinswoman and heir, the delicate task of i taking care of his person and property, until he was reinstated in the ;i management of the latter by those who, no doirbt, thought they were ! doing him justice; although, if some parts of his subsequent conduct be examined, it will appear that he ought, for his own sake, to have been left under the influence of a mild and salutary restraint. “In one particular, however, he shewed a sense of the ties of blood, I as well as of his own frailty; for while he sequestered himself closely from the world, under various names and disguises, and insisted on spreading a report of his own death, (in which, to gratify him, I will- ingly acquiesced,) he left to my disposal the rents of a great proportion of his estates, and especially all those, which, having belonged to your mother, reverted to him as a male fief. In this he may have thought that he was acting with extreme generosity, while, in the opinion of all impartial men, he will only be considered as haying fulfilled a natural obligation, seeing that, in justice, if not in strict law, you must be considered as the heir of your mother, and I as your legal admini- strator. Instead, therefore, of considering myself as loaded with obli- gations to Sir Edward on this account, I think I had reason to complain that these remittances were only doled out to mo at the pleasure of Mr Ratcliffe, who, moreover, exacted from me mortgages over my paternal estate of Ellieslaw for any sums which I required as an extra advance; and thus may be said to have insinuated himself into the absolute management and controul of my property. Or, if all this seeming friendship was employed by Sir Edward for the purpose of obtaining a complete command of my affairs, and acquiring the power of ruining me at his pleasure, I feel myself, I must repeat, still less bound by the alleged obligation. “About the autumn of last year, as I understand, either his own crazed imagination, or the accomplishment of some such scheme as I have hinted, brought him down to this country. His alleged motive, it seems, was a desire of seeing a monument which he had directed to he raised in the chapel over the tomb of your mother. Mr Ratcliffe, who at this time had done me the honour to make my house his own, had the complaisance to introduce him secretly into the chapel. The consequence, as he informs me, was a frenzy of several hours, during which he fled into the neighbouring moors, in one of the wildest spots of which he chose, when he was somewhat recovered, to fix his man- sion, and set up for a sort of country empiric, a character, which, even in his best days, he was fond of assuming. It is remarkable, that, 112 THE BLACK DWABF. [waverley a

instead of informing me of these circumstances, that I might have had the relative of my late wife taken such care of as his calamitous con- dition required, Mr Batcliffe seems to have had such culpable indul- gence for his irregular plans as to promise and even swear secrecy w,! concerning them. He visited Sir Edward often, and assisted in the »i fantastic task he had taken upon him of constructing a hermitage. JU Nothing they appear to have dreaded more, than a discovery of their |i intercourse. “The ground was open in every direction around, and a small sout- |- terain, probably sepulchral, which their researches had detected near p the great granite pillar, served to conceal Eatehllb when any one ap- proached his master. I think you will bo of opinion, my love, that this secrecy must have had some strong motive. It is also remarkable, that while I thought my unhappy friend was residing among the Monks of La Trappe, he should have been actually living, for many ! months, in this bizarre disguise, within five miles of my house, and obtaining regular information of my most private movements, either by Batcliffe, or through Westburnflat and others, whom he had the means to bribe to any extent. He makes it a crime against me that I endeavoured to establish your marriage with Sir Frederick. I acted for the best; but if he thought otherwise, why did he not step man- fully forward, express his own purpose of becoming a party to the settlements, and take that interest which he is entitled to claim in you as heir to his great property ? “ Even now, though he is somewhat tardy in announcing his pur- pose, I am far from opposing my authority against his wishes, al- though the person ho desires you to regard as your future husband bo young Earnscliff, the very last whom I should have thought likely to be acceptable to him. But I give my free and hearty consent, provid- ing the settlements are drawn in such an irrevocable form as may secure my child from suffering by that state of dependence, and that sudden and causeless revocation of allowances, of which I have so much reason to complain. Of Sir Frederick Langley, I augur, you will hear no more. He is not likely to claim the hand of a dowerless maiden. I therefore commit you, my dear Isabella, to the wis lom of Providence and to your own prudence, begging you to lose no time in securing those advantages, which the fickleness of your kinsman has withdrawn from me to shower upon you. “ Mr Batcliffe mentioned Sir Edward’s intention to settle a con- siderable sum upon me yearly, for my maintenance in foreign parts ; but this my heart is too proud to accept from him. I told him I had a dear child, who, while in affluence herself, would never suffer me to be in poverty. I thought it right to intimate this to him pretty roundly, that whatever increase be settled upon you, it may be calcu- lated so as to cover this necessary and natural encumbrance. I shall willingly settle upon you the castle and manor of Ellieslaw, to shew KOVELS.] THE BLACK DWARF. 113

iny parental affection and disinterested zeal for promoting your settle- ment in life. The annual interest of debts charged on the estate some- what exceeds the income, even after a reasonable rent has been put upon the mansion and mains. But as all the debts are in the person of Mr Ratcliffe, as your kinsman’s trustee, he will not be a trouble- some creditor. And here I must make you aware, that though I have to complain of Mr Ratcliffe’s conduct to me personally, I, nevertheless, believe him a just and upright man, with whom you may safely con- sult on your affairs, not to mention that to cherish his good opinion will be the best way to retain that of your kinsman. Remember me to Marchie—I hope he will not be troubled on account of late mat- ters. I will write more fully from the continent. Meanwhile, I rest your loving father, Richaed Veke.”

The above letter throws the only additional light which we have been able to procure upon the earlier part of our story. It was Hob- ble’s opinion, and may be that of most of our readers, that the Recluse of Mucklestane-Moor had but a kind of a gloaming, or twilight under- standing; and that he had neither very clear views as to what he him- self wanted, nor was apt to pursue his ends by the clearest and most direct means; so that to seek the clew of his conduct, was likened, by Hobbie, to looking for a straight path through a common, in which are a hundred devious tracks, but not one distinct line of road. When Isabella had perused the letter, her first enquiry was after her father. He had left the castle early in the morning, after a long interview with Mr Ratcliffe, and was already far on his way to the next port, where he might expect to find shipping for the continent. “ Where was Sir Edward Mauley ? ” No one had seen the Dwarf since the eventful scene of the preceding ra evening. “Odd, if ony thing has befa’en puir Elshie,” said Hobbie Elliot, “I •i: wad rather I were harried ower again.” Ho immediately rode to his dwelling, and the remaining she-goat came bleating to meet him, for her milking time was long past. The Solitary was no where to be seen; his door, contrary to wont, was lf open, his fire extinguished, and the whole hut was left in the state v which it exhibited on Isabella’s visit to him. It was pretty clear that the means of conveyance which had brought the Dwarf to Ellieslaw on the preceding evening, had removed him from it to some other place of abode. Hobbie returned disconsolate to the castle. “ I am doubting we ha’e lost canny Elshie for gude an’ a’.” “You have, indeed,” said Ratcliffe, producing a paper, which he put into Hobbie’s hands; “ but read that, and you will perceive you have been no loser by having known him.” It was a short deed of gift, by which “ Sir Edward Mauley, other- wise called Elshender the Recluse, endowed Halbert, or Hobbie Elliot, 114 THE BLACK DWARF. [waverle

and Grace Armstrong, in full property, -with a considerable sum bor-f.: rowed by Elliot from him.” Hobbie’s joy was mingled with feelings which brought tears down*'' his rough cheeks. j “It’s a queer thing,” he said ; “ but I canna joy iu the gear unless# I kenn’d the puir body was happy that gavo it me.” “Next to enjoying happiness ourselves,” said Ratcliffe, “is thoB consciousness of having bestowed it on others. Had all my master’s II benefits been conferred like the present, what a different return would they have produced ! But the indiscriminate profusion that would glut avarice, or supply prodigality, neither does good, nor is rewarded by gratitude. It is sowing the wind to reap the whirlwind.” “And that wad bo a light har’st,” said Hobbie; “but, wi’ my young leddie’s leave, I wad fain take down Elshie’s skeps o’ bees, and set them in Grace’s bit flower-yard at the Heughfoot—they shall ne’er be smeekit by ony o’ huz. And the puir goat, she would be negleckit about a great town like this ; and she could feed bonnily on our lily lea by the buru side, and the hounds wad ken her in a day’s time, and never fash her, and Grace wad milk her ilka morning wi’ her ain hand, for Elshie’s sake; for though he was thrawn and cankered in his converse, he likoit dumb creatures weel.” Hobbie’s requests wore readily granted, not without some wonder at . the natural delicacy of feeling which pointed out to him this mode' of displaying his gratitude. He was delighted when Ratcliffe informed him that his benefactor should not remain ignorant of the care which ho took of his favourite. “ And mind, be sure and tell him that grannie and the titties, and, abune a’, Grace and mysel, are weel and thriving, and that it’s a’ his doing—that canna but please him, ane wad think.” And Elliot and the family at Heughfoot were, and continued to be, as fortunate and happy as his undaunted honesty, tenderness, and gallantry so well merited. All bar between the marriage of Earnscliff and Isabella was now removed, and the settlements which Ratcliffe produced on the part of Sir Edward Mauley, might have satisfied the cupidity of Ellieslaw himself. But Miss Yere and Ratcliffe thought it unnecessary to men- tion to Earnscliff that one great motive of Sir Edward in thus loading the young pair with benefits, was to expiate his having, many years before, shed the blood of his father in a hasty brawl. If it be true, as Ratcliffe asserted, that the Dwarf’s extreme misanthropy seemed to relax somewhat, under the consciousness of having diffused happiness among so man}’, the recollection of this circumstance might probably be one of his chief motives for refusing obstinately ever to witness their state of contentment. Mareschal hunted, shot, aUu drank claret—tired of the country, went abroad, served three campaigns, came home, and married Lucy Ilderton. KOVELS.] THE BLACK DWARF. 115

Years fled over the heads of Earnscliff and his wife, and found and , left them contented and happy. The scheming ambition of Sir Fred- i erick Langley engaged him in the unfortunate insurrection of 1715. Ho was made prisoner at Preston, in Lancashire, with the Earl of Derwentwater, and others. His defence, and the dying speech which d he made on the occasion, may be found in the State Trials. Mr Vere, supplied by his daughter with an ample income, continued to reside ( abroad, engaged deeply in the affair of Law’s bank during the regency of the Duke of Orleans, and was at one time supposed to be immensely ! rich. But, on the bursting of that famous bubble, he was so much ; chagrined at being again reduced to a moderate annuity, (although he i saw thousands of his companions in misfortune absolutely starving) that : vexation of mind brought on a paralytic stroke, of which he died, after t. lingering under its effects a few weeks. Willie of Westburnflat fled from the wrath of Hobbie Elliot, as his | betters did from the pursuit of the law. His patriotism urged him to i? serve his country abroad, while his reluctance to leave his native soil I pressed him rather to remain in the beloved island, and collect purses, | watches, and rings on the highroads at home. Fortunately for him, li' the first impulse prevailed, and-he joined the army under Marlborough; |l obtained a commission, to which he was recommended by his services in collecting cattle for the commissariat; returned home after many II years, with some money, (how come by, Heaven only knows)—de- molished the peel-house at Westburnflat, and built, in its stead, a high narrow onstead, of three stories, with a chimney at each end— drank brandy with the neighbours, whom, in his younger days, he had plundered—died in his bed, and is recorded upon his tombstone at Kirkwhistle, (still extant) as having played all the parts of a brave soldier, a discreet neighbour, and a sincere Christian. Mr Ratcliffe resided usually with the family at Ellieslaw; but re- gularly every spring and autumn he absented himself for about a month. On the direction and purpose of his periodical journey he re- mained steadily silent; but it was well understood that he was then in attendance on his unfortunate patron. At length, on his return from one of these visits, his grave countenance, and deep mourning dress, announced to the Ellieslaw family that their benefactor was no more. Sir Edward’s death made no addition to their fortune, for he had di- vested himself of his property during his lifetime, and chiefly in their favour. Ratcliffe, his solo confidant, died at a good old age, but with- out ever naming the place to which his master had finally retired, or the manner of his death, or the place of his burial. It was supposed that on all those particulars his patron had enjoined him strict secrecy. The sudden disappearance of Elshie from his extraordinary hermit- age corroborated tho reports which the common people had spread concerning him. Many believed that, having ventured to enter a con- secrated building, contrary to his jw.otion with the Evil One, ho had 116 THE BLACK DWARF.

been bodily carried off while on his return to his cottage; but most are of opinion that he only disappeared for a season, and continues to be seen from time to time among the hills. And retaining, according to cus- tom, a more vivid recollection of his wild and desperate language, than of the benevolent tendency of most of his actions, he is usually identi- fied with the malignant daemon called the Man of the Moors, whose feats were quoted by Mrs Elliot to her grandsons; and, accordingly, is gcnerallj' represented as bewitching the sheep, causing the ewes to Jeeb, that is, to cast their lambs, or seen loosening the impending Wreath of snow to precipitate its weight on such as take shelter, dur- ing the storm, beneath the bank of a torrent, or under the shelter of a steep glen. In short, the evils most dreaded and deprecated by the inhabitants of that pastoral country, are ascribed to the agency of the Black Dwarf.

ENI) OF BLACK DWARB. INTEODU CTION.

Serjeant More M‘Alpin was, during his residence among us, one of the most honoured inhabitants of Ganderscleugh. No one thought of disputing his title to the great leathern chair on the “ cosiest side of the chimney,” in the common room of the Wallace Arms, on a Satur- day evening. No less would our sexton, John Duirward, have held it an unlicensed intrusion, to suffer any one to induct himself into the corner of the left-hand pew nearest to the pulpit, which the Serjeant regularly occupied on Sundays. There he sat, his blue invalid uni- form brushed with the most scrupulous accuracy. Two medals of merit displayed at his button-hole, as well as the empty sleeve which should have been occupied by his right arm, were evidence of his hard and honourable service. His weather-beaten features, his grey hair tied in a thin queue in the military fashion of former days, and the right side of his head a little turned up, the better to catch the sound of the clergyman’s voice, were all marks of his profession and infirmi- ties. Beside him sat his sister Janet, a little neat old woman, with a Highland curch and tartan plaid, watching the very looks of her brother, to her the greatest man upon earth, and actively looking out for him, in his silver-clasped Bible, the texts which the minister quoted or expounded. I believe it was the respect that was universally paid to this worthy veteran by all ranks in Ganderscleugh which induced him to chuse our village for his residence, for such was by no means his original intention. He had risen to the rank of serjeant-major of artillery, by hard service in various quarters of the world, and was reckoned one of the 118 INTRODUCTION. [waveeley most tried and trusty men of the Scotch Train. A ball, which shat- tered his arm in a peninsular campaign, at length procured him an 1 honourable discharge, with an allowance from Chelsea, and a hand- some gratuity from the patriotic fund. Moreover, Serjeant More M'Alpin had been prudent as well as valiant; and, from prize-money and savings, had become master of a small sum in the three per cent, consols. He retired with the purpose of enjoying this income in the wild Highland glen, in which, when a boy, he had herded black cattle and goats, ere the roll of the drum had made him cock his bonnet an inch higher, and follow its music for nearly forty years. To his recollec- tion, this retired spot was unparalleled in beauty by the richest scenes he had visited in his wanderings. Even the Happy Yalley of Easselas would have sunk into nothing upon comparison. He came—ho re- visited the loved scene—it was but a sterile glen, surrounded with rude crags, and traversed by a northern torrent. This was not the worst. The fires had been quenched upon thirty hearths—of the cot- tage of his fathers he could but distinguish a few rude stones—the language was almost extinguished—the ancient race from which he boasted his descent had found a refuge beyond the Atlantic. One southland farmer, three grey-plaided shepherds, and six dogs, now tenanted the whole glen, which in his youth had maintained in con- tent, if not in competence, upwards of two hundred inhabitants. In the house of the new tenant, Serjeant M'Alpin found, however, an unexpected source of pleasure, and a means of employing his social affections. His sister Janet had fortunately entertained so strong a persuasion that her brother would one day return, that she had refused to accompany her kinsfolks upon their emigration. Nay, she had con- sented, though not without a feeling of degradation, to take service with the intruding Lowlander, who, though a Saxon, she said, had proved a kind man to her. This unexpected meeting with his sister seemed a cure for all the disappointments which it had been Serjeant More’s lot to encounter, although it was not without a reluctant tear that he heard told, as a Highland woman alone could tell it, the story of the expatriation of his kinsmen. She narrated at length the vain offers they had made of advanced rent, the payment of which must have reduced them to the extremity •> KOVELS.] INTRODUCTION. 119

of poverty, which they were yet contented to face, for permission to live and die on their native soil. Nor did Janet forget the portents which had announced the departure of the Celtic race, and the arrival of the strangers. For two years previous to the emigration, when the night wind howled down the pass of Ballachra, its notes were distinctly modelled to .the tune of, "Ha til mi tulidh,” (We return no more,) with which the emigrants usually bid farewell to their native shore. The uncouth cries of the foreign shepherds, and the barking of their dogs, were often heard in the mist of the hills long before their real arrival. A bard, the last of his race, had commemorated the expulsion of the natives of the glen in a tune, which brought tears into the aged eyes of the veteran, and of which the first stanza may be thus rendered— Woe, ■woe, son of the Lowhinder, Why wilt thou leave thy honny Border ! Why comest thou hither, disturbing the Highlander, Wasting the glen that was ones in fair order 1 What added to Serjeant More M'Alpin’s distress upon the occasion was, that the Chief by whom this change had been effected, was, by tradition and common opinion, held to represent the ancient leaders and fathers of the expelled fugitives; and it had hitherto been one of Serjeant More’s principal subjects of pride to prove, by genealogical deduction, in what degree of kindred he stood to this personage. A woeful change was now wrought in his sentiments towards him. “I cannot curse him,” he said, as he rose and strode through the room, when Janet’s narrative was finished—“I will not curse him; he is the descendant and representative of my fathers. But never shall mortal man hear me name his name again.” And he kept his word; for, until his dying day, no man heard him mention his selfish and hard-hearted chieftain. After giving a day to sad recollections, the hardy spirit which had carried him through so many dangers, manned the Serjeant’s bosom against this cruel disappointment. “He would go,” he said, “to Canada to his kinsfolks, where they had named a Transatlantic valley after the glen of their fathers. Janet,” he said, “should kilt her coats like a leaguer lady ; d—n the distance ! it was a flea’s leap to the voy- ages and marches ho had made on a slighter occasion.” With this purpose he left the Highlands, and came with his sister as 120 INTRODUCTION. [waverley

far as Ganderscleugh, on Ins way to Glasgow, to take a passage to Canada. But winter was now set in, and as he thought it advisable to wait for a spring passage, when the St. Lawrence should he open, he settled among us for the few months of his stay in Britain. As we said before, the respectable old man met with a deference and attention from all ranks of society ; and when spring returned, he was so satis- fied with his quarters, that he did not renew the purpose of his voy- age. Janet was afraid of the sea, and he himself felt the infirmities of age and hard service more than he had at first expected. And, as he confessed to the clergyman, and my worthy principal, Mr Cleishbotham, “ it was better staying with kenn’d friends, than going farther, and faring worse.” He therefore established himself as an inhabitant of Ganderscleugh, to the great satisfaction, as we have already said, of all its inhabitants, to whom he became, in respect of military intelligence, and able com- mentaries upon the newspapers, gazettes, and bulletins, a very oracle, explanatory of all martial events, past, present, or to come. It is true, the Serjeant had his inconsistencies. He was a steady Jacobite, his father and his four uncles having been out in the forty- five ; but he was a no less steady adherent of King George, in whose service he had made his little fortune, and lost three brothers ; so that you were in equal danger to displease him, in terming Prince Charles, the Pretender, or by saying any thing derogatory to the dignity of King George. Further, it must not be denied, that when the day of receiving his dividends came round, the Serjeant was apt to tarry longer at the Wallace Arms of an evening, than was consistent with strict temperance, or indeed with his worldly interest; for upon these occasions, his compotators sometimes contrived to flatter his partialities by singing Jacobite songs, and drinking confusion to Buonaparte, and the health of the Duke of Wellington, until the Serjeant was not only flattered into paying the whole reckoning, but occasionally induced to lend small sums to his interested companions. After such sprays, as he called them were over, he seldom failed to thank God, and the Duke of York, who had made it much more difficult for an old soldier to ruin himself by his folly, than had been the case in his younger days. It was not upon such occasions that I made a part of Serjeant More ! NOVELS.] INTRODUCTION. 121

) M'Alpin’s society. But often vhcn my leisure would permit, I used to seek him, on what he called his morning and evening parade, on which, when the weather was fair, he appeared as regularly as if sum- rij moned by tuck of drum. His morning walk was beneath the elms in the churchyard; “for death,” he said, “had been his next-door neigh- bour for so many years, that he had no apology for dropping the ac- quaintance.” His evening promenade was on the bleeching-green, by the river side, where he was sometimes to be seen on an open bench, with 1 spectacles on nose, conning over the newspapers to a circle of village politicians, explaining military terms, and aiding the comprehension of his hearers by lines drawn on the ground with the end of his rattan. Ci On other occasions, he was surrounded by a bevy of school-boys, whom he sometimes drilled to the manual, and sometimes, with less approba- tion on the part of their parents, instructed in the mystery of artificial fire-works ; for in the case of public rejoicings, the Serjeant was pyro- technist (as the Encyclopedia calls it) to the village of Ganderscleugh. It was in his morning walk that I most frequently met with the '.d veteran. And I can hardly yet look upon the village footpath, over- shadowed by the row of lofty elms, without thinking I see his upright )1 form advancing towards me with measured step, and his cane ad- vanced, ready to pay me the military salute—but he is dead, and sleeps with his faithful Janet, under the third of those very trees, counting from the stile at the west corner of the churchyard. The delight which I had in Serjeant M‘Alpin’s conversation, related not only to his own adventures, of which he had encountered many in the course of a wandering life, but also to his recollection of numerous Highland traditions, in which his youth had been instructed by his parents, and of which he would in after life have deemed it a kind of heresy to question the authenticity. Many of these related to the wars of Montrose, in which some of the Serjeant’s ancestry had, it seems, taken a distinguished part. It has happened, that, although these civil commotions reflect the highest honour upon the High- landers, being indeed the first occasion upon which they shewed them- selves superior, or even equal, to their Low country neighbours in military encounters, they have been less commemorated among them than one would have expected, j udging from the abundance of tradi- tions which they have preserved upon less interesting subjects. It 122 INTRODUCTION. was, therefore, with great pleasure, that I extracted from my military friend some curious particulars respecting that time ; they are mixed with that measure of the wild and wonderful which belong to the periods and the narrator, hut which I do not in the least object to the reader treating with disbelief, providing he will be so good as give im- plicit credit to the natural events of the story, which, like all those which I have had the honour to put under his notice, actually rest upon a basis of truth. A LEGEND OF MONTROSE

CHAPTER I. Such as do build their faith upon The holy text of pike and gun, Decide all controversies by Infallible artillery, And prove their doctrine orthodox, By apostolic blows and knocks.—Butler. .1 It was during the period of that great and bloody civil war which ! agitated Britain during the sixteenth century, that our tale has its commencement. Scotland had as yet remained free from the ravages of intestine war, although its inhabitants were much divided in politi- cal opinions; and that many of them, tired of the controul of the Estates of Parliament, and disapproving of the hold measure which they had adopted, by sending into England a large army to the assist- ance of the Parliament, were determined on their part to embrace the earliest opportunity of declaring for the King, and making such a di- version as should at least compel the recall of General Leslie’s army out of England, if it did not recover a great part of Scotland to the King’s allegiance. This plan was chiefly adopted by the northern nobility, who had resisted with great obstinacy the adoption of the Solemn League and Covenant, and by many of the chiefs of the High- land clans, who conceived their interest and authority to bo connected with royalty, who had besides a decided aversion to the Presbyterian form of religion, and who, finally, were in that half savage state of society, in which war is always more welcome than peace. Great commotions were generally expected to arise from these con- current causes; and the trade of incursion and depredation, which the Scotch Highlanders at all times exercised upon the Low Countries, began to assume a more steady, avowed, and systematic form, as part of a general military system. Those at the head of affairs wore not insensible to the peril of the moment, and anxiously made preparations to meet and to repel it. They considered, however, with satisfaction, that no leader or name of consequence had as yet appeared to assemble an army of royalists, or even to direct the efforts of those desultory bands, whom love of plun- der, perhaps, as much as political principle, had hurried into measures 124 A LEGEND OE MONTROSE. [VAYERLEY

of hostility. It was generally hoped that the quartering a sufficient number of troops in the low countries adjacent to the Highland line, would have the effect of restraining the mountain chieftains; while the power of various barons in the north, who had espoused the Covenant, as, for example, the Earl Mareschal, the great families of Eorbes, Leslie, and Irvine, the Grants, and other Presbyterian clans, might counterbalance and bridle, not only the strength of the Ogilvies and other cavaliers of Angus and Kincardine, but even the potent family of the Gordons, whose extensive authority was only equalled by their extreme dislike to the Presbyterian model. In the West Highlands the ruling party numbered many enemies; but the power of these disaffected clans was supposed to be broken, and the spirit of their chieftains intimidated, by the predominating influence of the Marquis of Argyle, upon whom the confidence of the Convention of Estates was reposed with the utmost security; and whose power in the Highlands, already exorbitant, had been still farther increased by concessions extorted from the King at the last pacification. It was indeed well known that Argyle was a man rather of political enterprise than personal courage, and better calculated to manage an intrigue of state, than to controul the tribes of hostile mountaineers; yet the numbers of his clan, and the spirit of the gallant gentlemen by whom it was led, might, it was supposed, atone for the personal deficiences of their chief; and as the Campbells had already severely humbled several of the neighbouring tribes, it was supposed these would not readily again provoke an encounter with a body so powerful. Thus having at their own command the whole west and south of Scotland, indisputably the richest part of the kingdom; Fifeshire being in a peculiar manner their own, and possessing many and powerful friends even north of the Forth and Tay, the Scottish Convention of Estates saw no danger sufficient to induce them to alter the line of policy they had adopted, or to recall from the assistance of their brethren of the English Parliament that auxiliary army of twenty- thousand men, by means of which accession of strength the King’s- party had been reduced to the defensive when in full career of triumph and success. The causes which moved the Convention of Estates at this time to- take such an immediate and active interest in the civil war of Eng- land, are detailed in our historians, but may be here shortly recapitu- lated. They had indeed no new injury or aggression to complain of at- the hand of the King, and the peace which had been made between Charles and his subjects of Scotland had been carefully observed; but the Scottish rulers were well aware that this peace had been extorted from the King, as well by the influence of the parliamentary party in England, as by the terror of their own arms. It is true, King Charles had since visited the capital of his ancient kingdom, had assented to ''Novels.] A LEGEND OE MONTROSE. 125

the new organization of the church, and had distributed honours and rewards among the leaders of the party which had shewn themselves ' most hostile to his interests; but it was suspected that distinctions so Unwillingly conferred would be resumed so soon as opportunity offered. r The low state of the English Parliament was seen with deep apprehen- sion, and it was concluded, that should Charles triumph by force of arms against his insurgent subjects of England, he would not be long in exacting from the Scotch the vengeance which he might suppose due to those who had set the example of taking up arms against him. iSuch was the policy of the measure which dictated the sending the auxiliary army into England; and it was avowed in a manifesto ex- planatory of their reasons for giving this timely and important aid to :the English Parliament. The English Parliament, they said, had been (already friendly to them, and might be so again; whereas the King, although he had so lately established religion among them according to their desires, had given them no ground to confide in his royal de- claration, seeing they had found his promises and actions inconsistent with each other. “ Our conscience,” they concluded, “ and God, who I is greater than our conscience, beareth us record, that we aim alto- gether at the glory of God, peace of both nations, and^ honour of the king, in suppressing and punishing in a legal way, of those who are the troublers of Israel, the firebrands of hell, the Corahs, the Baalams, I the Doegs, the Rabshakehs, the Hamans, the Tobiahs, the Sanballats of our time ; which done, we are satisfied. Neither have we begun to use a military expedition to England as a means for compassing those our pious ends, until all other means which we could think upon have failed us ; and this alone is left to us, ultimum et unicum remedium, the last and only remedy.” Leaving it to casuists to determine whether one contracting party is justified in breaking a solemn treaty, upon the suspicion that in certain future contingencies it might be infringed by the other, we shall pro- ceed to mention two other circumstances which had at least equal in- fluence with the Scottish rulers and nation, with any doubts which they entertained of the King’s good faith. The first of these was the nature and condition of their army; headed by a poor and discontented nobility, under whom it was officered j chiefly by Scottish soldiers of fortune, who had served in the German * wars until they had lost almost all distinction of political principle, : and even of country, in the adoption of the mercenary faith, that a soldier’s principal duty was fidelity to the state or sovereign from whom ho received his pay, without respect either to the justice of the quarrel, or to their own connection with either of the contending parties. To men of this stamp, Grotius applies the severe character—- Nullum vilce genua eat improbius, quum eorum, qui, sine causce respedu mercede conducti, militant. To these mercenary soldiers, as well as to the needy gentry with whom they were mixed in command, and who 126 A LEGEND OF MONTROSE. [wayerm easily imbibed tbe same opinions, the success of tbe late short invasioml of England in 1641 was a sufficient reason for renewing so profitabllj an experiment. Tbe good pay and free quarters of England had madiH a feeling impression upon the recollection of these military adven-H turers, and the prospect of again levying eight hundred and lifiylj pound a-day, came in place of all arguments, whether of state or o» morality. 1 Another cause no less inflamed the minds of the nation at large, than tho tempting prospect of the wealth of England animated the soldiery. So much had been written and said on either side concern- ing the form of church government, that it had become a matter ot infinitely more consequence in the eyes of the multitude than the doc- trines of that gospel which both churches had embraced. The Pro- latists and Presbyterians of the more violent kind became as illiberal as the Papists, and would scarcely allow the possibility of salvation beyond the pale of their respective churches. It was in vain remarked to these zealots, that had the Author of our holy religion considered any peculiar form of church government as essential to salvation, it would have been revealed with the same precision as under the Old : Testament dispensation. Both parties continued as violent as if they could have pleaded the distinct commands of Heaven to justify their intolerance. Laud, in the days of his domination, had fired the train, by attempting to impose upon the Scottish people church ceremonies foreign to their habits and opinions. The success with which this had been resisted, and the Presbyterian model substituted in its place, had endeared the latter to the nation, as the cause in which they had triumphed. The Solemn League and Covenant, adopted with such zeal by the greater part of the kingdom, and by them forced, at the sword’s point, upon tho others, bore in its bosom, as its principal object, tho establishing the doctrine and discipline of the Presbyterian church, and the putting down all error and heresy; and having at- tained for their own country an establishment of this golden candle- stick, tho Scots became liberally and fraternally anxious to establish the same in England. This they conceived might be easily attained by lending to tho Parliament tho effectual assistance of the Scottish | forces. Tho Presbyterians, a numerous and powerful party in tho | English Parliament, had hitherto taken the lead in opposition to tho j King; while the Independents and other sectaries, who afterwards, I under Cromwell, resumed tho power of tho sword, and overset the | Presbyterian model both in Scotland and England,, wore as yet con- | tented to lurk under the shelter of tho wealthier and more powerful party. The prospect of bringing to a uniformity the kingdoms of England and Scotland in discipline and worship, seemed therefore as fair as it was desirable. The celebrated Sir Henry Yaue, one of the commissioners who nogociated the alliance betwixt England and Scotland, saw the fovea NOVELS.] A LEGEND OE MONTROSE. 127 which this bait had upon the spirits of those with whom he dealt; and although himself a violent Independent, he contrived at once to gratify and to elude the eager desires of the Presbyterians, by qualifying the obligation to reform the Church of England, as a change to be exe- cuted “according to the word of God, and the best reformed churches.” Deceived by their own eagerness, themselves entertaining no doubts on the Jus Divinum of their own ecclesiastical establishments, and not holding it possible such doubts could be held by others, the Convention of Estates and the Kirk of Scotland conceived, that such expressions necessarily inferred the establishment of Presbytery; nor were they undeceived, until, when their help was no longer needful, the sectaries gave them to understand, that the phrase might be as well applied to Independency, or any other mode of worship, which those who were at the head of affairs at the time might consider as agreeable ‘ ‘ to the word of God, and the practice of the reformed churches.” Neither were they less astonished to find, that the designs of the English sec- taries struck against the monarchial constitution of Britain, it having been their intention to reduce the power of the King, but by no means to abrogate the office. They fared, however, in this respect, like rash physicians, who commence by over-physicking a patient, until he is reduced to a state of weakness, from which cordials are afterwards un- able to recover him. But these events were yet in the womb of futurity. As yet the Scottish Parliament held their engagement with England consistent with justice, prudence, and piety, and their military undertaking seemed to succeed to their very wish. The junction of the Scottish army with those of Fairfax and Manchester, enabled the Parliamen- tary forces to besiege York, and to fight the desperate action of Long- Marston Moor, in which Prince Rupert and the Marquis of Newcastle were defeated. The Scottish auxiliaries, indeed, had less of the glory of this victory than their countrymen could desire. David Leslie, with their cavalry, fought bravely, and to them, as well as to Cromwell’s brigade of Independents, the honour of the day belonged ; but the old Earl of Leven, the covenanting general, was driven out of the field by the impetuous charge of Prince Rupert, and was thirty miles distant, in full flight towards Scotland, when he was overtaken by the news that his party had gained a complete victory. The absence of these troops, upon this crusade for the establishment of Presbyterianism in England, had considerably diminished the power of the Convention of Estates in Scotland, and had given rise to those agitations among the anti-covenanters, which we have noticed at tbd beginning of this chapter. 128 A. LEGEND OF MONTROSE. [WAVE IILE

CHAPTER II. His mother could for him as cradle set Her husband’s rusty iron corselet; Whose jangling sound could hush her habe to rest, That never plained of his uneasy nest; Then did he dream of dreary wars at hand, And woke, and fought, and won, ere he could stand. Ball's Satires. It was towards the close of a summer’s evening, during the anxious period which we have commemorated, that a young gentleman of quality, well mounted and armed, and accompanied by two servants, one of whom led a sumpter horse, rode slowly up one of those steep passes, by which the Highlands are accessible from the Lowlands of Perthshire. Their course had lain for some time along the banks of a lake, whose deep waters reflected the crimson beams of the western sun. The broken path which they pursued with some difficulty, was in some places shaded by the ancient birches and oak-trees, and in others overhung by fragments of huge rock. Elsewhere, the hill, which formed the northern side of this beautiful sheet of water, arose in steep, but less precipitous acclivity, and was arrayed in heath of the darkest purple. In present times, a scene so romantic would have been judged to possess the highest charms for the traveller; but those who journey in days of doubt and dread, pay little attention to pictur- esque scenery. The master kept, as often as the wood permitted, abreast of one or both of his domestics, and seemed earnestly to converse with them, probably because the distinctions of rank are readily set aside among those who are made to be sharers of common danger. The dispositions of the leading men who inhabited this wild country, and the probability of their taking part in the political convulsions that were soon ex- pected, were the subjects of their conversation. They had not advanced above half way up the lake, and the young gentleman was pointing to his attendants the spot where their intended road turned northwards, and leaving the verge of the loch, ascended a ravine to the right-hand, when they discovered a single horseman coming down the shore, as if to meet them. The gleam of the sun- beams upon his head-piece and corslet showed that he was in armour, and the purpose of the other travellers required, that he should not pass unquestioned. “ Wo must know who he is,” said the young gentleman, “and whither he is going.” And putting spurs to his horse, he rode forward as fast as the rugged state of the road would permit, followed by his two attendants, until he reached the point where the road along the side of the lake was intersected by that which descended from the ravine, securing thus against the possibility of the stranger eluding them, by turning into the latter road before they came up with him. NOVELS.] A LEGEND OF MONTROSE. 129

The single horseman had mended his pace, when he first observed ! the three riders advance rapidly towards him; but when he saw them > halt and form a front, which completely occupied the path, he checked ' his horse, and advanced with great deliberation; so that each party had an opportunity to take a full survey of each other. The solitary I stranger was mounted upon an able horse, fit for military service, and :: for the great weight which he had to carry, and his rider occupied his demipique, or war-saddle, with an air that showed it was his familiar a seat. He had a bright burnished head-piece, with a plume of feathers, : together with a cuirass, thick enough to resist a musket-ball, with a J back-piece of lighter materials. These defensive arms he wore over a buff jerkin, along with a pair of gauntlets or steel-gloves, the tops of j which reached up to his elbow, and which, like the rest of his armour, j were of bright steel. At the front of his military saddle hung a case i of pistols, far beyond the ordinary size, nearly two feet in length, and itj carrying bullets of twenty to the pound. A buff-belt, with a broad ;i silver buckle, sustained on one side a long straight double-edged broad-sword, with a strong guard, and a blade calculated either to ’ sj strike or push. On the right side hung a dagger of about eighteen .inches in length ; a shoulder-belt sustained at his back a musquettoon i or blunderbuss, and was crossed by a bandelier containing his charges | of ammunition. Thigh-pieces of steel, then termed taslets, met the : tops of his huge jack-boots, and completed the equipage of a well- i armed trooper of the period. The appearance of the horseman himself corresponded well with his ir. military equipage, to which he had the air of having been long inured. : He was above the middle size, and of strength sufficient to bear with ; ease the weight of his weapons, offensive and defensive. His age rri might be forty and upwards, and his countenance was that of a re- > solute weather-beaten veteran, who had seen many fields, and brought . away in token more than one scar. At the distance of about thirty ut yards he halted and stood fast, raised himself on his stirrups, as if to id reconnoitre and ascertain the purpose of the opposite party, and n brought his musquettoon under his right arm, ready for use, if occa- ; 9 sion should require it. In every thing but numbers, he had the ad- vantage of those who seemed inclined to interrupt his passage. The leader of the party was, indeed, well mounted and clad in a buff ct coat, richly embroidered, the half-military dress of the period; but his )| domestics had only coarse jackets of a thick felt, which could scarce k be expected to turn the edge of a sword, if wielded by a strong man; 3 and none of them had any weapons, save swords and pistols, without which gentlemen, or their attendants, during those disturbed times, 9! seldom stirred abroad. When they had stood at gaze for about a minute, the younger gen- ; tleman gave the challenge which was then common in the mouth of | all strangers who met in such circumstances—“ For whom are you?” E 130 A LEGEND OF MONTROSE. [wayekley

“Tell me first,” answered the soldier, “for whom are you?—the strongest party should speak first.” “We are for God and King Charles,” answered the first speaker— “Now tell your faction, you know ours?” “I am for God and my standard,” answered the single horseman. “And for which standard?” replied the chief of the other party— “ Cavalier or Roundhead, King or Convention ?” “By my troth, sir,” answered the soldier, “I would be loth to reply to you with an untruth, as a thing unbecoming a cavalier of fortune and a soldier. But to answer your query with beseeming veracity, it is necessary I should myself have resolved, to whilk of the present divisions of the kingdom I shall ultimately adhere, being a matter whereon my mind is not as yet preceesely ascertained.” “I should have thought,” answered the gentleman, “that, when loyalty and religion are at stake, no gentleman or mau of honour could be long in chusing his party.” “Truly, sir,” replied the trooper, “if ye speak this in the way of vituperation, as meaning to impugn my honour or genteelity, I would blythely put the same to issue, venturing in that quarrel with my single person against you three. But if you speak it in the way of logical ratiocination, whilk I have studied in my youth at the Mare- schal-College of Aberdeen, I am ready to prove to ye logics, that my resolution to defer, for a certain season, the taking upon me either of these quarrels, not only becometh me as a gentleman and a man of honour, but also as a person of sense and prudence, one imbued with humane letters in his early youth, and who, from thenceforward, has followed the wars under the banner of the invincible Gustavus, the Lion of the North, and under many other heroic leaders, both Lutheran and Calvinist, Papist and Arminian.” After exchanging a word or two with his domestics, the younger gentleman replied, “ I should bo glad, shy to have some conversation with you upon so interesting a question, and should he. proud if I can determine you in favour of the cause I have myself espoused.. I ride- this evening to a friend’^ house not three mil os distant, wthher, ifyou ehuse to accompany me, you shall havn good

0j“ It came slow, my lord, dooms slow,” replied Dalgetty; “but as jity Scottish countrymen, the fathers of the war, and the raisers of those valorous Scottish regiments that were the dread of Germany, blgan to fall pretty thick, what with pestilence and what with the sword, why we, their children, succeeded to their inheritance. Sir, I six years first private gentleman of the company, and three years lance-speisade; disdaining to receive a halbert, as unbecoming my bafth. Wherefore I was ultimately promoted to be a fahndragger, as the High Dutch call it, (which signifies an ancient) in the King’s Leif Begiment of Black-Horse, and thereafter I arose to be lieutenant and ritt-master, under that invincible monarch, the bulwark of the Protes- tant faith, the Lion of the North, the terror of Austria, Gustavus the victorious.” And yet, if I understand you, Captain Dalgetty,—I think that rank corresponds with your foreign title of ritt-master.” xa®The same grade preceesely,” answered Dalgetty; “ritt-master signifying literally file-leader.” “I was observing,” continued Lord Menteith, “that, if I under■« stand you right, you had left the service of this great Prince.” Xis‘ It was after his death—it was after his death, sir,” said Dalgetty, “when I was in no shape bound to continue mine adherence. Thera ate things, my lord, in that service, that cannot but go against the stomach of any cavalier of honour. In especial, albeit the pay be none of the most superabundant, being only about sixty dollars a month to acritt-master, yet the invincible Gustavus never paid above one-third of that sum, whilk was distributed monthly by way of loan; although, wHefi justly considered, it was, in fact, a borrowing by that great ifibfihrch of the additional two-thirds which were due to the soldier. AMP I have seen some whole regiments of Dutch and Holsteiners. lAfiitiiiy on the field of battle, like base scullions, crying out Gelt, gelt, signifying their desire of pay, iustead.of falling to blows like our noble- Sbdtch blades, who ever disdained, my lord, postponing of honour to- fBtMy1 lucre.” iifK|3ut were not these arrears,” said Lord Menteith, “paid to the’ sbldiery at some stated period ?” VGMy lord,” said Dalgetty, “I take it on my conscience, that at no- period, and by no possible process, could one creutzer of them ever be rbtxWtered. I myself never saw twenty dollars of my own all the time I‘ Served the invincible Gustavus, unless it was from the chance of adfetorm or victory, or the fetching in some town or doorp, when a cavalier of fortune, who knows the usage of wars, seldom faileth to make some small profit.” -'“-I begin rather to wonder, sir,” said Lord Menteith, “that you should have continued so long in the Swedish service, than that you should have ultimately withdrawn from it.” “Neither I should,” answered the ritt-master; “but that great KOVELS.] A LEGEND OF MONTROSE. 133

leader, captain, and king, the Lion of the North, and the bulwark of the Protestant faith, had a way of winning battles, taking towns, over- running countries, and levying contributions, whilk made his service irresistibly delectable to all true-bred cavaliers who follow the noble profession of arms. Simple as I ride here, my lord, I have myself commanded the whole stift of Dunklespiel on the Lower Rhine, occu- pying the Palsgrave’s palace, consuming his choice wines with my comrades, calling in contributions, requisitions, and caduacs, and not failing to lick my fingers, as became a good cook. But truly all this glory hastened to decay, after our great master had been shot with three bullets on the field of Lutzen; wherefore, finding that Fortune had changed sides, that the borrowings and lendings went on as before out of our pay, while the caduacs and casualties were all cut off, I e’en gave up my commission, and took service with "Wallenstein in Walter Butler’s Irish regiment.” “And may I beg to know of you,” said Lord Menteith, apparently interested in the adventures of this soldier of fortune, “ how you liked this change of masters ?” “Indifferent well,” said the Captain—“very indifferent well. I cannot say that the Emperor paid much better than the great Gustav us. For hard knocks, we had plenty of them. I was often obliged to run, my head against my old acquaintances, the Swedish feathers, whilk your honour must conceive to be double-pointed stakes, shod with iron at each end, and planted before the squad of pikes to prevent an infall of the cavalry. The whilk Swedish feathers, although they look gay to the eye, resembling the shrubs or lesser trees of a forest, as the puis- sant pikes, arranged in battalia behind them, correspond to the tall pines thereof, yet, nevertheless, are not altogether so soft to encounter as the plumage of a goose. Howbeit, in despite of heavy blows and light pay, a cavalier of fortune may thrive indifferently well in the im- perial service, in respect his private casualties are nothing so closely looked to as by the Swede ? and so that an officer did his duty on the field, neither Wallenstein nor Pappenheim, nor old Tilly before them, r would likely listen to the objurgations of boors or burghers against I any commander or soldado hy whom they chanced to be somewhat closely shorn. So that an experienced cavalier, knowing how to lay, as our Scottish phrase runs, ‘ the head of the sow to the tail of the grice,’ might get out of the country the pay whilk he could not obtain from the Emperor.” “With a full baud, sir, doubtless, and with interest,” said Lord Menteith. “Indubitably, my lord,” answered Dalgetty, composedly; “for it would be doubly disgraceful for any soldado of rank to have his name ' called in question for any petty delinquency.” “ And pray, sir,” continued Lord Menteith, “ what made you leayo ' ( so gainful a service ? ” 134 A. LEGEND OE MONTROSE. [WAYEKLEY

“Why, truly, sir,” answered the soldier, “an Irish cavalier, called O’Quilligan, being major of our regiment, and I having had words with him the night before, respecting the worth and precedence of our several nations, it pleased him the next day to deliver his orders to me with the point of his battoon advanced and held aloof, instead of de- clining and trailing the same, as is the fashion from a courteous com- manding officer towards his equal in rank, though, it may be, his infe- rior in military grade. Upon this quarrel, sir, we fought in private rencontre; and as, in the perquisitions which followed, it pleased Walter Dutler, our Oberst or colonel, to give the lighter punishment to his countryman and the heavier to me, whereupon ill-stomaching such partiality, I exchanged my commission for one under the Spaniard.” “I hope you found yourself better off by the change ?” said Lord Menteith. “ In good sooth,” answered the Ritt-master, “Ihadbut little to com- plain of. The pay was somewhat regular, being furnished by the rich Flemings and Walloons of the Low Country. The quarters were ex- cellent ; the good wheaten loaves of the Flemings were better than the Provant ryobread of the Swede, and Rhenish wine was more plenty' with us than ever I saw the black bear of Rostock in Gustavus’s camp. Service there was none, duty' there was little; and that little we might do, or leave undone, at our pleasure; an excellent retirement for a ca- valier somewhat weary' of field and leaguer, who had purchased with his blood as much honour as might servo his turn, and was desirous of a little ease and good living,” “And may I ask,” said Lord Menteith, “why' you, Captain, being, as I suppose, in the situation y'ou describe, retired from the Spanish service also ? ” “ You are to consider, my lord, that your Spaniard,” replied Cap- tain Dalgetty, “is a person altogether unparalleled in his own conceit, wherethrough he maketh not fit account-of such foreign cavaliers of Valour as are pleased to take service with him. And a galling thing it is to every honourable soldado to be put aside, and postponed, and obliged to yield preference to every puffing signior, who, were it the question which should first mount a breach at push of pike, might be apt to yield willing place to a Scottish cavalier. Moreover, sir, I was pricked in conscience respecting a matter of religion.” “ I should not have thought, Captain Dalgetty, that an old soldier, who had changed service so often, would have been too scrupulous on that head.” “ No more I am, my lord,” said the Captain, “ since I hold it to be the duty of the chaplain of the regiment to settle those matters for me, and every other brave cavalier, inasmuch as he does nothing else that I know for his pay' and allowances. Rut this was a particular case, my lord, a casus improvisut, as I may' say', in whilk I had no chaplain of my own persuasion to act as my adviser. I found, in short, that NOVELS.] A LEGEND OF MONTROSE. 133 | i although my being a Protestant might be winked at, in respect that I i was a man of action, and had more experience than all the Dons in our q tertia put together, yet, when in garrison, it was expected I should go ,i to mass with the regiment. Now, my lord, as a true Scottish man, and ij educated at the Mareschal-College of Aberdeen, I was bound to uphold | the mass to be an act of blinded papistry and utter idolatry, whilk I ,ij was altogether unwilling to homologate by my presence. True it is, i that I consulted on the point with a worthy countryman of my own, : one Father Fatsides, of the Scottish Convent in Wurtzburg ” “And I hope,” observed Lord Menteith, “you obtained a clear b opinion from the ghostly father ? ” “As clear as it could be,” replied Captain Dalgetty, “considering i i we had drank six flasks of Rhenish, and about two mutchkins of a Kirchen-wasser. Father Fatsides informed me, that, as nearly as he ' could judge for a heretic like myself, it signified not much whether I i went to mass or not, seeing my eternal perdition was signed and sealed 11 at any rate, in respect of my impenitent and obdurate perseverance in ftit my damnable heresy. Being discouraged by this response, I applied q to a Dutch pastor of the Reformed Church, who told me, he thought I J might lawfully go to mass, in respect that the prophet permitted Naa- ii| man, a mighty man of valour and an honourable cavalier of Syria, to follow his master into the house of Rimmon, a false god, or idol, to whom he had vowed service, and to bow down when the king was e| leaning upon his hand. But neither was this answer satisfactory to i me, both because there was an unco difference between an anointed iil King of Syria and our Spanish colonel, whom I could have blown 1 away like the peeling of an ingan, and chiefly because I could not find ) d the thing was required of me by any of the articles of war; neither Bij was I proffered any consideration, either in perquisite or pay, for the ji| wrong I might thereby do to my conscience.” “ So you again changed your service ? ” said Lord Menteith. “ In troth did I, my lord; and after trying for a short time two or [ three other powers, I even took on for a time with their High Mighti- 1 nesses the States of Holland.” “And how did their service jump with your humour” again de- manded his companion, “ 0 ! my lord,” said the soldier in a sort of enthusiasm, “ their be- haviour on pay-day might be a pattern to all Europe—no borrowings, no lendings, no offsets, no arrears,—all balanced and paid like a ban- ker’s book. The quarters, too, are excellent, and the allowances un- challengeable ; but then, sir, they’re a preceese, scrupulous people, and will allow nothing for peccadilloes. So that if a boor complains of a broken head, or a beer-seller of a broken can, or a daft wench does but squeak loud enough to be heard above her breath, a soldier of honour shall be dragged, not before his own court-martial, who can best judge i of and punish his demerits, but before abase mechanical burgo-master, 130 A LEGEND OP MONTROSE, [WAVERLEY

who shall menace him with the rasp-house, the cord, and what not, as if ho were one of their own mean, amphibious, twenty-breeched boors. So, not being able to dwell longer among those ungrateful plebeians, who, although unable to defend themselves by their proper strength, will nevertheless allow the noble foreign cavalier who engages with them nothing beyond his dry wages, which no honourable spirit will put in competition with a liberal licence and honourable counte- nance, I resolved to leave the service of the Mynheers. And hearing at this time, to my exceeding satisfaction, that there is something to be doing this summer in my way in this my dear native country, I am come hither, as they say, like a beggar to a bridal, in order to give my loving countrymen the advantage of that experience which I have acquired in foreign parts. So your lordship has an outline of my brief story, excepting those passages of action in the field, in leaguers, storms, and onslaughts, whilk would be wearisome to narrate, and might, peradventure, better befit any other tongue than mine own.”

CHAPTER III. For pleas of right let statesmen vex their head, Battle’s my business, and my guerdon bread; And, with the sworded Switzer, I can say, The best of causes is the best of pay.—Bowie. The difficulty and narrowness of the road had by this time become such as to interrupt the conversation of the travellers, and Lord Men- teith, reining back his horse, held a moment’s private conversation with his domestics. The Captain, who now led the van of the party, after about a quarter of a mile’s slow and toilsome advance up a broken and rugged ascent, emerged into an upland valley, to which a moun- | tain stream acted as drain, and afforded sufficient room upon its green sward banks for the travellers to pursue their journey in a more social manner. Lord Menteith accordingly resumed the conversation, which had been interrupted by the difficulties of the way. “I should have thought,” said he to Captain Dalgetty, “that a cavalier of your honourable mark, who hath so long followed the valiant King of Sweden, and entertains such a suitable contempt for the base mechanical States of Holland, would not have hesitated to embrace the cause of King Charles, in pre- ference to that of the low-born, round-headed, canting knaves who are in rebellion against his authority.” “Ye speak reasonably, my lord,” said Dalgetty, “and, cceteria pari- lus, I might be induced to see the matter in the same light. But, my lord, there is a southern proverb,—fine words butter no parsnips. I have heard enough since I came here, to satisfy me that a cavalier of KOVELS.] A LEGEND OE MONTROSE. 137 honour is free to take any party in this civil embroilment whilk he may find most convenient for his own peculiar. Loyalty is your pass-word, my lord—Liberty, roars another chield from the other side of the strath —the King, shouts one—the Parliament, roars another—Montrose, for ever, cries Donald, waving his bonnet—Argyle and Leven, cries a south-country Saunders, vapouring with his hat and feather. Eight for the bishops, says a priest, with his gown and rochet—Stand stout for the kirk, cries a minister, in a Geneva cap and band.—Good watch- words all—excellent watch-words. Whilk cause is the best I cannot say. But sure am I that I have fought knee-deep in blood many a day for one that was ten degrees worse than the worst of them a’.” “And pray, Captain Dalgetty,” said his lordship, “since the pre- tensions of both parties seem to you so equal, will you please to inform us by what circumstances your preference will be determined ? ” “Simply upon two considerations, my lord,” answered the soldier. “ Being, first, on which side my services would be in most honourable request:—And, secondly, whilk is a corollary of the first, on whilk party they are likely to be most gratefully requited. And, to deal plainly with you, my lord, my opinion at present doth on both points rather incline to the side of the Parliament.” “ Your reasons, if you please,” said Lord Menteith, “and perhaps I may bo able to meet them with others which are more powerful.” “ Sir, I shall be amenable to reason,” said Captain Dalgetty, “sup- posing it addresses itself to my honour and my interest. Well, then, my lord, here is a sort of Highland host assembled, or expected to as- semble, in these wild hills, in the King’s behalf. Now, sir, you know the nature of our Plighlanders. I will not deny them to be a people stout in body and valiant in heart, and courageous enough in their own wild way of fighting, which is as remote from the usages and dis- ciplines of war as ever was that of the ancient Scythians, or of the salvage Indians of America that now is. They havena sae mickle as a German whistle, or a drum, to beat a march, an alarm, a charge, a retreat, a reveillee, or the tattoo, or any other point of war; and their damnable skirlin’ pipes, whilk they themselves pretend to understand, are as unintelligible to the ears of any cavaliero accustomed to civilized warfare. So that, were I undertaking to discipline such a breechless mob, it were impossible for me to be understood, and if I were under- stood, judge ye, my lord, what chance I had of being obeyed among a band of half salvages, who are accustomed to pay to their own lairds and chiefs, allenarly, that respect and obedience whilk ought to be paid to commissionate officers. If I were teaching them to form battalia by ex- tracting the square root, that is, by forming your square battalion of equal number of men of rank and file, corresponding to the square root of the full number present, what return could I expect for communicat- ing this golden secret of military tactic, except it may be a dirk in my wame, on placing some M'Alister More, M'Shemei or Capperfae, in the 138 A LEGEND OE MONTROSE. (VaverIeY

flank or rear, •when he claimed to he in the van ?—Truly, well saith holy writ, ‘ if ye cast pearls before swine, they will turn again and rend ye.’ ” “I believe, Anderson,” said Lord Menteith, looking back to one of his servants, for both were close behind him, “ you can assure this gentleman, we shall have more occasion for experienced officers, and be more disposed to profit by their instrutions, than he seems to be aware of.” “ With your honour’s permission,” said Anderson, respectfully rais- ing his cap, “ when we are joined by the Irish infantry who are ex- pected, and who should be landed before now, we shall have need of good soldiers to discipline our levies.” “And I should like well—very well, to be employed in such ser- vice,” said Dalgetty; “ the Irish are pretty fellowrs—very pretty fellows —I desire to see none better in the field. I once saw a brigade of Irish, at the intaking of Erankfort upon the Oder, stand to it with sword and pike until they beat off the blue and yellow Swedish bri- gades, esteemed as stout as any that fought under the immortal Gus- tavus. And although stout Hepburn, valiant Lumsdalc, courageous Monroe, with myself and other cavaliers, made entry elsewhere at point of pike, yet, had we all met with such opposition, we had re- turned with great loss and little profit. Wherefore these valiant Irishes, being all put to the sword, as is usual in such cases, did nevertheless gain immortal praise and honour; so that, for their sakes, I have always loved and honoured those of that nation next to my own country of Scotland.” “ A command of Irish,” said Menteith, “ I think I could almost promise you, should you be disposed to embrace the royal cause.” “And yet,” said Captain Dalgetty, “ my second and greatest diffi- culty remains behind ; for, although I hold it a mean and sordid thing for a soldado to have nothing in his mouth but pay and gelt, like the base cullions, the German lanz-knechts, whom I mentioned before; and although I will maintain it with my sword, that honour is to be pre- ferred before pay, free quarters, and arrears, yet, ex contrario, a soldier’s pay being the counterpart of his engagement of service, it becomes a wise and considerate cavalier to consider what remuneration he is to receive for his service, and from what funds it is to bo paid. And truly, from what I can see and hear, the Convention are the purse- masters. The Highlanders, indeed, may be kept in humour, by allow- ing them to steal cattle; and for the Irishes, your lordship and your noble associates may, according to the practice of the wars in such cases, pay them as seldom or as little as may suit your pleasure or convenience; but the same mode of treatment doth not apply to a cavalier like me, who must keep up his horses, servants, arms, and equipage, and who neither can, nor will, go to warfare upon his own charges.” NOVELS.] A LEGEND OF MONTROSE. 130

Anderson, the domestic who had before spoken, now respectfully addressed his master—“I think, my lord,” he said, “that, under your lordship’s favour, I could say something to remove Captain Dalgettj^’s second objection also. He asks us where we are to collect our pay ? Now, in my poor mind, the resources are as open to us as to the Cove- nanters. They tax the country according to their pleasure, and di- lapidate the estates of the King’s friends; now, were we once in the Low Country, with our Highlanders and our Irish at our backs, and our swords in our hands, we can find many a fat traitor whose ill-got- ten wealth shall fill our military chest and satisfy our soldiery. Re- sides, confiscations will fall in thick, and in giving donations of for- feited lands to every adventurous cavalier who joins his standard, the King will at once reward his friends and punish his enemies. In short, he that joins these Roundhead dogs may get some miserable pittance of pay—he that joins our standard has a chance to be knight, lord, or earl, if luck serve him.” “ Have you ever served, my good friend P ” said the Captain to the spokesman. “ A little, sir, in these our domestic quarrels,” answered the man, modestly. “ But never in Germany or the Low Countries P ” said Dalgetty. “ I never had the honour,” answered Anderson. “ I profess,” said Dalgetty, addressing Lord Menteith, “your lord- ship’s servant has a sensible, natural, pretty idea of military matters; somewhat irregular though, and smells a little too much of soiling the bear’s skin before he has hunted him. I will take the matter, how- ever, into my consideration.” “Do so, Captain,” said Lord Menteith; “you will have the night to think of it, for we are now near the house, where I hope to insure you a hospitable reception.” “ And that is what will bo very welcome,” said the Captain, “ for I have tasted no food since day-break but a fail of oat cake, which I divided with my horse. So I have been fain to draw my sword-belt three bores tighter for very extenuation, lest hunger and heavy iron should make the gird slip.” 140 A LEGEND OF MONTROSE. [WAVEKLEY

CHAPTER IV. Once on a time, no matter when, Some Glunimies met in a glen ; As deft and tight as ever wore A durk, a targe, and a claymore, Short hose, and belted plaid or trews, In Ulst, Lochaber, Skye, or Lewes, Or cover’d hard head with a bonnet; Had you but known them you would own it.—Mcston. A hill was now before the travellers, covered with an ancient forest of Scottish firs, the topmost of which, flinging their scathed branches across the western horizon, gleamed ruddy in the setting sun. In the centre of this wood rose the towers, or rather the chimneys, of the house, or castle, as it was called, destined for the end of their journey. As usual at that period, one or two high-ridged narrow buildings, intersecting and crossing each other, formed the corps delogis. A pro- jecting bartizan or two, with the addition of small turrets at the angles, much resembling popper boxes, had procured for Darlinvarach the dignified appellation of a castle. It was surrounded by a low court- yard wall, within which were the usual and necessary offices. As the travellers approached more nearly, they discovered marks of recent additions to the defences of the place, which had been suggested doubtless by the insecurity of these troublesome times. Additional I loop-holes for musketry were struck out in different parts of the build- 1 ing and of its surrounding wall. The windows had been of new care- j fully secured by stancheons of iron, crossing each other athwart and 1 end-long like the grates of a prison. The door of the court-yard was i shut, and it was only after cautious challenge that one of its leaves was opened by two domestics, both strong Highlanders, and both under arms, like Bitias and Pandarus in the FEneid, ready to defend [ the entrance if aught hostile had ventured an intrusion. When the travellers were admitted into the court, they found addi- tional preparations for defence. The walls were scaffolded for the use ' of fire-arms, and one or two of the small guns, called sackers and fal- cons, were mounted at the angles and flanking turrets. More domestics, both in the Highland and Lowland dress, instantly rushed from the interior of the mansion, and some hastened to take the horses of the strangers, while others waited to marshall them a way into the dwelling-house. But Captain Dalgetty refused the prof- fered assistance of those who wished to relieve him of the charge of his horse. “ It is my custom, my friends, to see Gustavus (for so I have called him after my invincible master,) accommodated myself; we are old friends and fellow-travellers, and as I often need the use of his legs, I always lend him in my turn the service of my tongue, to call for whatever he has occasion for; ” and accordingly he strode into the stable after his steed without farther apology. KOVELS.] A LEGEND OP MONTEOSE. 14*

Neither Lord Menteith nor his attendants paid the same attention to their horses, but, leaving them to the proffered care of : the servants of the place, walked forward into the house, where a sort of dark vaulted vestibule displayed, among other miscellaneous articles, a huge barrel of two-penny ale, beside which were ranged two or three wooden queichs or bickers, ready, it would appear, for the service of whomso- ever thought proper to employ them. Lord Menteith applied himself to the spigot, drank without ceremony, and then handed the stoup to Anderson, who followed his master’s example, but not until he had flung out the drop of ale which remained, and slightly rinsed the wooden cup. “ What the de’il, man,” said an old Highland servant belonging to the family, ‘ ‘ can she no drink after her ain master without washing the cup and spilling the ale, and be damned to her! ” “I was bred in France,” answered Anderson, “where nobody drinks after another out of the same cup, unless it be after a young lady.” ‘ ‘ The te’il’s in their nicety,” said Donald; ‘1 and if the ale be gude, fat the waur is’t that another man’s beard’s been in the queich before ye ?” Anderson’s companion drank without observing the ceremony which had given Donald so much offence, and both of them followed their master into the low arched stone hall, which was the common rendez- vous of a Highland family. A large fire of peats in the huge chim- ney at the upper end shed a dim light through the apartment, and was rendered necessary by the damp, by which, even during the sum- mer, the apartment was rendered uncomfortable. Twenty or thirty targets, as many claymores, with dirks, and plaids, and guns, both match-lock and fire-lock, and long-bows, and cross-bows, and Loch- aber axes, and coats of plate armour, and steel bonnets, and head pieces, and the more ancient habergeons, or shirts of reticulated mail, with hood and sleeves corresponding to it, all hung in confusion about the walls, and would have formed a month’s amusement to a member of a modern antiquarian society. But such things were too familiar to attract much observation on the part of the present spectators. There was a large clumsy oaken table, which the hasty hospitality of the domestic who had before spoken, immediately spread with milk, butter, goat-milk cheese, a flagon of beer, and a flask of usquebse, de- signed for the refreshment of Lord Menteith; while an inferior servant made similar preparations at the bottom of the table for the benefit of his attendants. The space which intervened between them was, ac- cording to the manners of the times, sufficient distinction between master and servant, even though the former was, as in the present in- stance, of high rank. Meanwhile they stood by the fire, the young nobleman under the chimney, and his servants at some little distance. “ What do you think, Anderson,” said the former, “ of our fellow- traveller ? ” 142 A LEGEND OF MONTROSE. [WAYERLET

“ A stout fellow,” replied Anderson, “ if all be good that is upcome. I •wish we had twenty such to put our Teagues into some sort of dis- cipline.” “I differ from you, Anderson,” said Lord Menteith; “ I think this fellow Dalgetty is one of those horse-leeches, whose appetite for blood being only sharpened by what he has sucked in foreign countries, he is now returned to batten upon that of his own. Shame on the pack of these mercenary swords-men! they have made the name of Scot through all Europe equivalent to that of a pitiful mercenary, who knows neither honour nor principle but his month’s pay; who transfers his allegiance from standard to standard, at the pleasure of fortune or the best bidder ; and to whose insatiable thirst for plunder and warm quarters we owe much of that civil dissension which is now turning our swords against our own bowels. I had scarce patience with the hired gladiator, and yet could hardly help laughing at the extremity of his impudence.” “ Your lordship will forgive me,” said Anderson, '' if I recommend to you in the present circumstances, to conceal at least a part of this generous indignation, we cannot, unfortunately, do our work without the assistance of those who act on baser motives than our own. To use the canting phrase of the saints in the English Parliament, we cannot spare the assistance of such fellows as our friend the soldado; the sons of Zeruiah are still too many for us.” “I must dissemble, then, as well as I can,” said Lord Monteith, “ as I have hitherto done, upon your hint. But I wish the fellow at the devil with all my heart.” “Ay, but still you must remember, my lord,” resumed Anderson, “ that to cure the bite of a scorpion, you must crush another scorpion on the wound—but stop, wo shall be overheard.” From a side-door in the hall glided a Highlander into the apart- ment, whose lofty stature, complete equipment, as well as the feather in his bonnet, and the confidence of his demeanour, announced to be a person of superior rank. Ho walked slowly up to the table, and made no answer to Lord Menteith, who, addressing him by the name of Allan, asked him how he did. “ Ye manna speak to her e’ennow,” whispered the old attendant. The tall Highlander, sinking down upon the open settle next the fire, fixed his eyes upon the red embers and the huge heap of turf, and seemed buried in profound abstraction. His dark eyes and wild and enthusiastic features bore the air of one who, deeply impressed with his own subjects of meditation, pays little attention to exterior objects. An air of gloomy severity, the fruit perhaps of ascetic and solitary habits, might, in a Lowlander, have been ascribed to religious fanati- cism ; but by that disease of the mind, then so common both in Eng- land and the Low Country of Scotland, the Highlanders of this period were rarely infected. They had, however, their own superstitions, NOVELS.] A LEGEND OE MONTROSE. 143

■which overclouded the mind with thick-coming fancies, as completely as the puritanism of their neighbours. “ His lordship’s honour,” said the Highland servant, sideling up to Lord Menteith, and speaking in a very low tone, “his lordship manna speak to Allan even now, for the cloud is upon his mind.” Lord Menteith nodded and took no farther notice of the reserved mountaineer. “ Said I not,” said the latter, suddenly raising his stately person upright, and looking at the domestic—“«aid I not that four were to come, and here stand but three on the hall floor ? ” “ In troth did ye say sae, Allan,” said the old Highlander, “ and here’s the fourth man coming clinking in at the yett e’ennow from the stable, for he’s shelled like a partan wi’ airn on back and breast, haunch and shanks. And am I to set her chair up near the Menteith’s, or down wi’ the honest gentlemen at the foot of the table ? ” Lord Menteith himself answered the enquiry by pointing to a seat beside his own. “And here she comes,” said Donald, as Captain Dalgetty entered the hall; “and I hope gentlemens will all take bread and cheese, as we say in the glens, until better meat be ready, until the Tiernach comes hack frae the hill wi’ the southern gentlefolks, and then, Dugald Cook will shew himself wi’ his kid and hill venison.” In the mean time, Captain Dalgetty had entered the apartment, and walking up to the seat placed next Lord Menteith, was leaning on the hack of it with his arms folded. Anderson and his companion waited at the bottom of the table, in a respectful attitude, until they should re- ceive permission to seat themselves ; while three or four Highlanders, under the direction of old Donald, ran hither and thither to bring ad- ditional articles of food, or stood still to give attendance upon the guests. In the midst of these preparations, Allan suddenly started up, and snatching a lamp from the hand of an attendant, held it close to Dal- getty’s face, while he perused his features with the most heedful and grave attention. “ By my honour,” said Dalgetty, half displeased, as, mysteriously shaking his head, Allan gave up the scrutiny—“I trow that lad and I will ken each other when we meet again.” Meanwhile Allan strode to the bottom of the table, and having, by the aid of his lamp, subjected Anderson and his companion to the same investigation, stood a moment as if in deep reflection, then touching his forehead, suddenly seized Anderson by the arm, and before he could offer any effectual resistance, half led and half dragged him to the vacant seat at the upper end, and having made a mute intimation that he should there place himself, he hurried the eoldado with the same unceremonious precipitation to the bottom of the table. The Captain, exceedingly incensed at this freedom, endeavoured to shake 144 A LEGEND OE MONTEOSE. [WAVEBLErl

Allan from him with violence; but, powerful as he was, he proved in the struggle inferior to the gigantic mountaineer, who threw him off with such violence, that after reeling a few paces he fell at full length, and the vaulted hall rang with the clash of his armour. When he arose, his first action was to draw his sword and to fly at Allan, who, with folded arms, seemed to await his onset with the most scorn- ful indifference. Lord Menteith and his attendants interposed to pre- serve peace, while the Highlanders, snatching weapons from the wall, seemed prompt to increase the broil. “He is mad,” whispered Lord Menteith, “he is perfectly mad; there is no purpose in quarrelling with him.” “If you are assured that he is non compos mentis,” said Captain Dal- getty, “the whilk his breeding and behaviour seem to testify, the matter must end here, seeing that a madman can neither give an af- front, nor render honourable satisfaction. But by my saul, if I had had my provant and a bottle of Ehenish under my belt, I should have stood other ways up to him. And yet it’s a pity he should be sae weak in the intellectuals, being a strong proper man of body, fit to handle pike, morgenstern,* or any other military implement whatsoever.” Peace was thus restored, and the party seated themselves agreeably to their former arrangement, with which Allan, who had now returned to his settle by the fire, and seemed again immersed in meditation, did not again interfere. Lord Menteith, addressing the principal servant, hastened to start some theme of conversation which might obliterate all recollection of the fray that had taken place. ‘ ‘ The laird is at the hill then, Donald, I understand, and some English strangers with him ? ” “ At the hill he is, an it like your honour, and two Saxon calabale- ros are with him sure enough; and that is Sir Miles Musgravo and Christopher Hall, both from the Cumraig, as I think they call their country.” “Hall and Musgrave ?” said Lord Menteith, looking at his attend- ants, “ the very men that we wished to see.” “ Troth,” said Donald, “ an’ I wish I had never seen them between the een, for they’re come to berry us out o’ house and ha’.” “Mhy, Donald,” said Lord Menteith, “you did not use to be so churlish of your beef and ale; southland though they be, they’ll scarce eat up all the cattle that’s going on the Castle mains.” “Te’il care an they did,” said Donald, “an’ that war the warst o’t, for we have a wheen canny trewsmen here that wadna let us want if * This -was a sort of club or mace used in the earlier part of the sixteenth century in the defence of breaches and walls.—When the Germans insulted a Scotch re>riment then be- seiged in Trailsund, saying they heard there was a ship come from Denmark to them laden with tobacco pipes, “ One of our soldiers,” says Colonel Robert Monroe, “ shewing them over the work a Morgenstern, made of a large stock banded with iron, like the shaft of a halbert, with a round globe at the end with cross iron pikes, saith, ‘here is one of the to- bacco pipes, wherewith we will beat out your brains when you intend to storm u NOVELS.] A LEGEND OF MONTROSE. 145 there was a horned beast atween this and Perth. But this is a warse job—it’s nae less than a wager.” “ A wager ! ” repeated Lord Menteith, with some surprise. “ Troth,” continued Donald, to the full as eager to tell his news as Lord Menteith was curious to hear them, “as your lordship is a friend and kinsman o’ the house, an’ as ye’ll hear aneugh o’t in less than an hour, I may as weel tell ye mysel. Ye sail be pleased then to know> that when our Laird was up in England, where he gangs oftener than his friends can wish, he was biding at the house o’ this Sir Miles Mus- grave, an’ there was putten on the table six candlesticks, that they tell me were twice as muckle as the candlesticks in Dumblane kirk, and neither airn, brass, nor tin, but a’ solid silver nae less;—up wi their English pride, has sae muckle, and kens sae little how to guide it! Sae they began to jeer the Laird, that he saw nae sic graith in his ain poor country; and the Laird, scorning to hae his country put down without a word for its credit, swore, like a gude Scotsman, that he had mair candlesticks, and better candlesticks, in his ain castle at hame, than were ever lighted in a hall in Cumberland, an Cumberland be the name o’ the country.” “ That was patriotically said,” said Lord Menteith. “ Fary true—but her honour had better hae hadden her tongue, for if ye say ony thing amang the Saxons that’s a wee by ordinary, they clink ye down for a wager as fast as a Lowland smith would hammer shoon on a Highland shelty. An’ so the Laird behooved either to gae back o’ his word, or wager twa hundred merks; and so he e’en took the wager, rather than be shamed wi’ the like o’ them. And now he’s like to get it to pay, and I’m thinking that’s what makes him sae sweer to come hame at e’en.” “Indeed,” said Lord Menteith, “from my idea of your family plate, Donald, your master is certain to lose such a wager.” “ Your honour may swear that; an’ where he’s to get the siller I kenna, although he borrow out o’ twenty purses. I advised him to pit the twa Saxon gentlemen and their servants cannily into the pit o’ the tower till they gae up the bargain of free gude-will, but the Laird winna hear reason.” Allan here started up, strode forward, and interrupted the conversa- tion, saying to the domestic in a voice like thunder, “ And how dared you to give my brother such dishonourable advice? or how dare you to say he will lose this or any other wager which it is his pleasure to lay?” “Troth, Allan M'Aulay,” answered the old man, “it’s no for my father’s son to gainsay what your father’s son thinks fit to say, an’ so the Laird may no doubt win his wager. A’ that I ken against it is, that the te’il a candlestick, or ony thing like it, is in the house, except the auld airn branches that hae been here since Laird Kenneth’s time, and the tin sconces that your father gard be made by auld Willie Win- kie the tinkler, mair be token that de’il an unce of siller plate or vessel 146 A LEGEND OE MONTEOSE. [WAVEBLEY

is about the house at a’, forby the lady’s auld posset dish, that wants the cover and ane o’ the lugs.” “ Peace, old man ! ” said Allan, fiercely , and do you, gentlemen, if your refection is finished, leave this apartment clear, I must prepare it for the reception of these southern guests.” “ Come away,” said the domestic, pulling Lord Menteith by the sleeve ; “ his hour is on him,” said he, looking towards Allan, “ and he will not be controuled.” They left the hall accordingly, Lord Menteith and the Captain being ushered one way by old Donald, and the two attendants conducted else- where by another Highlander. The former had scarcely reached a sort of withdrawing apartment ere they were joined by the Lord of the mansion, Angus M'Aulay by name, and his English guests. Great joy was expressed by all parties, for Lord Menteith and the English gentlemen wrere well known to each other, and on Lord Menteith’s in- troduction, Captain Dalgetty was well received by the Laird. Put after the first hurst of hospitable joy was over, Lord Menteith could observe that there was a shade of sadness on the brow of his Highland friend. , “ You must have heard,” said Sir Christopher Hall, “ that our fine undertaking in Cumberland is all blown up. The militia would not march into Scotland, and your prick-ear’d Covenanters have been too hard for our friends in the southern shires. And so understanding there is to be some stirring work here, Musgrave and I, rather than sit idle at home, are come to have a campaign among your kilts and plaids.” “I hope you have brought arms, men, and money with you,” said Lord Menteith, smiling, “ Only some dozen or two of troopers, whom we left at the last Lowland village,” said Musgrave, “and trouble enough we had to get them so far.” “As for money,” said his companion, “we expect a small supply from our friend and host here.” The Laird now, colouring highly, took Menteith a little apart, and expressed to him his regret that he had fallen into a foolish blunder. “I heard of it from Donald,” said Lord Menteith, scarce able to suppress a smile. “Devil take that old man,” said M'Aulay, “he would tell every thing, were it to cost one one’s life; but it’s no jesting matter to you neither, my Lord, for I reckon on your friendly and fraternal benevo- lence, as a near kinsman of our house, to help me out with tho money duo to these pock-puddings: or else, to be plain wi’ ye, tho de’il a MAulay will there be at the muster, for curse me if I do not turn Covenanter rather than face these fellows without paying them; and, at tho best, I shall bo ill enough off, getting both the scaith and the scorn.” ’OVELS.] A LEGEND OF MONTROSE. 147

. - “ You may suppose, cousin,” said Lord Menteith, “ I am not too ibellequipt just now; but j'ou may be assured I shall endeavour to elp you as well as I can, for the sake of old kindred, neighbourhood, .nd alliance.” Thank ye—thank ye—thank ye,” reiterated M'Aulay; “ and as they are to spend the money in the King’s service, what signifies hether you, they, or I pay it—we are a’ one man’s bairns I hope. IjBut you must help me out too, or else I shall be for taking to Andrew i (Perrara; for I like not to be treated like a liar or a braggart at my 'bwn board-end, when, God knows, I only meant to support my hon- jour, and that of my family and country.” Tl Donald, as they were speaking, entered, with rather a blither face than he might have been expected to wear, considering the impending Tate of his master’s purse and credit. “ Gentlemens, her dinner is : ready, and her candles are lighted too,” said Donald, with a strong gut- Utural emphasis on the last clause of his speech. “ What the devil can he mean ? ” said Musgrave, looking to his oij countryman. Lord Menteith put the same question with his eyes to the .Laird, 1 which M‘Aulay answered by shaking his head. A short dispute about precedence somewhat delayed their leaving id the apartment. Lord Menteith insisted upon yielding up that which S' belonged to his rank, on consideration of his being in his own country, and of his near connection with the family in which they found them- sj selves. The two English strangers, therefore, were first ushered into <1 the hall, where an unexpected display awaited them. The large oaken table was spread with substantial joints of meat, and seats were placed I in order for the guests. Behind every seat stood a gigantic High- | lander, completely dressed and armed after the fashion of his country, ! holding in his right hand his drawn sword, with the point turned downwards, and in the left, a blazing torch made of the bog-pine. This wood, found in the morasses, is so full of turpentine, that, when split and dried, it is frequently used in the Highlands instead of candles. The unexpected and somewhat startling apparition was seen by the red glare of the torches, which displayed the wild features, un- usual dress, and glittering arms of those who bore them, while the smoke, eddying up to the roof of the hall, ovor-canopied them with a volume of vapour. Ere the strangers had recovered from their sur- prise, Allan stept forward, and pointing with his sheathed broad-sword to the torch-bearers, said in a deep and stern tone of voice, ‘ ‘ Behold, gentlemen cavaliers, the chandeliers of my brother’s house, the ancient fashion of our ancient name ; not one of these men knows any law but their Chief’s command—Would you dare to compare to them in value the richest ore that ever was dug out of the mine ? How say you, cavaliers ?—is your wager won or lost P ” “Lost, lost,” said Musgrave gaily—“my own silver candlesticks 148 A LEGEND OF MONTROSE. [waverley are all melted and riding on horseback by this time, and I wish the fellows that enlisted were half as trusty as these. Here, sir,” he added! to the Chief, “is your money; it impairs Hall’s finances and minei somewhat, but debts of honour must be settled.” “ My father’s curse upon my father’s son,” said Allan, interrupting him, “ if he receive from you one penny. It is enough that you claim no right to exact from him what is his own.” Lord Menteith eagerly supported Allan’s opinion, and the elder M'Aulay readily joined, declaring the whole to be a fool’s business, and not worth speaking more about. The Englishmen, after some courteous opposition, were persuaded to regard the whole as a joke. “And now, Allan,” said the Laird, “please to remove your candles; for, since the Saxon gentlemen have seen them, they will eat their dinner as comfortably by the light of the old tin sconces without scorn- fishing them with so much smoke.” Accordingly, at a sign from Allan, the living chandeliers, recovering their broadswords, and holding the point erect, marched out of the hall, and left the guests to enjoy their refreshment.

CHAPTER V. Thareby so fearlesse and so fell he grew, That his owne syre and maister of his guise, Did often tremble at his horrid view; And if for dread of hurt would him advise, The angry beastes not rashly to despise, Nor too much to provoke; for he would learne The lyon stoup to him in lowly wise, (A lesson hard,) and make the libbard sterne Leave roaring, when in rage he for revenge did earne.—Spenser. Notwithstanding the proverbial epicurism of the English,—prover- bial, that is to say, in Scotland at the period,—the English visitors made no figure whatever at the entertainment compared with the por- tentous voracity of Captain Dalgetty, although that gallant soldier had already displayed much steadiness and pertinacity in his attack upon the refreshment set before them at their entrance, by way of forlorn hope. He spoke to no one during the time of his meal; and it was not until the victuals were nearly withdrawn from the table, that ho gratified the rest of the company, who had watched him with some surprise, with an account of the reasons why he ate so very fast and so very long. “ The former quality,” he said, “ he had acquired while he filled a place at the bursar’s table, at the Mareschal-College of Aberdeen, when,” said he, “ if j’ou did not move your jaws as fast as a pair of castanets, you were very unlikely to get anything to put between them. And as for the quantity of my food, be it known to this hon- NOVELS.] A LEGEND OP MONTROSE. 149 curable company,” continued the Captain, “ that it’s the duty of every commander of a fortress, on all occasions which offer, to secure as much munition and vivers as their magazines can possibly hold, not knowing when they may have to sustain a siege or a blockade. Upon which principle, gentlemen,” said he, “when a cavalier finds that provant is good and abundant, he will, in my estimation, do wisely to victual himself for at least three days, as there is no knowing when he may come by another meal.” The Laird expressed his acquiescence in the prudence of this princi- ple, and recommended to the veteran to add a tass of brandy and a flagon of claret to the substantial provisions he had already laid in, to which proposal the Captain readily agreed. When dinner was removed, and the servants had withdrawn, ex- cepting the Laird’s page or henchman, who remained in the apart- ment, to call for or bring whatever was wanted, or, in a word, to answer the purposes of a modern bell-wire, the conversation began to turn upon politics, and the state of the country; and Lord Menteith inquired anxiously and particularly what clans were expected to join the proposed muster of the King’s friends. “That depends much, my lord, on the person who lifts the banner,” said the Laird; “for you know we Highlanders are not easily com- manded by one of our own Chiefs, or, to say the truth, by any other body. We have heard a rumour, indeed, that Colkitto—that is, young Colkitto, or Alaster M'Donald, is come over the Kyle from Ireland, with a body of the Earl of Antrim’s people, and that they had got as far as Ardnamurchan. They might have been here before now, but, I suppose, they wanted to plunder the country as they came along.” “ Will Colkitto not serve you for a leader, then ? ” said Lord Men- teith. “Colkitto!” said Allan M'Aulay, scornfully; “who talks of Col- kitto?—There lives but one man whom we will follow and that is Montrose.” “ But Montrose, sir,” said Sir Christopher Hall, “ has not been heard of since our ineffectual attempt to rise in the North. It is thought he has returned to the King at Oxford for further instructions.” “ Returned ! ” said Allan, with a scornful laugh; “I could tell ye, but it is not worth my while; ye will know soon enough.” “ By my honour, Allan,” said Lord Menteith, “you will weary out your friends with this intolerable, froward, and sullen humour—But I know the reason,” added he, laughing; “you have not seen Annot Lyle to-day.” “ Whom did you say I had not seen ? ” said Allan sternly. “Annot Lyle, the fairy queen of song and minstrelsy,” said Lord Menteith. “ Would to God I were never to see her again,” said Allan, sighing, “ on condition the same weird were laid on you ! ” 150 A LEGEND OF MONTROSE. [waverley

“ And why on me ? ” said Lord Menteith, carelessly, “ Because,” said Allan, “it is written in your forehead, that you are to be the ruin of each other.” So saying, he rose up and left the room. “ Has he been long in this way ? ” said Lord Menteith, addressing his brother. “ About three days,” said Angus; “the fit is well nigh over, he will be better to-morrow.—But come, gentlemen, don’t let the tappit-hen scraugh to be emptied,—the King’s health, King Charles’s health, and may the Covenanting dog that refuses it, go to Heaven by the road of the Grassmarket.” The health was quickly emptied, and as fast succeeded by another, and another, and another, all of a party cast, and enforced in an earnest manner. Captain Dalgetty, however, thought it necessary to enter a protest. “Gentlemen cavaliers,” he said, “I drink these healths, primo, both out of respect to this honourable and hospitable roof-tree, and secundo, because I hold it not good to be preceese in such matters, inter pocula; but I protest, agreeable to the warrandice granted by this honourable lord, that it shall be free to me, notwithstanding my present complai- sance, to take service with the Covenanters to-morrow, providing I shall be so minded.” M'Aulay and his English guests stared at this declaration, which would have certainly bred new disturbance, if Lord Menteith had not taken up the affair, and explained the circumstances and conditions. “I trust,” he concluded, “we shall be able to secure Captaiu Dal- getty’s assistance to our own party.” “ And if not,” said the Laird, “ I protest, as the Captain says, that nothing that has passed this evening, not even his having eaten my bread and salt, and pledged me in brandy, Bourdeaux, or usquebaugh, shall prejudice my cleaving him to the neck-bone.” “ You shall be heartily welcome,” said the Captain, “ providing my sword cannot keep my head, which it has done in worse dangers than your feud is likely to make for me.” Here Lord Menteith again interposed, and the concord of the com- pany being with no small difficulty restored, was cemented by some deep carouses. Lord Menteith, however, contrived to break up the party earlier than was the usage of the Castle, under pretence of fatigue and indisposition. This was somewhat to the disappointment of the valiant Captain, who, among other habits acquired in the Low Countries, had acquired both a disposition to drink, and a cajjaeity to bear, an exorbitant quantity of strong liquors. Their landlord ushered them in person to a sort of sleeping gallery, in which there was a four-posted bed, with tartan curtains, and a number of cribs, or long hampers, placed along th© wall, three of which, well stuffed with blooming heather, were prepared for the re- ception of guests. NOVELS.^ A LEGEND OE MONTROSE. 151

“ I need not tell your lordship,” said M'Aulay to Lord Menteith a little apart, “ our Highland mode of quartering. Only that, not lik- 2[ ing you should sleep in the room alone with this German land-louper, I have caused your servants’ beds to be made here in the gallery. By G—d, my lord, these are times when men go to bed with a throat hale and sound as ever swallowed brandy, and before next morning it may be gaping like an oyster-shell.” Lord Menteith thanked him sincerely, saying, “ It was just the ar- rangement he would have requested; for, although he had not the least apprehension of violence from Captain Dalgetty, yet Anderson was a better kind of person, a sort of gentleman, whom he always liked to have near his person.” “I have not seen this Anderson,” said M'Aulay; “did you hire him in England P ” “ I did so,” said Lord Menteith; “you will see the man to-morrow; in the meantime I wish you good night.” His host left the apartment after the evening salutation, and was about to pay the same compliment to Captain Dalgetty, but observing him deeply engaged in the discussion of a huge pitcher filled with brandy posset, he thought it a pity to disturb him in so laudable an employment, and took his leave without farther ceremony. Lord Menteith’s two attendants entered the apartment almost im- mediately after his departure. The good Captain, who was now some- what encumbered with his good cheer, began to find the undoing of the clasps of his armour a task somewhat difficult, and addressed Anderson in these words, interrupted by a slight hiccup,—“Anderson, my good friend, you may read in Scripture, that he that putteth off his armour should not boast himself like he that putteth it on—I believe that is not the right word of command; but the plain truth of it is, I am like to sleep in my corslet, like many an honest fellow that never waked again, unless you unloose this buckle.” “ Undo his armour, Sibbald,” said Anderson to the other servant. “By St. Andrew!” said the Captain, turning round in great as- tonishment, “here’s a common fellow—a stipendiary with four pounds a-year and a livery-cloak, thinks himself too good to servo Ritt- master Dugald Dalgetty of Drumthwacket, who has studied humanity at the Mareschal College of Aberdeen, and served half the princes of Europe ! ” “Captain Dalgetty,” said Lord Menteith, whose lot it was to stand peacemaker throughout the evening, ‘ ‘ please to understand that Anderson waits upon no one but myself; but I will help Sibbald to undo your corslet with much pleasure.” “ Too much trouble for you, my lord,” said Dalgetty; “ and yet it would do you no harm to practice how a handsome harness is put on and put off. I can step in and out of mine like a glove; only to-night, although not ebrius, I am, in the classic phrase, vino ciboquc gravatua.” 152 A LEGEND OE MONTROSE. [waverlet

By this time he was unshelled, and stood before the fire musing with a face of drunken wisdom on the events of the evening. What seemed chiefly to interest him, was the character of Allan M'Aulay. “ To come over the Englishmen so cleverly with his Highland torch-bearers —eight bare-hreeched Rories for six silver candlesticks!—it was a master-piece—a tour de passe—it was perfect legerdemain—and to he a madman after all!—I doubt greatly, my lord, (shaking his head,) that I must allow him, notwithstanding his relationship to your lordship, the privileges of a rational person, and either battoon him sufficiently to expiate the violence offered to my person, or else bring it to a matter of mortal arbitrement, as becometh an insulted cavalier.” “ If you care to hear a long story,” said Lord Menteith, “ at this time of night, I can tell you why the circumstances of Allan’s birth account so well for his singular character, as to put such satisfaction entirely out of the question.” “A long story, my lord,” said Captain Dalgetty, “is next to a good evening draught and a warm night-cap, the best shoeing horn for [Rawing on a sound sleep. And since your lordship is pleased to take the trouble to tell it, I shall rest your patient and obliged auditor.” “Anderson,” said Lord Menteith, “and you, Sihhald, are dying to hear, I suppose, of this strange man too; and I believe I must indulge your curiosity, that you may know how to behave to him in time of need.—You had better step to the fire then.” Having thus assembled an audience about him, Lord Menteith sat down upon the edge of the four-posted bed, while Captain Dalgetty, wiping the relics of the posset from his beard and moustachoes, and re- peating the first verse of the Lutheran psalm, A Re guter geister loben den Herrn, &c., rolled himself into one of the places of repose, and, thrusting his shock pate from between the blankets, listened to Lord Menteith’s relation in a most luxurious state, between sleeping and waking. “ The father,” said Lord Menteith, “of the two brothers, Angus and Allan M'Aulay, was a gentleman of consideration and family, being the chief of a Highland clan, of good account, though not numerous; his lady, the mother of these young men, was a gentlewoman of good family, if I may be permitted to say so of one nearly connected with my owm. Her brother, an honourable and spirited young man, ob- tained from James the Sixth a grant of forestry, and other privileges, over a royal chace adjacent to this castle, and, in exercising and de- fending these rights, he was so unfortunate as to involve himself in a quarrel with some of our Highland freebooters or catarans, of whom, I think, Captain Dalgetty, you must have heard.” “ And that I have,” said the Captain, exerting himself to answer the appeal. “Before I left the Mareschal College of Aberdeen, Dugald Garr was playing the devil in the Garioch, and the Earquharsons on Dee-side, and the clan Chattan on the Gordons’ lands, and the Grants novels.] A LEGEND OP MONTROSE. 133

: and Camerons in Moray-land, And since that, I have seen the Cravats and Pandours in Pannonia and Transylvania, and the Cossacks from the Polish frontier, and robbers, banditti, and barbarians of all coun- tries besides, so that I have a distinct idea of your broken Highland- men.” “The clan,” said Lord Menteith, “with whom the maternal uncle of the M'Aulays had been placed in feud, was a small sept of banditti, called, from their houseless state, and their incessantly wan- dering among the mountains and glens, the Children of the Mist. They are a fierce and hardy people, with all the irritability, and wild and vengeful passions, proper to men who have never known the restraint of civilized society. A party of them lay in wait for the unfortunate Warden of the Porest, surprised him while hunting alone and unat- tended, and slew him with every circumstance of inventive cruelty. They cut off his head, and, resolved, in a bravado, to exhibit it at the castle of his brother-in-law. The laird was absent, and the lady reluc- tantly received as guests, men against whom, perhaps, she was afraid to shut her gates. Refreshments were placed before the Children of the Mist, who took an opportunity to take the head of their victim from the plaid in which it was wrapped, placed it on the table, put a piece of bread between the lifeless jaws, bidding them do their office now, since many a good meal they had eaten at that table. The lady, who had been absent for some household purpose, entered at this moment, and, upon beholding her brother’s head, fled, like an arrow, out of the house into the woods, uttering shriek upon shriek. The ruffians, satis- fied with this savage triumph, withdrew. The terrified menials, after overcoming the alarm to which they had been subjected, sought their unfortunate mistress in every direction, but she was nowhere to be found. The unfortunate husband returned next day, and, with tho assistance of his people, undertook a more anxious and distant search, but to equally little purpose. It was believed universally, that, in the ecstasy of her terror, she must either have thrown herself over one of the numerous precipices which overhang the river, or into a deep lake about a mile from the castle. Her loss was the more lamented, as she was six months advanced in her pregnancy; Angus M‘Aulay, her eldest son, having been born about eighteen months before. - But I tire you, Captain Dalgetty, and you seem inclined to sleep.” “By no means,” answered the soldier; “I am no whit somnolent; I always hear best with my eyes shut. It is a fashion I learned when I stood sentinel.” “And I dare say,” said Lord Menteith, aside to Anderson, “tho weight of the halbert of the serjeant of the rounds often made him open them.” Being apparently, however, in the humour of story-telling, the young nobleman went on, addressing himself chiefly to his servants, without minding the slumbering veteran. 154 A LEGEND OF MONTROSE. [WAVERLEX

‘ ‘ Every baron in the country, ’ ’ said he, ‘! now swore revenge for this dreadful crime. They took arms with the relations and brother-in-law of the murdered person, and the Children of the Mist were hunted down, I believe, with as little mercy as they had themselves manifested. Seventeen heads, the bloody trophies of their vengeance, were dis- tributed among the allies, and fed the crows upon the gates of their castles. The survivors sought out more distant wildernesses, to which they retreated.” “Tj your right hand, counter-march and retreat to your former ground,” said Captain Dalgetty, the military phrase having produced the correspondent word of command; and then starting up, professed he had been profoundly attentive to every word that had been spoken. “It is the custom in summer,” said Lord Menteith, without mind- ing his apology, “ to send the cows to the upland pastures to have the benefit of the grass; and the maids of the village, and of the family, go there to milk them in the morning and evening, While thus employed, the females of this family, to their great terror, perceived that their motions were watched at a distance by a pale, thin, meagre figure, bearing a strong resemblance to their deceased mistress, and passing, of course, for her apparition. "When some of the boldest resolved to approach this faded form, it fled from them into the woods with a wild shriek. The husband, informed of this circumstance, came up to the glen with some attendants, and took his measures so well as to inter- cept the retreat of the unfortunate fugitive, and to secure the person of his unfortunate lady, though her intellect proved to be totally de- ranged. How she supported herself during her wandering in the woods could not be known—some supposed she lived upon roots and wild berries, with which the woods at that season abounded ; but the greater part of the vulgar were satisfied that she must have subsisted upon the milk of the wild does, or been nourished by the fairies, or supported in some manner equally marvellous. Her re-appearance was more easily ac- counted for. She had seen from the thicket the milking of the cows, to superintend which had been her favourite domestic employment, and the habit had prevailed even in her deranged state of mind. “In due season the unfortunate lady was delivered of a boy, who not only showed no appearance of having suffered from his mother’s calamities, but appeared to be an infant of uncommon health and strength. The unhappy mother, after her confinement, recovered her reason—at least in a great measure, but never her health and spirits. Allan was her only joy. Her attention to him was unremitting; and unquestionably she must have impressed upon his early mind many of those superstitious ideas to which his moody and enthusiastic temper gave so ready a reception. She died when he was about ten years old. Her last words were spoken to him in private; but there is little doubt that they conveyed an injunction of vengeance upon the Children of the Mist, with which he has since amply complied. ■i Kovels.] A LEGEND OE MONTROSE. lib

“Erom this moment the habits of Allan M'Aulay were totally changed. He had hitherto been his mother’s constant companion, listening to - ;l her dreams, and repeating his own, and feeding his imagination, which, probably from the circumstances preceding his birth, was constitution- ally deranged, with all the wild and terrible superstitions so common to the mountaineers, to which his unfortunate mother had become much addicted since her brother’s death. By living in this manner, the boy had gotten a timid, wild, startled look, loved to seek out solitary places in the woods, and was never so much terrified as by the approach of children of the same age. I remember, although some years younger, being brought up here by my father upon a visit, nor can I forget the astonishment with which I saw this infant-hermit shun every attempt I made to engage him in the sports natural to our age. I can remem- ber his father bewailing his disposition to mine, and alleging, at the same time, that it was impossible for him to take from his wife the company of the boy, as he seemed to be the only consolation that re- mained to her in this world, and as the amusement which Allan’s society afforded her seemed to prevent the recurrence, at least in its full force, of that fearful malady by which she had been visited. But, after the death of his mother, the habits and manners of the boy seemed at once to change. It is true he remained as thoughtful and serious as before; and long fits of silence and abstraction shewed plainly that his disposition, in this respect, was in no degree altered. But at other times, he sought out the rendezvouses of the youth of the clan, which [ he had hitherto seemed anxious to avoid. He took sharo in all their > exercises; and, from his very extraordinary personal strength, soon ) excelled his brother and other youths, whose age considerably exceeded his own. They who had hitherto held him in contempt, now feared, if they did not love him; and, instead of Allan’s being esteemed a dream- ing, womanish, and feebled-minded boy, those who encountered him in sports or military exercise, now complained that, when heated by the strife, he was too apt to turn game into earnest, and to forget that ho was only engaged in a friendly trial of strength.—But I speak to re- gardless ears,” said Lord Menteith, interrupting himself, for the Cap- tain’s nose now gave the most indisputable signs that he was fast locked in the arms of oblivion. “If you mean the ears of that snorting swine, my lord,” said Anderson, “they are, indeed, shut to anything that you can say; nevertheless, this place being unfit for more private conference, I hope you will have the goodness to proceed, for Sihbald’s benefit and for mine. The history of this poor young follow has a deep and wild interest in it.” “You must know, then,” continued Lord Menteith, “that Allan continued to increase in strength and activity till his fifteenth year, about which time he assumed a total independence of character, and impatience of controul, which much alarmed his surviving parent. Ho was absent in the woods for whole days and nights, under pretence of 156 A LEGEND OE MONTROSE. [wavekle?'

hunting, though he did not always bring home game. His father! was the more alarmed, because several of the Children of the Mist, en- couraged by the increasing troubles of the state, had ventured back to their old haunts, nor did he think it altogether safe to renew any at- tack upon them. The risk of Allan, in his wanderings, sustaining in- jury from these vindictive freebooters, was a perpetual source of appre- hension. “ I was myself upon a visit to the castle when this matter was brought to a crisis. Allan had been absent since day-break in the woods, where I had sought for him in vain; it was a dark stormy night, and he did not return. His father expressed the utmost anxiety, and spoke of detaching a party at the dawn of morning in quest of him, when, as we were sitting at the supper-table, the door suddenly opened, and Allan entered the room with a proud, firm, and confident air. His intractability of temper, as well as the unsettled state of his mind, had such an influence over his father, that he suppressed all other tokens of displeasure, excepting the observation that I had killed a fat buck, and had returned before sun-set, while he supposed Allan, who had been on the hill till midnight, had returned with empty hands. ‘ Are you sure of that ? ’ said Allan, fiercely; ‘ here is something will tell you another tale. ’ “We now observed his hands were blood j-, and that there were spots of blood on his face, and waited the issue with impatience: when sud- l denly, undoing the corner of his plaid, he rolled down on the table a human head, bloody and new severed, saying at the same time, ‘ Lie thou where the head of a better man lay before ye.’ Erom the hagard features, and matted red-hair and beard, partly grizzled with age, his father and others present recognised the head of Hector of the Mist, a well-known leader among the outlaws, redoubted for strength and ferocity, who had been active in the murder of the unfortunate war- den, and had escaped by desperate defence and extraordinary agility, when so many of his companions were destroyed. We were all, it may be believed, struck with surprise, but Allan refused to gratify our curiosity; and we only conjectured that he must have overcome | the outlaw after a desperate struggle, because we discovered that he had sustained several wounds from the contest. All measures were now taken to ensure him against the vengeance of the free-booters, but neither his wounds nor the positive command of his father, nor even the locking the gates of the castle and the doors of his apartment, were precautions adequate to prevent Allan from seeking out the very persons to whom he was peculiarly obnoxious. He made his escape by night from the window of the apartment, and laughing at his father’s vain care, produced on one occasion the head of one, and upon another those of two of the Children of the Mist. At length these men, fierce as they were, became appalled by the inveterate animosity and audacity with which Allan sought out thei” recesses. As he never hesitated to ■NOVELS.] A LEGEND OF MONTROSE. 157

: encounter any odds, they concluded that he must hear a charmed . dife, or fight under the guardianship of some supernatural influence. iNeither gun, dirk, nor dourlach, they said, availed aught against him. ■They imputed this to the remarkable circumstances under which he was born; and at length five or six of the stoutest Caterans of the . Highlands would have fled at Allan’s, halloo, or the blast of his horn. ,In the meanwhile, however, they carried on their old trade, and did ■ the M‘Aulays, as well as their kinsmen and allies, as much mischief ias they could. This provoked another expedition against the tribe, in I which I had my share; we surprised them effectually, by besetting at ■once the upper and under passes of the country, and made such clean ■work as is usual on these occasions, burning and slaying right before us. i In this terrible species of war, even the females and the helpless do not always escape. One little maiden alone, who smiled upon Allan’s drawn dirk, escaped his vengeance upon my earnest entreaty. She was brought to the castle, and here bred up under the name of Annot 'Lyle, the most beautiful little fairy certainly that ever danced upon a heath by moon-light. It was long ere Allan could endure the presence of the child, until it occurred to his imagination, from her features • perhaps, that she did not belong to the hated blood of his enemies, ibut had become their captive in some of their incursions; a circum- ; stance not in itself impossible, but in which he believes as firmly as in i holy writ. He is particularly delighted by her skill in music, which is so exquisite, that she far exceeds the best performers in this country in playing on the clairshach or harp. It was discovered that this pro- • duced upon the disturbed spirits of Allan, in his gloomiest moods, 3 beneficial effects, similar to those experienced by the Jewish monarch I of old; and so engaging is the temper of Annot Lyle, so fascinating the innocence and gaiety of her disposition, that she is considered and i treated in the castle rather as the sister of the proprietor, than as a dependent upon his charity. Indeed, it is impossible for any one to > see her without being deeply interested by the ingenuity, liveliness, : and sweetness of her disposition.” “Take care, my lord,” said Anderson, smiling; “there is danger in > such violent commendations. Allan M‘Aulay, as your lordship de- scribes him, would prove no very safe rival.” “Pooh! pooh! ” said Lord Menteith, laughing, yet blushing at the same time; ‘1 Allan is not accessible to the passion of love; and for myself,” said he more gravely, “ Annot’s unknown birth is a sufficient reason against serious designs, and her unprotected state precludes every other.” “ It is spoken like yourself, my lord,” said Anderson.—“ But I trust ' you will proceed with your interesting story.” “It is well nigh finished,” said Lord Menteith; “I have only to • add, that, from the great strength and courage of Allan M'Aulay, from i his energetic and uncontroulable disposition, and from an opinion 158 A LEGEND OP MONTEOSE. [wayekle generally entertained, and encouraged by himself, that ho holds coir munion with supernatural beings, and can predict future events, th clan pay a much greater degree of deference to him than even to hi brother, who is a bold-hearted rattling Highlander, but with nothin which can possibly rival the extraordinary character of his younge brother.” | “Such a character,” said Anderson, “cannot but have the deepea effect on the minds of a Highland host. We must secure Allan, m lord, at all events. What between his bravery and his second sight”— “Hush!” said Lord Menteith, “that owl is awaking.” “ Do you talk of the second sight, or deuteroscopia ?” said the soldier “ I remember memorable Major Monro telling me how Murdoch Mac kenzie, born in Assint, a private gentleman in a company and a prettj soldier, foretold the death of Donald Tough, a Lochaber man, an* certain other persons, as well as the hurt of the major himself at * sudden onfall at the siege of Trailesund.” “I have often heard of this faculty,” observed Anderson, “butl have always thought those pretending to it were either enthusiasts 01 impostors.” “ I should bo loth,” said Lord Mentoith, “ to apply either character to my kinsman, Allan M‘Aulay. He has shewn on many occasions too much acuteness and sense, of which you this night had an instance^ for the character of an enthusiast; and his high sense of honour, ami manliness of disposition, free him from the charge of imposture.” “ Your lordship, then,” said Anderson, “ is a believer in his super- natural attributes?” “ By no means,” said the young nobleman; “ I think that ho per- suades himself that the predictions which are, in reality, the result of judgment and reflection, are supernatural impressions on his mind,, just as fanatics conceive the workings of their own imagination to be divine inspiration—at least, if this will not serve you, Anderson, I have no better explanation to give; and it is time wo were all asloepi after the toilsome journey of the day.”

CHAPTER VI. — Coming events cast their shadows before*—Campbell. At an early hour in the morning the guests of the Castle sprung from their repose; and, after a moment’s private conversation with his attendants, Lord Menteith addressed the soldier, who was seated in a corner burnishing his corslet with rot-stone and shamois-leather, while he hummed the old song in honour of the victorious Gustavus Adel- , phus;— When cannon are roaring, and bullets are flying, The lad that would have honour, boys, must never fear dying’. NOVELS.3 A LEGEND OE MONTEOSE. 159 H {•if “Captain Dalgetty,” said Lord Menteith, “the time is come that we must part, or become comrades in service.” i“Not before breakfast, I hope,” said Captain Dalgetty. “ I should have thought,” replied his lordship, “ that your garrison was victualled for three days at least.” “I have still some stowage left for beef and bannocks,” said the I Captain; “and I never miss a favourable opportunity of renewing my j supplies.” “ But,” said Lord Menteith, “no judicious commander allows either i flags of truce or neutrals to remain in his camp longer than is prudent; i and therefore we must know your mind exactly, according to which : you shall either have a safe conduct to depart in peace, or be welcome to remain with us.” ?' “Truly,” said the Captain, “ that being the case, I will not attempt ! to protract the capitulation by a counterfeited parley, (a thing excel- lently practised by Sir James Eamsay at the siege of Hannau, in the : year of God 1636,) but I will frankly own, that if I like your pay as well as your provant and your company, I care not how soon I take the oath to your colours.” | “Our pay,” said Lord Menteith, “must at present be small, since it is paid out of the common stock raised by the few amongst us who : can command some funds—as major and adjutant, I dare not promise Captain Dalgetty more than half a dollar a day.” “ The devil take all halves and quarters!” said the Captain; “were it in my option, I could no more consent to the halving of that dollar, than the woman in the Judgment of Solomon to the disseverment of . the child of her bowels.” “ The parallel will scarce hold, Captain Dalgetty, for I think you i would rather consent to the dividing of the dollar than give it up entire i to your competitor. However, in the way of arrears I may promise j you the other half-dollar at the end of the campaign.” “ Ah ! these arrearages,” said Captain Dalgetty, “ that are always | promised, and always go for nothing! Spain, Austria, and Sweden, al] l sing one song. Oh! long life to the Hogan-mogans! if they were no (tfecers or soldiers, they were good pay-masters. And yet, my lord, if iLebaM btib he made certiorated that my natural hereditament of • Drumthwacket had fallen into possession of any of these loons of ©dvenanl&^'^Sd^iifSd^diPffiVbV'eilt of our success, made a traitor ofpjflhsIve'Wa&iKjH' that wild pleasant spot, that I

“ I can resolve Captain Dalgetty’s question,” said Sih&tld, Lord s ^tr^ BfSStfiWa^be-. as I conceive, the long waste moor so called, that lies five miles sadiM fc&n ^■^qa6hly°pmhat^)by Elk^M6hafi^ 160 A LEGEND OF MONTROSE. [wavermt

the devil gave him the assurance to purchase the inheritance of :H family of four hundred years standing ?—Cynthius aurem vellet, as w< J used to say at Mareschal College, that is to say, I will pull him out o* my father’s house by the ears. And so, my Lord Menteith, I an* yours, hand and sword, body and soul, till death do us part, or to theB end of the next campaign, whichever event shall first come to pass.” i “And I,” said the young nobleman, “rivet the bargain by a month’s pay in advance.” “That is more than necessary,” said Dalgetty, pocketing the money however. “ But now I must go down, look after my war-saddle and: abulziements, and see that Gustavus has his morning, and tell him we have taken new service.” “ There goes your precious recruit,” said Lord Menteith to Ander- son, as the Captain left the room; “I fear we shall have little credit of him.” “ He is a man of the times, however,” said Anderson ; “ and with- out such we should hardly be able to carry on our enterprise.” “Let us go down,” answered Lord Menteith, “and see how our muster is likely to thrive, for I hear a good deal of bustle in the \ castle.” When they entered the hall, the domestics keeping modestly in the back-ground, morning greetings past between Lord Menteith, Angus M'Aulay, and his English guests, while Allan, occupying the same settle which he had filled the preceding evening, paid no attention whatever to any one. Old Donald hastily rushed into the apartment. “A message from Vich Alister More; he is coming up in the evening.” “ With how many attendants ? ” said M'Aulay, “Some five-and-twenty or thirty,” said Donald, “his ordinary re- tinue.” “ Shake down plenty of straw in the great barn,” said the Laird. Another servant here stumbled hastily in, announcing the expected \ arrival of Sir Hector M‘Lean, “who is arriving with a large fol- lowing.” “Put them in the malt kiln,” said M'Aulay; “and keep the breadth of the middenstead between them and the M'Donalds; they are but unfriends to each other.” Donald now re-entered, his visage considerably lengthened—“The tiel’s i’ the folk,” he said; “the hale Hielands are asteer, I think. Evan Dhu, of Lochiel, will be here in an hour, with Lord kens how many gillies.” “ Into the great barn with them beside the MDonalds,” said the Laird. More and more Chiefs were announced, the least of whom would have accounted it derogatory to his dignity to stir without a retinue of sis or seven persons. To every new annunciation, Angus M'Aulay KOVELS.] A LEGEND OE MONTROSE. 1G1 answered by naming some place of accommodation,—the stable, the loft, the cow-house, the sheds, every domestic office was destined for the night to some hospitable purpose or accommodation. At length the arrival of M'Dougal of Lorn, after all his means of accommodation were exhausted, reduced him to some perplexity. “ What the devil is to be done, Donald?” said he; “the great barn would hold fifty more, if they would lie heads and thraws; but there would be drawn dirks amang them which should lie uppermost, and so we should have bloody puddings before morning ! ” “What needs all this?” said Allan, starting up, and coming for- ward with the stern abruptness of his usual manner; “ are the Gaol to-day of softer flesh or whiter blood than their fathers were ? Knock the head out of a cask of usquebae, let that be their night gear—their plaids their bed-clothes—and the blue sky their canopy, and the heather their couch—come a thousand more, and they would not quarrel on the broad heath for want of room ! ” “Allan is right,” said his brother; “it is very odd how Allan, who, between ourselves,” said he to Musgrave, “ is a little wowf, seems at times to have more sense than us all put together. Observe him now.” “Yes,” continued Allan, fixing his eyes with a ghastly stare upon the opposite side of the hall, “they may well begin as they are to end; many a man will sleep this night upon the heath, that when the Mar- tinmas wind shall blow shall lie there stark enough, and reck little of cold or lack of covering.” “ Do not forspeak us, brother,” said Angus ; “ that is not lucky.” “And what luck is it, then, that you expect?” said Allan, and straining his eyes until they almost started from their sockets, he fell with a convulsive shudder into the arms of Donald and his brother, who, knowing the nature of his fits, had come near to prevent his fall. They seated him upon a bench, and supported him until he came to himself, and was about to speak. “For God’s sake, Allan,” said his brother, who knew the impression his mystical words were likely to make on many of the guests, “ say nothing to discourage us.” “ Am I he who discourages you ? ” said Allan; “let every man face his weird as I shall face mine. That which must come, will come; and we shall stride gallantly over many a field of victory ere we reach yon fatal slaughter-place, or tread yon sable scaffolds! ” “What slaughter-place? what scaffolds?” exclaimed several voices; for Allan’s renown as a seer was generally established in the High- lands. “ You will know that but too soon,” answered Allan. “ Speak to me no more, I am weary of your questions.” Ho then pressed his hand against his brow, rested his elbow upon his knee, and sunk into a deep reverie. 162 A LEGEND OF MONTROSE. ['WAYEELFr

“ Send for Annot Lyle, and the harp,” said Angus, in a whisper, to his servant; “ and let those gentlemen follow me, who do not fear a Highland breakfast.” All accompanied their hospitable landlord excepting only Lord Men- teith, who lingered in one of the deep embrasures formed by the win- dows of the hall. Annot Lyle shortly after glided into the room, not ill described by Lord Menteith as being the lightest and most fairy figure that ever trod the turf by moon-light. Her stature, consider- ably less than the ordinary size of women, gave her the appearance of extreme youth, insomuch, that although she was near eighteen, she might have passed for four years younger. Her figure, hands, and feet, were formed upon a model of exquisite symmetry with the size and lightness of her person, so that Titania herself could scarce have found a more fitting representative. Her hair was a dark shade of the colour usually termed flaxen, whose clustering ringlets suited admira- bly with her fair complexion, and with the playful, yet simple expres- sion of her features. When we add to these charms, that Annot, in her orphan state, seemed the gayest and happiest of maidens, the reader must allow us to claim for her the interest of almost all who looked on her. In fact, it was impossible to find a more universal favourite, and she often came among the rude inhabitants of the castle, as Allan himself, in a poetical mood, expressed it, “like a sunbeam on a sullen sea,” communicating to all others the cheerfulness that filled her own mind. Annot, such as we have described her, smiled and blushed, when, on entering the apartment, Lord Menteith came from his place of retire- ment, and kindly wished her good-morning. “ And good-morning to you, my lord,” returned she, extending her hand to her friend ; “we have seldom seen you of late at the castle, and now I fear it was with no peaceful purpose.” “At least let me not interrupt your harmony, Annot,” said Lord Menteith, “ though my arrival may breed discord elsewhere. My cousin, Allan, needs the assistance of your voice and music.” “ My preserver,” said Annot Lyle, “has a right to my poor exer- tions ; and you, too, my lord,—jrou, too, are my preserver, and were the most active to save a life that is worthless enough, unless it can benefit my protectors.” So saying, she sate down at a little distance upon the bench on which Allan M‘Aulay was placed, and tuning her clairshach, a small harp, about thirty inches in height, she accompanied it with her voice. The air was an ancient Gaelic melody, and the words, which were supposed to be very old, were in the same language; but we subjoin a transla- tion of them, by Secundus M'Phersou, Esq. of Glenforgen, which, al- though submitted to the fetters of English rhythm, we trust will be found nearly as genuine as the version of Ossian by his celebrated namesake. Novels.] A LEGEND OE MONTROSE. 163

i. “ Birds of omen dark and foul, Night-crow, raven, bat and owl, Leave the sick man to his dream— All night long he heard your scream— Haste to cave and ruined tower, Ivy, tod, or dingled-bower, There to wink and mop, for, hark I In the mid air sings the lark. Q “ Hie to moorish gills and roe\s, Prowling wolf and wily fox,— Hie you fast, nor turn your vi 'W, Though the lamb bleats to the ewe. Couch your trains, and speed your flight, Safety parts with parting night; And on distant echo borne, Comes the hunter’s early horn. 3. “ The moon’s wan crescent scarcely gleams, Ghost-like she fades in morning beams ; Hie hence each peevish imp and fay That scare the pilgrim on his way:— Quench, kelpy ! quench, in bog and f. n, Thy torch that cheats benighted men; Thy dance is o’er, thy reign is done, For Benyieglo hath seen the sun. 4. “ Wild thoughts, that, sinful, dark and deep# O’erpower the passive mind in sleep, Pass from the slumberer’s soul away, Like night-mists from the brow of day :— Foul hag, whose blasted visage grim Smothers the pulse, unnerves the limb, Spur thy dark palfrey, and begone ! Thou darest not face the godlike sun.”

As the strain proceeded, Allan M'Aulay gradually gave signs of re- covering his presence of mind and attention to the objects around him. Tho deep-knit furrows of his brow relaxed and smoothed themselves; and the rest of his features, which had seemed contorted with internal agony-, relapsed into a more natural state. When he raised his head and sat upright, his countenance, though still deeply melancholy, was divested of its wildness and ferocity; and in its composed state, al- though by no means handsome, tho expression of his features was striking, manly, and even noble. His thick, brown eye-brows, which had hitherto been drawn close together, were now slightly separated, as in the natural state; and his grey eyes, which had rolled and flashed from under them with an unnatural and portentous gleam, now re- covered a steady and determined expression. “Thank God!” he said, after sitting silent for about a minute, until1 164 A LEGEND OE MONTROSE. [wAVEKLE?

the very last sounds of the harp had ceased to vibrate, “ my soul is no longer darkened—the mist hath passed from my spirit.” “ You owe thanks, cousin Allan,” said Lord Menteith, coming for- ward, “to Annot Lyle, as well as to heaven, for this happy change in your melancholy mood.” “ My noble cousin Menteith,” said Allan, rising and greeting him very respectfully, as well as kindly, “has known my unhappy circum- stances so long, that his kindness will require no excuse for my being thus late in bidding him welcome to the castle.” “ We are too old acquaintances, Allan,” said Lord Menteith, “ and too good friends, to stand on the ceremonial of outward greeting; but here will be half the Highlands to-day, and, you know, with our mountain Chiefs, ceremony must not be neglected. What will you give little Annot for making you fit company to meet Evan Dhu, and I know not how many bonnets and feathers ? ” “What will ho give me?” said Annot, smiling; “nothing less, I hope, than the best ribbon at the fair of Doune.” “The fair of Douno, Annot?” said Allan sadly, “there will bo bloody work before that day, and I may never see it; but you have well reminded me of what I have long intended to do.” Having said this, he left the room. “ Should he talk long in this manner,” said Lord Menteith, “you must keep your harp in tune, my dear Annot.” “I hope not,” said Annot, anxiously; “this fit has been a long one, and probably will not soon return. It is fearful to see a mind, naturally generous and affectionate, afflicted by this constitutional malady.” As she spoke in a low and confidential tone, Lord Menteith natu- rally drew close, and stooped forwards, that he might the better catch the sense of what she said. When Allan suddenly entered the apart- ment, they naturally drew back from each other with a manner ex- pressive of consciousness, as if surprised in a conversation which they wished to keep secret from him. This did not escape Allan’s observa- tion; he stopt short at the door of the apartment—his brows were con- tracted—his eyes rolled ; but it was only the paroxysm of a moment. He passed his broad sinewy hand across his brow, as if to obliterate those signs of emotion, and advanced towards Annot, holding in his hand a very small box made of oak-wood, curiously inlaid. “ I take you to witness,” he said, “ cousin Menteith, that I give this box and its contents to Annot Lyle. It contains a few ornaments that belonged to my poor mother—of trifling value, you may guess, for the wife of a Highland laird has seldom a rich jewel casket.” “ But these ornaments,” said Annot Lyle, gently and timidly refus- ing the box, “ belong to the family—I cannot accept” “ They belong to mo alone, Annot,” said Allan, interrupting her; “ they were my mother’s dying bequest. They are all I can call my NOVELS.] A LEGEND OE MONTROSE. 163

own, except my plaid and my claymore. Take them, therefore—they are to me valueless trinkets—and keep them for my sake—should I never return from these wars.” So saying, he opened the case, and presented it to Annot. “If,” said he, “they are of any value, dispose of them for your own support, when this house has been consumed with hostile fire, and can no longer afford you protection.—But keep one ring in memory of Allan, who has done ! to requite your kindness, if not all he wished, at least all he could.” Annot Lyle endeavoured in vain to restrain the gathering tears, when she said, “ One ring, Allan, I will accept from you as a memo- rial of your goodness to a poor orphan, but do not press me to take more ; for I can not, and will not, accept a gift of such disproportioned value.” “Make your choice, then,” said Allan; “your delicacy may be well-founded ; the others shall assume a shape in which they may be more useful to you.” “Think not of it,” said Annot, choosing from the contents of the casket a ring, apparently the most trifling in value which it contained; ' “ keep them for your own, or your brother’s bride.—But, good hea- vens ! ” she said, interrupting herself, and looking at the ring, “what i is this that I have chosen ? ” Allan hastened to look upon it, with eyes of gloomy apprehension; i it bore, in enamel, a death’s head above two crossed daggers. When i Allan recognised the device, be uttered a sigh so deep, that she dropped 1 the ring from her hand, which rolled upon the floor. Lord Menteith | picked it up, and returned it to the terrified Annot. “ I take God to witness,” said Allan, “ that your hand, young lord, i &nd not mine, has again delivered to her this ill-omened gift. It was the mourning ring worn by my mother in memorial of her murdered i brother.” “ I fear no omens,” said Annot, smiling through her tears; “and nothing coming through the hands of my two patrons,” so she was wont to call Lord Menteith and Allan, “ can bring bad luck to the I poor orphan.” She put the ring on her finger, and, turning to her harp, sung to a lively air, the following verses of one of the fashionable songs of the period, which had found its way, marked as it was with the quaint hyperbolical taste of King Charles’s time, from some court masque to the wilds of Perthshire. “ Gaze not upon tlic stars, fond sage, In them no influence lies; To read the fate of youth or age, Look on my Helen’s eyes. “ Yet, rash astrologer, refrain, Too dearly would be won The prescience of another’s pain, If purchased by thine owu.’* 166 A LEGEND OE MONTEOSE. [waverley

“ She is right, Allan,” said Lord Menteith; “ and this end of an old Bong is worth all we shall gain by our attempt to look into futurity.” “ She is wrong, my lord,” said Allan, sternly, “ though you, who treat with lightness the warnings I have given you, may not live to see the event of the omen. Laugh not so scornfully,” he added, inter- rupting himself, “ or rather laugh on as loud and as long as you will; your term of laughter will find a pause ero long.” “ I care not for your visions, Allan,” said Lord Menteith ; “ how- ever short my span of life, the eye of no Highland seer can soo its termination.” “ Eor Heaven’s sake,” said Annot Lyle, interrupting him, “you know his nature, and how little he can endure ” “ Eear me not,” said Allan, interrupting her,—“ my mind is now constant and calm.—Hut for you, young lord,” said he, turning to Lord Menteith, “my eye has sought you through fields of battle, where Highlanders and Lowlanders lay strewed as thick as ever the rooks sat on those ancient trees,” pointing to a rookery which was seen from the window—“ my eye sought you, but your corpse was not there—my eye sought you among a train of unresisting and disarmed captives, drawn up within the bounding walls of an ancient and rug- ged fortress;—flash after flash—platoon after platoon—the hostile shot fell amongst them, but you were not among their ranks;—scaffolds were prepared—blocks were arranged, saw-dust was spread—the priest was ready with his book, the headsman with his axe—but there, too, mine eye found you not.” “The gibbet, then, I suppose, must be my doom ? ” said Lord Mon- teith. “ I wish they had spared me the halter, were it but for the dignity of the peerage.” He spoke this scornfully, yet not without a sort of curiosity, and a wish to receive an answer; for the desire of prying into futurity fre- quently has some influence even on the minds of those who disavow all belief in the possibility of such predictions. “Your rank, my lord, will suffer no dishonour in your person, or by the manner of your death. Three times have I seen a Highlander plant his dirk in your bosom—and such will be your fate.” “I wish you would describe him to me,” said Lord Menteith, “ and I shall save him the trouble of fulfilling your prophesy, if his plaid be passable to sword or pistol.” “Your weapons,” said Allan, “would avail you little, nor can I give you the information you desire. The face of the vision has boon ever averted from me.” “So be it then,” said Lord Menteith, “and let it rest in the un- certainty in which your augury has placed it. I shall dine not the less merrily among plaids and dirks, and kilts to-day.” “ It may be so,” said Allan ; “ and, it may be, you do well to enjoy those moments, which to me are poisoned by auguries of future evil. NOVELS.] A LEGEND OE MON THOSE. 167

But I,” he continued—“ I repeat to you, that this weapon,” touching the hilt of the dirk which he wore, “ carries your fate.” “In the meanwhile,” said Lord Menteith, “you, Allan, havo frightened the blood from the cheeks of Annot Lyle—let us leave this discourse, my friend, and go to see what we both understand,—the progress of our military preparations.” They joined Angus M‘Aulay and his English guests, and, in the military discussions which immediately took place, Allan shewed a clearness of mind, strength of judgment, and precision of thought, totally inconsistent with the mystical light in which his character has been hitherto exhibited.

CHAPTER VII. When Albin her claymore indignantly draws, When her bonneted chieftains around her shall crowd, Clan-Ranald the dauntless, and Moray the proud, All plaided and plumed in their tartan array - LochieVs Warning, Whoever saw that morning the castle of Darnlinvaroch behold a busy and a gallant sight. The various Chiefs, arriving with their different retinues, which, notwithstanding their numbers, formed no more than their usual equipage and body guard upon occasions of solemnity, saluted the lord of the castle and each other with overflowing kindness, or with haughty and distant politeness, according to the circumstances of friendship or hostility in which their clans had recently stood to each other. Each Chief, however small his comparative importance, shewed the full dis- position to exact from the rest the deference due to a separate and in- dependent prince; while the stronger and more powerful, divided among themselves by recent contentions or ancient feuds, were con- strained in policy to use great deference to the feelings of their less powerful brethren, in order, in case of need, to attach as many as might be to their own interest and standard. Thus the meeting of Chiefs resembled not a little those ancient Diets of the Empire, where the smallest Frey-Graf, who possessed a castle perched upon a barren crag, with a few hundred acres around it, claimed the state and hon- ours of a sovereign prince, and a seat according to his rank among the dignitaries of the empire. The followers of the different leaders were separately arranged and accommodated, as room and circumstances best permitted, each retain- ing, however, his henchman, who waited, close as the shadow, upon his person, to execute whatever might be required by his patron. The exterior of the castle afforded a singular scene. The Highlanders, from different islands, glens, and straths, eyed each other at a distance 168 A LEGEND OP MONTEOSE. [wayeeley

with looks of emulation, inquisitive curiosity, or hostile malevolence; but the most astounding part of the assembly, at least to a Lowland ear, was the rival performance of the bagpipers. These warlike min- strels, who had the highest opinion each of the superiority of his own tribes, joined to the most overweening idea of the importance connected with the profession, at first performed their various pibrochs in front each of his own clan. At length, however, as the black-cocks towards the end of the season, when, in sportsman’s language, they are said to flock, are attracted together by the sound of each other’s triumphant crow, even so did the pipers, swelling their plaids and tartans in the same triumphant manner in which the birds ruffle up their feathers, begin to approach each other within such distance as might give to their brethren a sample of their skill. Walking within a short distance, and eyeing each other with looks in which self-importance and defiance might be traced, they strutted, puffed, and plied their screaming instru- ments, each playing his own favourite tune with such a din, that if an Italian musician had lain buried within ten miles of them, he must have risen from the dead to run out of hearing. The chieftains meanwhile had assembled in close conclave in the great hall of the castle. Among them were the persons of the greatest consequence in the Highlands, some of them attracted by zeal for the royal cause, and many by aversion to that domination which the Mar- quis of Argyle, since his rising to such influence in the state, had ex- ercised over his Highland neighbours. That statesman, indeed, though possessed of very considerable abilities, and very great power, had fail- ings which rendered him unpopular among the Highland chiefs. The devotion which he professed was of a morose and fanatical character; his ambition appeared to be insatiable, and inferior chiefs complained of his want of bounty and liberality. Add to this, that although a Highlander, and of a family distinguished for valour before and since, Gillespie Grumach, (which was the personal distinction he bore in the Highlands, where titles of rank are unknown,) was suspected of being a better man in the cabinet than in the field. He and his tribe were particularly obnoxious to the M'Donalds and the M'Leans, two nu- merous septs, who, though disunited by ancient feuds, agreed in an in- tense dislike to the Campbells, or, as they were called, the Children of Diarmid. For some time the assembled Chiefs remained silent, until some one should open the business of the meeting. At length one of the most powerful of them commenced the diet by saying,—“ We have been summoned hither, M'Aulay, to consult of weighty matters concerning the King’s affairs, and those of the state, and we crave to know by whom they are to be explained to us ? ” M'Aulay, whose strength did not lie in oratory, intimated his wish that Lord Menteith should open the business of the council, With great modesty, and, at the same time, with spirit, that young lord KOVELS.] A LEGEND OF MONTROSE. 169 said, “he wished what he was about to propose had come from some person of better known, and more established character. Since, how- ever, it lay with him to be spokesman, he had to state to the chiefs assembled, that those who wished to throw off the base yoke which fanaticism had endeavoured to wreath round their necks, had not a moment to lose. The Covenanters,” he said, “ after having twice made war upon their sovereign, and having extorted from him every request, reasonable or unreasonable, which they thought proper to exact—after their chiefs had been loaded with dignities and favours—after having publicly declared, when his Majesty, after a gracious visit to the land of his nativity, was upon his return to England, that he returned a contented King from a contented people,—after all this, and without even the pretext for a national grievance, the same men have, upon doubts and suspicions, equally dishonourable to the King, and ground- less in themselves, detached a strong army to assist his rebels in Eng- land, in a quarrel with which Scotland had no more to do than she has with the wars in Germany. It was well,” he said, “ that the eagerness with which this treasonable purpose was pursued, had blinded the junto who now usurped the government of Scotland to the risk which they were about to incur. The army which they had dispatched to England under old Leven comprehended their veteran soldiers, the strength of those armies which had been levied in Scotland during the two former wars ” Here Captain Dalgetty endeavoured to rise, for the purpose of ex- plaining how many veteran officers, trained in the German wars, were, to his certain knowledge, in the army of the Earl of Leven. But Allan M‘Aulay holding him down in the seat with one hand, pressed the fore- finger of the other upon his own lips, and though with some difficulty, prevented his interference. Captain Dalgetty looked upon him with a very scornful and indignant air, by which the other’s gravity was in no way moved, and Lord Menteith proceeded without farther inter- ruption. “ The moment,” he said, “ was most favourable for all true-hearted and loyal Scotchmen to shew, that the reproach their country had lately undergone arose from the selfish ambition of a few turbulent and seditious men, joined to the absurd fanaticism which, disseminated from five hundred pulpits, had spread like a land-flood over the Lowlands of Scotland. He had letters from the Marquis of Huntly in the north, which he should show to the chiefs separately. That nobleman, equally loyal and powerful, was determined to exert his utmost energy in the common cause, and the powerful Earl of Seaforth was prepared to join the same standard. From the Earl of Airly, and the Ogilvies in Angusshire, he had had communications equally decided ; and there was no doubt that these, who, with the Hays, Leiths, Burnets, and other loyal gentlemen, would be soon on horseback, would form a body far more than sufficient to overawe the northern Covenanters, 170 A LEGEND OF MONTROSE. [WAVEKLEY

who had already experienced their valour in the well-known rout which was popularly termed the Trot of Turiff. South of Forth and Tay,” he said, “the King had many friends, who, oppressed by en- forced oaths, compulsatory levies, heavy taxes, unjustly imposed and unequally levied, by the tyranny of the Committee of Estates, and the inquisitorial insolence of the Presbyterian divines, waited but the waving of the royal banner to take up arms. Douglas, Traquair, Roxburgh, Hume, ail friendly to the royal cause, would counterbalance,” he said, “ the Covenanting interest in the south; and two gentlemen of name and quality, here present, from the north of England, would answer for the zeal of Cumberland, Westmoreland, and Northumber- land. Against so many gallant gentlemen the southern Covenanters could but arm raw levies; the Whigamores of the western shires, and the plowmen and mechanics of the Low-country. For the West High- lands, ho knew no interest which the Covenanters possessed there, ex- cept that of one individual, as well known as he was odious. But was there a single man, who, on casting his eye round this hall, and re- cognising the power, the gallantry, and the dignity of the chiefs as- sembled, could entertain a moment’s doubt of their success against the utmost force which Gillespie Grumach could collect against them ? He had only farther to add, that considerable funds, both of money and ammunition, had been provided for the army—(Here Dalgetty drew himself up, and looked round)—that officers of ability and experience in the foreign wars, one of whom was now present, had engaged to train such levies as might require to be disciplined;—and that a nu- merous body of auxiliary forces from Ireland, having been detached from the Earl of Antrim, from Ulster, had successfully accomplished their descent upon the main land, and with the assistance of Clanranald’s people, having taken and fortified the castle of Mingarry, in spite of Argyle’s attempts to intercept them, were in full march to this place of rendezvous. It only remained,” he said, “that the noble chiefs as- sembled, laying aside every lesser consideration, should unite, heart and hand, in the common cause; send the fiery cross through their clans, in order to collect their utmost force, and form their junction with such celerity as to leave the enemy no time, either for preparation, or recovery from the panic which would spread at the first sound of their pibroch. He himself,” he said, “though neither among the richest nor the most powerful of the Scottish nobility, felt that he had to support the dignity of an ancient and honourable nation, and to that cause he was determined to devote both life and fortune. If those who were more powerful wore equally prompt, he trusted they would de- serve the thanks of their King, and the gratitude of posterity.” Loud applause followed this speech of Lord Menteith, and testified the general aquioscence of all present in the sentiments which he had expressed; but when the shout had died away, the assembled Chiefs continued to gaze upon each other as if something yet remained to be NOVELS.] A LEGEND OF MONTEOSE. 171 settled. After some whispers among themselves, an aged man, whom his grey hairs rendered respectable, although he was not of the highest order of Chiefs, replied to what had been said. “Thane of Menteith,” he said, “ you have well spoken, nor is there one of us in whose bosom the same sentiments do not burn like fire. But it is not strength alono that wins the fight; it is the head of the commander as well as the arm of the soldier, that brings victory. I ask of you who is to raise and sustain the banner under which we are invited to rise and muster ourselves ? Will it be expected that we should risque our children, and tho flower of our kinsmen, ere we know to whose guidance they are intrusted ? This were leading those to slaughter, whom by the laws of God and man, it is our duty to pro- tect. Where is the royal commission, under which the lieges are to be convocated in arms ? Simple and rude as we may be deemed, we know something of the established rules of war, as well as of the laws of our country; nor will we arm ourselves against tho general peace, unless by the express commands of the King, and under a leader fit to com- mand such men as are here assembled.” “ Where would you find such a leader, said another Chief, starting up, “saving the representative of the Lords of the Isles, entitled by birth and hereditary descent to lead forth the array of every clan of the Highlands; and where is that dignity lodged, save in the house of Yich Alister More ? ” “I acknowledge,” said another Chief, eagerly interrupting tho speaker, “ the truth in what has been first said, but not the inference. If Yich Alister More desires to be held representative of the Lords of the Isles, let him first shew his blood is redder than mine.” “ That is soon proved,” said Yich Alister More, laying his hand upon the basket-hilt of his claymore. Lord Mentoith throw himself between them, entreating and imploring each to remember that the interests of Scotland, the liberty of their country, and the cause of their King, ought to be superior in their eyes to any personal disputes respecting descent, rank, and precedence. Several of the Highland Chiefs, who had no desire to admit the claims of either chieftain, interfered to the same purpose, and none with more emphasis than the celebrated Evan Dhu. “I have come from my lakes,” he said, “ as a stream descends from the hills, not to turn again, but to accomplish my course. It is not by looking back to our own pretensions that we shall serve Scotland or King Charles. My voice shall be for that general whom the King shall name, who will doubtless possess those qualities which are ne- cessary to command men like us. High-born he must be, or we shall lose our rank in obeying him—wise and skilful, or we shall endanger the safety of our people—bravest among the brave, or we shall peril our own honour—temperate, firm, and manly, to keep us united. Such is the man that must command us. Are you prepared, Thane of Menteith, to say where such a general is to be found ?” 172 A LEGEND OF MONTROSE. [WAVERLEY

“There is but one,” said Allan M'Aulay: “and here,” he said, laying his hand upon the shoulder of Anderson, who stood behind Lord Menteith, “ here he stands.” The general surprise of the meeting was expressed by an impatient murmur; when Anderson, throwing back the cloak in which his face was muffled, and stepping forward, spoke thus;—“I did not long in- tend to be a silent spectator of this interesting scene, although my hasty friend has obliged me to disclose myself somewhat sooner than was my intention. Whether I deserve the honour reposed in me by this parchment will best appear from what I shall be able to do for the King’s service. It is a commission, under the great seal, to James Graham, Earl of Montrose, to command those forces which are to be assembled for the service of his Majesty in this kingdom.” A loud shout of approbation burst from the assembly. There was, in fact, no other person to whom, in point of rank, these proud moun- taineers would have been disposed to submit. His inveterate and hereditary hostility to the Marquis of Argyle insured his engaging in the war with sufficient energy, while his well-known military talents, and his tried valour, afforded every hope of his bringing it to a favour- able conclusion.

CHAPTER VIII Our plot is a good plot as ever was laid; our friends true and constant: a good plot, good friends, and full of expectation: an excellent plot, very good friends. Henry IV. Part I. Act II. Sc. III. No sooner had the general acclamation of joyful surprise subsided, than silence was eagerly demanded for reading the royal commission; and the bonnets, which hitherto each chief had worn, probably because unwilling to be the first to uncover, were now at once vailed in honour of the royal -warrant. It was couched in the most full and ample terms, authorising the Earl of Montrose to assemble the subjects in arms, for the putting down the present rebellion, which divers traitors and seditious persons had levied against the King, to the manifest forfaulture, as it stated, of their allegiance, and to the breach of the pacification between the two kingdoms. It enjoined all subordinate authorities to be obedient and assisting to Montrose in his enteqn-ise ; gave him the power of making ordinances and proclamations, punish- ing misdemeanours, pardoning criminals, placing and displacing go- vernors and commanders. In fine, it was as large and full a commis- sion as any with which a prince could entrust a subject. So soon as it was finished, a shout burst from the assembled chiefs, in testimony of their willing submission to the will of their Sovereign. Not con- tented with generally thanking them for a reception so favourable, Montrose hastened to address himself to individuals. The most inn- NOVELS.] A LEGEND OF MONTEOSE. 173 portant chiefs had already been long personally known to him, but even to those of inferior consequence he now introduced himself, and by the acquaintance he displayed with their peculiar designations, and the circumstances and history of their clans, he shewed how long he must have studied the character of the mountaineers, and so pre- pared himself for such a situation as he now held. While he was engaged in these acts of courtesy, his graceful man- ner, expressive features, and dignity of deportment, made a singular contrast with the coarseness and meanness of his dress. Montrose possessed that sort of form and face, in which the beholder, at the tir^t glance, sees nothing extraordinary, but of which the interest becomes more impressive the longer we gaze upon them. His stature was very little above the middle size, but in person he was imcommonly well built, and capable both of exerting great force, and enduring much fatigue. In fact, he enjoyed a constitution of iron, without which ho could not have sustained the hardships of his extraordinary campaigns, through all of which he subjected himself to the hardships of the meanest soldier. He was perfect in all exercises, whether peaceful or martial, and possessed, of course, that graceful ease of deportment proper to those to whom habit has rendered all postures easy. His long brown hair, according to the custom of men of quality among the Eoyalists, was parted on the top of his head, and trained to hang down on each side in curled locks, one of which, descending two or three inches lower than the others, intimated Montrose’s compliance with that fashion against which it pleased Mr Prynne, the puritan, to write a treatise, entitled, “ The Unloveliness of Lovelocks.” The features which these tresses inclosed, wnre of that kind which derive their interest from the character of the man, rather than from the regularity of their form. But a high nose, a full, decided, well- opened, quick grey eye, and a sanguine complexion, made amends for some coarseness and irregularity in the subordinate parts of the face; so that, in general, Montrose might be termed rather a handsome, than a hard-featured man. But those who saw him when his soul looked through those eyes with all the energy and fire of genius—those who heard him speak with the authority of talent, and the eloquence of nature, were impressed with an opinion even of his external form, more enthusiastically favourable than the portraits which still survive would entitle us to ascribe to them. Such, at least, was the impres- sion he made upon the assembled Chiefs of the mountaineers, over whom, as upon all persons in their state of society, personal appear- ance has no small influence. In the discussions which followed his discovering himself, Montrose explained the various risks which he had run in his present undertak- ing. His first attempt had been to assemble a body of loyalists in the north of England, who, in obedience to the orders of the Marquis of Newcastle, he expected would have marched into Scotland; bat the 174 A LEGEND OP MONTROSE. [WAYEItLEY

disinclination of the English to cross the Border,—the delay of tha Earl of Antrim, who was to have landed in the Solway Firth with his Irish aniijr, prevented his executing this design; and other plans hav- ing in like manner failed, he stated that he found himself under ihe necessity of assuming a disguise through the Lowlands, in which he had been kindly assisted by his kinsman of Menteith. By what means Allan M'Aulay had come to know him, he could not pretend to explain. Those who knew Allan’s prophetic pretensions, smiled mysteriously; but he himself only replied, that “the Earl of Montrose need not ba surprised if ho was known to thousands, of whom he himself could retain no memory.” “By the honour of a cavalier,” said Captain Dalgetty, finding at length an opportunity to thrust in his word, “ I am proud and happy in having an opportunity of drawing a sword under your lordship’s command; and I do forgive all grudge, malcontent, and malice of my heart, to Mr Allan M'Aulay, for having thrust me down to the lowest seat of the board yestreen. Certos, he hath this day spoken so like a man having full command of his senses, that I had resolved that he was no way entitled to claim the privilege of insanity. But since I was only postponed to a noble earl, my future commander-in-chief, I do, before you all, recognise the justice of the preference, and heartily salute Allan as one who is to ba his bon-camarado.” Having made this speech, which was little understood 01 attended to, without putting off his military glove, he seized on Allan’s hand, and began to shake it with violence, which Allan, with a gripe like a smith’s vice, returned with such force, as to drive the iron splents of the gauntlet into the hand of the wearer. Captain Dalgetty might have construed this into a new affront, had not his attention, as he stood blowing and shaking his hand, been suddenly called by Montrose himself. “Hear this news,” he said, “ Captain Dalgetty—I should say. Major Dalgetty,—the Irish, who are to profit by your military experience, are now within a few leagues of us.” “Our deer-stalkers,” said Angus M'Aulay, “who were abroad to bring in venison for this honourable party, have heard of a band of strangers, who speak neither Saxon nor pure Gaelic, and can with difficulty make themselves be understood by the people of the country, who are marching this way in aims, under the leading, it is said, of Alaster M'DonaLl, who is commonly called Young Colkitto.” “ These must bo our men,” said Montrose, “wo must hasten to send messengers forward, both to act as guides and to relieve their wants.” “The last,” said Angus M'Aulay, “ will be no easy matter; for I am informed, that, excepting muskets and a very little ammunition, they want everything that soldiers should have; and they are particu- larly deficient in money, in shoos, and in raiment.” “ There is at least no us< in saying so,” said Montrose, “in so loud KOVELS.] A LEGEND OP MONTROSE. 1/5 a tone. The puritan weavers of Glasgow shall provide them plenty of broadcloth when we make a descent from the Highlands; and if the ministers could preach the old women of the Scottish boroughs out of their webs of napory, to make tents to the fellows on Dunse Law, I will try whether I have not a little interest both to make these godly dames renew their patriotic gift, and the prick-eared knaves, their husbands, open their purses.” “And, respecting arms,” said Captain Dalgetty, “ if your lordship will permit an old cavalier to speak his mind, so that the one-third have muskets, my darling weapon wordd be the pike for the remainder, whether for resisting a charge of horse, or for breaking the infantry. A common smith will make a hundred pike-heads in a day; here is plenty of wood for shafts; and I will uphold, that, according to the best usages of war, a strong battalion of pikes, drawn up in the fashion of the Lion of the North, the immortal Gustavus, would beat the Macedonian phalanx, of which I used to read in the Mareschal College, when I studied in the ancient town of Bon-accord; and further, I will venture to predicate” The captain’s lecture upon tactics was here suddenly interrupted by Allan M'Aulay, who said, hastily,—“ Room for an unexpected and unwelcome guest.” At the same moment, the door of the hall opened, and a grey-haired man, of a very stately appearance, presented himself to the assembly. There was much dignity, and even authority, in his manner. His stature was above the common size, and his looks such as were used to command. He cast a severe, and almost stern glance upon the assem- bly of chiefs. Those of the higher rank among them returned it with scornful indifference; but some of the western gentlemen, of inferior power, looked as if they wished themselves elsewhere. “ To which of this assembly,” said the stranger, “ am I to address myself as leader; or have you not fixed upon the person who is to hold an office at least as perilous as it is honourable?” “Address yourself to me, Sir Duncan Campbell,” said Montrose, stepping forward. “ To you ! ” said Sir Duncan Campbell, with some scorn. “Yes,—to me,” repeated Montrose,—“to the Earl of Montrose, if you have forgot him.” “ I should now at least,” said Sir Duncan Campbell, “ have had some difficulty in recognising him in the disguise of a groom.—And yet I might have guessed that no evil influence inferior to your lord- ship’s, distinguished as one who troubles Israel, could have collected together this rash assembly of misguided persons.” “ I will answer unto you,” said Montrose, “in tho manner of your own Puritans. I have not troubled Israel, but thou and thy father’s house. But lot us leave an altercation, which is of little consequence but to ourselves, and hear the tidings you have brought from your 176 A LEGEND OP MONTROSE. [WAVEBLEY

Chief of Argyle ; for I must conclude that it is in his name that you have come to this meeting.” “ It is in the name of the Marquis of Argyle,” said Sir Duncan Campbell,—“in the name of the Scottish Parliament, that I demand to know the meaning of this singular convocation. If it is designed to distrub the peace of the country, it were but acting like neighbours, and men of honour, to give us some intimation to stand upon our guard.” “ It is a singular, and new state of affairs in Scotland,” said Mon- trose, turning from Sir Duncan Campbell to the assembly, “ when Scottish men of rank and family cannot meet in the house of a common friend without an inquisitorial visit and demand, on the part of our rulers, to know the subject of our conference. Methinks our ancestors were accustomed to hold Highland huntings, or other purposes of meeting, without asking the leave either of the great M'Callum More himself, or of any of his emissaries or dependants.” “ The times have been such in Scotland,” answered one of the Western Chiefs, “ and such they will again be, when the intruders on our ancient possessions are again reduced to be lairds of Lochow, in- stead of overspreading us like a band of devouring locusts.” “Am I to understand, then,” said Sir Duncan, “ that it is against my name alone that these preparations are directed? or are wo only to be sufferers in common with the peaceful and orderly inhabitants of Scotland ? ” “ I would ask,” said a wild-looking chief, starting hastily up, “ one question at the Knight of Ardenvohr, ere he proceeds further in his daring catechism.—Has he brought more than one life to this castle, that he ventures to intrude among us for the purposes of insult? ” “Gentlemen,” said Montrose, “let me implore your patience; a messenger who comes among us for the purpose of embassy, is entitled to freedom of speech, and a safe conduct. And since Sir Duncan Camp- bell is so pressing, I care not if I inform him, for his guidance, that he is in an assembly of the King’s loyal subjects, convoked by me, in his Majesty’s name and authority, and' as empowered by his Ma- jesty’s royal commission.” “ We are to have, then, I presume,” said Sir Duncan Campbell, “ a civil war in all its forms ? I have been too long a soldier to view its approach with anxiety; but it would have been for my Lord of Mon- trose’s honour, if, in this matter, he had consulted his own ambition less, and the peace of the country more.” “Those consulted their own ambition and self-interest, Sir Duncan,” answered Montrose, “ who brought the country to the pass in which it now stands, and rendered necessary the sharp remedies which wo are now reluctantly about to use.” “And what rank among these self-seekers,” said Sir Duncan Camp- bell, “ shall we assign to a noble Earl, so violently attached to the Kovels.] A LEGEND OP MONTROSE. 177

Covenant, that he was the first, in 1639, to cross the Tweed, wading middle deep at the head of his regiment, to charge the royal forces ? It was the same, I think, who imposed the Covenant upon the burges- ses and Colleges of Aberdeen, at the point of sword and pike.” “I understand your taunt, Sir Duncan,” said Montrose, temperately; “ and I can only add, that if sincere repentance can make amends for youthful error, and for yielding to the artful representation of ambi- tious hypocrites, I shall be pardoned for the crimes with which jmu taunt me. I am here, with my sword in my hand, willing to spend the best blood of my body to make amends for my error, and mortal man can do no more.” “ Well, my lord,” said Sir Duncan, “ I shall be sorry to carry back this language to the Marquis of Argyle. I had it in farther charge from the Marquis, that to prevent the bloody feuds which must neces* sarily follow a Highland war, his lordship will be contented if terifcfij of truce could be arranged to the north of the Highland line, as there is ground enough in Scotland to fight upon without neighbours de- stroying each other’s families and inheritances.” ‘‘It is a peaceful proposal,” said Montrose, smiling, “such as it should be, coming from one whose actions have always been more peaceful than his measures. Yet, if the terms of such a truce could be equally fixed, and if we can obtain security,—for that, Sir Duncan, is indispensible,—that your Marquis will observe these terms with strict fidelity, I, for my part, should be content to leave peace behind us, since we must needs carry war before us. But, Sir Duncan, you are too old and experienced a soldier for us to permit you to remain in our leaguer, and witness our proceedings; we shall, therefore, when you have refreshed yourself, recommend your speedy return to Inverary, and we shall send with you a gentleman on our part, to adjust the terms of the Highland armistice, in case the Marquis shall be found serious in proposing such a measure.” Sir Duncan Campbell assented by a bow. “ My Lord of Menteith,” continued Montrose, “ will you have the goodness to attend Sir Duncan Campbell, of Ardenvohr, while we de- termine who shall return with him to his Chief. M‘Aulay will permit us to request that he be entertained with suitable hospitality.” “ I will give orders for that,” said Allan Stuart, rising and coming forward. “I love Sir Duncan Campbell; we have been joint sulferers in former days, and I do not forget it now.” “ My Lord of Menteith,” said Sir Duncan Campbell, “I am grieved to see you, at your early age, engaged in such desperate and rebellious courses.” “ I am young,” answered Menteith, “ yet old enough to distinguish between right and wrong, between loyalty and rebellion; and the sooner a good course is begun, the longer and the better have I a chance of running it.” 118 A LEGEND OE MONTROSE. [WAVEKLEY

“ And you too, my friend, Allan M'Aulay,” said Sir Duncan, tak-; iug his hand ; “ must we also call each other enemies, that have been so often allied against a common foe ? ” Then turning round to the meeting, he said, “Farewell, gentlemen ; there are so many of you to whom I wish well, that your rejection of all terms of mediation gives i me deep affliction. May heaven,” he said, looking upwards, “judge between our motives, and those of the movers of this civil commotion !” “ Amen,” said Montrose; “ to that tribunal wo all submit us.” Sir Duncan Campbell left the hall, accompanied by Allan M‘Aulay and Lord Menteith. “ There goes a true bred Campbell,” said Mon- trose, as the envoy departed, “ for they are ever fair and false.” “Pardon me, my lord,” said Evan Dhu; “ hereditary enemy as I am to their name, I have ever found the Knight of Ardenyohr brave in war, honest in peace, and true in council.’' “ Of his own disposition,” said Montrose, “such he is undoubtedly; but he now acts as the organ or mouth-piece of his chief, the Marquis, the falsest man that ever drew breath. And, M‘Aulay,” he continued, in a whisper to his host, “ lest ho should make some impression upon the inexperience of Menteith, or the singular disposition of your brother, you had better send music into their chamber, to prevent his inveigling them into any private conference.” “ The devil a musician have I,” answered M‘Aulay, “excepting the piper, who has nearly broke his wind by an ambitious contention for superiority with three of his own craft; but I can send Annot Lyle and her harp.” And he left the apartment to give orders accordingly. Meanwhile a warm discussion took place, who should undertake the perilous task of returning with Sir Duncan to Inverary. To the higher dignitaries, accustomed to consider themselves upon an equality even with M‘Callum More, this was an office not to be proposed; unto others who could not plead the same excuse, it was altogether unac- ceptable. One would have thought Inverary had been the Yalley of the Shadow of Death, the inferior chiefs shewed such reluctance to approach it. After a considerable hesitation, the plain reason was at length spoken out, namely, that whatever Highlander should under- take an office so distasteful to M‘Galium More, he would be sure to treasure the offence in his remembrance, and one day or other to make him bitterly repent of it. In this dilemma, Montrose, wrho considered the proposed armistice as a mere stratagem on the part of Argyle, although he had not ven- tured bluntly to reject it in presence of those whom it concerned so nearly, resolved to impose the danger and dignity upon Captain Dal- getty, who had neither clan nor estate in the Highlands upon which the wrath of Argyle could wreak itself. “ But I have a neck though,” said Dalgetty, bluntly ; “ and what if he chuses to avenge himself upon that ? I have known a case where an honourable ambassador has been hanged as a spy before now. NOVELS.] A LEGEND OF MONTROSE, 179

Neither did the Romans use ambassadors much more mercifully at the siege of Capua, although I read that they only cut off their hands and noses, put out their eyes, and suffered them to depart in j>eace.” “By my honour, Captain Dalgetty,” said Montrose, “should the Marquis, contrary to the rules of war, dare to practise any atrocity against you, you may depend upon my taking such signal vengeance that all Scotland shall ring of it.” “That will do but little for Dalgetty,” returned the Captain; “ but corragio! as the Spaniard says. With the Land of Promise full in view, the Moor of Drumthwacket, mea paujaera regna, as we said at Mareschal College, I will not refuse your excellency’s commission, be- ing conscious that it becomes a cavalier of honour to obey his com- mander’s orders, in defiance both of gibbet and sword.” “ Gallantly resolved,” said Montrose; “ and if you will come apart with me I will furnish you with the conditions to be laid before M'Callum More, upon which we are willing to grant him a truce for his Highland dominions.” With these we need not trouble our readers. They were of an evasive nature, calculated to meet a proposal which Montrose con- sidered to have been made only for the purpose of gaining time. When he had put Captain Dalgetty in complete possession of his instructions, and when that worthy, making his military obeisance, was near the door of his apartment, Montrose made him a sign to return. “I presume,” said he, “I need not remind an officer who has served under the Great Gustavus, that a little more is required of a person sent with a flag of truce than mere discharge of his instructions, and that his general will expect from him on his return some account of the state of the enemies’ affairs, as far as they come under his observa- tion. In short, Captain Dalgetty, you must be un peu clair-voyant." “ Ah ha! your Excellency,” said the Captain, twisting his hard features into an inimitable expression of cunning and intelligence, “if they do not put my head in a poke, which I have known practised upon honourable soldados who have been suspected to come upon such errands as the present, your Excellency may rely on a preceese narra- tion of whatever Dugald Dalgetty shall hear or see, were it even how many turns of tune there are in M'Callum More’s pibroch, or how many checks in the sett of his plaid and trews.” “Enough,” answered Montrose; “farewell, Captain Dalgetty, and as they say that a lady’s mind is always expressed in her postscript, so I would have you think that the most important part of your com- mission lies in what I have last said to you.” Dalgetty once more grinned intelligence, and withdrew to victual his charger and himself, for the fatigues of his approaching mission. At the door of the stable, for Gustavus always claimed his first care, ho met Angus M'Aulay and Sir Miles Musgrave, who had been look- ing at his horse; and, after praising his points and carriage, both 180 A LEGEND OP MONTEOSE. [WAYEItLETt |

united in strongly dissuading the Captain from taking an animal of i such value with him upon his present very fatiguing journey. Angus painted in the most alarming colours tho roads, or ratherij- wild tracts, by which it would be necessary for him to travel intoij Argyleshire, and the wretched huts or bothies where he would be con-ij demned to pass the night, and where no forage could be procured forlji his horse, unless he could eat the stumps of old heather. In short, hell pronounced it absolutely impossible that, after undertaking such a pil- H grimage, the animal could be in any case for military service. The 1. Englishman strongly confirmed all that Angus had said, and gave I himself body and soul to the devil, if he thought it was not an act little 1 short of absolute murder to carry a horse worth a farthing into such a I waste and inhospitable desart. Captain Dalgetty for an instant looked I steadily, first at one of the gentlemen and next at the other, and then I] asked the n, as if in a state of indecison, what they would advise him to do with Gustavus under such circumstances. “By the hand of my father, my dear friend,” answered M'Aulay, “ if you leave the beast in my keeping, you may rely on his being fed and sorted according to his worth and quality, and that upon your happy return, you will find him as sleek as an onion boiled in butter.” “ Or,” said Sir Miles Musgrave, “if this worthy cavalier chuses to part with his charger for a reasonable sum, I have some part of the silver candlesticks still dancing the hoys in my purse, which I shall bo very willing to transfer to his.” “ In brief, mine honourable friends,” said Captain Dalgotty, again eyeing them both with an air of comic penetration, “ I find it would not be altogether unacceptable to either of you to have some token to remember the old soldier by, in case it shall please M‘Callum More to hang him up at the gate of his own castle. And doubtless it would be no small satisfaction to me, in such an event, that a noble and loyal cavalier like Sir Miles Musgrave, or a worthy and hospitable chieftain like our excellent landlord, should act as my executor.” Both hastened to protest that they had no such object, and insisted again upon the impassable character of the Highland paths. Angus M'Aulay mumbled over a number of hard Gaelic names, descriptive of the difficult passes, precipices, corries, and heals, through which he said the road lay to Inverary, when old Donald, who had now entered, sanc- tioned his master’s account of these difficulties, by holding up his hands, and elevating his eyes, and shaking his head at every guttural which M‘Aulay pronounced. But all this did not move the inflexible Captain. “My worthy friends,” said he, “Gustavus is not new to the dangers of travelling, and the mountains of Bohemia, (no disparagement to the heals and corries Mr Angus is pleased to mention, and of which Sir Miles, who never saw them, confirms the horrors,) these mountains may compete with tho vilest roads in Europe. In fact, my horse hath a most excellent and social quality, for although he cannot pledge mo NOVELS.] A LEGEND OE MONTROSE. 181

in my cup, yet we share our loaf between us, and it will be bard if he suffers famine where cakes or bannocks are to be found. And, to cut this matter short, I beseech you, my good friends, to observe the state of Sir Duncan Campbell’s palfrey, which stands in that stall before us fat and fair; and, in return for your anxiety on my account, I give you my honest asseveration, that while we travel the same road, both that palfrey and his rider shall lack food before either Gustavus or I.” Having said this, he filled a large measure with corn, and walked up with it to his charger, who, by his low whinnying neigh, his pricked ears, and his pawing, shewed how close the alliance was betwixt him and his rider. Nor did he taste his corn until he had returned his master’s caresses by licking his hands and face. After this interchange of greeting, the steed began to his provender with an eager dispatch, which shewed old military habits; and the master, after looking on the animal with great complacency for about five minutes, said,— !! “ Much good may it do your honest heart, Gustavus;—now must I go and lay in provant myself for the campaign.” He then departed, having first saluted the Englishman and Angus M‘Aulay, who remained looking at each other for some time in silence, and then burst out into a fit of laughter. “ That fellow,” said Sir Miles Musgrave, “ is formed to go through the world.” “I shall think so too,” said M'Aulay, “if he can slip through M'Callum More’s fingers as easily as he has done through ours.” “ Do you think,” said the Englishman, “ that the Marquis will not respect, in Captain Dalgetty’s person, the laws of civilized war ? ” “No more than I would respect a Lowland proclamation,” said Angus M'Aulay. “But come along, it is time I were returning to my guests.”

CHAPTER IX. In a rebellion, When what’s not meet, but what must be, was law, Then were they chosen; in a better hour, Let what is meet be said it must be meet. And throw their power i’ the dust.—Coriolanus. In a small apartment, remote from the rest of the guests assembled at the castle, Sir Duncan Campbell was presented with every species of refreshment, and respectfully attended by Lord Menteith, and by Allan M‘Aulay. His discourse with the latter turned upon a sort of hunting campaign in which they had been engaged together against the Child- ren of the Mist, with whom the Knight of Ardenvohr, as well as the M'Aulays, had a deadly and irreconcileable feud. Sir Duncan, how- ever, speedily endeavoured to lead back the conversation to the sub- ject of his present errand to the castle of Darnlinyarach. 182 A LEGEND OP MONTROSE. [WAVEiilEY

“ It grieved him to the very heart,” he said, “to see that friends and neighbours, who should stand shoulder to shoulder, were likely to he engaged hand to hand in a cause which so little concerned them. What signifies it,” he said to the Highland Chiefs, “whether King or Parliament got uppermost ? Were it not better to let them settle their own differences without interference, while the Chiefs in the moan time took the opportunity of establishing their own authority in a manner not to be called in question hereafter by either King or Parliament ? He reminded Allan M‘Aulay that the measures taken in the last reign to settle the peace, as -was alleged of the Highlands, were in fact levelled at the patriarchial power of the chieftains,—and he mentioned the celebrated settlement of the Fife undertakers, as they were called, in the Lewis, as part of a deliberate plan, formed to introduce strangers among the Celtic tribes, to destroy by degrees their ancient customs and mode of government, and to despoil them of the inheritance of their fathers. And yet,” he continued, addressing Allan, “it is for the purpose of giving despotic authority to the monarch by whom these designs have been nursed, that so many Highland chiefs are upon the point of quarrelling with, and drawing tho sword against their neigh- bours, allies, and ancient confederates.” “It is to my brother,” said Allan, “it is to the eldest son of my father’s house, that the Knight of Ardenvchr must address these re- monstrances. I am, indeed, tho brother of Angus; but in being so, I am only the first of his clansmen, and bound to show an example to the others by my cheerful and ready obedience to his command.” “The cause also,” said Lord Menteith, interposing, “is far more general than Sir Duncan Campbell seems to suppose it. It is neither limited to Saxon nor to Gael, to mountain nor to strath, to Highlands nor to Lowlands. The question is, if we will continue to be governed by the unlimited authority assumed by a set of persons in no respect superior to ourselves, instead of returning to the natural government of the Prince against whom they have rebelled. And respecting the interest of the Highlands in particular,” he added, “ I crave Sir Dun- can Campbell’s pardon for my plainness; but it seems very clear to me, that the only effect produced by the present usurpation, will be the aggrandisement of one overgrown clan at the expence of every in- dependent chief in the Highlands.” “ I will not reply to you, my lord,” said Sir Duncan Campbell, “be- cause I know your prejudices, and from whom they are borrowed; yet you will pardon my saying, that being at tho head of a rival branch of the House of Graham, I have both read of and known an Earl of Men- teith who would have disdained to have been tutored in politics, or to have been commanded in war, by an Earl of Montrose.” ‘ ‘ You will find it in vain, Sir Duncan,” said Lord Monteith, haugkily, “ to set my vanity in arms against my principles. The King gave my ancestors their title and rank; and these shall never prevent my act- Kovels.] A LEGEND OE MONTROSE. 183 ing, in the Royal cause, under any one who is better qualified than myself to be a commander-in-chief. Least of all, shall any miserable jealousy prevent me from placing my hand and sword under the guid- ance of the bravest, the most loyal, the most heroic spirit among our Scottish nobility.” “Pity,” said Sir Duncan Campbell, “that you cannot add to hia panegyric the farther epithets of the most steady, and the most consis- tent. But I have no purpose of debating these points with you, my lord,” waving his hand, as if ^o avoid further discussion ; “ the die is cast with you; allow me only to express my sorrow for the disastrous fate to which Angus M‘Aulay’s natural rashness, and your lordship’s influence, are dragging my gallant friend Allan here, with his father’s clan, and many a brave man besides.” “The die is cast for us all, Sir Duncan,” replied Allan, looking gloomy; “the iron hand of destiny branded our fate upon our fore- head long ere we could form a wish, or raise a finger in our own be- half. Were this otherwise, by what means does the Seer ascertain the future from those shadowy presages which hunt his waking and his sleepung eye ? Nought can be foreseen but that which is certain to happen.” Sir Duncan Campbell was about to reply, and the darkest and most contested point of metaphysics might have been brought into discussion betwixt two Highland disputants, when the door opened, and Annot Lyle, with her clairshach in her hand, entered the apartment. The freedom of a Highland maiden was in her step and in her eye; for, bred up in the closest intimacy with the Laird of M‘Aulay and his brother, with Lord Menteith, and other young men who frequented Darnlinvarach, she possessed none of that timidity which a female edu- cated chiefly among her own sex would either have felt, or thought necessary to assume, upon an occasion like the present. Her dress partook of the antique, for new fashions seldom penetrated into the Highlands, nor would they easily have found their way to a castle inhabited chiefly by men whose sole occupation was war and the chase. Yet Annot’s garments were not only becoming, but even rich. Her open jacket, with a high collar, was composed of blue cloth, richly embroidered, and had silver clasps to fasten, when it pleased the wearer. Its sleeves, which were wide, came no lower than the elbow, and ter- minated in a golden fringe; under this upper coat, if it can be so termed, she wore an under dress of blue satin, also richly embroidered, but which was several shades lighter in colour than the upper garment. The petticoat was formed of tartan silk, in the set, or pattern, of which the colour of blue greatly predominated, so as to remove the tawdry effect too frequently produced in tartan, by the mixture and strong opposition of colours. An antique silver chain hung round her neck, and supported the wrest, or key with which she tuned her instrument. A small ruff rose above her collar, and was secured by a broach of some 184 A LEGEND OF MONTROSE. [WAVEELEY value, an old keep-sake from Lord Menteith. Her profusion of light hair almost hid her laughing eyes, while, with a smile and a blush, she mentioned that she had M‘Aulay’s directions to ask them if they chose music. Sir Duncan Campbell gazed with considerable surprise and interest at the lovely apparition which thus interrupted his debate with Allan M'Aulay. “Can this,” he said to him in a whisper, “a creature so beautiful and elegant, be a domestic musician of your brother’s establishment?” “Byno means,” answered Allan, hastily, yet with some hesitation; “ she is a a—near relation of our family—and treated,” he added, more firmly, “ as an adopted daughter of our father’s house.” As he spoke thus, he arose from his seat, and with that air of cour- tesy which every Highlander can assume when it suits him to practise it, he resigned it to Annot, and offered to her, at the same time, what- ever refreshments the table afforded, with an assiduity which was pro- bably designed to give Sir Duncan an impression of her rank and consequence. If such was Allan’s purpose, however, it was unneces- sary. Sir Duncan kept his eyes fixed upon Annot with an expression of much deeper interest than could have arisen from any impression that she was a person of consequence. Annot even felt embarrassed under the old knight’s steady gaze; and it was not without considerable hesitation, that, tuning her instrument, and receiving an assenting look from Lord Menteith and Allan, she executed the following ballad, which our friend, Mr Secundus M'Pherson, whose goodness we had before to ac- knowledge, has thus translated into the English tongue:

THE ORPHAN MAID. November’s hail-cloud drifts away, November’s sun-beam wan Looks coldly on the castle grey, When forth comes lady Anne. The orphan by the oak was set, Her arms, her feet, were bare, The hail-drops had not melted yet, Amid her raven hair. “ And, dame,” she said, “by all the tics That child and mother know. Aid one who never knew these joys, Believe an orphan’s woe.” The lady said, “An orphan’s state Is hard and sad to bear; Yet worse the widowed mother’s fate, Who mourns both lord and heir. “ Twelve times the rolling year has sped, Since, while from vengeance wild Of fierce Strathallan’s chief I fled, Forth’s eddies whelmed my child.” novels.] A LEGEND OF MONTEOSE. 183

“ Twelve times the year its course has borne,” The wandering maid replied, “ Since fishers on St, Bi d ;et*s morn Drew nets on Ca.npsie side. *' St. Bridget sent no scaly spoil; An infant, well- ligh dead, They saved, ai d reared in want and toil, To beg from you her bread.” That orphan maid the lady kns'd,— “ My husband’s looks you bear; Sa n Bridget and her morn be blest! You are his widow'’s heir.” They’ve robed that maid, so poor and pale, In silk and sandals rare; A id pearls, for drops of fr< a n hail, Are glistening in her hair.* ! "While the song proceeded, Lord Menteith observed, with some sur- prise, that it appeared to produce a much deeper effect upon the mind of Sir Duncan Campbell, than he could possibly have anticipated from his age and character. He well knew that the Highlanders of that | period possessed a much greater sensibility both for tale and song than i was found among their Lowland neighbours; but even this, he thought, :i hardly accounted for the embarrassment with which the old man with- ■" drew his eyes from the songstress, as if unwilling to suffer them to rest ; on an object so interesting. Still less was it to be expected, that fea- ~j *The admirers of pure Celtic antiquity, notwithstanding the elegance of the above trans- lation, may be desirous to see a literal version from the original Gaelic, which we there- fore subjoin, and have only to add, that the original is deposited with Mr Jedediah Cleish' : botham. Literal Translation. The hail-blast had drifted away upon the wings of the gale of autumn. The sun looker I from between the clouds, pale as the wounded hero who rears his head feebly on the heath ' when the roar of battle hath passed over him. Einele, the Lady of the Castle, came forth to see her maidens pass to the herds with theii | leglins. There sat an orphan maiden beneath the old oak tree of appointment. The withered leaves fell around her, and her heart was more withered than they. The parent of the ice (poetically taken for the frost) still congealed the hail-drops in her hair; they were like the specks of white ashes on the twisted boughs of the blackened and half-consumed oak. And the maiden said, “ Give me comfort, Lady, I am an orphan child.” And the Lady replied, “ How can I give that which I have not? X am the widow of a slain lord,—the mother of a perished child. When I fled in my fear from the vengeance of my husband’s foe, our bark was overwhelmed ;n the tide, and my infant perished. This was on St. Bridget’s mom, near the strong Lyns of Campsie. May ill luck light upon the day.” And the maiden answered, “ It was on St. Bridget’s mom, and twelve harvests before this time, that the fishermen of Campsie drew in their nets neither grilse nor salmon, but an infant half-dead, who hath since lived in misery, and must die, unless she now is aided.” And the Lady an- swered, ‘‘Blessed be Saint Bridget and her morn, for these are the dark eyes and the falcon ; look of my slain lord; and thine shall be the inheritance of his widow.” And she called for her waiting attendants, and she bade them clothe that maiden in silk and in samite; ami the pearls which they have wove among her black tresses, were whiter than the frozen I hail-drops. 18G A LEGEND OP MONTROSE. [w'AVEItLET

tures which expressed pride, stern common sense, and the austere habit of authority, should have been so much agitated by so trivial a circum- stance. As the Chief’s brow became clouded, he drooped his large shaggy grey eye-brows until they almost concealed his eyes, on the lids of which something like a tear might be seen to glisten. He re-| mained silent and fixed in the same posture for a minute or two, after the last note had ceased to vibrate. Ho then raised his head, and having looked at Annot Lyle, as if about to speak to her, he as sud- denly changed that purpose, and was about to address Allan, when the door opened, and the Lord of the Castle made his appearance.

CHAPTER X. Dark on their journey lour’d the gloomy day, Wild were the hills, and doubtful grew the way; More dark, more gloomy, and more doubtful, skew’d The mansion, which received them from the road. The Travellers, a Romance, Angus M'Aulay was charged with a message which he seemed to find some difficulty in communicating; for it was not till after he had framed his speech several different ways, and blundered them all, that he succeeded in letting Sir Duncan Campbell know that the cavalier who was to accompany him was waiting in readiness, and that all was pre- pared for his return to Inverary. Sir Duncan Campbell rose up very indignantly; the affront which this message implied immediately driving out of his recollection the sensibility which had been awakened by the music. “I little expected this,” he said, looking indignantly at Angus M'Aulay. “ I little thought that there was a chief in the West High- lands, who, at the pleasure of a Saxon, would have bid the Knight of Ardenvohr leave his castle when the sun was declining from the mer- idian, and ere the second cup had been filled. But farewell, sir, the food of a churl does not satisfy the appetite; when I next revisit Darn- linvarach, it shall be with a naked sword in one hand and a fire-brand in the other.” “And if you so come,” said Angus, “I pledge myself to meet you fairly, though you brought five hundred Campbells at your back, and to afford you and them such entertainment that you shall not again complain of the hospitality of Darnlinvarach.” “ Threatened men,” said Sir Duncan, “live long. Your turn for gasconading, Laird of M'Aulay, is too well known, that men of honour should regard your vaunts. To you, my lord, and to Allan, who have supplied the place of my churlish host, I leave my thanks. And to you, pretty mistress,” he said, addressing Annot Lyle, “this little token of having opened a fountain which hath been dry for many a year.” So NOVELS.] A LEGEND OE MONTROSE, i87 saying ho left the apartment, and commanded his attendants to he summoned. Angus M'Aulay, equally embarrassed and incensed at the charge of inhospitality, which was the greatest possible affront to a Highlander, did not follow Sir Duncan to the court-yard, where mounting his palfrey, which was in readiness, followed by six mounted attendants, and accompanied by the noble Captain Dalgetty, who had also waited him, holding Gustayus ready for action, though he did not draw his girths and mount till Sir Duncan appeared, the whole cavalcade left the castle. The journey was long and toilsome, but without any of the extreme privations which the Laird of M'Aulay had prophesied. In truth, Sir Duncan was very cautious to avoid those nearer and more secret paths, by means of which the county of Argyle was accessible from the west- ward ; for his relation and chief, the Marquis, was used to boast, that he would not for a hundred thousand croAvns any mortal should know tho passes by which an armed force could penetrate into his country. Sir Duncan Campbell, therefore, rather shunned the Highlands, and falling into the low country, made for the nearest seaport, where he had several half-deck gallies, or birlings, as they were called, at his command. In one of these they embarked, with Gustayus in company, who was so seasoned to adventure, that land and sea seemed as in- different to him as to his master. The wind being favourable, they pursued their way rapidly with sails and oars; and early the next morning it was announced to Captain Dalgetty, then in a small cabin under the half-deck, that the galley was under the walls of Sir Duncan CampboU’s castle. Ardenvohr, accordingly, rose high above him, when ho came upon the deck of the galley. It was a gloomy square tower, of considerable size and great height, situated upon a headland projecting into the salt water lake, or arm of the sea, which they had entered on the pre- ceding evening. A wall, with flanking towers at each angle, surround- ed the castle to landward; but towards the lake, it was built so near the brink of the precipice as only to leave room for a battery of seven guns, designed to protect the fortress from any insult from that side, al- though situated too high to be of any effectual use according to the modern system of warfare. The eastern sun, rising behind the old tower, flung its shadow far on tho lake, darkening the deck of the galley, on which Captain Dalgotty now walked, waiting with some impatience the signal to land. Sir Duncan Campbell, as he was informed by his attendants, was already within the walls of the castle; but no one encouraged tho Captain’s proposal of following him ashore, until, as they stated, they should re- ceive the direct permission or order of the Knight of Ardenvohr. In a short time afterwards the mandate arrived, while a boat, with a piper in the bow, bearing the Knight of Ardenvohr’s crest in silver upon his left arm, and playing with all his might the family march, 188 A LEGEND OE MONTROSE. [wAvekley! entitled The Campbells are Coming, arriyed to conduct the envoy of: Montrose to the Castle of Ardenyohr. The distance between the gal-’ ley and the beach was so short as scarce to require the assistance of the eight sturdy rowers, in bonnets, short coats, and trews, whose efforts sent the boat to the little creek in which they usually landed, before | one could have conceived that it had left the side of the birling. Two of the boatmen, in spite of Dalgetty’s resistance, horsed the Captain on the back of a third Highlander, and wading through the surf with him, landed him high and dry upon the beach beneath the castle rock. In the face of this rock there appeared something like the entrance of a low- browed cavern, towards which the assistants were preparing to hurry our friend Dalgetty, when, shaking himself loose from them with some difficulty, he insisted upon seeing Gustavus safely landed before he pro- ceeded one step farther. The Highlanders could not comprehend what he meant, until one who had picked up a little English, or rather Low- land Scotch, exclaimed, “Houts! it’s a’ about her horse, ta useless baste.” Further remonstrance on the part of Captain Dalgetty was interrupted by the appearance of Sir Duncan Campbell himself, from the mouth of the cavern which we have described, for the purpose of inviting Captain Dalgetty to accept of the hospitality of Ardenvohr, pledging his honour, at the same time, that Gustavus should be treated as became the hero from whom he derived his name, not to mention the important person to whom he now belonged. Notwithstanding this satisfactory guarantee, Captain Dalgetty would still have hesitated, such was his anxiety to witness the fate of his companion Gustavus, had not two Highlanders seized him by the arms, two more pushed him on behind, while a fifth exclaimed, “ Hout awa’ wi’ the daft Sasse- nach! does she no hear the laird bidding her up to her ain castle, and is na that very mickle honour for the like o’ her ? ” Thus impelled, Captain Dalgetty could only keep a reverted eye to- wards the galley in which he had left the partner of his military toils. In a few minutes afterwards he found himself involved in the total dark- ness of a staircase, which, entering from the low-browed cavern which we have mentioned, winded upwards through the entrails of the living rock. “ The cursed Highland salvages,” muttered the Captain, half aloud; “ what is to become of me if Gustavus, the namesake of the invincible Lion of the Protestant league, should be lamed among their untenty hands.” “ Have no fear of that,” said the voice of Sir Duncan, who was nearer to him than he imagined; ‘ ‘ my men are accustomed to handle horses, both in embarking and dressing them, and you will soon see Gustavus as safe as when you last dismounted from his back.” Captain Dalgetty knew the world too well to offer any further re- monstrance, whatever uneasiness he might suppress within his own bosom. A step or two higher up the stair shewed light and a door. iKOVE-uJ.] A LEGEND OE MONl'KuSE, 189 b land an iron-grated wicket led him out upon a gallery cut in the open ic (face of the rock, extending a space of about six or eight yards, until i he reached a second door, where the path re-entered the rock, and i ] which was also defended by an iron portcullis. “ An admirable tra- i verse,” observed the Captain; “ and if commanded by a field-piece, or I«even a few musquets, quite sufficient to ensure the place against a 11 storming party.” 1! Sir Duncan Camphell made no answer at the time; but the moment ti afterwards, when they had entered the second cavern, he struck with ) the stick which he had in his hand, first on the one side, and then on ) the other of the wicket, and the sullen ringing sound which replied to ) the blows, made Captain Dalgetty sensible that there was a gun placed on each side for the purpose of raking the gallery through which they had passed, although the embrasures, through which they might be fired on occasion, were masqued on the outside with sods and loose I stones. Having ascended the second stair-case, they found themselves i again on an open platform and gallery, exposed to a fire both of mus- i quetry and wall-guns, if, being come with hostile intent, they had i ventured farther. A third flight of steps, cut in the rock like the for- i| mer, but not caverned over, led them finally into the battery at the foot of the tower. This last stair also was narrow and steep, and, not ; to mention the fire which might be directed on it from above, one or two resolute men, with pikes and battle-axes, could have made the pass good against hundreds, for the stair-case would not admit two persons abreast, and was not secured by any sort of balustrade or rail- ing from the sheer and abrupt precipice, on the foot of which the tide now rolled with a voice of thunder. So that, under the jealous pre- cautions used to secure this ancient Celtic fortress, a person of weak nerves, and a brain liable to become dizzy, might have found it some- thing difficult to have achieved the entrance to the castle, even sup- posing no resistance had been offered. Captain Dalgetty, too old a soldier to feel such tremors, was no sooner arrived in the court-yard, than he protested to God, the defences of Sir Duncan’s castle reminded him more of the notable fortress of Spandau, situated in the March of Brandenburgh, than of any place whilk it had been his fortune to defend in the course of his travels. Nevertheless, he criticised considerably the mode of placing the guns on the battery we have noticed, observing, that “ where cannon were perched, like to scarts or sea-gulls, on the top of a rock, he had ever observed that they astonished more by their noise than they dismayed by the damage which they occasioned.” Sir Duncan, without replying, conducted the soldier into the tower; the defences of which were a portcullis and iron-clenched oaken door, the thickness of the wall being the space between them. He had no sooner arrived in a hall hung with tapestry, than the Captain prose- cuted his military criticism. It was indeed suspended by the sight of 190 A LEGEND OE MONTROSE. [WAVEULEY' a an excellent breakfast, of which he partook with great avidity; but no > sooner had he secured this meal, than he made the tour of the apart*' ment, examining the ground around the castle very carefully from each window in the room. He then returned to his chair, and throw- ing himself back into it at his length, stretched out one manly leg, i and tapping his jack-boot with the riding-rod which he carried in his hand, after the manner of a half-bred man who affects ease in tho ; society of his betters, he delivered his unasked opinion as follows :— “ This house of yours, now, Sir Duncan, is a very pretty defensible sort of a tenement, and yet it is hardly such as a cavaliero of honour would expect te maintain his credit by holding out for many days. For, Sir Duncan, if it pleases you to notice, your house is over-crowed, | and slighted, or commanded, as we military men say, by yonder round hillock to the landward, whereon an enemy might stell such a battery of cannon as would make ye glad to beat a chanr Mo within forty-eight hours, unless it pleased the Lord extraordinary to shew mercy.” “There is no road,” replied Sir Duncan, nomewhat shortly, “by which cannon can be brought against Ardenvohr. The swamps and morasses would scarce carry your horse and yourself, excepting by such paths as could be rendered impassable within a few hours.” “ Sir Duncan,” said tho Captain, “it is your pleasure to suppose \ so ; and yet we martial men say, that where there is a sea-coast there is a naked side, seeing that cannon and munition, where they cannot bo transported by land, may be right easily brought by sea near to the place where they are to be put in action. Neither is a castle, how- ever secure in its situation, to bo accounted altogether invincible, or, ] as they say, impregnable ; for I protest t’ye, Sir Duncan, that I have known twenty-five men, by the mere surprise and audacity of the at- tack, win, at point of pike, as strong a hold as this of Ardenvohr, and put to the sword, cuptivate, or hold to tho ransom, the defenders, being ten times their own number.” Notwithstanding Sir Duncan Campbell’s knowledge of the world, and his power of concealing his internal emotion, he appeared piqued and hurt at these reflections, which tho Cajttain made with the most unconscious gravity, having merely selected the subject of conversa- tion as one upon which he thought himself capable of shining, and, ac they say, of laying down the law, without exactly recollecting that the topic might not be equally agreeable to his landlord. “ To cut this matter short,” said Sir Duncan, with an expression of voice and countenance somewhat agitated, “ it is unnecessary for you to tell me, Cajitain Dalgetty, that a castle may be stormed if it is not valorously defended, or surprised if it is not heedfully watched. I trust this poor house of mine will not be found in any of these predica- ments, should even Captain Dalgetty himself chuse to beleaguer it.” “ For all that, Sir Duncan,” answered the persevering commander, “ 1 would premonish you, as a friend, to trace out a sconce upon that rOVELS.] A LEGEND OF MONTROSE. 191

ound hill, with a good graffe or ditch, whilk may be easily accom- lished by compelling the labour of the boors in the vicinity ; it being Ithe custom of the valorous Gustavus Adolphus to fight as much by !the spade and shovel, as by sword, pike, and musquet. Also I would advise you to fortify the said sconce, not only by a foussie or graffe, but also by certain stackets or palisades.”—(Here Sir Duncan, becoming impatient, left the apartment, the Captain following him to the door, and raising his voice as he retreated, until he was fairly out of hearing.)—“ The whilk stackets or palisades should be artificially framed with re-entering angles and loop-holes, or crenelles, for mus- quetry, whereof it shall arise that the foemen The Highland brute! the old Highland brute ! They are as proud as peacocks, and as ob- stinate as tups—and here he has missed an opportunity of making his house as pretty an irregular fortification as an invading army ever broke their teeth upon. But I see,” he continued, looking down from the window upon the bottom of the precipice, ‘ ‘ they have got Gustavus safe ashore—proper fellow ! I would know that toss of his head among a whole squadron. I must go to see what they are to make of him.” He had no sooner reached, however, the court to the seaward, and put himself in the act of descending the stair-case, than two Highland sentinels, advancing their Lochaher axes, gave him to understand that this was a service of danger. “ Diavolo ! ” said the soldier, “ and I have got no pass-word. I could not speak a syllable of their salvage gibberish, an it were to save me from the provost-marshal.” “I will be your surety,” said Sir Duncan, “Captain Dalgetty,” who had again approached him without his observing from whence; ‘1 and we will go together, and see how your favourite charger is accommodated.” He conducted him accordingly down the stair-case to the beach, and from thence by a short turn behind a large rock, which concealed the stables and other offices belonging to the castle. Captain Dalgetty be- came sensible, at the same time, that the side of the castle to the land was rendered totally inaccessible by a ravine, partly natural and partly scarped with great care and labour, so as to be only passed by a draw- bridge. Still, however, the Captain insisted, notwithstanding the tri- umphant air with which Sir Duncan pointed out his defences, that a sconce should he erected on Drumsnab, the round eminence to the east of the castle, in respect the house might be annoyed from thence by burning bullets full of fire, shot out of cannon, according to the curious invention of Stephen Bathian, King of Poland, whereby that prince utterly ruined the great Muscovite city of Moscow. This invention Captain Dalgetty owned, he had not yet witnessed, but observed, “that it would give him particular delectation to witness the same put to the proof against Ardenvohr, or any other castle of similar strength;” ob- serving, ‘ ‘ that so curious an experiment could not but afford the greatest delight to all admirers of the military art.” 192 A LEGEND OP MONTROSE. [WAYERLE'?!

Sir Duncan Campbell diverted tbis conversation by carrying tboi soldier into bis stables, and suffering bim to arrange Gustavus accord-j ing to bis own will and pleasure. After tbis duty bad been carefully] performed, Captain Dalgetty proposed to return to tbe castle, observ- ing it was bis intention to spend tbe time betwixt tbis and dinner, wbicb, be presumed, would come upon tbe parade about noon, in bumisbing bis armour, wbicb having sustained some injury from tbe sea-air, might, be was afraid, seem discreditable in tbe eyes of M‘Cal- lum More. Yet, while they were returning to tbe castle, be failed not to warn Sir Duncan Campbell against tbe great injury be might sus- tain by any sudden onfall of an enemy, whereby bis horses, cattle, and granaries might be cut off and consumed, to bis great prejudice; wherefore, be again strongly conjured bim to construct a sconce upon tbe round bill called Drumsnab, and offered bis own friendly services in lining out tbe same. To tbis disinterested advice Sir Duncan only replied by ushering bis guest to bis apartment and informing bim that tbe tolling of tbe castle bell would make bim aware when dinner was ready.

CHAPTER XI. Is this thy castle, Baldwin ?—Melancholy Displays her sable banner from the donjon, Daikening the whole foam of the surge beneath, Were I a habitant, to see this gloom Pollute the face of nature, and to hear The ceaseless sound of wave, and seabird’s scream, I’d wish me in the hut that poorest peasant E’er framed, to give him temporary shelter.—Brown. The gallant Ritt-master would willingly have employed bis leisure in studying tbe exterior of Sir Duncan’s castle, and verifying bis own military ideas upon tbe nature of its defences. But a stout sentinel, who mounted guard with a Lochaber-axe at tbe door of bis apartment, gave bim to understand, by very significant signs, that be was in a sort of honourable captivity. “It is strange,” thought tbe Ritt-master to himself, “bow well these salvages understand tbe rules and practique of war. Who would have pre-supposed their acquaintance with tbe maxim of tbe great and god- like Gustavus Adolphus, that a flag of truce should be half a mes- senger half a spy ? ” And, having finished bumisbing bis arms, be sate down patiently to compute bow much half a doRar per diem would amount to at tbe end of a six month’s campaign ; and, when be had settled that problem, proceeded to tbe more abstruse calculations necessary for drawing up a battabon of two thousand men on the principle of extracting tbe square root. From bis musings, be was roused by tbe joyful sound of tbe dinner- bell, at tbe sound of wbicb, tbe Highlander, lately bis guard, became NOVELS.] A LEGEND OE MONTROSE. 193 his gentleman-usher, and marshalled him to the hall, where a table with four covers bore ample proofs of Highland hospitality. Sir Dun- can entered, conducting his lady, a tall, faded, melancholy female, dressed in deep mourning. They were followed by a presbyterian clergyman in his Geneva cloak, and wearing a black silk scull-cap, covering his short hair so closely, that it could scarce be seen at all, so that the unrestricted ears had an undue predominance in the general aspect. This ungraceful fashion was universal at the time, and led partly to the nicknames of roundheads, prick-eared curs, and so forth, which the insolence of the cavaliers liberally bestowed on their politi- cal enemies. Sir Duncan presented his military guest to his lady, who received his technical salutation with a stiff and silent reverence, in which it could scarce bo judged whether pride or melancholy had the greater share. The churchman, to whom he was next presented, eyed him with a glance of mingled dislike and curiosity. But the Captain, well ac- customed to worse looks from more dangerous persons, cared very little cither for those of the lady or of the divine, but bent his whole soul upon assaulting a huge piece of beef, which smoked at the nether end of the table. But the onslaught, as he would have termed it, was de- layed until the conclusion of a very long grace, betwixt every section of which Dalgetty handled his knife and fork, as he might have done his musket or pike when going upon action, and as often resigned them unwillingly when the prolix chaplain commenced another clause of his benediction. Sir Duncan listened with decency, though he was sup- posed rather to have joined the Covenanters out of devotion to his chief, than real respect for the cause either of liberty or of presbytery. His lady alone attended to the blessing, with symptoms of deep acqui- escence. The meal was performed almost in Carthusian silence; for it was none of Captain Dalgetty’s habits to employ his mouth in talking, while it could be more profitably occupied. Sir Duncan was absolutely silent, and the lady and churchman only occasionally exchanged a few words, spoken low, and indistinctly. But, when the dishes were removed, and their place supplied by liquors of various sorts, Captain Dalgetty no longer had, himself, the same weighty reasons for silence, and began to tire of that of the rest of the company. He commenced a new attack upon his landlord, upon the former ground. “Touching that round monticle, or hill, or eminence, termed Drum- snab, I would be proud to hold some dialogue with you, Sir Duncan, on the nature of the sconce to be there constructed; and whether the angles thereof should be acute or obtuse—anent whilk I have heard the great Yelt-Mareschal Bannier hold a learned argument with General Tiefenbach during a still-stand of aims.” ‘'Captain Dalgetty,” answered Sir Duncan very drily, “it is not G 194 A LEGEND OE MONTEOSE. [avaverley our Highland usage to debate military points with strangers. This i castle is like to hold out against a stronger enemy than any force which i the unfortunate gentlemen we left at Darnlinvarach are able to bring against it.” A deep sigh from the lady accompanied the conclusion of her bus- band’s speech, which seemed to remind her of some painful circum- stance. “He who gaATe,” said the clergyman, addressing her in a solemn ; tone, “hath taken away. May you, honourable lady, be long enabled to say blessed be his name.” To this exhortation, which seemed intended for her sole behoof, the lady answered by an inclination of her head, more humble than Captain Dalgetty had yet observed her make. Supposing he should now find her in a more comversible humour, ho proceeded to accost I her. “ It is indubitably very natural that your ladyship should be down- J cast at the mention of military preparations, whilk I have observed to 1 spread perturbation among women of all nations, and almost all con- ! ditions. Nevertheless, Penthesilea, in ancient times, and also Joan of Arc, and others, were of a different kidney. And, as I have learned while I served the Spaniard, the Duke of Alva in former times had the leagure-lasses who followed his camp marshalled into tertias, (whilk ' we call regiments), and officered and commanded by those of their own feminine, and regulated by a commander-in-chief, called in German Hureweibler, or, as we would say vernacularly, Captain of the Queans. True it is, they were persons not to be named as parallel to your lady- ship, being such quce qucestum corporibus faciebant, as we said of Jean Drochiels, at Mareschal-College, the same whom the French term curtisannes, and we in Scottish” “ The lady will spare you the trouble of further exposition, Captain Dalgetty,” said his host, somewhat sternly; to -which the clergyman added, “ that such discourse better befitted a Avatch-tower guarded by profane soldiery than the board of an honourable person, and the pre- sence of a lady of quality.” “ Craving your pardon, Domine or Doctor, aut quocunque alio nomine gandes, for I would haA’e you to know I haA'e studied polite letters,” said the unabashed euvoy, filling a great cup of Avine, ‘ ‘ I see no ground for your reproof, seeing I did not speak of those turpes personae, as if their occupation or character was a proper subject of conversation for this lady’s presence, but simply per accidens, as illustrating the matter in hand, namely, their natural courage and audacity, much enhanced, j doubtless, by the desperate circumstances of their condition.” “Captain Dalgetty,” said Sir Duncan Campbell, “to break short this discourse, I must acquaint you that I have some business to dis- patch to-night, in order to enable me to ride with you to-morrow towards Inverara, and therefore” IiiDVELS.] A LEGEND OE MONTROSE. 19o

“To ride witli tliis person to-moirow!” replied his lady; “such cannot be your purpose, Sir Duncan, unless you have forgotten that the morrow is a sad anniversary, and dedicated to as sad a solemnity.'’ “ I had not forgotten,” answered Sir Duncan; “how is it possible I can ever forget P but the necessity of the times requires I should send this officer onward to Inverara, without loss of time.” “Yet, surely, not that you should accompany him in person,” en- quired the lady. “It were better I did,” said Sir Duncan; “yet I can write to the Marquis, and follow on the subsequent day.—Captain Dalgetty, I will dispatch a letter for you, explaining to the Marquis of Argyle your character and commission, with which you will please to prepare to travel to Inverara, early to-morrow morning.” “Sir Duncan Campbell,” said Dalgetty, “I am doubtless at your discretionary disposal in this matter; not the less, I pray you to remember the blot which will fall upon your own escutcheon, if you do in any way suffer me, being a commissionate flag of truce, to be circumvented in this matter, whether clam, vi, vel 'precario\ I do not say by your assent to any wrong done to me, but even through absence of any due care on your part to prevent the same.” “You are under the safeguard of my honour, sir,” answered Sir Duncan Campbell, “ and that is more than a sufficient security. And now,” continued he, rising, “ I must set the example of retiring.” Dalgetty saw himself under the necessity of following the hint, though the hour was early; but, like a skilful general, he availed himself of every instant of delay which circumstances permitted. “Trusting to your honourable parole,” said he, filling his cup, “I drink to you, Sir Duncan, and to the continuance of your honourable house.” A sigh from Sir Duncan was the only reply. “Also, madam,” said the soldier, replenishing the quaigh with all possible dispatch, “I drink to your honourable health, and fulfilment of all your virtuous desires—and, reverend sir, (not forgetting to fit the action to the words,) I fill this cup to the drowning of all unkindness betwixt you and Captain Dalgetty—I should say Major—and, in respect the flagon contains but one cup more, I drink to the health of all honourable cavaliers and brave soldados—and the flask being empty, I am ready, Sir Duncan, to attend your factionary or sentinel to my place of pri- vate repose.” He recevied a formal permission to retire, and an assurance that as the wine seemed to be to his taste, another measure of the same vin- tage should attend him presently, in order to sooth the hour of his solitude. No sooner had the Captain reached the apartment than this promise was fulfilled; and, in a short time afterwards, the added comforts of a pasty of red-deer venison rendered him very tolerant both of confine- ment and want of society. The same domestic, a sort of chamberlain, 19C A LEGEND OF MONTfiOSE. [wavekleS

who placed this good cheer ia his apartment, delivered to Dalgetty a packet, sealed and tied up with a silken thread, according to the custom of the time, addressed with many forms of respect to the High and Mighty Prince, Archibald, Marquis of Argyle, Lord of Lome, and so forth. The chamberlain at the same time apprized the Eitt-master, that he must take horse at an early hour for Inverara, where the packet of Sir Duncan would be at once his introduction and his pass- port. Not forgetting that it was his object to collect information as well as to act as an envoy, and desirous, for his own sake, to ascertain Sir Duncan’s reasons for sending him onward without his personal at- tendance, the Eitt-master enquired at the domestic, with all the pre- caution that his experience suggested, what were the reasons which detained Sir Duncan at home on the succeeding day. The man, who was from the low country, replied, “ that it was the habit of Sir Dun- can and his lady to observe as a day of solemn fast and humiliation the anniversary upon which their castle had been taken by surprise, and their children, to the number of four, destroyed cruelly by a band of Highland freebooters during Sir Duncan’s absence upon an expedi- tion which the Marquis of Argyle had undertaken against the Mac- leans of the Isle of Mull.” “ Truly,” said the soldier, “ your lord and lady have some cause for fast and humiliation. Nevertheless, I will venture to pronounce, that if he had taken the advice of any experienced soldier, having skill in the pratiques of defending places of advantage, he would have built a sconce upon the small hill which is to the left of the drawbrigg. And this I can easily prove to you, mine honest friend; for, holding that pasty to be the castle—“ what’s your name, friend ? ” “Lorimer, sir,” replied the man. “ Hero is to your health, honest Lorimer.—I say, Lorimer—holding that pasty to be the main body or citadel of the place to be defended, and taking the marrow-bone for the sconce to be erected ” “I am,sorry, sir,” said Lorimer, interrupting him, “that I cannot stay to hear the rest of your demonstration; but the bell will presently ring. As worthy Mr Graneangowl, the Marquis’s own chaplain, does family worship, and only seven of our household out of sixty persons understanding the Scottish tongue, it would misbecome any one of them to be absent, and greatly prejudice me in the opinion of my lady. There are pipes and tobacco, sir, if you please to drink a whiff of smoke, and if you want any thing else, it shall be forthcoming two hours hence, when prayers are over.” So saying, he left the apart- ment. No sooner was he gone, than the heavy toll of the castle-bell sum- moned its inhabitants together; and was answered by the shrill clam- our of the females, mixed with the deeper tones of the men, as, talking Earse at the top of their throats, they hurried from different quarters by a long but narrow gallery, which served as a communication to NOVELS.] A LEGEND OE MONTROSE. 197 many rooms, and among others, to that in which Captain Dalgetty was stationed. “There they go as if they were beating to the roll- call,” thought the soldier to himself; “if they all attend the parade, I will look out, take a mouthful of fresh air, and make mine own ob- servations on the practicabilities of this place.” Accordingly, when all was quiet, he opened his chamber-door, and prepared to leave it; when, half whistling, half-humming a Gaelic tune, he saw his friend with the axe advancing towards him from the distant end of the gallery. To have shewn any want of confidence, would have been at once impolitic, and unbecoming his military character; so the Captain, putting the best face upon his situation he could, whistled a Swedish retreat, in a tone still louder than the notes of his sentinel; and retreating pace by pace, with an air of indifference, as if his only purpose had been to breathe a little fresh air, he shut the door in the face of his guard, when the fellow had approached within a few paces of him. Thus disappointed by the vigilance of his sentinel, Ritt-master Dal- getty retired to his apartment, where, amid the theoretic calculations of tactics, and the occasional more practical attacks on the flask and pasty, he consumed the evening until it was time to go to repose. In the morning, he was summoned by Lorimer at break of day, who gave him to understand, that when he had broken his fast, for which he produced ample materials, his guide and horse wore in attendance for his journey to Inverara. After complying with the hospitable hint of the Chamberlain, the soldier proceeded to take horse. In passing through the apartments, he observed that domestics were busily em- ployed in hanging the great hall with black cloth, a ceremony which, he said, he had observed practised when the immortal Gustavus Adolphus lay in state in the Castle of Wolgast, and which, therefore, he opined, was a testimonial of the strictest and deepest mourning. When Dalgetty mounted his steed, he found himself attended, or perhaps guarded, by five or six Campbells, well armed, commanded by one, who, from the target at his shoulder, and the short cock’s- feather in his bonnet, as well as from the state which ho took upon himself, claimed the rank of a Dunniewassel, or clansman of superior rank; and, indeed, from his dignity of deportment, could not stand in a more distant degree of relationship to Sir Duncan, than that of tenth or twelfth cousin at farthest. But it was impossible to extract positive information on this or any other subject, inasmuch as neither this commander nor any of his party spoke English. The Captain rode, and his military attendants walked ; but such was their activity, and so numerous the impediments which the nature of the road presented to the equestrian mode of travelling, that far from being retarded by the slowness of their pace, his difficulty was rather in keeping up with his guides. He observed that they occasionally watched him with a sharp eye, as if they were jealous of some effort to escape; and once. 198 A LEGEND OE MONTROSE. [WAVERLE?

as he lingered behind at crossing a brook, one of the gillies began to blow the match of his piece, giving him to understand that he would run some risque in case of an attempt to part company. Dalgetty did not augur much good from the close watch thus maintained upon his person; but there was no remedy, for an attempt to escape from his attendants in an impervious and unknown country, would have been little short of insanity. He therefore plodded patiently on through a waste and savage wilderness, treading paths which were only known to the shepherds and cattle-drivers, and passing with much more of discomfort than satisfaction many of those sublime combinations of mountainous scenery, which now draw visitors from every corner of England to feast their eyes upon Highland grandeur, and mortify their palates upon Highland fare. At length they arrived on the southern verge of that noble lake upon which Inverara is situated; and a bugle,, which the Dunniewassel winded till rock and greenwood rang, served us a signal to a well-manned galley, which, starting from a creek where it lay concealed, received the party on board, including Gus- tavus ; which sagacious quadruped, an experienced traveller both by water and land, walked in and out of the boat with the discretion of a Christian. Embarked on the bosom of Loch Eine, Captain Dalgetty might have admired one of the grandest scenes which nature affords. He might have noticed the rival rivers Aray and Shiray, which pay tribute to the lake, each issuing from its own dark and wooded retreat. He might have marked, on the soft and gentle slope that ascends from the shores, the noble old Gothic castle, with its varied outline, embattled walls, towers, and outer and inner courts, which, so far as the picturesque is concerned, presented an aspect much more striking than the present massive and uniform mansion. He might have admired those dark woods which for many a mile surrounded this strong and princely dwelling, and his eye might have dwelt on the picturesque peak of Duniquoich, starting abruptly from the lake, and raising its scathed brow into the mists of middle sky, while a solitary watch-tower, perched on its top like an eagle’s nest, gave dignity 4o the scene, by awakening a sense of possible danger. All these, and every other accompaniment of this noble scene, Captain Dalgetty might have marked, if he had been so minded. But, to confess the truth, the gal- lant captain, who had eaten nothing since day-break, was chiefly in- terested by the smoko which ascended from the castle chimnies, and the expectations which this seemed to warrant of his encountering an abundant stock of provant, as he was wont to call supplies of this nature. The boat soon approached the rugged pier, which abutted into the loch from the little town of Inverara, then a rude assemblage of huts, with a very few stone mansions interspersed, stretching upwards from the banks of Loch Eine to the principal gate of the castle, before which NOVELS.] A LEGEND OF MONTROSE. 199 a scene presented itself that might easily have quelled a less stout heart, and turned a more delicate stomach, than those of Ritter-master Dugald Dalgetty, titular of Drumthwacket.

CHAPTER XII. For close designs and crooked counsels fit, Sagacious, bold, and turbulent of wit, Restless, unfix’d in principle and place, In pow’r unpleased, impatient in disgrace. Absalom and Achitophel. The village of Inverara, now a neat county town, then partook of the rudeness of the seventeenth century, in the miserable appearance of the houses, and the irregularity of the unpaved street. But a stronger and more terrible characteristic of the period appeared in the market- place, which was a space of irregular width, half way betwixt the har- bour, or pier, and the frowning castle gate, which terminated with its gloomy arch-way, portcullis, and flankers, the upper end of the vista. Midway this space was erected a rude gibbet, on which hung five dead bodies, two of which from their dress seemed to have been Lowlanders, and the other three corpses were muffled in their Highland plaids. Two or three women sate under the gallows, who seemed to be mourn- ing and singing the coronach of the deceased, in a low voice. But the spectacle was apparently of too ordinary occurrence to have much in- terest for the inhabitants at large, who, while they thronged to look at the military figure, the horse of an unusual size, and the burnished panoply of Captain Dalgetty, seemed to bestow no attention whatever on the piteous spectacle which their own market-place afforded. The envoy of Montrose was not quite so indifferent, and hearing a word or two of English escape from a Highlander of decent appearance, he immediately halted Gustavus and addressed him. “ The Provost Marshal has been busy here, my friend. May I crave of you what these delinquents have been justified for ? ” He looked towards the gibbet as he spoke, and the Gael compre- hending his meaning rather by his action than his words, immediately replied, “ Three gentlemen caterans,—God sain them (crossing him- self)—twa Sassenach bits o’ bodies, that wadnado something M‘Callum More bade themand turning from Dalgetty with an air of indiffer- ence, away he walked, staying no further question. Dalgetty shrugged his shoulders and proceeded, for Sir Duncan Campbell’s tenth or twelfth cousin had already shewn some signs of impatience. At the gate of the Castle, another terrible spectacle of feudal power awaited him. Within a stockade or palisado, which seemed lately to have been added to the defences of the gate, and which was protected 200 A LEGEND OE MON THOSE. [WAYEIUVEY

by two pieces of light artillery, was a small inclosure, where stood a huge block, on which lay an axe. Both were smeared with recent blood, and a quantity of saw-dust strewed around, partly retained and partly obliterated the marks of a very late execution. As Dalgetty looked on this new object of terror, his principal guide suddenly twitched him by the skirt of his jerkin, and having thus at- tracted his attention, winked and pointed with his finger to a pole fixed on the stockade, which supported a human head, being that, doubtless, of the late sufferer. There was a leer on the Highlander’s face, as he pointed to this ghastly spectacle, which seemed to his fellow-traveller ominous of nothing good. Dalgetty dismounted from his horse at the gate-way, and Gustavus was taken from him without his being permitted to attend him to the stable according to his custom. This gave the soldier a pang which the apparatus of death had not conveyed.—“ Poor Gustavus,” said ho to himself, “ if anything but good happens to me, I had better have left him at Darlinvarach than brought him here among these Highland salvages, who scarce know the head of a horse from his tail. But duty must part a man from his nearest and dearest— “ When the cannons are roaring, lads, and the colours are flying, The lads that seek honour must never fear dying; Then, stout cavaliers, let us toil our brave trade in, And fight for the Gospel and the bold King of Sweden.'*

Thus silencing his apprehensions with the butt-end of a military bal- lad, he followed his guide into a sort of guard-room, filled with High- land soldiers. It was intimated to him that he must remain here until his arrival was communicated to the Marquis. To make this com- munication the more intelligible, he gave to the Dunniewassel Sir Duncan Campbell’s packet, desiring, as well as he could, by signs, that it should be delivered into the Marquis’s own hand. His guide nodded and withdrew. The Captain was left about half an hour in this place, to endure with indifference, or return with scorn, the inquisitive, and at the same time, the inimical glances of the armed Gael, to whom his exterior and equipage was as much subject of curiosity, as his person and country seemed matter of dislike. All this he bore with military nonchalance, until, at the expiry of the above period, a person dressed in black vel- vet, and wearing a gold chain like a modern magistrate of Edinburgh, but who was, in fact, steward of the household to the Marquis of Argyle, entered the apartment, and invited, with solemn gravity, the Captain to follow him to his master’s presence. The suite of apartments through which he passed, were filled with attendants or visitors of various descriptions, disposed, perhaps, with some ostentation, in order to impress the envoy of Montrose with an NOVELS.T A LEGEND OF MONTROSE. 201 idea of the superior power and magnificence belonging to the rival house of Argyle. One anti-room was filled with lacqueys, arrayed in brown and yellow, the colours of the family, who, ranged in double file, gazed in silence upon Captain Dalgetty as he passed betwixt their ranks. Another was occupied by Highland gentlemen and chiefs of small branches, who were amusing themselves with chess, backgam- mon, and other games, which they scarce intermitted to gaze with curiosity upon the stranger. A third was filled with Lowland gentle- men and officers, who seemed also in attendance; and after all, the presence-chamber of the Marquis himself, shewed him attended by a levee which marked his high importance. This apartment, the folding-doors of which were opened for the re- ception of Captain Dalgetty, wras a long gallery, decorated with tapestry and family portraits, and having a vaulted ceiling of open wood-work, the extreme projections of the beams being richly carved and gilded. The gallery was lighted by long lanceolated Gothic case- ments, divided by heavy stone shafts, and filled with painted glass, where the sunbeams glimmered dimly through boars-heads, and gal- leys, and batons, and swords, armorial bearings of the powerful house of Argyle, and emblems of the high hereditary offices of Justiciary of Scotland, and Master of the Royal Household, which they long en- joyed. At the upper end of this magnificent gallery stood the Marquis himself, the centre of a splendid circle of Highland and Lowland gentlemen, all richly dressed, among whom were two or three of the clergy, called in, perhaps, to be witnesses of his zeal for the Covenant. The Marquis himself was dressed in the fashion of the period, which Vandyke has so often painted; but his habit was sober and uniform in colour, and rather rich than gay. His dark complexion, furrowed forehead, and downcast look, gave him the appearance of one frequently engaged in the consideration of important affairs, and who has ac- quired, by long habit, an air of gravity and mystery, which he cannot shake off even where there is nothing to be concealed. The cast with his eyes, which had procured him in the Highlands the nickname of Gillespie Grumach (or the grim), was less perceptible when he looked downward, which perhaps was one cause of his having adopted that habit. In person, he was tall and thin, but not without that dignity of deportment and manners which became his high rank. Something there was cold in his address and sinister in his look, although he spoke and behaved with the usual grace of a man of such quality. He was adored by his own clan, whose advancement he had greatly studied, although he was in proportion disliked by the Highlanders of other septs, some of whom ho had already stripped of their possessions, while others conceived themselves in danger from his future schemes, and all dreaded the height to which he was elevated. We have already noticed, that in displaying himself amidst hia councillors, his officers of the household, and his train of vassals, allies, 202 A LEGEND OE MONTEOSE. [WAVEItLEY

and dependents, the Marquis of Argyle probably wished to mako un impression on the nervous system of Captain Dugald Dalgetty. But that doughty person had fought his way, in one department or another, through the greater part of the Thirty Years War in Germanj', a period when a brave and successful soldier was a companion for princes. The King of Sweden, and, after his example, even the haughty Princes of the Empire, had found themselves fain frequently to compound with their dignity, and silence when they could not satisfy the pecuniary claims of their soldiers, by admitting them to unusual privileges and familiarity. Captain Dugald Dalgetty had it to boast he had sate with princes at feasts made for monarchs, and therefore was not a person to be brow-beat even by the dignity which sur- rounded M‘Callum More. Indeed, he was naturally by no means the most modest man of the world, but, on the contrary, had so good an opinion of himself, that into whatever company he chanced to bo thrown, he was always proportionately elevated in his own conceit; so that he felt as much at ease in the most exalted society as among his own ordinary companions. In this high opinion of his own rank ho was greatly fortified by his ideas of the military profession, which, in his phrase, made a valiant cavalier a camarado to an emperor. When introduced, therefore, into the Marquis’s presence-chamber, he advanced to the upper end with an air of more confidence than grace, and would have gone close up to Argyle’s person before speak- ing, had not the latter waved his hand as a signal to him to stop short. Captain Dalgetty did so accordingly, and having made his military congee with easy confidence, he thus accosted the Marquis: “give you good morrow, my lord—or rather I should say, good even; Beso a usted los manos, as the Spaniard says.” “Who are you, sir, and what is your business P” demanded the Marquis, in a tone which was intended to interrupt the offensive fami- liarity of the soldier. “That is a fair interrogative, my lord,” answered Dalgetty, “which I shall forthwith answer as becomes a cavalier, and that peremptoHe, as we used to say at Mareschal-College.” “ See who or what he is, Neal,” said the Marquis sternly to a gentleman who stood near him.” “I wi.l save the honourable gentleman the labour of investigation,” continued the Captain. “I am Dugald Dalgetty, of DrumthWacket that should be, late Bitt-master in various services, and now Major of I know not what or whose regiment of Irishes: and I am come with a flag of truce from a high and powerful lord, James Earl of Montrose, and other noble persons now in arms for his Majesty, and so God save King Charles.” “ Do you know where you are, and the danger of dallying with us, sir,” again demanded the Marquis, “ that you reply to me as if I were a child or a fool f The Earl of Montrose is with the English malig- NOVELS.] A LEG-END OP MONTROSE. 203 nants, and I suspect you are one of these Irish runagates, who are come into this country to burn and slay, as they did under Sir Phelim O’Neale.” “ My lord,” replied Captain Dalgetty, “ I am no renegade, though a Major of Irishes, for which I might refer your lordship to the invin- cible Gustavus Adolphus the Lion of the North, to Bannier, to Oxen- stiern, to the warlike Duke of Saxe-Weimar, Tilly, Wallenstein, Pic^ colomini, and other great captains, both dead and living ; and touch- ing the noble Earl of Montrose, I pray your lordship to peruse these my full powers for treating with you in the name of that right hon- ourable commander.” The Marquis looked slighting at the signed and sealed paper which Captain Dalgetty handed to him, and throwing it with contempt upon a table, asked those around him what he deserved who came as the avowed envoy and agent of malignant traitors in arms against the state ? “ A high gallows and a short shrift,” was the ready answer of one of the bye-standers. “ I will crave of that honourable cavalier who hath last spoken,” said Dalgetty, “ to be less hasty in forming his conclusions, and also of your lordship to be cautelous in adopting the same, in respect such threats are to be held out only to base bisognos, and not to men of spirit and action, who aro bound to peril themselves as freely in ser- vices of this nature, as upon sieges, battles, or onslaughts of any sort. And albeit, I have not with mo a trumpet, or a white flag, in respect our army is not yet equipped with its full appointments, yet the hon- ourable cavaliers and your lordship must concede unto me, that the sanctity of an envoy who cometh on matter of truce or parle, consis- teth not in the fanfare of a trumpet, whilk is but a sound, or in the flap of a white flag, whilk is but an auld rag in itself, but in the con- fidence reposed by the party sending, and the party sent, in the hon- our of those to whom the message is to be carried, and their full reliance that they will respect the jus gentium as well as the law of arms in the person of the commissionate.” “ You aro not come hither to lecture us upon the law of arms, sir,” said the Marquis, ‘ ‘ which neither does nor can apply to rebels and in- surgents; but to suffer the penalty of your insolence and folly for bringing a traitorous message to the Lord Justice General of Scotland, whjso duty calls upon him to punish such an offence with death.” “Gentlemen,” said the Captain, who began much to dislike the turn which his mission seemed about to take, “I pray you to remember, that the Earl of Montrose will hold you and your possessions liable for whatever injury my person, or my horse, shall sustain by these rm- seemly proceedings, and that he will be justified in executing retribu- tive vengeance on your persons and possessions.” This menace was received with a scornful laugh, while one of the 20-1 A LEGEND OE MONTROSE. [WAYEELE?

Campbells replied, “It is a far cry to Lochow,” a proverbial expres- sion of tbe tribe, meaning that their ancient hereditary domains lay beyond the reach of an invading enemy. “ But, gentlemen,” further urged the unfortunate Captain, who was unwilling to be condemned, without at least the benefit of a full hearing, “ although it is not for me to say how far it may be to Lochow, in respect I am a stranger to those parts, yet what is more to the purpose, I trust you will ad- mit that I have the guarantee of an honourable gentleman of your own name, Sir Duncan Campbell of Ardenvohr, for my safety on this mission; and I pray you to observe, that in breaking the truce towards me, you will highly prejudicate his honour and fair fame.” This seemed to bo now information to many of the gentlemen, for they spoke aside with each other, and the Marquis’s face, notwith- standing his power of suppressing all external signs of his passions, shewed impatience and vexation. “Does Sir Duncan of Ardenvohr pledge his honour' for this person's safety, my lord?” said one of the company, addressing the Marquis. “I do not believe it,” answered the Marquis; “but I have not yet had time to read his letter.” “We will pray your lordship to do so,” said another of the Camp- bell’s; “ our name must not suffer discredit through the means of such a fellow as this.” “A dead fly,” said a clergyman, “maketh the ointment of the apo- thecary to stink.” “Reverend sir,” said Captain Dalgetty, “ in respect of the use to be derived, I forgive you the unsavouriness of your comparison; and also remit to the gentleman in the red bonnet, the disparaging epithet of ftllow which ho has discourteously applied to me, who am no way to bo distinguished by the same, unless in as far as I have been called fellow-soldier by the great Gustavus Adolphus, the Lion of the North, and other choice commanders, both in Germany and the Low Coun- tries. But touching Sir Duncan’s guarantee of my safety, I will gage my life upon his making my words good thereanent, when he comes hither to-morrow.” “If Sir Duncan be so soon expected, my lord,” said one of the inter- cessors, “it would be a pity to anticipate matters with this poor man.” “Besides that,” said another, “your lordship—I speak with rever- ence—should, at least, consult the Knight of Ardcnvohr’s letter, and learn the terms on which this Major Dalgotty, as he calls himself, has been sent hither by him.” They closed around the Marquis, and conversed together in a low rone, both in Gaelic and English. The patriarchial power of the Chiefs was very great, and that of the Marquis of Argyle, armed with all his grants of hereditary jurisdiction, was particularly absolute. But there interferes some check of one kind or other even in the most despotic NOVELS.] A LEGEND OF MONTROSE. 205 government. That which mitigated the power of the Celtic Chiefs, was the necessity which they lay under of conciliating the kinsmen, who, under them, led out the lower orders to battle, and who formed a soit of council of the tribe in time of peace. The Marquis on this occasion thought himself under the necessity of attending to the remonstrances of this senate, or more properly Couroultai, of the name of Campbell, and, slipping out of the circle, gave orders for the prisoner to he re- moved to a place of security. “Prisoner!” exclaimed Dalgetty, exerting himself with such force as well nigh to shake off two Highlanders, who for some minutes past had waited the signal to seize him, and kept for that purpose close at his back. Indeed the soldier had so nearly attained his liberty, that the Marquis of Argyle changed colour, and stepped back two paces, laying, however, his hand on his sword, while several of his clan, with ready devotion, threw themselves betwixt him and the apprehended vengeance of the prisoner. But the Highland guards were too strong to be shaken off, and the unlucky Captain, after having had his offen- sive weapons taken from him, was dragged off and conducted through several gloomy passages to a small side-door grated with iron, within which was another of wood. These were opened by a grim old High- lander with a long white beard, and displayed a very steep and narrow flight of steps leading downward. The Captain’s guards pushed him down two or three steps, then, unloosing his arms, left him to grope his way to the bottom as he could, a task which became difficult and even dangerous, when the two doors being successively locked, left the prisoner in total darkness.

CHAPTER XIII. Whatever stranger visits here, We pity his si d case, Unless to worship hi < nw near, The King of King!—his Grace. Burns’s Epigram on a visit to Inverary, The Captain finding himself deprived of light, in the manner we have described, and placed in a very uncertain situation, proceeded to de- scend the narrow and broken stair with all the caution in his power, hoping that he might find at the bottom some place to repose himself. But with all his care he could not finally avoid making a false step, which brought him down the four or five last steps too hastily to pre- serve his equilibrium. At the bottom he stumbled over a bundle of something soft, which stirred and uttered a groan, so deranging the Captain’s descent, that he floundered forward, and finally fell upon his hands and knees on the floor of a damp and stone-paved dungeon. When Dalgetty had recovered, his first demand was to know over whom he had stumbled. 20(5 A LEGEND OP MONTEOSE. [WAVEELEY

“ He was a man a month since,” answered a hollow and broken voice. “And what is he now, then,” said Dalgetty, “ that he thinks it fit- ting to lie upon the lowest step of the stairs, and clew’d up like a hur- chin, that honourable cavaliers, who chance to be in trouble, may break their noses over him ?” “What is he now?” replied the same voice; “He is a wretched ] trunk, from which the boughs have one by one been lopped away, and j which cares little how soon it is torn up and hewed into billets for the furnace.” “ Priend,” said Dalgetty, “ I am sorry for you; butpatienza, as the Spaniard says. If you had but been as quiet as a log, as you call yourself, I should have saved some excoriations on my hands and knees.” “ You are a soldier,” replied his fellow-prisoner, “do you complain on account of a fall for which a boy would not bemoan himself?” “A soldier,” said the Captain; “and how do you know, in this , cursed dark cavern, that I am a soldier ?” “I heard your armour clash as you fell,” replied the prisoner, “and now I see it glimmer. When you have remained as long as I in this !: darkness, your eyes will distinguish the smallest eft that crawls on the floor.” “I had rather the devil picked them out! ” said Dalgetty; “if this | be the case, I shall wish for a short turn of the rope, a soldier’s prayer, and a leap from a ladder. But what sort of provant have you got here —what food, I mean, brother in affliction ? ” “Bread and water once a day,” replied the voice. “Pri’thee, friend, let me taste your loaf,” said Dalgetty; “I hope wo shall play good comrades while we dwell together in this abominable pit.” “ The loaf and jar of water,” answered the other prisoner, “ stand in the corner, two steps to your right hand. Take them, and welcome. With earthly food I have well nigh done.” Dalgetty did not wait for a second invitation, but groping out the provisions, began to munch at the stale black oaten loaf with as much heartiness as we have seen him play his part at better viands. “This bread,” he said, muttering with his mouth full at the same time “is not very savoury; nevertheless, it is not much worse than that which we ate at the famous leaguer at Werben, where the valor- ous Gustavus foiled all the efforts of the celebrated Tilly, that terrible ,jid hero, who had driven two kings out of the field—namely, Ferdinand of Bohemia, and Christian of Denmark.—And anent this water, which is none of the most sweet, I drink in the same to your speedy deliver- ance, comrade, not forgetting mine own, and devoutly wishing it were Ehenish wine, or humming Lubeck beer, at the least, were it but in honour of the pledge.” While Dalgetty ran on in this way, his teeth kept time with his ton- gue, and he speedily finished the provisions which the benevolence or Novels.] A LEGEND OE MONTROSE. 207 indifference of his companion in misfortune had abandoned to his vor- acity. When this task vas accomplished, he wrapped himself in his cloak, and seating himself in a corner of the dungeon in which he could obtain a support on each side, (for he had always been an admirer of elbow-chairs, he remarked, even from his youth upward,) he began to question his fellow-captive. “Mine honest friend,” said he, “you and I being comrades at bed and board, should be better acquainted. I am Dugald Dalgetty of Drumthwacket, and so forth, Major in a regiment of loyal Irishes, and Envoy Extraordinary of a High and Mighty Lord, James, Earl of Montrose—Pray, what may your name be ? ” “ It will avail you little to know,” replied his more taciturn com- panion. “ Let me judge of that matter,” answered the soldier. “ Well, then—Ranald MacEagh is my name—that is, Ranald Son of the Mist.” “Son of the Mist! ” ejaculated Dalgetty. “ Son of utter darkness, say I. But Ranald, since that is your name, how came you in pos- session of the provost’s court of guard ? what the devil brought you here, that is to say ?” “My misfortunes and my crimes,” answered Ranald. “Know ye the Knight of Ardenvohr?” “ I do know that honourable person,” replied Dalgetty. “ But know ye where he now is ? ” replied Ranald. “Easting this day at Ardenvohr, that he may feast to-morrow at Inverara; in which last purpose if he chance to fail, my lease of hu- man service will be something precarious.” “Then let him know one claims his intercession, who is his worst foe and his best friend,” answered Ranald. “Truly I shall desire to carry a less questionable message,” an- swered Dalgetty. “Sir Duncan is not a person to play at reading riddles with.” “ Craven Saxon,” said the prisoner, “tell him I am the raven that fifteen years since stoop’d on his tower of strength and the pledges he had left there—I am the wolf that found out his den on the rock, and destroyed his offspring—I am the leader of the band which surprised A.rdenvohr yesterday was fifteen years, and gave his four children to the sword.” “Truly, my honest friend,” said Dalgetty, “if that is your best re- commendation to Sir Duncan’s favour, I would pretermit my pleading thereupon, in respect I have observed that even the animal creation are incensed against those who intromit with their offspring forcibly, much more any rational and Christian creature. Bcft I pray you in. courtesy to tell me whether you assailed the castle from the hillock called Drumsnab, whilk I uphold to be the true point of attack, unless it were to be protected by a sconce.” 208 A LEGEND OE MONTROSE. [WAVEKLEY

“ We ascended the cliff by ladders of ropes,” said the prisoner, “ drawn up by an accomplice and clansman, who had served six months in the castle to enjoy that one night of unlimited vengeance. The owl whooped around us as we hung betwixt heaven and earth; the tide roared against the foot of the rock, and dashed asunder our skiff, yet no man’s heart failed him. In the morning there was blood and ashes, where there had been peace and joy at the sunset.” ‘‘It was a pretty camisade, I doubt not, Ranald MacEagh; a very sufficient onslaught, and worthily discharged. Nevertheless, I would have pressed the house from that little hillock called Drumsnab. But yours is a pretty irregular Scythian fashion of warfare, Ranald, much resembling that of Turks, Tartars, and other Asiatic people. But the reason, my friend, the cause of this war—the teterrima causa, as I may say P Deliver me that, Ranald.” “We had been pushed at by the M'Aulays, and other western tribes,” said Ranald, “ till our possessions became unsafe for us.” ‘ ‘ Ah ha! ” said Dalgetty; “I have faint remembrance of having heard of that matter. Did you not put bread into a man’s mouth, when he had never a stomach whereunto to transmit the same ? ” “ You have heard, then,” said Ranald, “ the tale of our revenge on the haughty forester?” “ I bethink me that I have,” said Dalgetty, “ and that not of an old date. It was a merry jest that, of cramming the bread into the dead man’s mouth, but somewhat too wild and salvage, besides wasting the good victuals. I have seen when at a siege or a leaguer, Ranald, a living soldier would have been the better, Ranald, for that crust of bread whilk you threw away on a dead pow.” “ We were attacked by Sir Duncan,” continued MacEagh, “ and my brother was slain—his head was withering on the battlements which we scaled—I vowed revenge, and it is a vow I have never broken.” “It may be so,” said Dalgetty: “and every thorough-bred soldier will confess that revenge is a sweet morsel; but in what manner this story will interest Sir Duncan in your justification, unless it should move him to intercede with the Marquis to change the manner thereof from hanging or simple suspension, to breaking your limbs on the roue, or wheel, with the coulter or a plough, or otherwise putting you to death by torture, surpasses my comprehension. Were I you, Ranald, I would be for miskenning Sir Duncan, keeping my own secret, and departing quietly by suffocation, like your ancestors before you,” “Yet hearken, stranger,” said the Highlander. “Sir Duncan of Ardenvohr had four children. Three died under our dirks, but the fourth survives; and more would he give to dandle on his knee the fourth child which remains, than to rack these old bones, which care little for the utmost indulgence of his wrath. One word, if I list to speak it, could turn his day of humiliation and fasting into a day of thankfulness and rejoicing and breaking of bread. 0 I know it by KOVELS.] A LEGEND OP MONTROSE. 209 my own heart! Dearer to me is the child Kenneth, who chaseth the butterfly on the banks of theAven, than ten sons who are mouldering in earth, or are preyed on by the fowls of the air.” “I presume, Ranald,” continued Dalgetty, “that the three pretty fellows whom I saw yonder in the market place, strung up by the head like rizzer’d haddocks, claimed some interest in you ? ” There was a brief pause ere the Highlander replied, in a tone of strong emotion,—“ They were my sons, stranger—they were my sons! ■—blood of my blood—bone of my bone!—fleet of foot—unerring in aim —unvanquished by foemen till the sons of Diarmid overcame them by numbers! Why do I wish to survive them ? The old trunk will less feel the rending ujd of its roots, than it has felt the lopping off of its graceful boughs. But Kenneth must be trained to revenge—the young eagle must learn from the old how to stoop on his foes. I will pur- chase for his sake my life and my freedom, by discovering my secret to the Knight of Ardenvohr.” “You may attain your end more easily,” said a third voice, mingling in the conference, “by entrusting it to me.” All Highlanders are superstitious. “The Enemy of Mankind is among us! ” said Ranald MacEagh, springing to his feet. His chains clattered as he rose, while he drew himself as far as they permitted from the quarter whence the voice appeared to proceed. His fear in some degree communicated itself to Captain Dalgettj^, who began to repeat, in a sort of polyglott gibberish, all the exorcisms be had ever heard of, without being able to remember more than a word or two of each. “ In nomine domini, as we said at Mareschal-College—santissima 7rt7dre di dios, as the Spaniard has it—alls gtMen geistcr loben den Herrn, caith the blessed Psalmist, in Doctor Luther’s translation ” “A truce with your exorcisms,” said the voice they had heard be- fore ; “though I come strangely upon you, I am mortal like yourselves, and my assistance may avail you in your present straight, if you are not too proud to be counselled.” While the stranger thus spoke, he withdrew the shade of a dark lan- tern, by whose feeble light Dalgetty could only discern that the speaker who had thus mysteriously united himself to their company, and mixed in their conversation, was a tall man, dressed in a livery cloak of the Marquis. His first glanco was to his feet, but he saw neither the cloven foot which Scottish legends assign to the foul fiend, nor the horse’s hoof by which he is distinguished in Germany. His first en- quiry was how the stranger had come among them P “For,” said he, “the creak of these rusty bars would have been heard had the door been made patent; and if you passed through the key-hole, truly, sir, put what face you will on it, you are not fit to bo enrolled in a regiment of living men.” “I reserve my secret,” answered the stranger, “until you shall merit the discovery by communicating to me some of yours. It may 210 A LEGEND OE MONTROSE. [WAVEltLEY

bo tliat I shall bo moved to let you out where I myself came in.” I “It cannot bo through the key-hole then,” said Captain Dalgotty, I ‘ ‘ for my corslet would stick in the passage were it possible that my head-piece could get through. As for secrets, I have none of my own, and but few appertaining toothers. But impart to us what secrets you desire to know; or, as Professor Snufflegreek used to say at the Mare- ! venal-College, Aberdeen, speak that I may know thee.” “ It is not with you I have first to do,” replied the stranger, turning his light full on the wild and wasted features, and the large limbs of tho Highlander, Ranald MacEagh, who, close drawn up against the walls of tho dungeon, seemed yet uncertain whether his guest was a living being. “ I have brought you something, my friend,” said the stranger, in a more soothing tone, “ to mend your fare; if you are to die to-morrow, it is no reason wherefore 3rou should not live to-night.” “ None at all—no reason in the creation,” replied the ready Captain Dalgetty, who forthwith began to unpack the contents of a small bas- ket which the stranger had brought under his cloak, while tho High- lander, either in suspicion or disdain, paid no attention to the good cheer. “ Here’s to thee, my friend,” said tho Captain, who having already dispatched a huge piece of roasted kid, was now taking a pull at tho wine-flask. “ What is thj^ name, my good friend ?” “Murdoch Campbell, sir,” answered the servant, “a lackey of the Marquis of Argyle, and occasionally acting as under-warden.” “ Then here is to thee once more, Murdoch,” said Dalgetty, “ drink- ing to jtou by your proper name for the better luck sake. This wine I take to be calcavella. Well, honest Murdoch, I take it on me to say, thou deservest to be upper-warden, since thou showest thyself twenty times better acquainted with the way of victualling honest gentlemen that are under misfortune, than thy principal. Broad and water ? out upon him I It was enough, Murdoch, to destroy the credit of the Mar- quis’s dungeon. But I see you would converse with my friend, Ran- ald MacEagh here. Never mind my presence; I’ll get me into this cor- ner here, with the basket, and I will warrant my jaws make noise enough to prevent my ears from hearing you.” Notwithstanding this promise, however, the veteran listened with all the attention he could to hearken to this discourse, or, as he described it himself, “ laid his ears back in his neck, like Gustavus when ho heard tho key turn in the girnel-kist.” He could, therefore, owing to tho narrowness of tho dungeon, easily overhear the following dialogue. “ Are you aware, Son of the Mist,” said the Campbell, “ that jmu will never leave this place excepting for tho gibbet ?” ” Those who are dearest to me,” answered MacEagh, “ have trod that path before me.” “ Then you would do nothing,” asked tho visitor, “ to shun following them ? ” KOVELS.] A LEGEND OF MONTROSE. 211

The prisoner ■writhed himself in his chains before returning an answer. “I would do much,” at length he said; “not for my own life, but for the sake of the pledge in the glen of Strath-Aven.” “ And what would you do to turn away the bitterness of the hour F ” again demanded Murdoch; “I care not for what cause ye moan to shun it.” “ I would do what a man might do, and still call himself a man.” “ Do you call yourself a man,” said the interrogator, “ who have 4 done the deeds of a wolf ? ” “ I do,” answered the outlaw; “ I am a man like my forefathers— while wrapt in the mantle of peace, we were lambs—it was rent from us, and ye now call us wolves. Give us the huts ye have burned, our children whom ye have murdered, our widows whom ye have starved—- collect from the gibbet and the pole the mangled carcases, and whitened skulls of our kinsmen—bid them live and bless us, and we will be your vassals and brothers—till then, let death, and blood, and mutual wrong, draw a dark veil of division between us.” “ You will then do nothing for your liberty,” said the Campbell. Any thing—but call myself the friend of your tribe,” answered MacEagh. “We scorn the friendship of banditti and caterans,” retorted Mur- doch, “and would not stoop to accept it.—What I demand to know from you, in exchange for your liberty is, where the daughter and heiress of the Knight of Ardenvohr is now to be found.” “That you may wed her to some beggarly kinsman of your groat master,” said Ranald, “ after the fashion of the Children of Diarmid ! Does not the valley of Glenorquhy, to this very hour, cry shame on tho violence offered to a helpless infant whom her kinsmen were conveying to the court of the Sovereign ? Were not her escort compelled to hide her beneath a cauldron, round which they fought till not one remained to tell the tale!—and was not tho girl brought to this fatal castle, and afterwards wedded to the brother of M'Callum More, and all for the sake of her broad lands ? ” “And if the tale be true,” said Murdoch, “ she had a preferment be- yond what tho King of Scots would have conferred on her. But this is far from the purpose. The daughter of Sir Duncan of Ardenvohr is of our own blood, not a stranger; and who has so good a right to know her fate as M‘Callum More, the chief of her clan ? ” “It is on his part, then, that you demand it?” said tho outlaw. The servant of the Marquis assented. “ And you will practise no evil against tho maiden ?—I have done her wrong enough already.” “ No evil, upon the word of a Christian man,” replied Murdoch. “ And my guerdon is to be life and liberty ? ” “ Such is our paction,” said the Campbell. 212 a LEGEND OP MONTROSE. [wayerle? 1

“ Then know, that the child whom I saved out of compassion at the1 1 spoiling of her father’s tower of strength, was bred as an adopted 1 daughter of our tribe, until we were worsted at the pass of Ballen- 6 duthil, by the fiend incarnate and mortal enemy of our tribe, Allan j M‘Aulay of the Bloody hand, and by the horsemen of Lennox, under the heir of Mentoith.” “ Pell she into the power of Allan of the Bloody hand,” said Mur- doch, “ and she a reputed daughter of thy tribe ? then her blood has gilded the dirk, and thou hast said nothing to rescue thine own forfeited life.” “ If my life rest on her’s,” answered the outlaw, “ it is secure, for she still survives; but it has a more insecure reliance—the frail pro- mise of a son of Diarmid.” “ That promise shall not fail you,” said the Campbell, “ if you can assure me that she survives, and where she is to be found.” “In the castle of Darnlinvarach,” said Ranald MncEagh, “under the name of Annot Lyle. I have often heard of her from my kinsmen, who have again approached their native woods, and it is not long since mine old eyes beheld her.” “You ! ” said Murdoch, in astonishment, “ you, a chief among the children of the Mist, and ventured so near your mortal foe! ” “ Son of Diarmid, I did more,” replied the outlaw; “ I was in the ■ hall of the castle, disguised as a harper, from the wild shores of Skia- nach. My purpose was to have plunged my dirk in the body of the M'Aulay with the Bloody hand, before whom our race trembles, and to have taken thereafter what fate God should send me. But I saw Annot Lyle, even when my hand was on the hilt of my dagger. She j touched her clairshach to a song of the Children of the Mist, which she had learned when her dwelling was amongst us. The woods in which we had dwelt pleasantly, rustled their green leaves in the song, and our streams were there with the sound of all their waters. My hand forsook the dagger; the fountains of mine eyes were opened, and the hour of revenge passed away.—And now, son of Diarmid, have I not paid the ransom of my head P ” “ Ay,” replied Murdoch, “ if your tale be true ; but what proof can you assign for it ? ” “ Bear witness heaven and earth,” exclaimed the outlaw, “heal- ready looks how he may step over his word ! ” “ Not so,” replied Murdoch ; “ every promise shall bo kept to you when I am assured you have told me the truth. But I must speak a few words with your companion in captivity.” “Fair and false—ever fair and false,” muttered the prisoner, as he threw himself once more on the floor of his dungeon. Meanwhile, Captain Dalgetty, who had attended to every word of this dialogue, was making his own remarks on it in private. “ What the henker can this sly fellow have to say to me ? I have no child. KOVELS.] A LEGEND OE MONTROSE. 213

either of my own, so far as I know, or of any other person, to tell him a tale about. But let him come on—ho will have some manoeuvring ere he turn the flank of the old soldier.” Accordingly, as if ho had stood pike in hand to defend a breach, ho waited with caution, but without fear, the commencement of the at- tack. “You are a citizen of the world, Captain Dalgetty,” said Mur- doch Campbell, “and cannot bo ignorant of our old Scotch proverb gif-gaf, which goes through all nations and all services.” “ Then I should know something of it,” said Dalgetty, “for, except the Turks, there are few powers in Europe whom I have not served ; and I have sometimes thought of taking a turn cither with Bethlem Gabor, or with the Janizaries.” “A man of your experience and unprejudiced ideas, then, will un- derstand me at once,” said Murdoch, “ when I say, I mean that your freedom shall depend on your true and upright answer to a few trilling questions respecting the gentlemen you have left; their state of pre- paration ; the number of their men, and nature of their appointments; and as much as you chance to know about their plan ot operations.” “Just to satisfy your curiosity,” said Dalgetty, “ and without any farther purpose ? ” “ None in the world,” replied Murdoch , ‘ what interest should a poor devil like me take in their operations ? ” “ Make your interrogations then,” said the Captain, “ and I will answer them peremptvrie.” “ How many Irish may be on their march to join James Grahamo the malignant ? ” “ Probably ten thousand,” said Captain Dalgetty. “ Ten thousand ! ” replied Murdoch angrily ; “ we know that scarce two thousand landed at Ardnamurchan.” “ Then you know more about them than I do,” answered Captain Dalgetty, with great composure. “ I never saw them mustered yet, or even under arms.” “ And how many men of the clans may be expected F ” demanded Murdoch. “ As many as they can make,” replied the Captain. “ You are answering from the purpose, sir,” said Murdoch; “ speak plainly, will there be five thousand men P ” j “ There and thereabouts,” answered Dalgetty. “ You are playing with your life, sir, if you trifle with me,” replied the catechist; “one whistle of mine, and in less than ten minutes your head hangs on the drawbridge.” “But to speak candidly, Mr Murdoch,” replied the Captain, “do you think it is a reasonable thing to ask me after the secrets of our army, and I engaged to serve for the whole campaign P If I taught you how to defeat Montrose, what becomes of my pay, arrears, and chance of booty ? ” m A LEGEND OF MONTROSE. [WAVEULE

“ I tell you,” said Campbell, “that if you be stubborn, your cam- paign shall begin and end in a march to the block at the castle-gate, which stands ready for such land-laufers; but if you answer my ques- | tions faithfully, I will receive you into my—into the service of M'Cal- | Lum More.” “ Does the service afford good pay ? ” said Captain Dalgetty. “He will double yours, if you will return to Montrose and act under | his direction.” “ I wish I had seen you, sir, before taking on with him,” said Dal- getty, appearing to meditate. “On the contrary, I can afford you more advantageous terms now,” said the Campbell; “ always supposing that you are faithful.” “Faithful, that is, to you, and a traitor to Montrose,” answered the I Captain. “ Faithful to the cause of religion and good order,” answered Mur- doch, “ which sanctifies any deception you may employ to serve it.” “ And the Marquis of Argylo,—should I incline to enter his service, Lb he a kind master ? ” demanded Dalgetty. “ Never man kinder,” quoth Campbell. “ And bountiful to his officers f ” pursued the Captain. “The most open hand in Scotland,” replied Murdoch. “ True and faithful to his engagements ? ” continued Dalgetty. “ As honourable a nobleman as breathes,” said the clansman. “ I never heard so much good of him before,” said I hlgetty ; you must know the Marquis well, or rather you must be the Marquis him- self. Lord of Argyle,” he added, throwing himself suddenly on the disguised nobleman, “ I arrest you in the name of lung Charles as a traitor. If you venture to call for assistance, I will wrench round your neck.” The attack which Dalgetty made upon Argyle’s person was so sud den and unexpected, that he easily prostrated him on the floor of the dungeon, and held him down with one hand, while his right, grasping the Marquis’s throat, was ready to strangle him on the slightest at- tempt to call for assistance. “Lord of Argyle,” he said, “it is now my turn to laydown the terms of capitulation. If you list to shew me the private way by which you entered the dungeon, you shall escape, on' condition of be- ing my tocum tenens, as we said at the Mareschal-College, until your warder visits his prisoners. But if not, I will first strangle you—I learned the art from a Polonian heyduck, who had been a slave in the Ottoman seraglio—and then seek out a mode of retreat.” “ Villain ! you would not murder me for my kindness,” murmured Argyle. “ Not for your kindness, my lord,” replied Dalgetty ; “ but first, to teach your lordship the/«s gentium towards cavaliers who come to you under safe conduct; and secondly, to warn you of the danger of pro- i'OVELS.] A LEGfiND OF MONTROSE. 213 is wsing dishonourablo terms to any worthy soldado, in order to tempt oiiim to become false to his standard during the term of his service.” “ Spare my life,” said Argyle, “ and I will do as you require.” i Dalgetty maintained his gripe upon the Marquis’s throat, compress- ring it a little while he asked questions, and relaxing it so far as to give ijpim the power of answering them. “ Where is the secret door into the dungeon ?” he demanded. “ Hold up the lantern to the corner on your right hand, you will & discern the iron which covers the spring,” replied the Marquis. “ So far so good.—Where does the passage lead to ?” “ To my private apartment behind the tapestry,” answered the pro- 'ilstrate nobleman. “ From thence how shall I reach the gate-way P ” “Through the grand gallery, the anti-room, the lackeys’ waiting- Shall, the grand guard-room “All crowded with soldiers, factionaries, and attendants?—that will never do for me, my lord;—have you no secret passage to the gate, as <■ you have to your dungeons ? I have seen such in Germany.” | “ There is a passage through the chapel,” said the Marquis, “ opeu- jijing from my apartment.” “ And what is the pass-word at the gate ? ” “ The sword of Levi,” replied the Marquis ; “but if you will receive IM my pledge of honour, I will go with you, escort you through every guard, and set you at full liberty with a passport.” “I might trust you, my lord, were your throat not already black ivj with the grasp of my fingers ;—as it is, beso log mams a listed, as the to Spaniard says. Yet you may grant me a pussport;—are there writing materials in your apartment ? ” “Surely; and blank passports ready to be signed. I will attend you there,” said the Marquis, “instantly.” “It were too much honour for the like of me,” said Dalgetty; “your lordship shall remain under charge of mine honest friend Ranald Mac- Eagh; therefore, prithee let me drag you within reach of his chain.— Honest Ranald, you see how matters stand with us. I shall find the means, I douht not, of setting you at freedom. Meantime do as you see me do; clap your hand thus on the weasand of this high and mighty prince, under his ruff, and if ho offer to struggle or cry out, fail net, my worthy .Ranald, to squeeze doughtily ; and if it be ad de~ HqiTiitm, Ranald, that is, till he swoon, there is no great matter, see- ing he designed your gullet and mine to still harder usage.” “ If he offer at speech or struggle,” said Ranald, “ he dies by my hand.” “That is right, Ranald—very spirited-—a thorough-going friend that understands a hint is worth a million.” Thus resigning the charge of the Marquis to his new confederate, Dalgetty pressed the Spring, by which the secret door flow open, though 216 A LEGEND OF MONTROSE. Dvayerl:

bo well were its hinges polished and oiled, that it made not the slightest!!' noise in revolving. The opposite side of the door was secured by verl strong bolts and bars, beside which hung one or two keys, designet apparently to undo fetter-locks. A narrow stair-case, ascending u through the thickness of the castle-wall, landed, as the Marquis hac truly informed him, behind the tapestry of his private apartment; Such communications were frequent in old feudal castles, as they gave the lord of the fortress, like a second Dionysius, the means of hearing the conversation of his prisoners, or, if ho pleased, of visiting them in disguise, an experiment which had terminated so unpleasantly on the present occasion for Gillespie Grumach. Having examined previously whether there was any one in the apartment, and finding the coast clear, the Captain entered, and hastily possessing himself of a blank passport, several of which lay on the table, and of writing materials, securing, at the same time, the Marquis’s dagger, a 'd a silk cord from, the hangings, he again descended into the cavern, where, listening a moment at the door, he could hear the half-stifled voice of the Marquis making great proffers to MacEagh, on condition he would suffer Irr to give an alarm. “ Not for a forest of deer—not for a thousand head of cattle,’’ answered the free-booter; “not for all the lands that ever called a son of Diarmid master, will I break the troth I have plighted to him of the iron-garment.” “He of the iron-garment,” said Dalgetty, entering, “is bounden unto you, MacEagh, and this noble lord shall be bounden also; but first he must fill up this passport with the names of Major Dugald Dalgetty and his guide, or he is like to have a passport into another world.” The Marquis subscribed, and wrote, by the light of the dark-lantern, as the soldier prescribed to him. “And now, Ranald,” said Dalgetty, “strip thy upper garment—thy plaid I mean, Ranald, and in it will I muffle the M‘Galium More, and make of him for the time, a Child of the Mist;—Nay I must bring it over your head, my lord, so as to secure us against your mistimed clamour.—So, now he is sufficiently muffled;—hold down your hands, or, by heaven, I will stab you to the heart with your own dagger;— nay, you shall be bound with nothing less than silk, as your quality deserves.—So now he is secure till some one comes to relievo him. If he ordered us a late dinner, Ranald, he is like to be the sufferer;—at what hour, my good Ranald, did the jailor usually appear.” “Never till the sun was beneath the western wave,” said MacEagh. “ Then, my friend, we shall have three hours good,” said the cau- tious Captain. “In the mean time, let us labour for your liberation.” To examine Ranald’s chain was the next occupation. It was undone by means of one of the keys which hung behind the private door, pro bably deposited there, that the Marquis might, if he pleased, dismiss NOVELS.] A LEGrENU OF MONTROSE. -'17

a prisoner, or remove him elsewhere without the necessity of summon- ing the warden. The outlaw stretched his benumbed arms, and bounded from the floor of the dungeon in all the extasy of recovered freedom. “Take the livery-coat of that noble prisoner,” said Captain Dal- getty; “ put it on, and follow close at my heels.” The outlaw obeyed. They ascended the private stair, having first secured the door behind them, and thus safely reached the apartment of the Marquis.

CHAPTER XIY. This was the entry then, these stairs—but whither after? Yet he that’s sure to perish on the land May quit the nicety of card and compass, And trust the open sea without a pilot.—Tragedy of Brennovalt. “ Look out for the private way through the chapel, Ranald,” said the Captain, “ while I give a hasty regard to these matters.” Thus speaking, he seized with one hand a bundle of Argyle’s most private papers, and with the other a purse of gold, both of which lay in a drawer of a rich cabinet which stood invitingly open. Neither did he neglect to possess himself of a sword and pistols, with powder-flask and balls, which hung in the apartment. “ Intelligence and booty,” said the veteran, as he pouched the spoils, “ each honourable cavalier should look to the one on his general’s behalf, and the other on his own. This sword is an Andrew Ferrara, and the pistols better than mine own. But a fair exchange is no robbery. Soldados are not to be endangered, and endangered gratuitously, my Lord of Argyle.— But soft, soft, Ranald; wise Man of the Mist, whither art thou bound ? ” It was indeed full time to stop MacEagh’s proceedings; for, not finding the private passage readily, and impatient, it would seem, of farther delay, he had caught down a sword and target, and was about to enter the great gallery, with the purpose, doubtless, of fighting his way through all opposition. “ Hold, while you live,” whispered Dalgetty, laying hold on him. “We must not be perdue if possible. So bar we this door, that it may : be thought M'Callum More would be private—and now let me make a reconnoissance for the private passage.” By looking behind the tapestry in various places, the Captain at length discovered a private door, and behind that a winding passage, terminated by another door, which doubtless entered the chapel. But what was his disagreeable surprise to hear, on the other side of this second door, the sonorous voice of a divine in the act of preaching. “ This made the villain,” he said, “ recommend this to us as a pri- vate passage. I am strongly tempted to return and cut his throat.” 218 A LEGEND OE MONTKOSE. [waverle?:

He then opened very gently the door, which led into a latticed gal- lery used by the Marquis himself, the curtains of which were drawn, perhaps with the purpose of having it supposed that he was engaged in attendance upon divine worship, when, in fact, he was absent upon his secular affairs. There was no other person in the seat, for the. family of the Marquis, such was the high state maintained in those days, sate during service in another gallery, placed somewhat lower than that of the great man himself. This being the case, Captain Dal- getty ventured to ensconce himself in the gallery, of which he care- fully secured the door. Never (although the expression be a bold one) was a sermon listened to with more impatience, and less edification, on the part of one, at least, of the audience. The Captain heard sixteenthly—seventeenthly— eighteenthly, and to conclude, with a sort of feeling like protracted de- spair. But no man can lecture (for the service was called a lecture,) for ever, and the discourse was at length closed, the clergyman not failing to make a profound bow towards the latticed gallery, little sus- pecting whom he honoured by that reverence. To judge from the haste with which they dispersed, the domestics of the Marquis were scarce more pleased with their late occupation than the anxious Captain Dalgetty ; indeed, many of them being Highlandmen, had the excuse of not understanding a single word which the clergyman spoke, al- though they gave their attendance on his doctrine by the special order of M‘Callum More, and would have done so had he been a Turkish Imaum. But although the congregation dispersed thus rapidly, the divine remained behind in the chapel, and, walking up and down its Gothic precincts, seemed either to be meditating on what ho had just been delivering, or preparing a fresh discourse for the next opportunity. Bold as he was, Dalgetty hesitated what he ought to do. Time, how- ever, pressed, and every moment increased the chance of their escape being discovered by the jailor visiting the dungeon perhaps before his wonted time, and discovering the exchange which had been made there. At length, whispering Ranald, who watched all his motions, to follow him and preserve his countenance, Captain Dalgetty, with a very composed air, descended a flight of steps which led from the gal- lery into the body of the chapel. A less experienced adventurer would have endeavoured to pass the worthy clergyman rapidly, in hopes to escape unnoticed. But the Captain, who forsaw the manifest danger of failing in such an attempt, walked gravely to meet the divine upon his walk in the midst of the chancel, and, pulling off his cap, was about to pass him after a formal reverence. But what was his surprise to view in the preacher the very same person with whom he had dined in the castle of Ardenvohr. Yet ho speedily recovered his composure; and ere the clergyman could speak, was the first to address him. “ I could not,” ho said, “ leave this mansion without bequeathing to you, Ill I NOVELS.] A LEGEND OE MONTROSE. 21!)

my very reverend sir, my humble thanks for the homily with which you have this evening favoured us.” “ I did not observe, sir,” said the clergyman, “that you were in the chapel.” “It pleased the honourable Marquis,” said Dalgetty, modestly, “ to grace me with a seat in his own gallery.” The divine bowed low at this intimation, knowing that such an honour was only vouchsafed to persons orrery high rank. “ It has been my fate, sir,” said the Cap- tain, “ in the sort of wandering life which I have led, to have heard different preachers of different religions—as for example, Lutheran, Evangelical, Reformed, Calvinistical, and so forth, but never have I listened to such a homily as yours.” “ Call it a lecture, worthy sir,” said the divine, “ such is the phrase of our church.” “ Locture or homily,” said Dalgetty, “it was, as the High Germans say, (janz fortre flich; and I could not leave this place without testify- ing unto you what inward emotions I have undergone during your edifying prelection; and how I am touched to the quick, that I should yesterday, during the refection, have seemed to infringe on the respect due to such a person as yourself.” “ Alas! my worthy sir,” said the clergyman, “we meet in this world as in the Valley of the Shadow of Death, not knowing against whom we may chance to encounter. In truth it is no matter of marvel, if we sometimes jostle those, to whom, if known, we would yield all re- spect. Surely, sir, I would rather have taken you for a profane malig- nant than for such a devout person as you prove, who reverences the •great Master even in the meanest of his servants.” “ It is always my custom to do so, learned sir,” answered Dalgetty; “for in the service of the immortal Gustavus—but I detain you from your meditations”—his desire to speak of the King of Sweden being for once overpowered by the necessity of his circumstances. “ By no means, my worthy sir,” said the clergyman. “ What was, I pray you, the order of that great Prince, whose memory is so dear to every Protestant bosom?” “ Sir, the drums beat to prayers morning and evening, as regularly as for parade; and if a soldier passed without saluting the chaplain, ho had an hour’s ride on the wooden mare for his pains. Sir, I wish you a very good evening—I am obliged to depart the castle under M'Callum More’s passport. “ Stay ono instant, sir,” said the preacher; “ is there nothing I can do to testify my respect for the pupil of the great Gustavus, and so ad- mirable a judge of preaching?” “ Nothing, sir,” said the Captain, “ but to shew me the nearest way to the gate—and if you would have the kindness,” he added with great effrontery, “ to let a servant bring my horse with him, the dark grey gelding—call him Gustavus, and he will prick up his ears—for I know 220 A LEUEJS'D OE MONTROSE. [waveUUI

not where the castle stables are situated, and my guide,” he added, looking at Ranald, “ speaks no English.” “ I hasten to accommodate you,” said the clergyman; “ your way lies through that cloistered passage.” “Now heaven’s blessing upon your vanity! ” said the Captain to him- self, “I was afraid I would have had to march off without Gustavus.” “ In fact, so effectually did the chaplain exert himself in behalf of so excellent a judge of composition, that while Dalgetty was parlying with the sentinels at the drawbridge, shewing his passport, and giving! the watch-word, a servant brought, him his horse, ready saddled for the journey. In any other place, the Captain suddenly appearing at large after having been publicly sent to prison, might have excited; suspicion and enquiry ; but the officers and the domestics of the Mar-: quis were accustomed to the mysterious policy of their master, and never supposed aught else than that he had been liberated and entrusted^ with some private commission by their master. In this belief, and having received the parole, they gave him free passage. Dalgetty rode slowly through the town of Inverara, the outlaw at-i tending upon him like a foot-page at his horse’s shoulder. As they] passed the gibbet, the old man looked on the bodies and wrung hisf hands. The look and gesture were momentary, but expressive of in- describable anguish. Instantly recovering himself, Ranald, in passing, I whispered somewhat to one of the females, who, like Rizpah the daugh- ter of Aisah, seemed engaged in watching and mourning the victims j of feudal justice and cruelty7. The woman started at his voice, but ini-1 mediately collected herself, and returned for answer a slight inclination,! of the head. Dalgetty continued his way out of the town, uncertain whether he should try to seize or hire a boat and cross the lake, or plunge into the )j. woods and there conceal himself from pursuit. In the former event he was liable to be instantly7 pursued by the gallies of the Marquis, which |> lay ready7 for sailing, their long yard-arms pointing to the wind, and , what hope could he have in an ordinary Highland fishing-boat to ] escape from them ? If he made the latter choice, his chance either of supporting or concealing himself in those waste and unknown wilder- ' nesses was in the highest degree precarious. The town lay now be- j nind him, yet what hand to turn to for safety7 he was unable to deter- , mine, and began to be sensible, that in escaping from the dungeon at Inverara, he had only accomplished the easiest part of a difficult task. If retaken, his fate was now certain; for the personal injury he had offered to a man so powerful and so vindictive, could be atoned for only by instant death. While he pondered these distressing reflections, and looked around with a countenance which plainly expressed indecision, Ranald MacEagh suddenly asked him “ which way he intended to journey ? ” “ And that, honest comrade,” answered Dalgotty7, “is preceesely the i sOVELS.J A LEGEND OE MONTROSE. 'Z2l

question which I cannot answer you—trulj’p I begin to hold the opinion, udanald, that we had better have stuck by the brown loaf and water- •oitcher until Sir Duncan arrived, who, for his own honour, must have Ipade some fight for me.” i ,:j “ Saxon,” answered MacEagh, “ do not you regret having exchanged he foul breath of yonder dungeon for the free air of heaven. Above cdl, repent not that you have served a Son of the Mist. Put yourself ■fundor my guidance, and I will warrant your safety with my head.” | “ Can you guide me safe through these mountains, and back to the army of Montrose ? ” said Dalgetty.. 'j “I can,” answered MacEagh; “ there lives not a man to whom the mountain passes, the caverns, the glens, the thickets and the corries are known, as they are to the Children of the Mist. While others i trawl on the level ground, by the sides of lakes and streams, ours are rhe steep hollows of the inaccessible mountains, the birth-place of the lesert springs. Not all the blood-hounds of Argyle can trace the fast- : nesses through which I can guide you.” j'j “ Say’st thou so, honest Ranald ? ” replied Dalgetty ; “ then have on i.lvith thee, for of a surety I shall never save the ship by my own pilot- Age.” 'I The outlaw accordingly led the way into the wood by which the llpastle is surrounded for several miles, walking with so much dispatch is kept Gustavus at a round trot, and taking such a number of cross mts and turns, that Captain Dalgetty speedily lost all idea where he jmi ght be, and all knowledge of the points of the compass. At length, ethe path, which had gradually become more difficult, altogether ended ijSjamong thickets and underwood. The roaring of a torrent was heard i in the neighbourhood, the ground became in some places broken, in lothers boggy, and everywhere unfit for riding. “ What the foul fiend,” said Dalgetty, “ is to be done here ? I must [.part with Gustavus, I fear.” “ Take no care for your horse,” said the outlaw; “ he shall soon be i;restored to you.” » As he spoke, he whistled in a low tone, and a lad, half dressed in (tartan, half naked, having only his own shaggy hair, tied with a thong 11 of leather, to protect his head and face from sun and weather, lean, and | half-starved in aspect, his wild grey eyes appearing to fill up ten times ' the proportion usually allotted to them in the human face, crept out as v a wild heast might have done from a thicket of brambles and briars. “ Give your horse to the gillie,” said Ranald MacEagh; “your life j depends upon it.” “ Och! och!” said the despairing veteran, “Eheu! as we used to fisay at Mareschal-College, must I leave Gustavus in such grooming?” “Are you frantic, to lose time thus ? ” said his guide; “do we stand a on friend’s ground, that you should part with your horse as if he were o your brother ? I tell you, you shall have him again; but if you never 222 A LEGEND OE MONTROSE. [waverl®

eu-w tlie animal, is not life better than the best colt ever mare foaled “And that is true too, mine honest friend,” sighed Dalgetty ; “ytl if you knew but the value of Gustavus, and the things we two ham done and suffered together—See, he turns back to look at me!—tff kind to him, my good breechless friend, and I will requite you welUl So saying, and withal sniffling a little to swallow his grief, he turnal from the heart-rending spectacle in order to follow his guide. 1 To follow his guide was no easy matter, and soon required monr agility than Captain Dalgetty could master. The very first plungl after he had parted from his charger, carried him, with little assistauil from a few overhanging boughs, or projecting roots of trees, eigh foot sheer down into the course of a torrent, up which the Son of thi Mist led the way. Huge stones, over which they scrambled, thicketi of thorn and brambles, through which they had to drag themselvej rocks which were to bo climbed on the one side with much labour ant pain, for the purpose of an equally precarious descent upon the other! all these, and many such interruptions, were surmounted by the light! footed and half-naked mountaineer with an ease and velocity which excited the surprise and envy of Captain Dalgetty, who, encumbered by his head-piece, corslet, and other armour, not to mention his ponder- ous jack-boots, found himself at length so much exhausted by fatigue, and the difficulties of the road, that ho sate down upon a stone in order to recover his breath, while he explained to Ranald MacEagh the differ- ence betwixt travelling expeditus and impeditus, as these two military phrases were understood at Mareschal-College, Aberdeen. The sole an- swer of the mountaineer was to lay his hand on the soldier’s arm, and point backward in the direction of the wind. Dalgetty could spy nothing, for evening was closing fast, and they wore at the bottom of a dark, ravine. But he could distinctly hear at a distance the sullen toll of a large bell. “That,” saidho, “ must be the alarm—the storm-clock, as the Ger- mans call it.” “ It strikes the hour of your death,” answered Ranald, “ unless you can accompany mo a little farther. Eor every toll of that bell, a brave man has yielded up his soul.” “ Truly, Ranald, my trusty friend,” said Dalgetty. “ I will not deny that the case may bo soon mine own; for I am so forfouchtcn, (being, as I explained to you, impeditus, for had I been expeditus, I mind not pedestrian exercise the flourish of a fife), that I think I had bettor en- sconce myself in one of these bushes, and even lie quiet there to abide.; what fortune God shall send me. I entreat you, Ranald, to shift for j yourself, and leave me to my fortune, as the Lion of the North, the j immortal Gustavus Adolphus, my never-to-be-forgotten master,* (whom you must surely have heard of, Ranald, though you may have , hoard of no one else), said to Francis Albert, Duke of Saxe-Lauen- i burgh, when he was mortally wounded on the plains of Lutzen. / i IN OVELS.ji A LEGEND OF MONTEOSE. 223 ip* Neither despair altogether of my safety, Itauald, seeing I have been in ; as great pinches as this in Germany—more epecially, I remember mo, ijthat at the fatal battle of Nerlingen—-after which I changed ser- ii vice ” I* “ If you would save your father’s son’s breath to help his child out I j of trouble, instead of wasting it upon the tales of Seannachies,” said Eanald, who now turned impatient of the Captain’s loquacity, “or if v your feet could travel as fast as your tongue, you might yet lay your i i head on an unbloody pillow to-night.” “ Something there is like military skill in that,” replied the Captain, 3 “ although wantonly and irreverently spoken to an officer of rank. Eut I hold it good to pardon such freedoms on a march, in respect of the 41 Saturnalian licence indulged in such cases to the troops of all nations. pjAnd now, resume thine office, friend Eanald, in respect I am W'cll breathed; or, to be more plain, I prae, sequar, as we used to say at 1.1 Mareschal-College.” II Comprehending his meaning rather from his motions than his lan- (i j guage, the Son of the Mist again led the way, with an unerring pre- (I cision that looked like instinct, through a variety of ground the most difficult and broken that could well be imagined. Dragging along his PI ponderous boots, encumbered with thigh pieces, gauntlets, corslet, (i| and back-piece, not to mention the buff jerkin which he wore under all I these arms, talking of his former exploits the whole way, though || Eanald paid not the slightest attention to him, Captain Dalgetty con- gl trived to follow his guide a considerable way farther, w’hen the deep- 3 mouthed baying of a hound was heard coming down the wind, as if opening on the scent of its prey. “ Black hound,” said Eanald, whose throat never boded good to a Child of the Mist, ill fortune to her who littered thee ! hast thou al- ready found our trace ? But thou art too late, swart hound of darkness, and the deer has gained the herd.” So saying, he whistled very softly, and was answered in a tone equally low from the top of a pass, up which they had for some time been as- cending. Mending their pace, they reached the top, where the moon, ■which had now risen bright and clear, shewed to Dalgetty a party of ten or twelve Highlanders, and about as many women and children, by whom Eanald MacEagh was received with such transports of joy, as made his companion easily sensible that those by whom he was surrounded must of course be Children of the Mist. The place which they occupied well suited their name and habits. It was a beetling crag, round which winded a very narrow and broken foot-path, com- manded in various places by the position which they held. Eanald spoke anxiously and hastily to the children of his tribe, and the men came one by one to shake hands with Dalgetty, while the wo- men, clamorous in their gratitude, pressed round to kiss even the hem of his garment. 224 A LEGEND OF MONTROSE. [WAYEKLEl

“They plight their faith to you,” said Ranald MacEagh, “for re- quital of the good deed you have done to the tribe this day.” “Enough said, Ranald,” answered the soldier, “enough said—tell them I love not this shaking of hands—it confuses ranks and degree: in military service; and as to kissing of gauntlets, puldrons, and tb like, I remember that the immortal Gustavus, as he rode through the streets of Nuremberg being thus worshipped by the populace, (being doubtless far more worthy of it than a poor though honourable cavalier! like myself,) did say unto them, in the way of rebuke, ‘If you idolize! me thus like a god, who shall insure you that the vengeance of Hea-J ven will not soon prove me to bo a mortal ? ’—And so here, I suppose you intend to make a stand against your followers, Ranald—voto a Bios, as the Spaniard says—a very pretty position—as pretty a posi- tion for a small peloton of men as I have seen in my service—no enemy can come towards it by the road with«>“ being at the mercy of cannon and musket.—But then, Ranald, my trusty comrade, you have no cannon, I dare to aver, and I do not see that any of these fellows have muskets either. So with what artillery you propose making good the pass, before you come to hard blows, truly, Ranald, it passeth my apprehension.” « “ With the weapons and with the courage of our fathers,” said Mac- 1 Eagh, and made the Captain observe, that the men of his party were armed with bows and arrows. “ Bows and arrows! ” exclaimed Dalgetty; “ ha! ha! ha! have wa Robin Hood and Little John back again?—Bows and arrows! why, the sight has not been seen in civilized war for an hundred years. Bow and arrows! and why not with weavers'-beams, as in the days of Goliath P That Dugald Dalgotty, of Drumthwacket, should live to see men fight with bows and arrows!—The immortal Gustavus would never have believed it—nor Wallenstein—nor Butler—nor old Tilly.—• Well, Ranald, a cat can have but its claws—since bows and arrows are the word, e’en let us make the best of it—Only, as I do not understand the scope and range of such old-fashioned artillery, you must make the best disposition you can out of y&ur own head; for my taking the command, whilk I would have gladly done had you been to fight with any Christian weapons, is out of the question when you are to combat like quivered Numidians. I will, however, play my part with my pis- tols in the approaching mellay, in respect my carabine unhappily re- mains at Gustavus’s saddle.—My service and thanks to you,” he con- tinued, addressing a mountaineer who offered him a bow; “Dugald Dalgetty may say of himself, as he learned at Mareschal-College, Non eget Mauri jaculis, ncque arou, Neo venenatis gravida sagittis, I'usce, pharetra j whilk is to say ” Ranald MacEagh a second time imposed silence on the talkative I NOVELS.] A LEGEND OE MONTROSE. 225

Inlander as before, by pulling bis sleeve, and pointing down the i. The bay of the blood-hound was now approaching nearer and rer, and they could hear the voices of several persons who accom- ied the animal, and hallooed to each other as they dispersed occa- ally, either in the hurry of their advance, or in order to search e accurately the thickets as they came along. They were obviously ving nearer and nearer every moment. MacEagh, in the mean 3, proposed to Captain Dalgetty to disencumber himself of his ar- ir, and gave him to understand that the women should transport it place of safety. I crave your pardon, sir,” said Dalgetty, “such is not the rule of foreign service; in respect I remember the regiment of Finland assiers reprimanded, and their kettle drums taken from them by immortal Gustavus, because they had assumed the permission to ■ch without their corslets, and to leave them with the baggage, ther did they strike kettle drums again at the head of that famous ment until they behaved themselves so notably at the field of Leip- a lesson whilk is not to be forgotten, any more than that excla- ;ion of the immortal Gustavus, ‘ Now shall I know if my officers ) me by their putting on their armour; since if my officers are slain, > shall lead my soldiers unto victory ? ” Nevertheless, friend Ran- this is without prej udice to my being rid of these somewhat heavy ts, providing I can obtain any other succedaneum; for I presume to say that my bare soles are fortified so as to endure the flints and rns, as seems to be the case with your followers.” 'o rid the Captain of his cumbrous greaves, and case his feet in a : of brogues made out of deer-skin, which a Highlander stripped off his accommodation, was the work of a minute, and Dalgetty found iself much lightened by the exchange. He was in the act of recom- iding to Ranald MacEagh, to send two or three of his followers ttle lower to reconnoitre the pass, and at the same time, somewhat ixtend his front, placing two detached archers at each flank by way )osts of observation, when the near cry of the hound apprized them t the pursuers were at the bottom of the pass. All was then dead nee, for, loquacious as he was on other occasions, Captain Dalgetty sw well the necessity of an ambush keeping itself under covert. ’he moon gleamed on the broken pathway, and on the projecting fs of rock round which it winded, its light intercepted here and there the branches of bushes and dwarf trees, which finding nourishment ;he crevices of the rocks, in some places overshaded the brow and ge of the precipice. Below, a thick copse-wood lay in deep and dark dow, somewhat resembling the billows of a half-seen ocean. From bosom of that darkness, and close to the bottom of the precipice, hound was heard at intervals baying fearfully, sounds which were oubled by the echoes of the woods and rocks around. At intervals, se sunk into deep silence, interrupted only by the plashing noise of u 22(5 A LEGEND OF MONTROSE. [WAVEHLEY

a small runnel of water wliicli partly fell from the rock, partly found • a more silent passage to the bottom along its projecting surface. Voices of men were also heard in stifled converse below , it seemed as if the pursuers had not discovered the narrow path which led to the top of the rock, or that, having discovered it, the peril of the ascent, joined . to the imperfect light, and the uncertainty whether it might not be de- ; fended, made them hesitate to attempt it. At length a shadowy figure was seen, which raised itself up from the abyss of darkness below, and, emerging into the pale moonlight, began cautiously and slowly to ascend the rocky path. The outline was so | distinctly marked, that Captain Dalgetty could discover not only the person of the Highlander, but the long gun which he carried in his hand, and the plume of feathers which decorated his bonnet. “ Tau- send teiflen ! that I should say so, and so like to be near my latter end,” ejaculated the Captain, but under his breath, “what will become of us, now they have brought musquetry to encounter our archers P ” ] Eut just as the pursuer had attained a projecting piece of rock about half-way up the ascent, and, pausing, made a signal for those who were still at the bottom to follpw him, an arrow whistled from the bow of one of the Children of the Mist, and transfixed him with so fatal a wound, that without a single effort to save himself, he lost hisr bal- lance, and fell headlong from the cliff on which he stood into the dark- ness below. The crash of the boughs which received him, and the heavy sound of his fall from thence to the ground, was followed by a cry of horror and surprise, which burst from his followers. The Children of the Mist, encouraged in proportion to the alarm this first success had caused among the pursuers, echoed back the clamour with ■; a loud and shrill yell of exultation, and, shewing themselves on the brow of the precipice, with wild cries and vindictive gestures, endea- voured to impress on their enemies a sense at once of their courage, their numbers, and their state of defence. Even Captain Dalgetty’s military prudence did not prevent his rising up and calling out to Ranald more loud then prudence warranted, “ Carocco, comrade, as the Spaniard says! The long bow for ever ! In my poor apprehension now, were you to order a file to advance and take position ” “ The Sassenach! ” cried a voice from beneath, “ mark the Sasse- nach sidier! I see the glitter of his breast-plate.” At the same time three muskets were discharged , and while one ball rattled against the corslet of proof, to the strength of which our valiant Captain had been more than once indebted for his life, another penetrated the armour which covered the front of his left thigh, and stretched him on the j ground. Ranald instantly seized him in his arms and bore him back I from the edge of the precipice, while he dolefully ejaculated, “ I al- I ways told the immortal Gustavus, Wallenstein, Tilly, and other men I of the sword, that in my poor mind, taslets ought to bo made musket- 1 proof.” Kovels.] A LEGEND OE MONTROSE. 227

With two or three earnest words in Gaelic, MacEagh commended the wounded man to the charge of the females, who were in the rear of his little party, and was then about to return to the contest. But Dalgetty detained him, grasping a firm hold of his plaid—“I know not how this matter may end—but I request you will inform Montrose, that I died like a follower of the immortal Gustavus—and I pray you, take heed how you quit j’our present strength, even for the purpose of pursuing the enemy, if you gain any advantage—and—and ” Here Dalgetty’s breath and eye-sight began to fail him through loss of blood, and MacEagh, availing himself of this circumstance, extri- cated from his grasp the end of his own mantle, and substituted that of a female, by which the Captain held stoutly, thereby securing, as ho conceived, the outlaw’s attention to the military instructions which ho continued to pour forth while he had any breath to utter them, though they became gradually more and more incoherent—“ and, comrade, you will be sure to keep your musqueteers in advance of 3Tour stand of pikes, Lochaber-axes, and two-handed swords—Stand fast dragoons, on the left Hank !—where was I ?—Aye, and, Ranald, if 3-0 be minded to retreat, leave some lighted matches burning on tho branches of the trees—it shews as if they were lined with shot—but I forget—ye have no match-locks nor habergeons—only bows and ar- rows—bows and arrows ! ha! ha! ha!” Here the Captain sunk back in an exhausted condition, altogether unable to resist the sense of the ludicrous with the idea Of these ancient weapons of war. It was a long time ere he recovered his senses; and in the mean time, we leave him in tho care of the Daughters of the Mist; nurses as kind and attentive in reality, as tko3r were wild and uncouth m outward appearance.

CHAPTER XV But if no faithless action stain Thy true and constant Tvord, I’ll make thee famous by my pen, And glorious by my sword. I’ll serve thee in such noble ways As ne’er were known before; I’ll deck and crown thy head with bays, And love thee more and more.—J/cmfrose’s Lines, We must now leave, with whatever regret, the valiant Captain Dal- l gett3' to recover of his wounds, or otherwise, as fate shall determine, P in order briefly to trace the military operations of Montrose, worthy as { the3r are of a more important page, and a better historian. By the as- 1 sietance of the chieftains wnom we have commemorated, and more 1 especially by the junction of the Murrays, Stewarts, and other clans 228 A LEGEND OE MONTKOSE. [WAVEllLEY

of Athol, which were peculiarly zealous in the royal cause, he soon as- sembled an army of two or three thousand Highlanders, to whom he successfully united the Irish under Colkitto. This last leader, who, to the great embarrassment of Milton’s commentators, is commemorated in one of that great poet’s sonnets, * was properly named Alister, or Alexander M'Donnel, by birth a Scottish Islesman, and related to the Earl of Antrim, to whose patronage he owed the command assigned to him in the Irish troops. In many respects he merited this distinction. He was brave to intrepidity, and almost to insensibility ; very strong and active in person, completely master of his weapons, and always ready to shew the example in the extremity of danger. To counter- balance these good qualities, it must be recorded that he was inexperi- enced in military tactics, and of a jealous and presumptuous disposi- tion, which often lost to Montrose the fruits of Colkitto’s gallantry. Yet such is the predominance of outward personal qualities in the eyes of a wild people, that the feats of strength and courage shewn by this champion, seem to have made a stronger impression upon the minds of the Highlanders, than the military skill and chivalrous spirit of the great Marquis of Montrose. Numerous traditions are still preserved in the Highland glens concerning Alister M‘Donnel, though the name of Montrose is rarely mentioned among them The point upon which Montrose finally assembled his little army, was in Strathearn, on the verge of the Highlands of Perthshire, so as to menace the principal town of that county. His enemies were not unprepared for his reception. Argyle, at the head of his Highlanders, was dogging the steps of the Irish from the west to the east, and by force, fear, or influence, had collected an army nearly sufficient to have given battle to that under Montrose. The Low Countries were also prepared, for reasons which we assigned at the beginning of this tale. A body of six thousand infantry, and six or seven thousand cavalry, which profanely assumed the title of God’s army, had been hastily assembled from the shires of Fife, Angus, Perth, Stirling, and the neighbouring counties. A much less force in

* Milton’s book, entitled Tetrachordon, had been ridiculed, it •would seem, by the divines assembled at Westminster, and others, on account of the hardness of the title ; and Milton in his sonnet retaliates upon the barbarous Scottish names which the Civil War had made familiar to English ears :— * why is it harder, sirs, than Gordon, Colkitto, or M‘Donald, or Gallasp, These rugged names to our like mouths grow sleek, That would have made Quintilian stare and gasp. “We may suppose,says Bishop Newton, “ that these were persons of note among the fecotch ministers, who were for pressing and enforcing the Covenant; ” whereas Milton only intends to ridicule the barbarism of Scottish names in general, and quotes, indiscriminately, that of Gillespie one of the Apostles of the Covenant, and those of Colkitto and M'Donnel, (both belonging to one person) one of its bitterest enemies NOVELS.] A LEGEND OE MONTROSE. 229

former times, nay even in the preceding reign, would have been suffi- cient to have secured the Low Countries against a more formidable i descent of Highlanders, than those united under Montrose ; but times had changed strangely within the last half century. Before that [ period, the Lowlanders were as constantly engaged in war as the r mountaineers, and were incomparably better disciplined and armed. ’ The favourite Scottish order of battle somewhat resembled the Mace- : donian phalanx. The infantry formed a compact body, armed with long spears, impenetrable even to the men-at-arms of the age, though well mounted, and arrayed in complete proof. It may easily be con- ?! ceived, therefore, that their ranks could not be broken by the dis- | orderly charge of infantry armed only with swords, and ill furnished i \ with missile weapons, and having no artillery whatever. This habit t> of fight was in a great measure changed by the introduction of mus- J quets into the Scottish Lowland service, which not being as yet com- M bined with the bayonet, was a formidable weapon at a distance, but ra gave no assurance against the enemy who rushed on to close quarters. Ii The pike, indeed, was not wholly disused in the Scottish army ; but it y was no longer the favourite weapon, nor was it relied upon as formerly i f by those in whose hands it was placed, in so much that Daniel Lupton, js a tactician of the day, has written a book expressly upon the superi- || ority of the musquet. This change commenced as early as the wars of II Gustavus Adolphus, whose marches were made with such rapidity, il that the pike was very soon thrown aside and exchanged for fire-arms. L A circumstance which necessarily accompanied this change, as well as :l) the establishment of standing armies, whereby war became a trade, S was the introduction of a laborious and complicated system of discip- tjjj line, combining a variety of words of command with corresponding Id operations and manoeuvres, the neglect of any one of which was sure (li to throw the whole into confusion. War, therefore, as practised among 31 most nations of Europe, had assumed much more than formerly the 3 character of a profession or mystery, to which previous practice and Si experience were indispensible requisites. Such was the natural conse- 'M quence of standing armies, which had almost everywhere, and par- •>| ticularly in the long German wars, superseded, what may be called the .ul natural discipline of the feudal militia. The Scotch Lowland militia, therefore, laboured under a double dis- i[j advantage when opposed to Highlanders. They were divested of the || spear, a weapon which, in the hands of their ancestors, had so often )j repelled the impetuous assaults of the mountaineers; and they wero subjected to a new and complicated species of discipline, well adapted, fl perhaps, to tho use of regular troops, who could be rendered com- <1 pletely masters of it, but tending only to confuse the ranks of citizen- !! soldiers, by whom it was rarely practised, and imperfectly understood. H So much has been done in our own time in bringing back tactics to |i their first principles, and in getting rid of the pedantry of war, that it 230 A LEGEND OF MONTROSE. [•WAVERLEY

is easy for us to estimate the disadvantages under which a half-trained militia laboured, who were taught to consider success as depending upon their exercising with precision a system of tactics, which they probably only so far comprehended as to find out when they were wrong, but without the power of getting right again. Neither can it be denied, that, in the material points of military habit and warlike spirit, the Lowlanders of the seventeenth century had sunk far be- neath their Highland countrymen. From the earliest period down to the union of the crowns, the whole kingdom of Scotland, Lowlands as well as Highlands, had been tho constant scene of war, foreign and domestic; and there was probably scarce one of its hardy inhabitants, between the age of sixteen and sixty, who was not as willing in point of fact, as he was literally bound in law, to assume arms at the first call of his liege lord, or of a royal proclamation. The law remained the same in sixteen hundred and forty-five as a hundred years before, but the race of those subjected to it had been bred up under very different feelings. They had sat in quiet under their vine and under their fig-tree, and a call to battle in- volved a change of life as new as it was disagreeable. Such of them, also, who lived near unto the Highlands, were in continual and disad- vantageous contact with the restless inhabitants of those mountains, by whom their cattle were driven off, their dwellings plundered, and their persons insulted, and who had acquired over them that sort of superi- ority arising from a constant system of aggression. The Lowlanders, who lay more remote and out of reach of those depredations, were in- fluenced by the exaggerated reports circulated concerning the High- landers, whom, as totally differing in laws, language, and dress, they were induced to regard as a nation of savages, equally void of fear and of humanit3r. These various prepossessions, joined to the less warlike habits of the Lowlanders, and their imperfect knowledge of the new and complicated system of discipline for which they had exchanged their natural mode of fighting, placed them at great disadvantage when opposed to the Highlander in the field of battle. The mountain- eers, on the contrary, with the arms and courage of their fathers, pos- sessed also their simple and natural system of tactics, and bore down with the fullest confidence upon an enemy, to whom anything they had been taught of discipline was, like Saul’s armour upon David, a hinderanpe rather than an help, “ because they had not proved it.” It was with such disadvantages on the one side, and such advantages on tho other to counterbalance the difference of superior numbers and the presence of artillery and cavalry, that Montrose encountered the army of Lord Elcho upon the field of Tippormuir. The Presbyterian clergy had not been wanting in their efforts to rouse the spirit of their followers; and one of them, who harrangued the troops on the very day of battle, hesitated not to say, that even God spoke by his mouth, and he promised them, in his name, that day a great and assured NOVELS.] A LEGEND OE MONTROSE. 231

‘ victory. The cavalry and artillery were also reckoned sure warrants of success, as the novelty of their attack had upon former occasions been very discouraging to Highlanders. The place of meeting was an open heath, and the ground afforded little advantage to either party, except that it allowed the horse of the Covenanters to act with effect. A battle, upon which so much depended, was never more easily de- cided. The Lowland cavalry made the appearance of charging; but, whether thrown into disorder by the fire of musketry, or deterred by disaffection to the service said to have prevailed among the gentlemen, they made no impression whatever, and recoiled in disorder from ranks which had neither bayonets nor pikes to protect them. Montrose saw, and instantly availed himself of this advantage. He ordered his whole army to charge, which they performed with the wild and desperate valour peculiar to the Highlanders. One officer of the Covenanters alone, trained in the Italian wars, made a desperate defence upon the right wing. In every other point their line was penetrated at the first onset; and this advantage once obtained, the Lowlanders were utterly unable to contend at close quarters with their more agile and athletic enemies. Many were slain on the field, and such a number in the pur- suit, that above one-third of the Covenanters were reported to have fallen, in which number, however, must be computed a great many fat burgesses who broke their wind in the flight, and thus died without stroke of sword.* The victors obtained possession of Perth, and obtained considerable sums of money, as well as ample supplies of arms and ammunition. But these advantages were to be balanced against an almost insur- mountable inconvenience that uniformly attended a Highland army. The clans could be in no respect induced to consider themselves as regular soldiers, or to act as such. Even so late as the year 1745-G, when the Chevalier Charles Edward, by way of making an example, caused shoot a soldier for desertion, the Highlanders, who composed his army, were affected as much by indignation as by fear. They could not conceive any principle of justice upon which a man’s life could be taken, for merely going home when it did not suit him to re- main longer with the army. Such had been the uniform practice of their fathers. When a battle was over, the campaign was, in their opinion, ended; if it was lost, they sought safety in their mountains —if won, they returned there to secure their booty. At other seasons they had their cattle to look after, their harvests to sow or reap, with- out which their families would have perished for want. In either case, there was an end of their services for the time; and though they wore easily enough recalled by the prospect of fresh adventures and more plunder, yet the opportunity of success was, in the meantime, lost, * Vre chuse to quote our authority for a fact so singular :—“ A great many burgesses were killed—twenty-live householders in St. Andrews—many were bursten in the flight, uni died without stroke.”—See BAinLiii’s Letters, vol. II. page 92. 232 A LEGEND OF MONTROSE. [WAVEKLEY

and could not afterwards bo recovered. This circumstance serves to shew, even if history had not made us acquainted with the same fact, that tho Highlanders had never been accustomed to make war with the view of permanent conquest, but only with the hope of deriving temporary advantage. It also explains the reason why Montrose, with all bis splendid successes, never obtained any secure or permanent footing in the Low Countries, and why even those Lowland noblemen and gentlemen who were inclined to the royal cause shewed diffideuco and reluctance to join an army of a character so desultory and irre- gular, as might lead them at all times to apprehend that the High- landers, securing themselves by a retreat to the mountains, would leave whatever Lowlanders might have joined them to the mercy of an offended and predominant enemy. The same consideration will serve to account for the sudden marches which Montrose was obliged to un- dertake, in order to recruit his army in the mountains, and for tho rapid changes of fortune, by which we often find him obliged to retreat from before those enemies over whom he had recently been victorious. If there should be any who read these tales for any further purpose than that of immediate amusement, they will find these remarks not unworthy of their recollection. It was owing to such causes, tho slackness of the Lowland loyalists and tho temporary desertion of his Highland followers, that Montrose found himself, even after the decisive victory of Tippermuir, in no condition to face the second army with which Argyle advanced upon him from the westward. In this emergency, supplying by velocity the want of strength, he moved suddenly from Perth to Dundee, and being refused reception into that town, fell northward upon Aberdeen, where he expected to be joined by the Gordons and other loyalists. But the zeal of these gentlemen was, for the time, effectually bridled by a large body of Covenanters, commanded by the Lord Burleigh, and supposed to amount to three thousand men. These Montrose boldly attacked with half their number The battle was fought under the walls of the city, and the resolute valour of Montrose’s followers was again successful against every disadvantage. But it was the fate of this great commander always to gain the glory, but seldom tho fruits of victory He had scarcely time to repose his small army in Aberdeen ere he found, on the one band, that the Gor- dons were likely to be deterred from joining him, by the reasons wo have mentioned, with some others peculiar to their chief, the Marquis of Huntly. On the other hand, Argyle, whose forces had been aug- mented by those of several Lowland noblemen, advanced towards Montrose at the head of an army much larger than he had yet had to cope with. These troops moved, indeed, with slowness, corresponding to the cautious character of their commander, but that very caution rendered Argyle’s approach formidable, since his very advance implied, that he was at the bead of an army irresistibly superior. NOVELS.] A LEGEND OF MONTROSE. 23;}

There remained one mode of retreat open to Montrose, and he adopted it. He threw himself into the Highlands, where he could set pursuit at defiance, and where he was sure, in every glen, to recover those recruits who had left his standard to deposit their booty in their native fastnesses. It was thus that the singular character of the army which Montrose commanded, while, on the one hand, it rendered his victory in some degree nugatory, enabled him, on the other, under the most disadvantageous circumstances, to secure his retreat, recruit his forces, and render himself more formidable than ever to the enemy be- fore whom he had lately been unable to make a stand. Upon the present occasion he threw himself into Badenoch, and rapidly traversing that district, as well as the neighbouring country of Atholl, he alarmed the Covenanters by successive attacks upon various unexpected points, and spread such general dismay, that repeated orders were dispatched by the Parliament to Argyle, their commander, to engage and disperse Montrose at all rates. These commands from his superiors neither suited the haughty spirit, nor the temporising and cautious policy, of the nobleman to whom they were addressed. He paid, accordingly, no regard to them, but limited his efforts to intrigues among Montrose’s few Lowland follow- ers, many of whom had become disgusted with the prospect of a High- land campaign, which exposed their persons to intolerable fatigue, and left their estates at the Covenanters’ mercy. Accordingly, several of them left Montrose’s camp at this period. He was joined, however, by a body of forces of more congenial spirit, and far better adapted to the situation in which he found himself. This reinforcement consisted of a large body of Highlanders, whom Colkitto, dispatched for that purpose, had levied in Argyleshire. Among the most distinguished was John of Moidart, called the Captain of Clan Ranald, with the Steuarts of Alpin, the Clan Gregor, the Clan M‘Nab, and other tribes of inferior distinction. By these means, Montrose’s army was so for- midably increased, that Argyle cared no longer to remain in the com- mand of that opposed to him, but returned to Edinburgh, and there threw up his commission, under pretence that his army was not sup- plied with reinforcements and provisions in the manner in which they . ought to have been. From thence the Marquis returned to Inverara, there, in full security, to govern his feudal vassals, and patriarchal followers, and to repose himself in safety on the faith of the Clan pro- verb already quoted—“ It is a far cry to Lochow.” 234 A LEGEND OF MONTROSE. [WAVEELEY

CHAPTER XYI. Such mountains steep, such craggy hills His army on one side inclose ; The other side, great griesly gills Did fence with fenny mire and moss. Which, when the Earl understood, He council craved of captains all, "Who bade set forth with mournful mood, And take such fortune as would fall. Flodden Field, an Ancient Poem. Monteose had now a splendid career before him, provided he could obtain the consent of his gallant, but desultory troops, and their inde- pendant chieftains. The Low Countries lay open before him without an army adequate to check his career, for Argyle’s followers had left the Covenanters’ host, when their master threw up his commission; and many other troops, tired of the war, had taken the same oppor- tunity to disband themselves. By descending Strath-Tay, therefore, one of the most convenient passes from the Highlands, Montrose had only to present himself in the Low Countries, in order to rouse the slumbering spirit of chivalry and of loyalty which animated the gentle- men to the north of the Forth. The possession of these countries, with or without a victory, would put him in possession of a wealthy and fertile part of the kingdom, would enable him, by regular pay, to place his army on a more permanent footing, to penetrate as far as the capi- tal, perhaps from thence to the Border, where ho deemed it possible to communicate with the yet unsubdued forces of King Charles. Such was the plan of operations by which the truest glory was to be acquired, and the most important success insured for the royal cause. Accordingly it did not escape the ambitious and daring spirit of him whose services had already acquired him the title of the Great Marquis. But other motives actuated many of his followers, and perhaps were not without their secret and unacknowledged influence in his own bosom. Tho western Chiefs in Montrose’s army, almost to a man, regarded the Marquis of Argyle as the most direct and proper object of hostilities. Almost all of them had felt his power; almost all, in withdrawing their fenoible men from their own glens, left their families and pro- perty exposed to his vengeance; all, without exception, were desirous of diminishing his sovereignty; and most of them lay so near his ter- ritories, that they might reasonably hope to be gratified by a share of his spoil. To these Chiefs the possession of Inverara and its castle was an event infinitely more important and desirable than the capture of Edinburgh. The latter event could only afford their clansmen a little transitory pay or plunder; the former insured to the Chiefs themselves indemnity for the past, and security for the future. Besides these per- sonal reasons, the leaders, who favoured this opinion, plausibly urged, that though, at his first descent into the Low Country, Montrose might be superior to the enemy, yet every day’s march he made from the KOVELS.] A LEGEND OE MONTROSE. 235 hills must diminish his own forces, and expose him to the accumulated superiority of an army which the Covenanters could collect from the Lowland levies and garrisons. On the other hand, by crushing Argylo effectually, he would not only permit his present western friends to bring out that proportion of their forces w'hich they must otherwise leave at home for protection of their families; but further, he would draw to his standard several tribes already friendly to his cause, but who were prevented from joining him by fear of M'Callum More. These arguments found something responsive in Montrose’s own bo- som, not quite consonant with the general heroism of his character. The houses of Argyle and Montrose had been, in former times, repeat- edly opposed to each other in war and in politics, and the superior ad- vantages acquired by the former, had made them the subject of envy and dislike to the neighbouring family, who, conscious of equal desert, had not been so richly rewarded. This was not all. The existing heads of these rival famihes had stood in the most marked opposition to each other since the commencement of the present troubles. Montrose, conscious of the superiority of his talents, and of having rendered great service to the Covenanters at the beginning of the war, had expected from that party the supereminence of council and command, which tho}^ judged it safer to entrust to the more limited faculties, and more exten- sive power, of his rival Argyle. The having awarded this preference, was an injury w'hich Montrose never forgave the Covenanters; and he was still less likely to extend his pardon to Argyle, to whom ho had been postponed. He was therefore stimulated by ever}’ feeling of hatred which could animate a fiery temper in a fierce age to seek for revenge upon the enemy of his house and person; and it is probable that these private motives operated not a little on his mind, when he found the principal part of his followers determined rather to undertake an ex- pedition against the territories of Argyle, than to take the far more decisive step of descending at once into the Lowlands. Yet whatever temptation Montrose found to carry into effect his attack upon Argyleshire, he could not easily bring himself to renounce the splendid achievement of a descent upon the Low Country. He held more than one council with the principal Chiefs, combating, perhaps, his own secret inclination as well as theirs. He laid before them the extreme difficulty of marching even a Highland army from the east- ward into Argyleshire, through passes scarcely practicable for shep- herds and deer-stalkers, and over mountains with which even the clans lying nearest to them did not pretend to be thoroughly acquainted. These difficulties were greatly enhanced by the season of the year, which was now advancing towards the beginning of December, when the mountain passes, in themselves so difficult, might be expected to be rendered utterly impassible by snow storms. These objections neither satisfied nor silenced the Chiefs, who still insisted upon their ancient mode of making war. by driving the cattle, W’hich, according 236 A LEGEND OF MONTKOSE, [■\YAVERLEY to the Gaelic phrase, “ fed upon the grass of their enemy.” The council was dismissed late at night, and without coming to any decision, ex- cepting that the Chiefs, who supported the opinion that Argyle should be invaded, promised to seek out among their followers those who might be most capable of undertaking the office of guides upon the expedition. Montrose had retired to the cabin which served him for a tent, and stretched himself, upon a bed of dry fern, the only place of repose which it afforded. But he courted sleep in vain, for the visions of ambition excluded those of Morpheus. In one moment he imagined himself displaying the royal banner from the re-conquered castle of Edinburgh, detaching assistance to a monarch whose crown depended upon his suc- cess, and receiving in requital all the advantages and preferments which could be heaped upon him whom a king delighteth to honour. At another time this dream, splendid as it was, faded before the vi- sion of gratified vengeance, and personal triumph over a personal enemy. To surprise Argyle in his stronghold of Inverara—to crush in him at once the rival of his own house and the chief support of the Presbyterians—to shew the Covenanters the difference between the pre- ferred Argyle and the postponed Montrose, was a picture too flatter- ing to feudal vengeance to be easily relinquished. While he lay thus busied with contradictory thoughts and feelings, the soldier who stood sentinel upon his quarters announced to the Mar- quis, that two persons desired to speak with his Excellency. “ Their namesf ” answered Montrose, “and the cause of their ur- gency at such a time ? ” On these points, the sentinel, who was one of Colkitto’s Irishmen, could afford his general little information; so that Montrose, who at such a period durst refuse access to no one, lest he might have been ne- glecting some important intelligence, gave directions, as a necessary precaution, to put the guard under arms, and then prepared to receive them. His groom of the chambers had scarce lighted a pair of torches, and Montrose himself had scarce risen from his couch, when two men entered, one wearing a Lowland dress, of shamoy leather worn al- most to tatters; the other, a tall upright old Highlander, of a com- plexion which might be termed iron grey, wasted and worn by frost and tempest. “What maybe your commands with me, my friends?” said the Marquis, his hand almost unconsciously seeking the butt of one of his pistols; for the period, as well as the time of night, warranted suspi- cions which the good mien of his visitors was not by any means calcu- lated to remove. “ I pray leave to congratulate you,” said the Lowlander, “ my most noble General and Bight Honourable Lord, upon the great battles which you have achieved since I had the fortune to be detached from you. It was a pretty affair that tuilzie at Tippermuir; nevertheless if I might be permitted to counsel ” NOVELS.] A LEGEND OF MONTROSE. 237

“Before doing so,” said tho Marquis, “ will you be pleased to let me know who is so kind as to favour me with his opinion.” “Truly, my lord,” replied the man, “ I should have hoped that was unnecessary, seeing it is not so long since I took on in your service, under promise of a commision as Major, with half a dollar of daily pay and half a dollar of arrears; and I am to trust your lordship has not forgotten my pay as well as my person ? ” “My good friend, Major Dalgetty,” said Montrose, who by this time perfectly recollected his man, “ you must consider what impor- tant things have happened to put my friends’ faces out of my memory, besides this imperfect light; but all conditions shall be kept. And what news from Argyleshire, my good Major ? We have long given you up for lost, and I was now preparing to take the most signal vengeance upon the old fox who infringed the law of arms in your person.” “Truly, my noble lord,” said Dalgetty, “I have no desire that my return should put any stop to so proper and becoming an intention; verily, it is in no shape in the Earl of Argyle’s favour or mercy that I now stand before you, and I shall be no intercessor for him.—But my escape is, under heaven, and the excellent dexterity which, as an old and accomplished cavalier, I displayed in effecting the same,—I say, under these, it is owing to the assistance of this old Highlander, whom I venture to recommend to your lordship’s special favour, as tho in- strument of saving your lordship’s to command, Dugald Dalgetty of Drumthwacket.” “A thank-worthy service,” said the Marquis, gravely, “ which shall certainly be requited in the manner it deserves.” “ Kneel down, Ranald,” said Major Dalgetty, (as we must now call him,) “kneel down, and kiss his Excellency’s hand.” The prescribed form of acknowledgement not being according to tho custom of Ranald’s country, he contented himself with folding his arms on his bosom and making a low inclination of his head. “ This poor man, my lord,” said Major Dalgetty, continuing his speech with a great air of protection towards Ranald MacEagh, “ has strained all his slender means to defend my person from mine enemies, although having no better weapons of a missile sort than bows and arrows, whilk your lordship will hardly believe.” “You will see a great many such weapons in my camp,” said Mon- trose, “ and we find them serviceable.” “ Serviceable, my lord!” said Dalgetty; I trust your lordship will permit me to be surprised—bows and arrows !—I trust you will forgive my recommending the substitution of muskets, the first convenient op- portunity. But besides defending me, this honest Highlander also was at the pains of curing me, in respect that I had got a touch of the wars in my retreat, which merits my best requital in this special introduc- tion of him to your lordship’s notice and protection.” “What is your name, my friend?” said Montrose, turning to the Highlander, 238 A LEGEND OP MONTROSE. [WAYERLEY

“It may not be spoken,” answered the mountaineer. “That is to say,” interpreted Major Dalgetty, “he desires to have his name concealed, in respect he hath in former days taken a castle, slain certain children, and done other things, whilk, as your good lord- ship knows, are often practised in war time, but excite no benevolence towards the perpetrator in the friends of those who sustain injury. I have known, in my military experience, many bravo cavaliers put to death by the boors, simply for using military license upon the peasants.” “I understand,” said Montrose “This person is at feud with some of our followers. Let him retire to the court of guard, and we will think of the best mode of protecting him.” “ You hear, Ranald,” said Major Dalgetty, with an air of superior- ity, “ his Excellency wishes to hold privy council with me, you must go to the court of guard.—Ho does not know where that is, poor fellow ! —he is a young soldier for so old a man; I will put him under the charge of a sentinel, and return to your lordship incontinent.” lie did so and returned accordingly. Montrose’s first enquiry respected the embassy to Inverara; and he listened with attention to Dalgetty’s reply, notwithstanding the prolixity of the Major’s narrative. It required an effort from the Mar- quis to maintain his attention; but no one better knew, that where information is to bo derived from the report of such agents as Dalgetty, it can only be obtained by suffering them to tell their story in their own way. Accordingly his patience was at length rewarded. Among other spoils which the Captain thought himself at liberty to take, was a packet of Argyle’s private papers. These he consigned to the hands of his general; a humour of accounting, however, which went no far- ther, for I do not understand that ho made any mention of the purse of gold which he had appropriated at the same time that he made sei- zure of the papers aforesaid. Snatching a torch from the wall, Mon- trose was in an instant deeply engaged in the perusal of these docu- ments, in which it is probable ho found something to animate his per- sonal resentment against his rival Argyle. “ Does he not fear me ? ” said he; “ then he shall feel me. Will he fire my castle of Murdoch !—Inverara shall raise the first smoke.—0 for a guide through the skirts of Strath Lilian! ” Whatever might be Dalgetty’s personal conceit, he understood his business sufficiently to guess at Montrose’s meaning. He instantly in- terrupted his own prolix narration of the skirmish which had taken place, and the wound ho had received in his retreat, and began to speak to the point which he saw interested his general. “If,” said he, “your Excellency wishes to make an infall into Argyleshire, this poor man, Ranald, of whom I told you, together with his children and companions, know every pass into that laud, both leading from the east and from the north.” “ Indeed! ” said Montrose; “ what reason have you to believe their knowledge so extensiye ? ” NOVELS.] A LEGEND OF MONTROSE. 239

“ So please your Excellency,”answeredDalgetty, “during the weeks that I remained with them for cure of my wound, they were repeatedly obliged to shift their quarters, in respect of Argyle’s repeated attempts to repossess himself of the person of an officer who was honoured with your Excellency’s confidence; so that I had occasion to admire the singular dexterity and knowledge of the face of the country with which they alternately achieved their retreat and their advance: and when, at length, I was able to repair to your Excellency’s standard, this honest creature, Ranald MacEagh, guided me by paths which my steed Gusta- vus, (which your lordship may remember,) trodo with perfect safety, so that I said to myself, that where guides, spies, or intelligencers, were required in a Highland compaign in that western country, more expert persons than he and his attendants could not possibly be desired.” “And can you answer for his fidelity ?” said Montrose; “what is his name and condition F ” “ He is an outlaw, and robber by profession,” answered Dalgetty ; “ and by name, called Ranald MacEagh: whilk signifies, Ranald, the Son of the Mist.” “I should remember something of that name,” said Montrose, pausing. “ Did not these Children of the Mist perpetrate some act of cruelty upon the M'Auiays ? ” Major Dalgetty mentioned the circumstance of the murder of the forester, and Montrose’s active memory at once recalled all the circum- stances of the feud. “It is most unlucky,” said Montrose, “ this inexpiable quarrel be- tween those men and the M'Aulays. Allan has borne himself bravely in these wars, and possesses, by the wild mystery of his behaviour and language, so much influence over the minds of his countrymen, that the consequences of disobliging him might bo serious. At the same time, these men being so capable of rendering useful service, and being as you say, Major Dalgetty, perfectly trustworthy” - “I will impledge my pay and arrears, my horse and arms, my head and neck, upon their fidelity,” said the Major; “ and your Excellency knows, that a soldado could say no more for his own father.” “ True,” said Montrose; “but as this is a matter of particular mo- ment, I would willingly know the grounds of so positive an assurance.” “Concisely then, my lord,” said the Major, “not only did they dis- dain to profit by a handsome reward which Argylo did me the honour to place upon this poor head of mine, and not only did they abstain from pillaging my personal property, whilk was to an amount that would have tempted regular soldiers in any service of Europe; and not only did they restore me my horse, whilk your Excellency knows to be of value; but I could not prevail on them to accept one stiver, doit, or maravedi, for the trouble and expenses of my sick bed. They actually refused my coined money when ficely offered,—a tale seldom to be told in a Christian land. 240 A LEGEND OF MONTROSE. [WAVERLEY

“Iadmit,” said Montrose, after a moment’s reflection, “that tlieir conduct towards you is good evidence of their fidelity, but how to secure against the breaking out of this feud.” He paused, and then suddenly added, “I had forgot I have supt, while you, Major, have been travelling by moonlight.” He called to his attendants to fetch a stoup of wine and some re- freshments. Major Dalgetty, who had the appetite of a convalescent returned from Highland quarters, needed not any pressing to partake of what was set before him, but proceeded to dispatch his food with I such alacrity, that the Marquis, filling a cup of wine, and drinking to I his health, could not help remarking, that coarse as the provisions of his camp were, he was afraid Major Dalgetty had fared much worse during his excursion into Argyleshire. “Your Excellency may take your corporal oath upon that,” said the worthy Major, speaking with his mouth full; “for the viands that the Children of the Mist procured for me, .poor helpless creatures as they were, were so unrefreshful to my body, that when inclosed in my armour, whilk I was fain to leave behind me for expedition sake, I rattled therein like the shrivelled kernel in a nut that hath been kept ; on to a second Hallowe’en.” i “You must take the due means to repair these losses, Major Dal- getty.” “In troth,” answered the soldier, “I shall hardly be able to com- pass that, unless my arrears are to be exchanged for present pay; for I protest to your Excellency, that the three stone weight which I have lost were simply raised upon the regular accountings of the States of Holland.” “In that case,” said the Marquis, “you are only reduced to good marching order. As for the pay, let us once have victory—victory, Major, and your wishes, and all our wishes, shall be amply fulfilled. Meantime help yourself to another cup of wine.” “ To your Excellency’s health,” said the Major, filling a cup to the brim, to shew the zeal with which he drank the toast, “ and victory over all your enemies, and particularly over Argyle. I hope to pull another handful from his beard myself—I have had one pluck at it already.” “Very true,” answered Montrose; “ but to return to these men of the Mist. You understand, Dalgetty, that their presence here, and the purpose for which we employ them, is a secret between you and me.” Delighted, as Montrose had anticipated, with this mark of his general’s confidence, the Major laid his hand upon his nose, and nodded intelligence. “How many may there be of Ranald’s followers?” continued the Marquis. “They are reduced, so far as I know, to some eight or ten men,” answered Major Dalgetty, “ and a few women and children.” NOVELS.'] A LEGEND OE MONTROSE. 241

“ Where are they now P” demanded Montrose. “ In a valley, at three miles’ distance,” answered the soldier, “ await- I ing your Excellency’s command; I judged it not fit to bring them to i your leaguer without your Excellency’s orders.” “ You judged very well,” said Montrose; “ it would be proper that | they remain where they are, or seek some more distant place of refuge. I I will send them money, though it is a scarce article with me at pre- sent.” “It is quite unnecessary,” said Major Dalgetty; “your Excellency has only to hint that the M'Aulays are going in that direction, and my friends of the Mist will instantly make volte-face, and go to the right about.” “That were scarce courteous,” said the Marquis. “Better send I them a few dollars to purchase them some cattle for the support of the women and children.” “ They know how to come by their cattle at a far cheaper rate,” said | the Major; “but let it be as your Excellency wills.” “ Let Ranald MacEagh,” said Montrose, “ select one or two of his followers, men whom he can trust, and who are capable of keeping their own secret; these shall serve for our guides. Let them be at my tent to-morrow at day-break, and see, if possible, that they neither guess my purpose, nor hold any communication with each other in private.—This old man, has he any children?” 1“ They have been killed or hanged,” said the Captain, “to the num- ber of a round dozen, as I believe—but he hath left one child, a smart and hopeful youth, whom I have noted to be never without a pebble in his plaid nook, to fling at whosoever might come in his way, being a symbol, that, like David, who was accustomed to sling smooth stones taken from the brook, he may afterwards prove an adventurous warrior.” “That boy, Major Dalgetty,” said the Marquis, “I will have to attend upon my own person. I presume ho will have sense enough to keep his name secret.” “Your Excellency need not fear that,” answered Dalgetty; “ these Highland imps, from the moment they chip the shell” “ Well,” replied Montrose, “ that boy shall be pledge for the fidelity of his father, and if he pi-oves faithful, the child’s preferment shall bo his reward.—And now, Major Dalgetty, I will licence your departure for the night; to-morrow you will introduce this MacEagh, under any name or character he may please to assume. I presume his profession has rendered him sufficiently expert in all sort of disguises; or we may admit John of Moydart into our schemes, who has sense, practica- bility, and intelligence, and will allow this man for a time to be dis- guised as one of his followers. For you, Major, my groom of the chambers will be your quarter-master for this evening.” Major Dalgetty took his leave with a joyful heart, greatly elated 242 A LEGEND OE MONTROSE. [WAVEKLEY

•R-ith tno reception he had met -with, and much pleased with the per- sonal manners of his new general, which, as he explained at great length to Ranald MacEagh, reminded him in many respects of the demeanour of the immortal Gustavus Adolphus, the Lion of the North, and Bulwark of the Protestant Faith.

CHAPTER XVII. The march begins in military state, And nations on his eyes suspended Avait; Stern famine guards the solitary coast, And winter barricades the realms of frost; lie comes,—nor want, nor cold, his course delay Vanity of Unman Wishes, By break of day, Montrose received in his cabin old MacEagh, and questioned him long and particularly as to the means of approaching | the country of Argyle. He made a note of his answers, which he com- pared with those of two of his followers, whom he introduced as the most prudent and experienced. He found them to correspond in all respects ; but, still unsatisfied where precaution was so necessary, the Marquis compared the information he had received with that he was | able to collect from the Chiefs who lay most near to the destined scene of invasion, and being in all respects satisfied of its accuracy, he re- * solved to proceed in full reliance upon it. In one point Montrose changed his mind. Having judged it unfit to take the boy Kenneth into his own sendee, lest, in case of his birth being discovered, it should be resented as an offence by the numerous i clans who entertained a feudal enmity to this devoted family, he re- quested the Major to take him in attendance upon himself; and as he accompanied this request with a handsome douceur, under pretence of clothing and equipping the lad, this change was agreeable to all parties. It was about breakfast-time, when Major Dalgetty, being dismissed by Montrose, went in quest of his old acquaintances, Lord Menteith and the M'Aulays, to whom he longed to communicate his own ad- ventures, as well as to learn from them the particulars of the campaign. It may be imagined he was received with great glee by men to whom the late uniformity of their military life had rendered any change of society an interesting novelty. Allan M'Aulay alone seemed to recoil from his former acquaintance, although, when challenged by his brother, ho could render no other reason than a reluctance to be "fami- liar with one who had been so lately in the company of Argyle and other enemies. Major Dalgetty was a little alarmed by this sort of instinctive consciousness which Allan seemed to entertain respecting ! the society he had been lately keeping; ho was soon satisfied, however, KOVELS.] A LEGEND OF MONTROSE. 243 that the perceptions of the seer in this particular •were not infallible. As Ranald MacEagh was to be placed under Major Dalgetty’s pro- tection and superintendence, it was necessary he should present him to those persons with whom he was most likely to associate. The dress of the old man had, in the meantime, been changed from the tartan of his clan to a sort of clothing peculiar to the men of the distant Isles, resembling a waistcoat with sleeves, and a petticoat, all made in one piece. This dress was laced from top to bottom in front, and bore some resemblance to that called a Polonaise, still worn by children in Scot- land of the lower rank. The tartan hose and bonnet completed the dress, which old men of the last century remembered well to have seen worn by the distant Islesmen who came to the Earl of Mar’s standard in the year 1715. Major Dalgetty, keeping his eye on Allan as he spoke, introduced Ranald MacEagh under the fictitious name of Ranald MacGillihuron in Benbecula, who had escaped with him out of Argyle’s prison. Ho recommended him as a person skilful in the arts of the harper and the senachie, and by no means contemptible in the quality of a second- sighted person or seer. While making this exposition, Major Dalgetty stammered and hesitated in a way so unlike the usual glib forwardness of his manner, that he could not have failed to have given suspicion to Allan M'Auiay, had not that person’s whole attention been engaged in steadily perusing the features of the person thus introduced to him. This steady gaze so much embarrassed Ranald MacEagh, that his hand was beginning to sink down towards his dagger, in expectation of a sudden assault, when Allan M'Aulay, suddenly crossing the floor of the hut, extended his hand to him in the way of friendly greeting. They sat down side by side, and conversed in a low mysterious tone of voice. Menteith and Angus M‘Aulay were not surprised at this, for there prevailed among the Highlanders who pretended to the second- sight a sort of freemasonry, which generally induced them, upon meet- ing, to hold communication with each other on the nature and extent of their visionary experiences. “ Does the sight come gloomy upon your spirit ? ” said Allan to his new acquaintance. “ As dark as the shadow upon the moon,” replied Ranald, “when she is darkened in her mid-course in heaven, and prophets foretell of evil times.” “Come hither,” said Allan, “come more this way, I would converse with you apart; for men say that in your distant islands the sight is poured forth with more clearness and power than upon us, who dwell near the Sassenach.” While they were plunged into their mystic conference, the two English cavaliers entered the cabin in the highest possible s])irits, and announced to Angus M'Aulay that orders had been issued that all should hold themselves in readiness for an immediate march to the 244 A LEGEND OP MONTROSE. [WAVERLEY

westward. Haying delivered themselves of their news with much glee, they paid their compliments to their old acquaintance Major Dalgetty, whom they instantly recognised, and inquired after the health of his charger, Gustavus. “I humhlj’-thank you, gentlemen,” answered the soldier, “Gus- tavus is well, though, like his master, somewhat barer on the ribs than when you offered to relieve me of him at Darnlinvarach'; and let me assure you, that before you have made one or two of those marches which you seem to contemplate with so much satisfaction in prospect, you will leave, my good Knights, some of your English beef, and pro- bably an English horse or two behind you.” Both exclaimed that they cared very little what they found or what they left, provided the scene changed from dodging up and down An- gus and Aberdeenshire, in pursuit of an enemy who would neither fight nor run away. “If such be the case,” said Angus M'Aulay, “I must give orders to my followers, and make provision too for the safe conveyance of Annot Lyle; for an advance into M‘Galium More’s country will be a farther and fouler road than these pinks of Cumbrian Knighthood are awaro of.” So saying, he left the cabin. “Annot Lyle!” repeated Dalgetty, “is she following the cam- paign ? ” “Surely,” replied Sir Giles Musgrave, his eye glancing slightly from Lord Menteith to Allan M‘Aulay; “we could neither march nor fight, advance nor retreat, without the influence of the Princess of Harps.” “The Princess of Broadswords and Targets, I say,” answered his companion; “for the Lady of Montrose herself could not be more courteously waited upon; she has four Highland maidens, and as many bare-legged gillies, to wait upon her orders.” “ And what would you have, gentlemen?” said Allan, turning sud- denly from the Highlander with whom he was in conversation; “ would you yourselves have left an innocent female, the companion of your infancy, to die by violence, or perish by famine ? There is not, by this time, a roof upon the habitation of my fathers—our crops have been destroyed, and our cattle have been driven—and you, gentlemen, have to bless God, that, coming from a milder and more civilized country, you expose only your own lives in this remorseless war, with- out apprehension that your enemies will visit with their vengeance the defenceless pledges you may have left behind you.” The Englishmen cordially agreed that they had the superiority in this respect; and the company now dispersing, went each to his several charge or occupation. Allan lingered a moment behind, still questioning the reluctant Ranald MacEagh upon a point in his supposed visions, by which ho was greatly perplexed. “Repeatedly,” he said, “ have I had the sight NOVELS.] A LEGEND OF MONTROSE. 245 of a Gael, who seemed to plunge his weapon into the body of Menteith, —of that young nobleman in the scarlet laced cloak, who has just now left the bothy. But by no effort, though I have gazed till my eyes were almost fixed in the sockets, can I discover the face of this High- lander, or even conjecture who he may be, although his person and air seem familiar to me.” “ Have you reversed your own plaid ? ” said Ranald, “ according to the rule of the experienced Seers in such cases ? ” “ I have,” answered Allan, speaking low, and shuddering as if with internal agony. “ And in what guise did the phantom then appear to you P ” said Ranald. “ With his plaid also reversed,” answered Allan, in the same low and convulsed tone. “ Then be assured,” said Ranald, “ that your own hand, and none other, will do the deed of which you have witnessed the shadow.” “ So has my anxious soul an hundred times surmised,” replied Allan. “ But it is impossible! Were I to read the record in the eternal book of fate, I would declare it impossible—we are bound by the ties of blood, and by an hundred ties more intimate—wo have stood side by side in battle, and our swords have reeked with the blood of the same enemies—it is impossible I should harm him! ” “ That you will do so,” answered Ranald, “ is certain, though the cause be hid in the darkness of futurity. You say,” said he, sup- pressing his own emotions with difficulty, “ that side by side you have pursued your prey like blood-hounds—have you never seen blood- hounds turn their fangs against each other, and fight over the body of a throttled deer ? ” “ It is false,” said M‘Aulay, starting up ; “ these are not the fore- bodings of fate, but the temptation of some evil spirit from the bottom- less pit! ” So saying, he strode out of the cabin. “ Thou hast it! ” said the Son of the Mist, looking after him with an air of exultation; “the barbed arrow is in thy side!—Spirits of the slaughtered! rejoice! soon shall your murderers’ swords bo dyed in each others’ blood.” On the succeeding morning all was prepared, and Montrose advanced by rapid marches up the river Tay, and poured his desultory forces into the romantic vale around the lake of the same name, which lies at the head of that river. The inhabitants were Campbells, not indeed the vassals of Argyle, but of the allied and kindred house of Glenurchy, which now bears the name of Breadalbane. Being taken by surprise, they were totally unprepared for resistance, and were compelled to be the passive witnesses of the ravages which took place among their flocks and herds. Advancing in this manner to the vale of Loch Dochart, and laying waste the country around him, Montrose reached the most difficult point of his enterprize. 246 A LEGEND OF MONTEOSE. [ WAVEIILE Y

To a modern army, even with, the assistance of the good military road which now leads up by Teindrum to the head of Loch Awe, the passage of these extensive wilds would seem a task of some difficulty. But at this period, and for long afterwards, there was no road or path whatsoever; and to add to the difficulty, the mountains were already covered with snow. It was a sublime scene to look up to them, piled in great masses, one upon another, the front rank of dazzling white- ness, while those which arose behind them caught a rosy tint from the setting of a clear wintry sun. Ben Cruachan, superior in magnitude, and seeming the very citadel of the Genius of the Region, rose high above the others, shewing his glimmering and scathed peak to the dis- tance of many miles. The followers of Montrose were men not to be daunted by the sub- lime, yet terrible prospect before them. Many of them were of that ancient race of Highlanders, who not only willingly made their couch in the snow, but considered it as effeminate luxury to use a snow-ball for a pillow. Plunder and revenge lay beyond the frozen mountains ■which they beheld, and they did not permit themselves to be daunted by the difficulty of traversing them. Montrose did not allow their spirits time to subside. He ordered the pipes to play in the van the ancient pibroch entitled “ Iloggal nam bo," &c., (that is, We come through drift to drive the prey); the shrilling sounds of which had often struck the vales of the Lennox with terror.* The troops ad- vanced with the nimble alacrity of mountaineers, and were soon in- volved in the dangerous pass, through which Ranald acted as their guide, going before them with a select party, to track out the way. The power of man at no time appears more contemptible than when it is placed in contrast with scenes of natural terror and dignity. The victorious army of Montrose, whose exploits had struck terror into all Scotland, when ascending up this terrific pass, seemed a contemptible handful of stragglers, in the act of being devoured by the jaws of the mountain, which appeared ready to close upon them. Even Montrose half repented the boldness of his attempt, as he looked down from the summit of the first eminence which ho attained, upon the scattered condition of his small army. The difficulty of getting forward was so great, that considerable gaps began to occur in the line of march, and the distance between the van, centre, and rear, was each moment in- creased in a degree equally incommodious and dangerous. It was with great apprehension that Montrose looked upon every point of advan- tage which the hill afforded, in dread it might be found occupied by an enemy prepared for defence; and he often afterwards was heard to ex- press his conviction, that had the passes of Strath Fillan been defended by two hundred resolute men, not only would his progress have been

* It is the family-march of the M'Farlanes, a warlike and predatory clan, who inhabited the western banks of Loch-Lomon4. KOVELS.] A LEGEND OF MONTROSE. 247 effectually stopt, but his whole army must have beeu in danger of be- ing totally cut off. Security, however, the bane of many a strong country, and many a fortress, betrayed, upon this occasion, the dis- trict of Argyle to his enemies. The invaders had only to contend with the natural difficulties of the path, and with the snow, which, fortu- nately, had not fallen in any great quantity. The army no sooner reached the summit of the ridge of hills dividing Argyleshire from the district of Breadalbano, then they rushed down upon the devoted vales beneath them with a fury sufficiently expressive of the motives which had dictated a movement so difficult and hazardous. Montrose divided his army into three bodies, in order to produce a wider and more extensive terror, one of which was commanded by the Captain of Clan Ranald, one intrusted to the leading of Colkitto, and the third remained under his own direction. He was thus enabled to penetrate the country of Argyle at three different points. Resistance there was none. The flight of the shepherds from the hills had first announced this formidable irruption, and wherever the clansmen were summoned out, they were killed, disarmed, and dispersed, by an enemy who had anticipated their motions. Major Dalgetty, who had been sent forward against Inverara with the few horse of the army that were fit for service, managed his matters so well, that he had very near surprised Argyle, as he expressed it, inter pocula, and it was only a rapid flight by water that saved that chief from death or captivity. But the punishment which Argyle himself escaped fell heavily upon his country and clan, and the ravages committed by Montrose on that devoted land, although too consistent with the genius of the country and times, have been repeatedly quoted as a blot on his actions and character. , Argyle in the meantime had fled to Edinburgh, to lay his complaints before the Convention of Estates. To meet the exigence of the mo- ment, a considerable army was raised under General Baillie, a Presby- terian officer of skill and fidelity, with whom was joined in command the celebrated Sir John Urrie, a soldier of fortune like Dalgetty, who had already changed sides twice during the Civil War, and was destined to turn his coat a third time before it wras ended. Argyle also, burn- ing with indignation, proceeded to levy his own numerous forces, in order to avenge himself of his feudal enemy. He established his head- quarters at Dumbarton, where he was soon joined by a considerable force, consisting chiefly of his own clansmen and dependants. Being there joined by Baillie and Urrie, with a very considerable army of regular forces, he prepared to march into Argyleshire, and chastise the invader of his paternal territories. But Montrose, while these two formidable armies were forming a junction, had been recalled from that ravaged country by the approach of a third, collected in the north under the Earl of Seaforth, who, after some hesitation, having embraced the side of the Covenanters, had 248 A LEGEND OF MONTROSE. [waverleY

now, ■with the assistance of the veteran garrison of Inverness, formed a considerable army, with which he threatened Montrose from Inver- ness-shire. Inclosed in a wasted and unfriendly country, and me- : naced on each side by advancing enemies of superior force, it might have been supposed that Montrose’s destruction was certain. But these were precisely the circumstances under which the active and en- : terprising genius of the Great Marquis was calculated to excite the j wonder and admiration of friends, the astonishment and terror of his enemies. As if by magic, he collected his scattered forces from the wasteful occupation in which they had been engaged; and scarce wore they again united, ere Argyle and his associate generals were informed, that the royalists had suddenly disappeared from Argyleshire, and re- treated northwards among the dusky and impenetrable mountains of Lochaber. The sagacity of the generals opposed to Montrose, immediately con- jectured, that it was the purpose of their active antagonist to fight with, and, if possible, to destroy Seaforth, ere they could come to his assistance. This occasioned a corresponding change in their opera- tions. Leaving this chieftain to make the best defence he could, Urrie lj and Baillie again separated their forces from those of Argyle, and having chiefly horse and Lowland troops under their command, they kept the southern side of the Grampian ridge, moving along eastward into the county of Angus, resolving from thence to proceed into Aber- , deenshire, in order to intercept Montrose, if he should attempt to es- cape in that direction. Argyle, with his own levies and other troops, undertook to follow Montrose’s march; so that in case he should come to action either with Seaforth, or with Baillie and Urrie, ho might be placed between two fires by this third army, which, at a secure distance, was to hang upon his rear. For this purpose Argyle once more moved towards Inverara, having an opportunity, at every step, to deplore the severities which the hos- - tile clans had exercised on his dependants and country. Whatever noble qualities the Highlanders possessed, and they had many, clem- ency in treating a hostile country was not of the number; but even the ravages of hostile troops combined to swell the number of Argyle’s followers. It is still a Highland proverb, Ho whose house is burnt must become a soldier; and hundreds of the inhabitants of these un- fortunate valleys had now no means of maintenance, save by exercis- ing upon others the severities they had themselves sustained, and no future prospect of happiness, excepting in the gratification of revenge. His bands were, therefore, augmented by the very circumstances which had desolated his country, and Argyle soon found himself at the head of three thousand determined men, distinguished for activity and courage, and commanded by gentlemen of his own name, who 3’ielded to none in those qualities. Under himself, he conferred the principal KOVELS.] A LEGEND OF MONTROSE. 249

» command upon Sir Duncan Campbell of Ardenvobr, and another Sir ' Duncan Campbell of Auchenbreck, an experienced and veteran soldier, : whom he had recalled from the wars of Ireland for this purpose. The (f cold spirit of Argyle himself, however, clogged the military councils of j’j his more intrepid assistants, and it was resolved, notwithstanding their 4 increased force, to observe the same plan of operations, and to follow li Montrose cautiously, in whatever direction he should march, north- e! eastward, avoiding an engagement until an opportunity should occur !( of falling upon the Marquis’s rear, while he should be engaged with .1 another enemy in front.

CHAPTER XVin. Piobrachet au Donuil-dhu, Piobrachet an Donuil, Piobrachet agus spreittach Feacht an Innerlochy. The war-tune of Donald the Black, The war-tune of Black Donald, The pipes and the banner Are up in the rendezvous of Inverlochy. The military road connecting the chain of forts, as it is called, and running in the general line of the present Caledonian canal, has now completely opened the great glen, or chasm, extending almost across the whole island, once doubtless filled by the sea, and still affording basins for that long line of lakes, by means of which modern art has united the German and Atlantic Oceans. The paths or tracts by which the natives traversed this extensive valley, were, in 1G45-6, in tho same situation as when they awaked the strain of an Irish engineer officer, who had been employed in converting them into practicable military roads, and whose poem begins, and, for aught I know, ends as follows.—• “ Had you but seen these roads before they were made, You would have held up your hands and blessed General Wade.** But, bad as the ordinary paths were, Montrose avoided them, and led his army, like a herd of wild deer, from mountain to mountain, and forest to forest, where his enemies could learn nothing of his motions, while he acquired the most perfect knowledge respecting theirs from the friendly clans of Cameron and M‘Donnell, whose mountainous districts he now traversed. Strict orders had been given that Argylo’s advance should be watched, and that all intelligence respecting his motions should be communicated instantly to the general himself. It was a moonlight night, and Montrose, worn out by the fatigues of the day, was laid down to sleci? in a miserable shieling. lie had only 230 A LEGEND OE MONTEOSE. [WAVERLEY slumbered two hours, when some one touched his shoulder, lie looked up, and, by the stately form and deep voice, easily recognized the Chief of the Camerons. “ I have news for you,” said that leader, “ which it is worth while to arise and listen to.” “ M‘Ilduy can bring no other,” said Montrose, addressing the Chief by his patronymic title—“ are they good or bad ? ” “As you may take them,” said the Chieftain. “ Are they certain ? ” “ Yes,” answered M‘Ilduy, “ or another messenger should have brought them. Know that, tired with the task imposed upon me of accompanjdng that unhappy Dalgetty and his handful of horse, who detained me for hours on the march at the pace of a crippled badger, I made a stretch of four miles with six of my people in the direction of Inverlochy, and there met with Ian of Glenroy, who had been out for intelligence. Argyle is moving upon Inverlochy with three thousand chosen men, commanded by the flower of the sons of Diarmid.—These are my news—they are certain—it is for you to construe their purport.’’ “Their purport must be good,” answered Montrose, readily and cheerfully; “the voice of MTlduy is ever pleasant in the ears of Mon- trose, and most pleasant when it speaks of some brave enterprise at hand—What are our musters P ” He then called for light, and easily ascertained, that a great part of his followers having, as usual, dispersed to secure their booty, he had not with him above twelve or fourteen hundred men. “Not much above a third,” said Montrose, pausing, “of Argyle’s force, and Highlanders opposed to Highlanders.—With the blessing of God upon the royal cause, I would not hesitate were the odds but one to two.” “ Then do not hesitate,” said Cameron ; “ for, when your trumpets shall sound to attack M'Callum More, not a man of those glens will remain deaf to the summons. Glongary—Keppoch—I myself—would destroy, with tire and sword, the wretch who should remain behind under any pretence whatsoever. To-morrow, or the next day, shall be a day of battle to all who bear the name of M‘Donnell or Cameron, whatever be the event.” “ It is gallantly said, my noble friend,” said Montrose, grasping his hand, “ and I were worse than a coward did I not do justice to such followers, by entertaining the most indubitable hopes of success. We will turn back on this M'Callum More, who follows us like a raven to devour the relics of our army, should we meet braver men who may bo able to break its strength ! Let the Chiefs and leaders be called to- gether as quickly as possible, and you, who have brought us the first news of this joyful event,—for such it shall be,—you shall bring it to a joyful issue, by guiding us the best and nearest road against our enemy.” KOVELS.] A LEGEND OF MONTROSE. 251

“That •will I willingly do,” said M'llduy; “if I have shewn you paths by which to retreat through these dusky wilds, with far more readiness will I teach you how to advance against your enemy.” A general bustle now prevailed, and the leaders were everywhere startled from the rude couches on which they had sought temporary repose. “ I never thought,” said Major Dalgetty, when summoned up from a handful of rugged heather roots, “to have parted from a bed as hard as a stable broom with such bad will; but indubitably, having but one man of military experience in his army, his Excellency the Mar- quis may be vindicated in putting him upon hard duty.” So saying, he repaired to the council, where notwithstanding his pedantry, Montrose seemed always to listen to him with considerable attention; partly because the Major really possessed military know- ledge and experience, and often mado suggestions which were found of advantage, and partly because it relieved the general from the necessity of deferring entirely to the opinion of the Highland Chiefs, and gave him additional ground for disputing it when it was not agreeable to his own. On the present occasion, Dalgetty joyfully acquiesced in the proposal of marching back and confronting Argyle, which he compared to the ! valiant resolution of the great Gustavus, who moved against the Duke of Bavaria, and enriched his troops by the plunder of that rich country, S although menaced from the northward by the large army which Wal- Ilonstein had assembled in Bohemia. The Chiefs of Glengary, Keppoch, and Lochiel, whose clans, equal in courage and military fame to any in the Highlands, lay within the neighbourhood of the scene of action, dispatched the fiery cross through their vassals, to summon every one who could bear arms to meet the j Ring’s Lieutenant, and to join the standards of their respective chiefs as they marched toward Inverlochy. As the order was emphatically given, it was speedily and willingly obeyed. Their natural love of war, their zeal for the royal cause,—for they viewed the King in the light of a chief whom his clansmen had deserted,—as well as their im- plicit obedience to their own patriarchs, drew in to Montrose’s army not only all in the neighbourhood who were able to bear arms, but some i who, in age at least, might have been esteemed past the use of them, i During the next day’s march, which, being directed straight through t the mountains of Lochaber, was unsuspected by the enemy, his forces were augmented by handfulls of men issuing from each glen, and i ranging themselves under the banners of their respective Chiefs. This /• was a circumstance highly inspiriting to the rest of the army, who, by 1 the time they approached the enemy, found their strength increased i considerably more than one-fourth, as had been prophesied by the valiant leader of the Camerons. While Montrose executed this counter-march, Argyle had, at the head of his gallant army, advanced up the southern side of Loch-Eil, 252 A LEGEND OF MONTROSE. [WAVEliLKY and reached the river Lochy, which combines that lake with Loch- Lochy. The ancient castle of Inverlochy, once, as it is said, a royal fortress, and still, although dismantled, a place of some strength and consideration, offered convenient head-quarters, and there was ample room for Argyle’s army to encamp around him in the valley, where the Lochy joins Loch-Eil. Several barges had attended, loaded with pro- visions, so that they were in every respect as well accommodated as such an army wished or expected to be. The Marquis, in council with Auchenbreck and Ardenvohr, expressed his full confidence that Mon- trose was now on the brink of destruction; that his troops must gradu- ally diminish as he moved eastward through such uncouth paths; that if he went eastward, he must encounter Urrie and liaillie ; if north- ward, fall into the hands of Seaforth; or should he chuse any halting place, he would expose himself to be attacked by three armies at once. “I cannot rejoice in the prospect, my lord,” said Auchenbreck, “that James Graham will be crushed with little assistance of ours. He has left a heavy account in Argyleshire against him, and I long to reckon with him drop of blood for drop of blood. I love not the pay- ment of such debts by third hands.” “ You are too scrupulous,” said Argyle ; “ what signifies by whose hands the blood of the Grahams is spilt f—It is time that of the sons of Diarmid should cease to flow. What say you, Ardenvohr ? ” “I say, my lord,” replied Sir Duncan, “that I think Auchenbreck will be gratified, and will himself have a personal opportunity of set- tling accounts with Montrose for his depredations. Reports have reached our outposts that the Camerons are assembling on the skirts of Ben-Nevis; this must be to join the advance of Montrose, and not to cover his retreat.” “It must be some scheme of harassing and depredation,” said Ar- gyle, “devised by the inveterate malignity of MTlduy, which he terms loyalty. They can intend no more than an attack on our outposts, or some annoyance to to-morrow’s march.” “ I have sent out scouts,” said Sir Duncan, “ in every direction, to procure intelligence; and we must soon hear whether they really do assemble any force, upon what point, or with what purpose.” It was late ere any tidings were received ; but when the moon 1 ad arisen, a considerable bustle in the camp, and a noise immediately after heard in the castle, announced the arrival of important intelli- gence. Of the scouts first dispersed by Ardenvohr, some had returned without being able to collect anything, save uncertain rumours con- cerning raovements in the country of the Camerons. It seemed as if the skirts of Ben-Nevis were sending forth those unaccountable and portentous sounds with which they sometimes announce the near ar- rival of a storm. Others, whose zeal carried them farther upon their mission, were entrapped and slain, or made prisoners, by the inhabi- tants of the fastnesses into which they endeavoured to penetrate. At NOVELS. 3 A LEGEND OE MONTROSE. 253 length, on the rapid advance of Montrose’s army, his advanced guard and the outposts of Argyle became aware of each other’s presence, and after exchanging a few musket-shots and arrows, fell back to their re- spective main bodies, to convey intelligence and receive orders. Sir Duncan Campbell, and Auchenbreck, instantly threw themselves on horseback, in order to visit the state of the outposts; and the Marquis of Argyle maintained his character of commander-in-chief with reputa- tion, by making a respectable arrangement of his forces in the plain, as it was evident that they might now expect a night alarm, or an attack in the morning at farthest. Montrose had kept his forces so cautiously within the defiles of the mountain, that no effort which Auchenbreck of Ardenvohr thought it prudent to attempt, could ascertain his pro- bable strength. They were aware, however, that, at the utmost com- putation, it must be inferior to their own, and they returned to Argyle to inform him of the amount of their observations ; but that nobleman refused to believe that Montrose could be in presence himself. He said, ‘ ‘ It was a madness, of which even James Graham, in his height of presumptuous phrenzy, was incapable; and he doubted not that their march was only impeded by their ancient enemies, Glenco, Kep- poch, and Glengary; and perhaps M'Yourigh, with his M‘Phersons, might have assembled a force, which he knew must be greatly inferior in numbers to his own, and whom, therefore, he doubted not to dis- perse by force, or by terms of capitulation.” The spirit of Argyle’s followers was high, breathing vengeance for the disasters which their country had so lately undergone ; and the night passed in anxious hopes that the morning might dawn upon their vengeance. The outposts of either army kept a careful watch, and the soldiers of Argyle slept in the order of battle which they were next to occupy. A pale dawn had scarce begun to tinge the tops of these immense mountains, when the leaders of both armies prepared for the business of the day. It was the second of February, 1645-6. The clansmen of Argyle were arranged in two lines, not far from the angle between the river and the lake, and made an appearance equally resolute and for- midable. Auchenbreck would willingly have commenced the battle by an attack on the out-posts of the enemy, but Argyle, with more cau- tious policy, preferred receiving to making the onset. Signals were soon heard, that they would not long wait for it in vain. The Camp- bells could distinguish, in the gorge of the mountains, the war-tunes of various clans as they advanced to the onset. That of the Camerons, which bears the ominous words, addressed to the wolves and ravens, “ Come to me, and I will give you flesh,” was loudly re-echoed from their native glens. In the language of the Highland bards, the war voice of Glengary was not silent; and the gathering tunes of other tribes could be plainly distinguished, as they successively came up to the extremity of the passes from which they were to descend into the.rRun, 254 A LEGEND OE MONTROSE. [waverleY

“You see,” said Argyle to his kinsmen, “it is as I said, we have only to deal with, our neighbours; James Graham has not ventured to shew us his banner.” At this moment there resounded from the gorge of the pass a lively flourish of trumpets, in that note with which it was the ancient Scot- tish fashion to salute the royal standard. “You may hear, my lord, the signal,” said Sir Duncan Campbell, “ that he who pretends to be the King’s Lieutenant, must be in person among these men.” “ And has probably horse with him,” said Auchenbreck, “ which I could not have anticipated. But shall we look pale for that, my lord, when wo have foes to fight, and wrongs to revenge ? ” Argyle was silent, and looked upon his arm, which hung in a sash, owing to a fall which he had sustained in a preceding march. “ It is true,” interrupted Ardonvohr, eagerly; “my Lord of Argyle, you are disabled from using either sword or pistol; you must retire on board the galleys—your life is precious to us as a head—your hand cannot be useful to us as a soldier.” “No,” said Argyle, pride contending with irresolution, “it shall never be said that I fled before Montrose; if I cannot fight, I will at least die in the midst of my children.” Several other principal chiefs of the Campbells, with one voice, con- jured and obtested the chieftain to leave them for that day to the lead- ing of Ardenvohr and Auchenbreck, and to behold the conflict from a distance and in safety.—AVe dare not stigmatize Argyle with poltroon- ery—for, though his life was marked by no action of bravery, yet ho behaved with so much composure and dignity in the final and closing scene, that his conduct upon the present and similar occasions, should rather be imputed to indecision than to want of courage. But when the small still voice within a man’s own breast, which tells him that his life is of consequence to himself, is seconded by that of numbers around him, who assure him that it is of equal advantage to the pub- lic, history affords many examples of men more habitually daring than Argyle, who have consulted self-preservation when the temptations to it wore so powerfully increased. ‘ ‘ See him on board, if you will, Sir Duncan,” said Auchenbreck to his kinsman; “I must prevent this spirit from spreading further among us.” So saying, he threw himself among the ranks, entreating, command- ing, and conjuring the soldiers, to remember their ancient fame and their present superiority ; the wrongs they had to revenge, if success- ful, and the fate they had to dread, if vanquished, and imparting to every bosom a portion of the fire which glowed in his own. Slowly, meanwhile, and apparently with reluctance, Argyle suffered himself to be forced by his officious kinsmen to the verge of the lake, and was transported on board of a galley, from the deck of which he surveyed with more safety than credit the scene which ensued. NOVELS.] A LEGEND OE MONTROSE. 255

Sir Duncan Campbell of Ardenyohr, notwithstanding the urgency of the occasion, stood with his eyes riyetted on the boat which bore his chieftain from the field of battle. There were feelings in his bosom which could not be expressed ; for the character of a chief was that of a father, and the heart of a clansman durst not dwell upon his failings with critical severity as upon those of other men. Argyle, too, harsh and severe to others, was generous and liberal among his kinsmen, and the noble heart of Ardenyohr was wrung with bitter anguish, when he reflected to what interpretation his present conduct might subject him. “ It is better it should be so,” said he to himself, devouring his own emotion ; “ but of his line of a hundred sires, I know not one who would have retired while the banner of Diarmid waved in the wind! ” A loud shout now compelled him to turn, and to hasten with all dis- patch to his post which was on the right flank of Argyle’s little army. The retreat of Argyle had not passed unobserved by his watchful enemy, who, occupying the superior ground, could mark every cir- cumstance which passed below. The movement of three or four horse- men to the rear shewed that those who retreated were men of rank. “They are going,” said Dalgetty, “to put their horses out of danger, like prudent cavaliers. Yonder goes Sir Duncan Campbell, riding a brown bay gelding, which I had marked for my own second charger.” “You are wrong, Major,” said Montrose, with a bitter smile, “they are saving their precious chief.—Give the signal for assault instantly —send the word through the ranks.—Gentlemen, noble Chiefs, Glen- gary, Keppoch, M'Vourigh, upon them instantly !—Ride to M'llduy, Major Dalgetty, and tell him to charge, as he loves Lochaber—return and bring our handful of horse to my standard. They shall be placed with the Irish as a reserve.”

CHAPTER XIX. As meets a rock a thousand waves, so Inisfait met Lochlin.—OssiVm. The trumpets and bag-pipes, those clamorous harbingers of blood and death, at once united in the signal for onset, which was replied to by the cry of more than two thousand warriors, and the echoes of the mountain glens behind them. Divided into three bodies, or columns, the Highland followers of Montrose poured from the defiles which had hitherto concealed them from their enemies, and rushed with the ut- most determination upon the Campbells, who waited their charge with the greatest firmness. Behind these charging columns marched in line the Irish under Colkitto, intended to form the reserve. With them 256 A LEGEND OE MONTROSE, [WAYEKLEY

was the royal standard, and Montrose himself; and on tho flanks were ,, about fifty horse, under Dalgetty, which by wonderful exertions had been kept in some sort fit for service. The right column of royalists was led by Glengary, the left by Lochiel, and the centre by the Earl of Menteith, who preferred fight- ing on foot in a Highland dress to remaining with the cavalry. The Highlanders poured on with the proverbial fury of their country, firing their guns, and discharging their arrows, at a little distance from the enemy, who received the assault with the most determined gal- lantry. Better provided with musquetry than their enemies, stationary also, and therefore taking the more decisive aim, the fire of Argyle’s followers was more destructive than that which they sustained. The clans, perceiving this, rushed to close quarters, and succeeded on two points in throwing their enemies into disorder. With regular troops this must have achieved a victory; but here Highlanders were opposed to Highlanders, and the nature of the weapons, as well as the agility of those who wielded them, was equal on both sides. Their strife was accordingly desperate; and the clash of the swords and axes, as they encountered each other, or rung upon the targets, was mingled with the short, wild, animating shrieks with which High- lander’S accompany violent exertion of any kind: Many of the foes opposed were personally acquainted, and sought to match themselves with each other from motives of hatred, or a more generous emulation of valour. Neither party would retreat an inch, while the place of those who fell (and they fell fast on both sides) was eagerly supplied by others, who thronged to the front of danger. A steam, like that which arises from a seething caldron, rose into tho thin, cold, frosty air, and hovered above the combatants. So stood the fight on the right and the centre, ■with no immediate consequence, except mutual wounds and death. On the right of the Campbells, the Knight of Ardeuvohr obtained some advantage, through his military skill and by strength of num- bers. He had moved forward obliquely the extreme flank of his line at the instant the Royalists were about to close, so that they sustained a fire at once on front and in flank, and, despite the utmost efforts of their leader, were thrown into some confusion. At this instant, Sir Duncan Campbell gave the word to charge, and thus unexpectedly made the attack at the very moment he seemed about to receive it. Such a change of circumstances is always discouraging, and often fatal. But the disorder was remedied by the advance of the Irish re- serve, whose heavy and sustained fire compelled the Knight of Arden- vohr to forego his advantage, and content himself with repulsing his enemy. The Marquis in the meanwhile, availing himself of some scat- tered birch trees, as well as of the smoke produced by the close fire of the Irish musquetry, which concealed the operation, called upon Dal- getty to follow him with the horse, and wheeling round so as to gain NOVELS.] A LEGEND OF MONTROSE.

the right flank and even the rear of the enemy, he commanded his six trumpets to sound the charge. The clang of the cavalry trumpets, and the noise of the galloping of the horse, produced an effect upon Argyle’s right wing which no other sounds could have impressed them with. The mountaineers of that period had a superstitious dread of the war-horse, like that entertained by the Peruvians, and had many strange ideas respecting the manner in which that animal was trained to combat. When, therefore, they found their ranks unexpectedly broken, and that the objects of their greatest terror were suddenly in the midst of them, the panic, in spite of Sir Duncan’s attempt to stop it, became universal. Indeed, the figure of Major Dalgetty alone, sheathed in impenetrable armour, and making his horse caracole and bound, so as to give weight to every blow which he struck, would have been a novelty in itself sufficient to terrify those who had never seen anything more nearly resembling such a cavalier, than a shelly wad- dling under a Highlander far bigger than itself. The repulsed Royal- ists returned to the charge; the Irish, keeping their ranks, maintained a fire equally close and destructive. There was no sustaining the fight [longer. Argyle’s followers began to break and fly, most towards the lake, the remainder in different directions. The defeat of the right wing, of itself decisive, was rendered irreparable by the death of Auch- enbreck, who fell while endeavouring to restore order. The Knight of Ardenvohr, with two or three hundred men, all gentlemen of descent and distinguished gallantry, endeavoured, with unavailing heroism, to cover the tumultuary retreat of the common file. Their resolution only proved fatal to themselves, as they were I charged again and again by fresh adversaries, and forced separate from, f each other, until at length their aim seemed only to be to purchase an i honourable death by resisting to the very last. “ Good quarter, feir Duncan,” called out Major Dalgetty, when he I discovered his late host, with one or two others, defending himself . against several Highlanders; and to enforce his offer, he rode up to i him with his swmrd uplifted. Sir Duncan’s reply was the discharge of a reserved pistol, which took effect not on the person of the rider, but on that of his gallant horse, which, shot through the heart, fell dead s under him. Ranald MacEagh, who was one of those who had been pressing Sir Duncan hard, took the opportunity to cut him down with i his broad-sword, as ho turned from him in the act of firing the pistol. Allan M'Aulay came up at this moment. They were, excepting Ranald, followers of his brother who were engaged on that part of tho ) field. “ Villains ! ” he said, which of you has dared to do this, when ; it was my positive order that the Knight of Ardenvohr should be taken alive ? ” Half-a-dozen of busy hands, which were emulously employed in I plundering the fallen Knight, whose arms and accoutrements were of a magnificence befitting his quality, instantly forbore the occupation, I 258 A. LEGEND OF MONTROSE. [WAVEHLKY

and half the number of voices exculpated themselves, by laying the blame on the Skyeman, as they called Ranald MacEagh. “Dog of an Islander! ” said Allan, forgetting in his wrath, their prophetic brotherhood, “follow the chase, and harm him no farther, 5 unless you mean to die by my hand.” They were at this moment left almost alone; for Allan’s threats had forced his own clan from the j spot, and all around had pressed onwards towards the lake, carrying j before them noise, terror, and confusion, and leaving behind only the dead and dying. The moment was tempting to MacEagh’s vengeful ■■ spirit.—“ That I should die by your hand, red as it is with the blood of my kindred,” said he, answering the threat of Allan in a tone as menacing as his own, “ is not more likely than that you should fall by mine.” With that, he struck at M‘Aulay with such unexpected readi- ness that he had scarce time to intercept the blow with his target. 1 “ Villain ! ” said Allan, in astonishment, “ what means this ? ” “ I am Ranald of the Mist,” answered the Islesinan, repeating the blow; and, with that word, they engaged in close and furious conflict. It seemed to he decreed, that in Allan M'Aulay had arisen the avenger of his mother’s wrongs upon this wild tribe, as was proved by the issue of the present, as we] 1 as of former combats. After exchanging a few blows, Ranald MacEagh was prostrated by a deep wound on the skull; ! and M'Aulay, setting his foot on him, was about to pass the broad- sword through his body, when the point of the weapon was struck up j by a third party, who suddenly interposed. This was no other than r Major Dalgetty, who, stunned by the fall, and encumbered by the : dead body of his horse, had now recovered his legs and his understand- ing. “ Hold up your sword,” said he to M‘Aulay, “ and prejudice this person no farther, in respect that he is here in my safe conduct, and in liis Excellency’s service; and in regard that no honourable cavalier is at liberty, by the law martial, to avenge his own private injuries, flagrante hello, multo majus flagrante prcelio.” “ Fool! ” said Allan, “ stand aside, and dare not to come between the tiger and his prey.” But far from quitting his point, Dalgetty stept across the fallen body of MacEagh, and gave Allan to understand, that if he called himself a tiger, ho was likely, at present, to find a lion in his path. There re- quired no more than the gesture and tone of defiance to turn the whole rage of the military Seer against the person who was opposing the course of his vengeance, and blows wore instantly exchanged without farther ceremony. The strife betwixt Allan and MacEagh had been unnoticed by the stragglers around, for the person of the latter was known to few of Montrose’s followers; but the scuffle betwixt Dalgetty and him, both so well known, attracted instant attention; and fortunately, among others, that of Montrose himself, who had come for the purpose of gathering together his small body of horse, and following the pursuit ’ KOVELS.] A LEGEND OF MONTROSE. 259

clown Loch Eil. Aware of the fatal consequences of dissension in his little army, he pushed his horse up to the spot, and seeing MacEagh on the ground, and Dalgetty in the attitude of protecting him against M'Aulay, his quick apprehension instantly caught the cause of quarrel, and as instantly devised means to stop it. “For shame,” he said, ‘1 gentlemen cavaliers, brawling together in so glorious a field of vic- tory !—Are you mad ? Or are you intoxicated with tho glory which you have both this day gained ? ” “ It is not my fault, so please your Excellency,” said Dalgetty. “ I have been known a bonus eocius, a bon camarado, in all the services Of Europe; but he that touches a man under my safeguard” “And he,” said Allan, speaking at the same time, “who dares to bar the course of my just vengeance ” “ For shame, gentlemen,” again repeated Montrose; “I have other business for you both,—business of deeper importance than any private quarrel, which you may easily find a more fitting time to settle. For you, Major Dalgetty, kneel down.” “ Kneel' ” said Dalgetty; “ I have not learned to obey that word of command, saving when it is given from tho pulpit. In the Swedish discipline, the front-rank do indeed kneel, but only when the regiment is drawn up six file deep.” “ Nevertheless,” repeated Montrose,—“kneel down, in the name of King Charles and of his representative.” When Dalgetty reluctantly obeyed, Montrose struck him slightly on tho nock with the flat of his sword, saying,—“In reward of the gallant service of this day, and in the name and authority of our sovereign, King Charles, I dub thee knight; be brave, loyal, and fortunate. And now, Sir Dugald Dalgetty, to your duty. Collect what horsemen you can, and pursue such of the enemy as are flying down the side of the Lake. Do not disperse your force, nor venture too far; but take hoed to prevent their rallying, which very little exertion may do. Mount then, Sir Dugald, and do your duty.” “ But what shall I mount ? ” said the new-made chevalier. “ Poor Gustavus sleeps in the bed of honour, like his immortal namesake! and I am made a knight, a rider, as the High dutch have it, just when I have not a horse left to ride upon.” “That shall not be said,” answered Montrose, dismounting, “I make you a present of my own, which has been thought a good one; only pray you, resume the duty you discharge so well.” With many acknowledgments, Sir Dugald mounted the steed so li- berally bestowed upon him; and only beseeching his Excellency to remember that MacEagh was under his safe conduct, immediately be- gan to execute the orders assigned to him, with great zeal and alac- rity. “And you, Allan M‘Aulay,” said Montrose, addressing the High- lander, who, leaning his sword-point on the ground, had regarded the 260 A LEGEND OF MONTROSE. [WAVBULKY

ceremony of liis antagonist’s knighthood with a sneer of sullen scorn, —“you, who are superior to the ordinary men led by the paltry motives of plunder, and pay, and personal distinction,—you, whose deep know- ledge renders you so valuable a counsellor,—is it you whom I find striving with a man like Dalgetty, for the privilege of trampling the remains of life out of so contemptible an enemy as lies there ? Come, my friend, I have other work for you This victory, skilfully improved, will win Seaforth to our party. It is not disloyalty, but despair of the good cause, that has induced him to take arms against us. These arms, in this moment of better augury, he may be brought to unite with ours. I send my gallant friend, Colonel Hay, to him, from this very field of battle, but he must be united in commission with a Highland gentle- man of rank, befitting that of Seaforth, and of talents and of influence such as may make an impression upon him. You are not only in every respect the fittest for this most important mission, but, having no imme- diate command, your presence maybe more easily spared than that of a Chief whose following is in the field. You know every pass and glen in the Highlands, as well as the manners and customs of every tribe. Go therefore to Hay, on the right wing: he has instructions and expects you. You will find him with Glenmorrison’s men; Be his guide, his interpreter, and his colleague.” Allan M'Aulay bent on the Marquis a dark and penetrating glance, as if to ascertain whether this sudden mission was not conferred for some latent and unexplained purpose. But Montrose, skilful in search- ing the motives of others, was an equal adept in concealing his own. He considered it as of the last consequence, in this moment of enthu- siasm and exalted passion, to remove Allan from the camp for a few days, that he might provide, as his honour required, for the safety of those who had acted as his guides, -when he trusted the Seer’s quarrel with Dalgetty might bo easily made up. Allan, at parting, only re- commended to the Marquis the care of Sir Duncan Campbell, whom Montrose instantly directed to be conveyed to a place of safety. He took the same precaution for MacEagh, committing the latter, however, to a party of the Irish, with directions that he should be taken care of, but that no Highlander, of any clan, should have access to him. The Marquis then mounted a led horse, which was held by one of his attendants, and rode on to view the scene of his victory, which was more decisive than even his ardent hopes had anticipated. Of Argyle’s gallant army of three thousand men, fully one-half fell in the battle, or in the flight. They had been chiefly driven back upon that part of the plain where the river forms an angle with the lake, so that there was no free opening either for retreat or escape. Several hundreds were forced into the lake and drowned. Of the survivors, about one-half escaped by swimming the river, or by an early flight along the left bank of the lake. The remainder threw themselves into the old Castle of Inverlochy, but being without either provisions or hopes of reliefj they NOVELS.] A. LEGEND OE MONTROSE- 2Gt

were obliged to sun-ender, on condition of being suffered to return to tbeir homes in peace. Arms, ammunition, standards, and baggage, i all became the prey of the conquerors. This was the greatest disaster that ever befell the race of Diarmid, i as the Campbells were called in the Highlands , it being generally re- : marked that they were as fortunate in the issue of their undertakings, | as they were sagacious in planning, and courageous in executing them, * Of the number slain, nearly five hundred were dunni-wassels, or gen- I tlemen claiming descent from known and respected houses. And, in 1 the opinion of many of the clan, even this heavy loss was exceeded by I the disgrace arising from the inglorious conduct of their Chief, whose galley weighed anchor when the day was lost, and sailed down the lake with all the speed to which sails and oars could impel her.

CHAPTER XX. Faint the din of battle bray’d, Distant down the hollow wind; War and terror fled before, Wounds and death remained behind.—Penrose, j Monteose’s splendid success over his powerful rival was not attained i# without some loss, though not amounting to the tenth of what he in- i| flicted. The obstinate valour of the Campbells cost the lives of many ; brave men of the opposite party; and more were wounded, the chief c of whom was the brave young Earl of Menteith, who had commanded ; the centre. He was but lightly touched however, and made rather a i graceful than a terrible appearance when he presented to his general the nj standard of Argyle, which he had taken from the standard-bearer with i his own hand, and slain him in single combat. Montrose dearly loved 1 his noble kinsman, in whom there was conspicuous a flash of the gen- j erous, romantic, disinterested chivalry of the old heroic times, entirely 8 different from the mercenary, calculating, and selfish character which 'J the practice of entertaining mercenary troops had introduced into most :j parts of Europe, and of which degeneracy Scotland, who furnished • soldiers of fortune for the service of almost every nation, had been 4 contaminated with a more than usual share. Montrose, whose native |j spirit was congenial, although experience had taught him how )i to avail himself of the motives of others, used to Menteith neither the i language of praise nor of promise, but clasped him to his bosom as he ■4 exclaimed, “ My gallant kinsman ! ” And by this burst of heartfelt « applause was Menteith thrilled with a warmer glow of delight, than if his praise had been recorded in a report of the action sent directly to j the throne of his sovereign. “Nothing,” he said, “my lord, now seems to remain in which I 262 A LEGEND OE MONTEOSE. [waverley

can render any assistance, permit me to look after a duty of humanity —the Knight of Ardenyohr, as I am told, is our prisoner, and severely ■wounded.” "‘And well he deserves to be so,” said Sir Dugald Dalgetty, who came up to them at that moment with a prodigious addition of acquir- ed importance, “since he shot my good horse at the moment that I was offering him honourable quarter, which, I must needs say, was done more like an ignorant Highland Cateran, who has not sense enough to erect a sconce for the protection of his old hurley house of a castle, than like a soldier of worth and quality.” “Are we to condole with you, then,” said Lord Menteith, “upon the loss of the famed Gustayus ? ” “Even so, my lord,” answered the soldier with a deep sigh, "Diem clausit supremum, as we said at the Mareschal-College of Aberdeen. Better so than be smothered like a cadger’s poney in some flow-moss, or snow-wreath, which was like to be his fate if this winter campaign lasted longer. But it has pleased his Excellency (making an inclina- tion to Montrose, to supply his place by the gift of a noble steed, whom I have taken the freedom to name 1 Loyalty’’s Reward,' in memory of this celebrated occasion.” “I hope,” said the Marquis, “you’ll find Loyalty’s Keward, since you call him so, practised in all the duties of the field,—but I must just hint to you, that at this time, in Scotland, loyalty is more frequently rewarded with an halter, than with an horse.” “A-hem! your Excellency is pleased to be facetious. Loyalty’s Keward is as perfect as Gustavus in all his exercises, and of a far finer figure. Marry! his social qualities are less cultivated, in respect he has kept till now inferior company.” “ Not meaning his Excellency the General, Ihope,” said Lord Men- teith. “For shame, Sir Dugald ! ” “My lord,” answered the Knight gravely, “ I am incapable to mean anything so utterly misbecoming. What I asseverate is, that his Excellency having the same intercourse with his horse during his exercise, that he hath with his soldiers when training them, may form and break either to every feat of war which he chooses to practice, | and accordingly that this noble charger is admirably managed., j But as it is the intercourse of private life that formeth the social character, so I do not apprehend that of the single soldier to be much polished by the conversation of the corporal or the sergeant, or that of Loyalty’s Reward to have been much dulcified, or ameliorated, by the society of his Excellency’s grooms, who bestow more oaths, and kicks and thumps, than kindness or caresses, upon the animals intrusted to their charge, whereby many a generous quadruped, rendered as it were misanthropic, manifests during the rest of his life a greater de- sire to kick and bite his master, than to love and to honour him.” “ Spoken like an oracle,” said Montrose. “ Were there an academy . KOVEis.] A LEGEND OF MONTEOSE. 263

Ifor the education of horses to he annexed to the Mareschal-College of Aberdeen, Sir Dugald Dalgetty alone should fill the chair.” “ Because, being an ass,” said Menteith aside to the general, “there j would be some distant relation between the professor and the students.” “ And now, with your Excellency’s permission,” said the now-made ^ Knight, “ I am going to pay my last visit to the remains of my old £ companion in arms.” “Not with the purpose of going through the ceremonial of interment,” said the Marquis, who did not know how far Sir Dugald’s enthusiasm ii might lead him; “consider, our brave fellows themselves will have d but a hasty burial.” “Your Excellency will pardon me,” said Dalgetty; “my purpose il is less romantic. I go to divide poor Gustavus’s legacy with the fowls m of heaven, leaving the flesh to them, and reserving to myself his hide; :•! which, in token of affectionate remembrance, I purpose to form into » M cassock and trousers, after the Tartar fashion, to be worn under my M armour, in respect my nether garments are at present shamefully the ii worse for the wear. Alas ! poor Gustavus, why didst thou not live at 4 least one hour more, to have borne the honoured weight of knighthood [| upon thy loins! ” He was now turning away, when the Marquis called after him,— .1 “As you are not likely to be anticipated in this act of kindness, Sir G Dugald, to your old friend and companion, I trust,” said the Marquis, ‘ “you will first assist mo, and our principal friends, to discuss some of : / Argyle’s good cheer, of which we have found abundance in the Castle.” “Most willingly, please your Excellency,” said Sir Dugald; “as a meat and mass never hinder work. Nor, indeed, am I afraid that the i'j| wolves or eagles will begin an onslaught on Gustavus to-night, in i regard there is so much better cheer lying all around.—But,” added i: he, “ as I am to meet two honourable knights of England, with others i< of the knightly degree in your lordship’s army, I pray it may be ex- c plained to them, that now, and in future, I claim precedence over them i all, in respect of my rank as a Banneret, dubbed in a field of stricken iji battle.” “ The devil confound him!” said Montrose, speaking aside; “ he has .( contrived to set the kiln on fire as fast as I put it out.—This is a point, ISir Dugald,” said he, gravely addressing him, ‘‘ which I shall reserve for his Majesty’s express consideration; in my camp, all must be upon >J equality, like the Knights of the Round Table; and take their places :j as soldiers should, upon the principle of, first come first served.” 3 “ Then I shall take care,” said Menteith apart to the Marquis, “ that C| Don Dugald is not first in place to-day.—Sir Dugald,” added he, rais- H ing his voice, “ as you say your wardrobe is out of repair, had you not it better go to the enemy’s baggage yonder, over which there is a guard if; placed P I saw them take out an excellent buff suit, embroidered in |j front in silk and silver.” 2G4 A LEGEND OF MONTROSE. [WAVERLEYi

“ Voto a Dios! as the Spaniard says,” exclaimed the Major, “and some beggarly gilly may get it while I stand prating here.” The prospect of booty having at once driven out of his head both Gustavus and the provant, he set spurs to Loyalty’s Reward, and rode off through the held of battle. “There goes the hound,” said Menteith, “breaking the face, and trampling on the body, of many a better man than himself; and as eager on his sordid spoil as a vulture that stoops upon carrion. Yot this man the world calls a soldier—and you, my lord, select him as worthy of the honours of chivalry, if such they can at this day be termed. You have made the collar of knighthood the decoration of i mere blood-hound.” “ What can I do ?” said Montrose. “ I had no bones to give him, and I cannot follow the chase alone. Resides, the dog has good qualities.” “If nature has given him such,” said Menteith, “habit has con- verted them into feelings of intense selfishness. He may be punctili- ous concerning his reputation, and brave in the execution of his duty, but it is only because without these qualities he cannot rise in service. •—nay, his very benevolence is selfish; he may defend his companion while he kept his feet, but the instant he is down, Sir Dugald will be as ready to ease him of his purse, as he is to convert the skin of Gus- tavus mto a buff jerkin.” “ And yet, if all this were true, cousin,” answered Montrose, “ thert is something convenient in commanding a soldier, upon whose motive! and springs of action you can calculate to mathematical certainty. H fine spirit like yours, my cousin, alive to a thousand sensations to which this man’s is as impervious as his corslet,-—it is for them tha'. tby friend must feel, while he gives his advice.” Then suddenly changing his tone, he asked Menteith when he had seen Annot Lyle. The young Earl coloured deeply, and answered, “Not since las' evening,—excepting,” he added, with hesitation, “for one moment: about half an hour before the battle began.” “ My dear Menteith,” said Montrose very kindly^ “were you one o the gayf cavaliers of Whitehall, who are, in their way', as great self- seekers as our friend Dalgetty, should I need to plague you with en- quiring into such an amourette as this ! it would be an intrigue only to be laughed at. But this is the land of enchantment, where nets strong as steel are wrought out of ladies tresses, and you are exactly the destined knight to be so fettered. This poor girl is exquisitely beautiful, and has talents formed to captivate your romantic temper.— You cannot think of injuring her—you cannot think of marrying her?" “My lord,” replied Menteith, “you have repeatedly urged this jest: i for so I trust it is meant, somewhat beymnd bounds. Annot Lyle is oi unknown birth,—a captive,—the daughter probably of some obscurt outlaw; a dependant on the hospitality of the M'Aulays.” ; KOVELS. ] A. LEGEND OE MONTROSE. 265 11 ; ; —— i“Do not be angry, Menteith,” said the Marquis, interrupting him; "you love the classics, though not educated at Mareschal-College ; and you may remember how many gallant hearts captive beauty has subdued:— Movit Ajacem Telamone natmn, Forma captivce, dominum, Tecmessa?.— i In a word, I am seriously anxious about this—I should not have time |perhaps,” he said very gravely, "to trouble you with my lectures on .1 the subject, were your feelings, and those of Annot, alone interested; I but you have a dangerous rival in Allan M'Aulay; and there is no knowing to what extent ho may carry his resentment. It is my duty to tell you that the King’15 service may be much prejudiced by dissen- sions betwixt you.” “ My lord,” said Menteith, “ I know what you mean is kind and friendly; I hope you will be satisfied when I assure you, that Allan M'Aulay and I have discussed this circumstance; and that I have ex- | plained to him, that it is utterly remote from my character to entertain i dishonourable views concerning this unprotected female; so, on the other hand, the obscurity of her birth prevents my thinking of her upon other terms. I will not disguise from your lordship, what I have not disguised from M'Aulay,—that if Annot Lyle were born a lady, she should share my name and rank ; as matters stand, it is impossi- ble. This explanation, I trust, will satisfy your lordship, as it has satisfied a less reasonable person.” Montrose shrugged his shoulders. “And like true champions in romance,” ho said, “you have agreed, that you are both to worship the same mistress, as idolaters do the same image, and that neither shall extend his pretensions further.” “ I did not go so far, my lord,” answered Menteith—“ I only said in the present circumstances,—and there is no prospect of their being changed,—I could, in duty to myself and family, stand in no relation to Annot Lyle, but as that of a friend or brother—but your lordship must excuse me; I have,” said he, looking at his arm, round which he had tied his handkerchief, “ a slight hurt to attend to.” “A wound,” said Montrose, anxiously; “ let me see it.—Alas!” he he said, “ I should have heard nothing of this, had I not ventured to tent and sound another more secret and more rankling one. Menteith, 1 I am sorry for you—I too have known—but what avails it to awake sorrows which have long slumbered ? ” So saying, he shook hands with his noble kinsman, and walked into the castle. Annot Lyle, as was not unusual for females in the Highlands, was pos- sessed of a slight degree of medical and even surgical skill. It may readily be believed that the profession of surgery, or medicine, as a separate | art, was unknown, and the few rude rules which they observed were intrusted to women, or to the aged, whom constant casualties afforded too much opportunity of acquiring experience. The care and attention, 266 A LEGEND OE MONTEOSE. [WAVERLEY

accordingly, of Annot Lyle, her attendants, and others acting under her direction, had mado her services extremely useful during this wild campaign. And most readily had these services been rendered to friend and foe, wherever they could be most useful. She was now in an apartment of the castlo, anxiously superintending the preparation of vulnerary herbs, to be applied to the wounded; receiving reports i from different females respecting those under their separate charge, s and distributing what means she had for their relief, when Allan M'Aulay suddenly entered the apartment. She started, for she had heard that he had left the camp upon a distant mission , and, however accustomed she was to the gloom of his countenance, ft seemed at pre- sent to have even a darker shade than usual. He stood before her perfectly silent, and she felt the necessity of being the first to speak. “I thought,” she said, with some effort, “you had already set out.” “ My companion awaits me,” said Allan; “ I go instantly.” Yet still he stood before her, and held her by the arm, with a pres- sure which, though insufficient to give her pain, made her sensible of his great personal strength, his hand closing on her like the gripe of a manacle. “ Shall I take the harp ? ” she said in a timid voice; “ is—is tho shadow falling upon you ? ” Instead of replying, he led her to the window of the apartment, • which commanded a view of the field of the slain, with all its horrors. I It was thick spread with dead and wounded, and the spoilers were busy tearing the clothes from the victims of war and feudal ambition, with as much indifference as if they had not been of the same species, and themselves exposed, perhaps to-morrow, to the same fate. “ Does the sight please you? ” said M'Aulay. “It is hideous,” said Annot, covering her eyes with her hands; “ how can you bid mo look upon it ? ” “You must be inured to it,” said he, “if you remain with this destined host—you will soon have to search such a field for my brother’s corpse—for Menteith’s—for mine—but that will bo a more indifferent task—you do not love me ! ” “ This is the first time you have taxed me wdth unkindness,” said Annot, weeping. “ You are my brother—my preserver—my protector —and can I then but love you ? But your hour of darkness is approach- ing, let me fetch my harp ! ” “ Bemain,” said Allan, still holding her fast; “ be my visions from heaven or hell, or from the middle sphere of disembodied spirits—or bel they, as the Saxons hold, but the delusions of an overheated fancy,, they do not now influence me, I speak the language of the natural, of the visible world.—You love not me, Annot—you love Menteith—by him you are beloved again, and Allan is no more to you than one of the corpses which encumber yonder heath.” It cannot be supposed that this strange speech conveyed any new KOVELS.] A LEGEND OF MONTROSE. 207 information to her who was thus addressed. No woman ever lived who could not in the same circumstances have discerned long since the state of her lover’s mind. But by thus suddenly tearing off the veil, thin as it was, Allan prepared her to expect consequences violent in proportion to the enthusiasm of his character. She made an effort to repel the charge he had stated. “You forget,” she said, “your own worth and nobleness when you insult so very helpless a being, and one whom fate has thrown so totally into your power. You know who and what I am, and how impossible it is that Menteith or you can use language of affection to me, beyond that of friendship. You know from what unhappy race I have too probably derived my existence.” “I will not believe it,” said Allan, impetuously; “never flowed crystal drop from a polluted spring.” “Yet the very doubt,” pleaded Annot, “should make you forbear to use this language to me.” “I know,” said M‘Aulay, “it places a bar between us—but I know also that it divides you not so inseparably from Menteith.—Hoar me, my beloved Annot!—leave this scene of terrors and danger—go with me to Km tail—I will place you in the house of the noble Lady of Seaforth—or you shall be removed in safety to Icolmkill, where some women yet devote themselves to the worship of God, after the custom of our ancestors.” “ You consider not what you ask of me,” replied Annot, “ to un- dertake such a journey under your sole guardianship), were to shew me less scrupulous than maiden ought. I will remain here, Allan—here under the protection of the noble Montrose; and when his motions next approach the Lowlands, I will contrive some proper means to re- lieve you of one, who has, she knows not how, become an object of dislike to you.” Allan stocd as if uncertain whether to give way to sympathy with her distress, or to anger at her resistance. “ Annot,” he said, “ you know too well how little your words apply to my feelings towards you—but you avail yourself of your power, and you rejoice at my departure, as removing a spy upon your intercourse with Menteith. But beware both of you,” he added, in a stern tone, “ for when was it ever heard that an injury was offered to Allan M‘Aulay, for which he exacted not tenfold vengeance ! ” So saying, ho pressed her arm forcibly, pulled the bonnet over his brows, and strode out of the apartment. 268 A LEGEND OF MONTEOSE. [VTAVERLEY

CHAPTER XXI. After you’re gone, I giew acquainted with my heart, and search'd What stirr’d it so.—Alas! I found it love. Yet far from lust, for could I but have lived In presence of you, I had had my end.—Phil aster. Annot Lyle had now to contemplate the terrible gulph which Allan M'Aulay’s open declaration of love and jealousy had made to open around her. It seemed as if she was tottering on the very brink of de- struction, and was at once deprived of every refuge, and of all human assistance. She had long been conscious that she loved Menteith dearer than a brother; indeed, how could it be otherwise, considering their early intimacy,—the personal merit of the young nobleman, his as- siduous attentions,—and his infinite superiority in gentleness of dis- position, and grace of manners, over the race of rude warriors with whom she lived? But her affection was of that quiet, timid, meditative character, which sought rather a reflected share in the happiness of the beloved object, than formed more presumptuous or daring hopes. A little Gaelic song, in which she expressed her feelings, has been translated by the ingenious and unhappy Alexander M'Donald; and we willingly transcribe the lines :— Wer’t thou, like me, in life’s low vale, With thee how blest, that lot I’d share; With thee I’d fly wherever gale Could waft, or bounding galley bear. But parted by severe decree, Far different must our fortunes prove; May thine be joy—enough for me To weep and pray for him I love. The pangs this foolish heart must feel, When hope shall be for ever flown, No sullen murmur shall reveal, No selfish murmurs ever own, Nor will I through life’s weary years, Like a pale drooping mourner move, While I can think my secret tears May wound the heart of him I love. The furious declaration of Allan had destro3Ted the romantic plan which she had formed, of nursing in secret her pensive tenderness, without seeking any other requital. Long before this she had dreaded Allan, as much as gratitude, and a sense that he softened towards her a temper so haughty and so violent, could permit her to do; but now she regarded him with unalloyed terror, which a perfect knowledge of his disposition, and of his preceding history, too well authorised her to entertain. Whatever was in other respects the nobleness of his dis- position, he had never been known to resist the wilfulness of passion,— he walked in the house, and in the country of his fathers, like a tamed NOVELS. ] A LEGEND OF MONTROSE. 26S lion, whom no one dared to contradict, lest they should awaken his natural vehemence of passion. So many years had elapsed since he had experienced contradiction, or even expostulation, that probably nothing but the strong good sense, which, on all points, his mysticism excepted, formed the ground of his character, prevented his proving an annoyance and terror to the whole neighbourhood. But Annot had no time to dwell upon her fears, being interrupted by the entrance of Sir Dugald Dalgetty. It may well be supposed, that the scenes in which this person had passed his former life, had not much calculated him to shine in female society. He himself felt a sort of consciousness that the language of the barrack, guard-room, and parade, was not proper to entertain ladies. The only peaceful part of his life had been spent at Mareschal- College, Aberdeen; and he had forgot the little he had learned there, except the arts of darning his own hose, and dispatching his commons with unusual celerity, both which arts had since been kept in good exercise by the necessity of frequent practice. Still it was from an imperfect recollection of what he had acquired during this pacific period, that he drew his sources of conversation when in company with women ; in other words, his language became pedantic when it ceased to be military. “ Mistress Annot Lyle,” said he, upon the present occasion, “ I am just now like the half-pike, or spontoon of Achilles, one end of which could wound, and the other cure—a property belonging neither to Spanish pike, brown-bill, partizan, halbert, Lochaber-axe, or any other modern staff weapon whatever.” This compliment he repeated twice; but as Annot scarce heard him the first time, and did not comprehend him the second, he was obliged to explain. “ I mean,” he said, “ Mistress Annot Lyle, that having been the means of an honourable knight receiving a severe wound in this day’s conflict,—he having pistolled, somewhat against the law of arms, my horse, which was named after the immortal King of Sweden—I am desirous of procuring him such solacement as you, madam, can sup- ply, you being like the heathen god Esculapius, (meaning possibly Apollo,) skilful not only in song and in music, but in the more noble art of chirurgery—opifcrque per orbem dicor.” “ If you would have the goodness to explain,” said Annot, too sick at heart to be amused by Sir Dugald’s airs of pedantic gallantry. “ That, madam,” replied the knight, “ may not be so easy, as I am out of the habit of construing—but we shall try, Dicor, supply ego—■ I am called.—Opifer ? opifer?—I remember signifer and furcifer—but I believe opifer stands in this pla.ee for M.D., that is Doctor of Physic.” “ This is a busy day with us all,” said Annot; will you say at once what you want with me P” “Merely,” replied Sir Dugald, “that you will visit my brother 270 A LEGEND OP MONTEOSE. [WAYERLEY

knight, and let your maiden bring some medicaments for his wound, which threatens to be what the learned call a damnum fatale.” Annot Lyle never lingered in the cause of humanity. She informed herself hastily of the nature of the injury, and interesting herself for the dignified old chief whom she had seen at Darnlinvarach, and whoso presence had so much struck her, she hastened to lose the sense of her own sorrow for a time, in the attempt to be useful to another. Sir Dugald with great form ushered Annot Lyle to the chamber of her patient, in which, to her surprise, she found Lord Mentcith. She could not help blushing deeply at the meeting, but to hide her confu- sion, firoceeded instantly to examine the wound of the Knight of Ardenyohr, and easily satisfied herself that it was beyond her skill to cure it; as for Sir Dugald, he returned to a large out-house, on tho floor of which, among other wounded men, was deposited the person of Eanald of the Mist. “ Aline old friend,” said the Knight, “ as I told you before, I would willingly do anything to pleasure you, in return for the wound you f! have received, while under my safe conduct. I have, therefore, ac- cording to your earnest request, sent Mrs Annot Lyle to attend upon the wound of the Knight of Ardenvohr, though wherein her doing so should benefit you, I cannot imagine—I think you once spoke of some i blood relationship between them; but a soldado, in command and charge like me, has other things to trouble his head with than High- land geneaologies.” And indeed, to do the worthy Major justice, ho never enquired after, y’stened to, or recollected the business of other people, unless it either related to the art military, or was somehow or other connected with his own interest, in either of which cases his memory was very tenacious. “And now, my good friend of the Mist,” said he, “ can you tell me what has become of your hopeful grandson, as I have not seen him since ho assisted me to disarm after the action, a negligence which de- serveth the strapado.” “He is not far from hence,” said the wounded outlaw—“lift not your hand upon him, for he is man enough to pay a yard of leathern scourge with a foot of tempered steel.” “A most improper vaunt,” said Sir Dugald; “but I owe you some favours, Eanald, and therefore shall let it pass.” “And if you think you owe me anything,” said the outlaw, “it is in your power to requite me by granting me a boon.” “Friend Eanald,” answered Dalgetty, “I have read of these boons in silly story-books, whereby simple knights were drawn into engage- | ments to their great prejudice; wherefore, Eanald, the more prudent knights of this day never promise anything until they know that they may keep their word anent the premises, without any displeasure or incommodement to themselves. It may be, you would have me engage the female chirurgeon to visit your wound; though you ought to con- NOVELS.] A LEGEND OP MONTROSE. 271 sider, Ranald, that the uncleanness of the place where you are deposited may somewhat soil the gaity of her garments, concerning the preser- vation of which, you may have observed, women are apt to be inordi- nately solicitous. I lose the favour of the lady of the Grand Pension- ary of Amstei'dam, by touching with the sole of my boot the train of her black velvet gown, which I mistook for a foot-cloth, it being half the room distant from her person.” “ It is not to bring Annot Lyle hither,” answered MacEagh, “but to transport me into the room where she is in attendance upon the Knight of Ardenvohr. Somewhat I have to say of the last consequence to them both.” “ It is something out of the order of due precedence,” said Dalgetty, “ to carry a wounded outlaw into the presence of a knight; knighthood having been of yore, and being, in some respects, still, the highest military grade, independent always of commissioned officers, who rank according to their patents ; nevertheless, as your boon, as you call it, is so slight, I shall not deny compliance with the same.” So saying, he ordered three hies of men to transport MaoEagh on their shoulders to Sir Duncan Campbell’s apartment, and he himself hastened before to announce the cause of his being brought there. Rut such was the activity of the soldiers employed, that they followed him close at the heels, and, entering with their ghastly burthen, laid MacEagh on the floor of the apartment. His features, naturally wild, were now dis- torted by pain ; his hands and scanty garments stained with his own blood, and those of others, which no kind hand had wiped away, al- though the wound in his side had been secured by a bandage. “Are you,” he said, raising his head painfully towards the couch where lay stretched his late antagonist, “he whom men call the Knight of Ardenvohr ? ” “The same,” answered Sir Duncan—“what would you with one whose hours are now numbered ?” “My hours are reduced to minutes,” said the outlaw; “the more grace, if I bestow them in the service of one, whose hand has ever been against me, as mine has been raised higher against him.” “Thine higher against me!—Crushed worm!” said the Knight, looking down on his miserable adversary. “Yes,” answered the outlaw, in a firm voice, “my arm hath been highest; the wounds I have dealt have been deepest, though thine have neither been idle nor unfelt.—I am Ranald MacEagh—I am Ranald of the Mist—the night that I gave thy castle to the winds in one huge blaze of fire, is now matched with the day in which you have fallen under the sword of my fathers.—Remember the injuries thou hast done our tribe—never were such inflicted, save by one, beside thee. He, they say, is fated and secure against our vengeance—a short time will shew.” “ My Lord Menteith,” said Sir Duncan, raising himself out of his 21-1 A LEGEND OE MONTEOSE. [wave&ley

bed, “ this is a proclaimed villain, at once the enem}' of King and Par- liament, of God and man—one of the outlawed banditti of the Mist; alike the enemy of your house, of the M‘Aulays, and of mine. I trust you will not suffer moments, which are perhaps my last, to be em- bittered by his barbarous triumph.” “ He shall have the treatment he merits,” said Menteith; “ let him be instantly removed.”— Sir Dugald here interposed, and spoke of Eanald’s services as a guide, and his own pledge for his safety; but the high harsh tones of the out- law drowned his voice. “No,” said he, “be rack and gibbet the word; let me wither be- tween heaven and earth, and gorge the hawks and eagles of Ben Nevis ; and so shall this haughty Knight, and this triumphant Thane, never learn the secret I alone can impart; a secret which would make Arden- vohr’s heart leap with joy, were he in the death agony, and which the Earl of Menteith would purchase at the price of his broad earldom.— Gome hither, Annot Lyle,” he said, raising himself with unexpected strength ! “ fear not the sight of him to whom thou hast clung in in- fancy. Tell these proud men, who disdain thee as the issue of mine ancient race, that thou art no blood of ours—no daughter of the race of the Mist, but born in halls as lordly, and cradled on couch as soft, as ever soothed infancy in their proudest palaces.” “ In the name of God,” said Menteith, trembling with emotion, “ if you know aught of the birth of this lady, do thy conscience the justice to disburden it of the secret before departing from this world ! ” “ And bless my enemies with my dying breath ? ” said MacEagh, looking at him malignantly.—“Such are the maxims your priests preach—but when, or towards whom, do you practice them ? Let me know first the worth of my secret ere I part with it—What would you give, Knight of Ardenvohr, to know that your superstitious fasts have been vain, and that there still remains a descendant of your house P— 1 pause for an answer—without it, I speak not one word more.” “ I could,” said sir Duncan, his voice struggling between the emo- tions of doubt, hatred, and anxiety—“ I could—but that I know thy race ai-e like the Great Enemy, liars and murtherers from the begin- ning—but could it bo true thou tellest me, I could almost forgive thee the injuries thou hast done me.” “Hear it!” said Kanald; “he hath wagered deeply for a son of Diarmid—And you, gentle Thane—the report of the camp says., that you would purchase with life and lands the tidings that Annot .uyle was no daughter of proscription, but of a race noble in your estimation as your own—Well—It is for no love I tell you—The time has been that I would have exchanged this secret against liberty, I am now bartering it for what is dearer than liberty or life.—Annot Lyle is the youngest, the sole surviving child of the Knight of Ardenvohr, who alone was saved when all in his halls besides was given to blood and ashes.” NOVELS.] A LEGEND OF MONTROSE. 273

“Can this man speak truth?” said Annot Lyle, scarce knowing what she said ; “ or is this some strange delusion ? ” “ Maiden,” replied Ranald, “ hadst thou dwelt longer with us, thou wouldst have better learnt to know to distinguish the accents of truth. To that Saxon lord, and to the Knight of Ardenvohr, I will yield such proofs of what I have spoken, that incredulity shall stand convinced. Meantime withdraw—I loved thine infancy, I hate not thy youth—no eye hates the rose in its blossom, though it groweth upon a thorn, and for thee only do I something regret what is soon to follow. But he that would avenge him of his foe must not reck though the guiltless be engaged in the ruin.” “ He advises well, Annot,” said Lord Menteith; “in God’s name retire! if—if there be aught in this, your meeting with Sir Duncan must be more prepared for both your sakes.” “ I will not part from my father, if I have found one ! ” said Annot —“ I will not part from him under circumstances so terrible.” “ And a father you shall ever find in me,” murmured Sir Duncan. “Then,” said Menteith, “ I will have MacEagh removed into an adjacent apartment, and will collect the evidence of his tale myself, Sir Dugald Dalgetty will give me his attendance and assistance.” “ With pleasure, my lord,” answered Sir Dugald.—“ I will be your consessor, or assessor—either or both. No one can be so fit, for I had heard the whole story a month ago at Inverara castle—but onslaughts like that of Ardeuvokr confuse each other in my memory, which is be- sides occupied with matters of more importance.” Upon hearing this frank declaration, which was made as they left the apartment with the wounded man, Lord Menteith darted upon Dalgetty a look of extreme anger and disdain, to which the self-conceit of the worthy commander rendered him totally insensible.

CHAPTER XXII. I am as free as nature first made man, Ere the base laws of servitude began, When wild in woods the noble savage ran. Conquest of Granada. The Earl of Menteith, as he had undertaken, so he proceeded to in- vestigate more closely the story told by Ranald of the Mist, which was corroborated by the examination of his two followers, who had assisted in the capacity of guides. These declarations he carefully compared with such circumstances concerning the destruction of his castle and family as Sir Duncan Campbell was able to supply; and it may be supposed he had forgotten nothing relating to an event of such terrific importance. It was of the last consequence to prove that this was no invention of the outlaw’s, for the purpose of passing an impostor as the child and heiress of Ardenvohr. m A LEGEND OE MONTROSE. [WAVEKLEY

Perhaps Menteith, so much interested in believing the tale, was not altogether the fittest person to be entrusted with the investigation of its truth; but the examinations of the Children of the Mist were simple, accurate, and in all respects consistent with each other, A per- sonal mark was referred to, which was known to have been borne by the infant child of Sir Duncan, and which appeared on the left shoulder of Annot Lyle. It was also well remembered, that when the miserable relics of the other children had been collected, those of the infant had no where been found. Other circumstances of evidence, which it is un- necessary to quote, brought the fullest conviction not only to Menteith, but to the unprejudiced mind of Montrose, that in Annot Lyle, a humble dependant, distinguished only by beauty and talent, they were in future to respect the heiress of Ardenvohr. While Monteith hastened to communicate the result of these en- quiries to the persons most interested, the outlaw demanded to speak with his grandchild, whom he usually called his son. “ He would be found,” ho said, “ in the outer apartment, in which he himself had been originally deposited.” Accordingly, the young savage, after a close search, was found lurk- ing in a corner, coiled up among some rotten straw, and brought to his grandsire. “ Kenneth,” said the old outlaw, “ hear the last words of the sire of thy father, A Saxon soldier, and Allan of the Red-hand, left this camp within these few hours, to travel to the country of Caberfae. Pursue them as the blood-hound pursues the hurt deer—swim the lake —climb the mountain—thread the forest—tarry not until you join them, ” and then the countenance of tho lad darkened as his grand- father spoke, and he laid his hand upon a knife which stuck in the thong of leather which confined his scanty plaid. “ No,” said the old man, “it is not by thy hand he must fall. They will ask the news from the camp—say to them that Annot Lyle of the Harp is discovered to be the daughter of Duncan of Ardenvohr; that the Thane of Men- teith is to wed her before the priest; and that you are sent to bid guests to the bridal. Tarry not their answer, but vanish like the lightning when the black cloud swallows it,—And now depart, beloved son of my best beloved ! I shall never more see thy face, nor hear tho light sound of thy footstep—yet tarry an instant and hear my last charge—remember the fate of our race, and quit not the ancient man- ners of the Children of the Mist. We are now a straggling handful, driven from ever}- vale by tho sword of every clan, who rule in the possessions where their forefathers hewed the wood, and drew tho water to ours. But in the thicket of the -wilderness, and in the mist of the mountain, Kenneth, son of Erorcht, keep thou unsoil’d the free- dom which I leave thee as a birth-right. Barter it not neither for the rich garment, nor for tho stone roof, nor for the covered board, nor for the couch of down—on the rock, or in the valley, in abundance or in KOVELS.] A LEGEND OP MONTROSE. 275 -| famine—in the leafy summer, and in the days of the iron ■winter—Son of the Mist! be free ns thy forefathers. Own no lord—receive no law —take no hire—give no stipend—build no hut—inclose no pasture— i sow no grain;—let the deer of the mountain be thy flocks and herds— if these fail thee, prey upon the goods of our oppressors—of the Sax- ons, and of the Gael who are Saxons in their souls, valuing herds and flocks more than honour and freedom. Well for us that they do so— it aifords the broader scope for our revenge. Remember those who have done kindness to our race, and pay their services with thy blood- should the hour require it. If a Maclan shall come to thee with the head of the king’s son in his hand, shelter him, though the avenging army of the father were behind him; for in Glencoe and Ardnamur- chan, we have dwelt in peace in the years that have gone by- The sons of Diarmid—the race of Darnlinvarach—the riders of Menteith— my curse on thy head, Child of the Mist, if thou spare one of those names, when the time shall offer for cutting them off! and it will come anon, for their own swords shall devour each other, and those who are scattered shall fly to the Mist, and perish by its children. Once more, begone—shake the dust from thy feet against the habitations of men, whether banded together for peace or for war. Farewell, beloved ! and may’st thou die like thy forefathers, ere infirmity, disease, or ago shall break thy spirit—begone!—begone!—live free—requite kindness ■—avenge the injuries of thy race.” The young savage stooped, and kissed the brow of his dying parent; but accustomed from infancy to suppress every exterior sign of emo- tion, he parted without tear or adieu, and was soon far beyond the limits of Montrose’s camp. Sir Dugald Dalgetty, who was present during the latter part of this scene, was very little edified by the conduct of MacEagh upon the oc- casion. “ I cannot think, my friend Ranald,” said he, “ that you are in the best possible road for a dying man. Storms, onslaughts, mas- sacres, the burning of suburbs, are a soldier’s daily work, and are justified by the necessity of the case, seeing that they are done in the course of duty; for burning of suburbs, in particular, it may be said that they are traitors and cut-throats to all fortified towns. Hence it is plain, that a soldier is a profession peculiarly favoured by Heaven, seeing that we may hope for salvation, although we daily commit actions of so great violence. But then, Ranald, in all services of Europe, it is the cugtom of the dying soldier not to vaunt him of such doings, or to recommend them to his follows; but, on the contrary, to express contrition for the same, and to repeat, or have repeated to him, some comfortable prayer; which, if you please, I will intercede with his Excellency’s chaplain to prefer on your account. It is otherwise no point of my duty to put you in mind of those things , only it may be for the ease of your conscience to depart more like a Christian, and less like a Turk, than you seem to be in a fair way of doing.” 276 A LEGEND OF MONTROSE. [WAVE It LEY

The only answer of the dying man—(for as such Ranald MacEagh might now be considered)—was a request to be raised to such a posi- tion that he might obtain a view from the window of the Castle. The deep frost mist which had long settled upon the top of the mountains, was now rolling down each rugged glen and gull}-, where the craggy ridges shewed their black and irregular outline, like desert islands rising above the ocean of vapoui’. “ Spirit of the Mist! ” said Ranald MacEagh, “ called by our race our father, and our preserver—receive into thy tabernacle of clouds, when this pang is over, him whom in life thou hast so often sheltered.” So saying, he sunk back into the arms of those who upheld him, spoke no further word, but turned his face to the wall for a short space. “ I believe,” said Dalgetty, “my friend Ranald will be found in his heart to be little better than a heathen.” And he renewed his proposal to procure him the assistance of Dr Wishart, Montrose’s military chaplain; “a man,” said Sir Dugald, “very clever in his exercise, and who will do execution on your sins in less time than I could smoke a pipe of tobacco.” “ Saxon,” said the dying man, “ speak to me no more of thy priest —I die contented. Hadst thou ever an enemy against whom weapons were of no avail—whom the ball missed, and against whom the arrow shivered,—and whose bare skin was as impenetrable to sword and dirk as thy steel garment ?—Heardst thou ever of such a foe ? ” “Very frequently, when I served in Germany,” replied Sir Dugald. “ There was such a fellow at Ingolstadt; he was proof both against lead and steel. The soldiers killed him with the butts of their muskets. ” “ This impassible foe,” said Ranald, without regarding the Major’s interruption, “ who has the blood dearest to me upon his hands—to this man I have now bequeathed agony of mind, jealousy, despair, and sudden death,—or a life more miserable than death itself. Such shall be the lot of Allan of the Red-hand, when he learns that Annot weds Menteith; and I ask no more than the certainty that it is so, to sweeten my own bloody end by his hand.” “ If that be the case,” said the Major, “ there’s no more to be said; but I shall take care as few people see you as possible, for I cannot think your mode of departui'e can be at all creditable or exemplary to a Christian army.” So saying, he left the apartment, and the son of the Mist soon after breathed his last. Menteith, in the meanwhile, leaving the new-found relations to their mutual feelings of mingled amotion, was eagerly discussing with Montrose the consequence of this discovery. “ I should now see,” said the Marquis, “ even had I not before observed that your interest in this discovery, my dear Menteith, has no small reference to your own happiness. You love this new-found lady,—your affection is re- turned. In point of birth, no exceptions can bo made; in every other respect, her advantages are equal to those which you yourself possess NOVELS.] A LEGEND OP MONTROSE. 277

—think, however, a moment. Sir Duncan is a fanatic—Presbyterian at least—in arms against the King ; he is only with us in the quality of a prisoner, and wo are, I fear, but at the commencement of a long civil war. Is this a time, think you, Menteith, for you to make pro- posals for his heiress? Or what chance is there that he will now listen to it ? ” Passion, an ingenious, as well as an eloquent advocate, supplied the young nobleman with a thousand answers to these objections. He re- minded Montrose that the Knight of Ardenvohr was neither a bigot in politics nor religion. He urged his own known and proved zeal for the royal cause, and hinted that its influence might be extended and strengthened by his wedding the heiress of Ardenvohr. He pleaded the dangerous state of Sir Duncan’s wound, the risk which must be run by suffering the young lady to be carried into the country of the Campbells, where, in case of her father’s death, or continued indisposi- tion, she must necessarily be placed under the guardianship of Argyle, an event fatal to his (Menteith’s) hopes, unless he could stoop to pur- chase his favour by abandoning the King’s party. Montrose allowed the force of these arguments, and owned, although the matter was attended with difficulty, yet it seemed consistent with the King’s service that it should be concluded as speedily as possible. “I could wish,” said he, “that it were all settled in one way or another, and that this fair Briseis were removed from our camp before the return of our Achilles, Allan M'Aulay.—I fear some fatal feud in that quarter, Menteith—and I believe it would be best that Sir Dun- can be dismissed on his parole, and that you accompany him and his daughter as his escort. The journey can be made chiefly by water, so will not greatly incommode his wound—and your own, 1113' friend, will be an honourable) excuse for the absence of some time from my camp.” “ Never,” said Montoith. “Were I to forfeit the very hope that has so lately dawned upon me, never will I leaye your Excellency’s camp while the royal standard is displayed. I should deserve that this trifling scratch should gangrene and consume m3' sword arm, were I capable of holding it as an excuse for absence at this crisis of the King’s affairs.” “ On this then you are determined ? ” said Montrose. “ As fixed as Bcn-Nevis,” said the young nobleman. “ You must then,” said Montrose, “ lose no time in seeking an ex- planation with the Knight of Ardenvohr. If this prove favourable, I will talk myself with the elder M'Aulay, and we will devise means to employ his brother at a distance from the army until he shall be recon- ciled to his present disappointment. Would to God some vision would descend upon his imagination fair enough to obliterate all traces of Annot Lyle! That perhaps 3Tou think impossible, Menteith?—Well, each to his service; you to that of Cupid, and I to that of Mars.” 278 A LEGEND OP MONTROSE. [WAVERLEY

They parted, and in pursuance of the scheme arranged, Menteith, early on the ensuing morning, sought a private interview with the wounded Knight of Ardenvohr, and communicated to him his suit for the hand of his daughter. Of their mutual attachment Sir Duncan was aware, but he was not prepared for so early a declaration on the part of Menteith. He said, at first, that he had already, perhaps, in- dulged too much in feelings of personal happiness, at a time when his clan had sustained so great a loss and humiliation, and that he was unwilling, therefore, farther to consider the advancement of his own house at a period so calamitous. On the more urgent suit of the noble lover, he requested a few hours to deliberate and consult with his daughter upon a question so highly important. The result of this interview and deliberation was favourable to Men- teith. Sir Duncan Campbell became fully sensible that the happiness of his new-found daughter depended upon a union with her lover; and unless such was now formed, he saw that Argyle would throw a thou- sand obstacles in the way of a match in every respect acceptable to himself. Menteith’s private character was so excellent, and such was the rank and consideration due to his fortune and family, that they out-balanced, in Sir Duncan’s opinion, the difference in their political opinions. Nor could he have resolved, perhaps, had his own opinion of the match been less favourable, to decline an opportunity of indulg- ing the new-found child of his hopes. There was, besides, a feeling of pride which dictated his determination. To produce the Heiress of Ardenvohr to the world as one who had been educated a poor depen- dant and musician in the family of Darnlinvarach, had something in it that was humiliating. To introduce her as the betrothed bride, or wedded wife, of the Earl of Menteith, upon an attachment formed during her obscurity, was a warrant to the world that she had at all times been worthy of the rank to which she was elevated. It was under the influence of these considerations that Sir Duncan Campbell announced to the lovers his consent that they should be married in the chapel of the Castle, by Montrose’s chaplain, and as privately as possible. But when Montrose should break up from In- verlochy, for which orders were expected in the course of a very few days, it was agreed that the young Countess should depart with her father to his castle, and remain there until the circumstances of the nation permitted Menteith to retire with honour from his present military employment. His resolution being once taken, Sir Duncan Campbell would not permit the maidenly scruples of his daughter to delay its execution; and it was therefore resolved that the bridal should take place upon the next evening, being the second after the battle. NOVELS.] A LEGEND OE MONTROSE. 279

CHAPTER XXIII. My maid—my blue-eyed maid, he bore away, Due to the toils of many a bloody day.—Iliad. It was necessary, for many reasons, that Angus M‘Aulay, so long the kind protector of Annot Lyle, should be made acquainted with the change in the fortunes of his late protegde; and Montrose, as he had undertaken, communicated to him these remarkable events. With the careless and cheerful indifference of his character, he expressed much more joy than wonder at Annot’s good fortune; had no doubt whatever she would merit it, and as she had always been bred in loyal principles, would convey the whole estate of her grim fanatical father to some honest fellow who loved the king. “ I should have no objec- tion that my brother Allan tried his chance,” added he, “ notwith- standing that Sir Duncan Campbell was the only man who ever charged Darnlinvarach with inhospitality. Annot Lyle could always charm Allan out of the sullens, and who knows whether matrimony might not make him more a man of this world ? ” Montrose hastened to interrupt the progress of his castle-building, by informing him that the lady was already wooed and won, and, with her father’s approbation, was almost immediately to be wedded to his kinsman, the Earl of Menteith; and that, in testimony of the high re- spect due to M'Aulay, so long the lady’s protector, he was now to re- quest his presence at the ceremony. M'Aulay looked very grave at this intimation, and drew up his person with the air of one who thought that he had been neglected. “ He conceived,” he said, that his uniform kind treatment of the young lady, while so many years under his roof, required something more upon such an occasion than a bare compliment of ceremony. He might,” he thought, “ without arrogance, have expected to have been consulted. He wished his kinsman of Menteith well, no man could wish him better, but he must say he thought he had been hasty in this matter. Allan’s sentiments towards the young lady had been pretty well understood, and he, for one, could not see why the superior pretensions which ho had upon her gratitude should have been set aside, without at least undergoing some previous discussion.” Montrose, seeing too well where all this pointed, entreated M'Aulay to be reasonable, and to consider what probability there was that the Knight of Ardenvohr could be brought to confer the hand of his sole heiress upon Allan, whose undeniable excellent qualities were mingled with others, by which they were overclouded in a manner that made all tremble who approached him. “ My lord,” said Angus M'Aulay, “ my brother Allan has, as God made us all, faults as well as merits; but he is the b'est and bravest man of your army, be the other who he may, and therefore ill de- served that his happiness should have been so little consulted by your- 280 A LEGEND OE MONTROSE. [WAVERLEY

Excellence—by bis own near kinsman—and by a young person who owes all to him and to his family.” Montrose in vain endeavoured to place the subject in a different view; this was the point in which Angus was determined to regard it, and he was a man of that calibre of understanding, who is incapable of being convinced when he has once adopted a prej udice. Montrose now as- sumed a higher tone, and called upon Angus to take care how he nourished any sentiments which might be prejudicial to his Majesty’s service. He pointed out to him, that he was peculiarly desirous that Allan’s efforts should not be interrupted in the course of his present mission. “ A mission,” he said, “ highly honourable for himself, and likely to prove most advantageous to the King’s cause. He expected his brother would hold no communication with him upon other sub- jects, nor stir'up any cause of dissention, which might divert his mind from a matter of such importance.” Angus answered somewhat sulkily, that “he was no make-bate, or stirrer up of quarrels, he would rather be a peacemaker. His brother knew as well as most men how to resent his own quarrels—as for Allan’s mode of receiving information, it was generally believed he had other sources than those of ordinary couriers. He should not be surprised if they saw him sooner than they expected.” A promise that he would not interfere, was the farthest to which Montrose could bring this man, thoroughly good-tempered as he was on all occasions, save when his pride, interest, or prejudices were in- terfered with. And at this point he was fain to leave the matter for the present. A more willing guest at the bridal ceremony, certainly a more will- ing attendant at the marriage feast, was to be expected in Sir Dugald Dalgetty, whom Montrose resolved to invite, as having been a confidant to the circumstances which preceded it. But even Sir Dugald hesi- tated, looked on the elbows of his doublet, and the knees of his leather breeches, and mumbled out a sort of reluctant acquiescence in the in- vitation, providing he should find it possible, after consulting with the noble bridegroom. Montrose was somewhat surprised, but scorning to testify displeasure, ho left Sir Dugald to pursue his own course. This carried him instantly to the chamber of the bridegroom, who, amidst the scanty wardrobe which his camp equipage afforded, was seeking for such articles as might appear to the best advantage upon the approaching occasion. Sir Dugald entered, and paid his compli- ments, with a very grave face, upon his approaching happiness, which, he said, “ he was very sorry he was prevented from witnessing.” “In plain truth,” said he, “I should but disgrace the ceremony, seeing that I lack a bridal garment; rents, and open seams, and tat- ters at elbows in the apparel of the assistants, might presage a similar solution of continuity in your matrimonial happiness—and to say truth, my lord, you youself must partly have the blame of this disappoint- NOVELS.] A LEGEND OP MONTROSE. 281 ment, in respect you sent me upon a fool’s errand to get a buff-coat out of the booty taken by the Camerons, whereas you might as well have sent me to fetch a pound of fresh butter out of a black-dog’s throat. I had no answer, my lord, but brandished dirks and broad- swords, and a sort of growling and jabbering in what they call their language; for my part, I believe these Highlanders to be no better than absolute pagans, and have been much scandalized by the man- ner in which my acquaintance, Ranald MacEagh, was pleased to beat his final march, a little while since.” In Menteith’s state of mind, disposed to be pleased with everything, and every body, the grave complaint of Sir Dugald furnished additional amusement. He requested his acceptance of a very handsome buff- dress which was lying on the floor. “ I had intended it,” he said, “ for my own bridal-garment, as being the least formidable of my warlike equipments, and I have here no peaceful dress.” Sir Dugald made the necessary apologies—would not by any means deprive—and so forth, until it happily occurred to him that it was much more according to military rule that the Earl should be married in his back and breastpieces, which dress he had seen the bridegroom wear at the union of Prince Leo of Wittlesbach with the youngest daughter of old George Frederick, of Saxony, under the auspices of the gallant Gustavus Adolphus, the Lion of the North and so forth. The good-natured young Earl laughed, and acquiesced; and thus having secured at least one merry face at his bridal, he put on a light and or- namented cuirass, concealed partly by a velvet coat, and partly by a broad blue silk scarf, which he wore over his shoulder, agreeably to his rank and the fashion of the times. Every thing was now arranged, and it had been settled, that accord- ing to the custom of the country the bride and bridegroom should not again meet until they were before the altar. The hour had already struck that summoned the bridegroom thither, and ho only awaited in a small ante-room adjacent to the chapel, for the Marquis, who conde- scended to act as bride’s-man upon the occasion. Business relating to the army having suddenly-required the Marquis’s instant attention, Menteith waited his return, it may be supposed, in some impatience; ami when he heard the door of the apartment open, he said, laughing, “You are late upon parade.” “ You will find I am too early,” said Allan M'Aulay, who burst into the apartment. ‘ ‘ Draw, Menteith, and defend yourself like a man, or die like a dog! ” “You are mad, Allan! ” answered Menteith, astonished alike at his sudden appearance and at the unutterable fury of his demeanour. His cheeks were livid—his eyes started from their sockets—his lips were covered with foam, and his gestures were those of a demoniac. “ You lie, traitor! ” was his frantic reply—“you lie in that, as you lie in all you have said to mo. Your life is a lie! ” 282 A LEGEND OF MONTROSE. [WAYERLEV

“Did I not speak my thoughts when I called you mad,” said Menteith, indignantly, “your own life were a brief one. In what do you charge me with deceiving you P ” “ You told me,” answered M‘Aulay, “ that you would not marry Annot Lyle !—False traitor !—she now waits you at the altar.” “ It is you who speak false,” retorted Menteith. “I told you the obscurity of her birth was the only bar to our union—that is now re- moved ; and whom do ymu think yourself that I should yield up my pretensions in your favour?” “ Draw then,” said M'Aulay; “ we understand each other.” “Not now,” said Menteith, “and not here. Allan, you know me well—wait till to-morrow, and you shall have fighting enough.” “ This hour—this instant—or never,” answered M'Aulay. “ Your triumph shall not go farther than the hour which is stricken. Men- teith, I entreat you by our relationship—by our joint conflicts and labours—draw your sword, and defend your life ! ” As he spoke, he seized the Earl’s hand, and wrung it with such frantic earnestness, that his grasp forced the blood to start under the nails. Menteith threw him off with violence, exclaiming,—“Begone, madman!” “Then, be the vision accomplished! ” said Allan; and, drawing his dirk, struck with his whole gigantic force at the Earl’s bosom. The temper of the corslet threw the point of the weapon upwards, but a deep wound took place between the neck and shoulder; and the force of the blow prostrated the bridegroom on the floor. Montrose entered at one side of the ante-room. The bridal company, alarmed at the noise, were in equal apprehension and surprise; but ere Montrose could almost see what had happened, Allan M‘Aulay had rushed past him, and descended the castle stairs like lightning. “ Guards, shut the gate ! ” exclaimed Montrose—“ Seize him—kill him, if he resists ! —He shall die, if he were my brother ! ” But Allan prostrated, with a second blow of his dagger, a sentinel who was upon duty—traversed the camp like a mountain deer, though pursued by all who caught the alarm—threw himself into the river, and, swimming to the opposite side, was soon lost among the woods. In the course of the same evening, his brother Angus and his followers left Montrose’s camp, and taking the road homeward, never again re- joined him. Of Allan himself it is said, that, in a wonderfully short space after the deed was committed, he burst into a room in the castle of Inverara, where Argyle was sitting in council, and flung on the table his bloody dirk. “ Is it the blood of James Graham ? ” said Argyle, a ghastly expres- sion of hope mixing with the terror which the sudden apparition na- turally excited. “It is the blood of his minion,” answered M'Aulay—“It is blood which I was predestined to shed, though I would rather have spilt my own.” KOVELS.] A LEGEND OE MONTROSE. 283

Haying thus spoken he turned and left the castle, and from this mo- ment nothing certain is known of his fate. As the boy Kenneth, with three of the Children of the Mist, were seen soon afterwards to cross Lochfine, it is supposed they dogged his course, and that he perished by their hand in some obscure wilderness. Another opinion maintains, that Allan M'Aulay went abroad, and died a monk of the Carthusian order. But nothing beyond bare presumption could ever be brought in support of either opinion. His vengeance was much less complete than he probably fancied; for Menteith, though so severely wounded as to remain long in a dan- gerous state, was, by having adopted Major Dalgetty’s fortunate re- commendation of a cuirass as a bridal-garment, happily secured from the worst consequences of the blow. But his services were lost to Mon- trose, and it was thought best that he should bo conveyed with his in- tended countess, now truly a mourning bride, and should accompany his wounded father-in-law to the castle of Sir Duncan at Ardenvohr. Dalgetty followed them to the water’s edge, reminding Menteith of the necessity of erecting a sconce on Drumsnab to cover his lady’s newly- acquired inheritance. They performed their voyage in safety, and Menteith was in a few weeks so well in health, as to be united to Annot in the castle of her father. The Highlanders were somewhat puzzled to reconcile Menteith’s recovery with the vision of the second sight, and the more experienced Seers were displeased with him for not having died. But others thought the credit of the vision sufficiently fulfilled by the wound inflicted by the hand and with the weapon, foretold; and all were of opinion, that the incident of the ring, with the death’s-head related to the death of the bride’s father, who did not survive her marriage many months. The incredulous held that all this was idle dreaming, and that Allan’s supposed vision was but a consequence of the private suggestions of his own passion, which having long seen in Menteith a rival more be- loved than himself, struggled with his better nature, and impressed upon him, as it were involuntarily, the idea of killing his competitor. Menteith did not recover sufficiently to join Montrose during his brief and glorious career; and when that heroic general disbanded his army and retired from Scotland, Menteith resolved to adopt the life of privacy, which he led till the Restoration. After that happy event, ho occu- pied a situation in the land befitting his rank, lived long, happy aliko in public regard and in domestic affection, and died at a good old age. Our dramatis personce have been so limited, that, excepting Mon- trose, whose exploits and fate are the theme of history, we have only to mention Sir Dugald Dalgetty. This gentleman continued, with the most rigorous punctuality, to discharge his duty, and to receive his pay, until he was made prisoner, among others, upon the field of Phillip- haugh. He was condemned to share the fate of his fellow-officers on 284 A LEGEND OF MONTROSE. [WAVERLEY that occasion, who were doomed to death rather by denunciations from the pulpit, than the sentence either of civil or military tribunal; their blood being considered as a sort of sin offering to take away the guilt of the land, and the fate imposed upon the Canaanites, under a special dispensation, being impiously and cruelly applied to them. Several Low Country officers in the service of the Covenanters, inter- . ceded for Dalgetty upon this occasion, representing him as a person whose skill would be useful in their armj-, and who would be readily in- duced to change his service. But on this point they found Sir Dugald unexpectedly obstinate. He had engaged with the King for a certain term, and, till that was expired, his principles would not permit any shadow of changing. The Covenanters, again, understood no such nice distinction, and he was in the utmost danger of falling a martyr, not to this or that political principle, hut merely to strict ideas of a mili- tary enlistment. Fortunately, his friends discovered, by computation, that there remained but a fortnight to elapse of the engagement he had formed, and to which, though certain it was never to be renewed, no power on earth could make him false. With some difficulty they pro- cured a reprieve for this short space, after which they found him per- fectly willing to come under any engagements they chose to dictate. He entered the service of the Estates accordingly, and wrought himself forward to be Major in Gilbert Ker’s corps, commonly called the Kirk’s Own Regiment of Horse. Of his farther history we know nothing, until we find him in possession of his paternal estate of Drumthwacket, which he acquired, not by the sword, but by a pacific intermarriage with Hannah Strachan, a matron somewhat stricken in years, the widow of the Aberdeenshire Covenanter. Sir Dugald is supposed to have survived the Revolution, as traditions of no very distant date represent him as cruising about in that country, very old, very deaf, and very full of interminable stories about the im- mortal Gustavus Adolphus, the Lion of the North, and the bulwark of the Protestant Faith.

Reader ! The Tales of my Landlord are now finally closed, and it was my purpose to have addressed thee in the vein of Jedediah Cleish- botham, but, like Horam the son of Asmar, and all other imaginary story-tellers, Jedediah has melted into thin air. Mr Cleishbotham bore the same resemblance to Ariel, as he at whose voice he rose doth to the sage Prospero; and yet, so fond are we of the fictions of our own fancy, that I part with him, and all his imaginary localities, with idle reluctance. I am aware this is a feeling iu which Kovels.] A LEGEND OE MONTROSE. 285 the reader will little sympathize; but he cannot be more sensible than I am, that sufficient varieties have now been exhibited of the Scottish character, to exhaust one individual’s powers of observation, and that to persist would be useless and tedious. I have the vanity to suppose, that the popularity of these Novels has shewn my country- men, and their peculiarities, in lights which were new to the Southern reader; and that many, hitherto indifferent upon the subject, have been induced to read Scottish history, from the allusions in these works of fiction. I retire from the field, conscious there remains behind not only a large harvest, but labourers capable of gathering it in. More than one writer has of late displayed talents of this description; and if the present author, himself a phantom, may be permitted to distinguish a brother, or perhaps a sister shadow, he would mention, in particular, the author of the very lively work, entitled “ Marriage.”

[Thus concluded the original grand series, in three divisions, of The Tales of my Landlord; but in the decline of health and the decay of intellect, their illustrious author, to the regret of all who loved him, and to the sorrow of the world, projected, and with many delays finished, a supplemental series, of which the reader will find particulars in its place. In the interval, however, as these Tales were issued under another designation than that of the Author of Waverley, and the first series by Messrs. Murray and Blackwood, in place of Constable, some unprincipled adventurer was tempted to announce a rival series under the same title, claim- ing to be the Author of them all. Scott's friends, alarmed at this absurdity, entreated him to throw off his incognito and assert his rights, and Constable for his own behoof exposed the forgery. But their entreaties were in vain for Scott. He replied in effect—that nothing could serve their own purpose better than that suck an impostor should be allowed to pub- lish, for he was sure to be a fool. He did publish accordingly, and his abortions fell still- born from the press.] NOTES: BIOGRAPHICAL AND CRITICAL,

EY THE EDITOK.

“ The Black Dwarf,” and “ Legend ox'' Montrose,” now published for the sake of con- venience in a single volume, being the shortest of the “ Tales of my Landlord,” appeared originally at a considerable distance from each other—the one along with “Old Mortality,” 1816, as the first series, the other with “The Bride of Lammermoor,” 1819, as the third; “ The Heart of Mid-Lothian,” alone, intervening as the second, whilst “ Count Robert of Baris ’’ and “ Castle Dangerous ” at a much later date, like an offspring of the brain out of due time, made the fourth. The “Dwarf,” when first submitted in proofs for publication to Blackwood, provoked that shrewd old bookseller to recommend the unknown author to re- consider the plot of the story, in so far as the finish was concerned; and he even offered, in his generous enthusiasm for its success, to defray all the additional expense of cancelling and reprinting the concluding portion of the tale. This friendly suggestion, in its turn, pro- voked Scott’s indignation to such a laughable extent that Ballantyne’s intervention was scarcely sufficient to restrain it, and the story accordingly appeared as it is—with a splendid introduction and a very lame and impotent conclusion. Nor was the gifted author himself ignorant of the fact. He knew, as well as any critic or bookseller could tell him, when his own work was inferior; but dictation, or patronising assistance, was an abomination to him, and besides, he must have been absolutely certain that the companionship of such a romance as “ Old Mortality ” would redeem any second-rate performance from neglect or criticism. If the whole truth must be told, however, it was not only in the mere conclusion of the “ Black Dwarf” that insufficiency of dramatic art was shown. There was a percep- tible inferiority in many of the dialogues, and especially in the long interjectional discourses of the Solitary himself, in which there is not only a good deal of painful exaggeration, but a pretence to profound philosophy which they really do not contain. The chief interest of the story lies undoubtedly in the fact that such a personage as the Dwarf existed, and that Scott himself not only had a personal interview with him in his cottage, but was very deeply affected by the unfortunate man’s appearance and strange inquisitorial necromantic utter- ances on the occasion. From an extended account of this extraordinary being in the Edin- burgh Magazine of 1817, by the pen of its then Editor, the late amiable and gifted Thomas Pringle, with some additions from other sources, we condense the following:— David Ritchie, commonly called “ Bowed Davie,” the son of poor but respectable parents, was born in the parish of Stobo, Peeblesshire, about 1740, most probably before that date. His deformity was attributed by his father to “ill-guiding” in infancy, but medical exami- nation afterwards demonstrated that this could not have been entirely the case. He was sent to Edinburgh in his youth to learn the trade of a brush-maker; but his figure attracted so much attention that he left the city in disgust, and settled among his native hills, in the parish of Manor. Sir James Nasmyth, who was his kind friend and patron, gave him a small allotment of ground on the lands of Woodhouse, of his own choosing. The spot he selected was on the side of a hill, which he scooped out for a garden, the open side being enclosed with a wall. The whole of this, with sonfe additional ground, he trenched, the new part to the depth of two and a half feet, removing every stone and boulder with his own hands, and stocked the whole with vegetables, flowers, and bees. In his digging and trenching operations he used a spade of peculiar construction, which he pressed into the soil with his breast, his feet being of no use for that purpose. Within this garden stood his hut, built and plenishcd with a few rude articles of fumituvo by himself, much as described in the NOTES: BIOGRAPHICAL AND CRITICAL. 287

text; and in this humble abode his sister dwelt with him, on terms of indifferent harmony. The original tenement at last giving way, a larger cottage was erected by Sir James’s orders, to accommodate them both, but a dispute between them about doors and windows occasioned a final estrangement. Davie insisted on having a door for himself three feet high, and a chink without glass for window in his own apartment; his sister would have had all in the ordinary way—and there was no more love between them. They were the only two persons for a long time who received parochial help in Manor; but Davie’s own exchequer was maintained chiefly by donations from the wealthy and from visitors, and the money he received was expended on flowers, on snuff, and latterly on a modicum of spirits, part of which he even sold and realised a little profit. Besides this sister, the only other com- panion of his solitude was a great black cat, of corresponding temperament to his own, but trained to absolute submission by him, as a sort of sympathetic slave. To this creature he is said to have pointed with much triumph on the occasion of Scott’s visit, as the depository of supernatural power. He died in December 1811, at the reputed age of 71, but probably older. The sum of £20 was found in his chest, of which one-half was bestowed on the poor of the parish. Some time before his death he had selected a pleasant spot for his own burial, “to be out of the common brush,” as he said, in the neighbourhood of a Druidical circle, and had obtained a promise from Sir James to plant it with rowan-trees to protect his re- mains from witches; but the whole of this plan, which originated perhaps as much in his secret aversion to be buried by the grave digger, a deformed creature like himself and whom he therefore hated, as in any real misanthropic desire to lie apart from the world, he ultimately abandoned, and was quietly interred, like his neighbours, in the church-yard of Manor. His height, was about three feet six inches; his skull oblong in shape, and of such strength that he could strike it with ease through the panel of a door, or the end of a tar barrel; his laugh was a horrible screech, and his voice shrill, uncouth, and dissonant. His feet were like great flat fins; his thigh-bones were supposed to be awanting, but were in reality short, strong, and twisted like rams’ horns. They were removed secretly before his interment, and arc still preserved, as anatomical curiosities, at Woodhouse. Both feet and legs, during life, were wrapped in a complication of rags for concealment; and for support and defence he walked always with a pole or pikestaff, considerably higher than himself. His habits and dispositions were very much as our author has described them, and although he could hardly be called a philosopher, he nevertheless thought deeply on moral and religious sub- jects, and delighted much in reading such books as the Wallace and the Bruce, Paradise Lost, Tooke’s Pantheon, and Shenstones’s Ballads. His brain was equally divided between poetry, magic, and heathen mythology. As an illustration of his humour, we may mention that on one occasion, when showing a lady through his garden, which was otherwise in beautiful condition, they stopped accidentally at a plot of cabbages which the caterpillars had invaded. This being observed, he rushed among the plants with his staff and dashed them to pieces, saying “I hate the worms, for they mock me!” And on another occasion, supposing he saw a lady laugh at him, he exclaimed in fury, “Am I a toad, woman, that ye spit at me!—that ye spit at me!”—and without listening to explanation or apology, drove her with imprecations and insults from the premises. His hatred of children w’ho followed or annoyed him, and his threats of vengeance on them, were also said to be horrible; and this disposition having been manifest from childhood, his father used to say that “he was born either to slay or to be slain”—a prediction, however, which happily for himself and others was not fulfilled. The “ Legend of Montrose,” although short and necessarily imperfect in certain drama- tic details, is nevertheless a finished romance of its kind—its most obvious artistic defect be- ing the total want of concluding reference to Lady Campbell of Ardenvohr. The contrast of all the characters, however, is admirable, and the portraits of the two great political rivals, on so limited a canvas, are as near pictorial perfection as could be hoped. The men themselves, indeed, as two such leaders were likely to be, are to some extent misrepresented. Prejudice and partiality alike, during their own lives, distorted their features, and exaggerated equally their virtues and their vices—a misfortune for them, which the liberties and requirements of 288 NOTES: BIOGRAPHICAL AND CRITICAL. [W.IVKRJ.KY romance were sure to aggravate. Montrose was not so chivalrous perhaps, nor Argyle so repulsive, as they are respectively represented by our Author, whose predilections are well enough known; but the imaginary pictures, such as they are, are done to a marvel. In these circumstances, a brief historical notice of both may be of service to our readers, and we subjoin the following as a sort of guide to the facts of the case. James Graham, fifth Earl and first Marquis of Montrose, was born 1612. He studied in his youth at St. Andrews, but finished his education on the continent. Being repelled by the indifference of the King, he joined at first with the Covenanters—1634; but disgusted with the preference given to Argyle, he deserted their cause, and was subsequently seized and imprisoned by them in Edinburgh Castle, 1641. At the personal request of the King, however, he was liberated the following year. On the temporary disgrace of the Duke of Hamilton, he was appointed, 1644, Lieutenant General of Scotland, and shortly afterwards made Marqui . Alter the royal disaster at Mars ton-Moor, he set out for Scotland, as stated in the text, dis- guised as a groom ; organised 1200 Irish auxiliaries at Blair-Athole, collected the clans at- tached to the King, and after much brilliant, but savage campaigning, defeated Argyle at Inverlochy, 1645. He then proceeded southward, and after the battle of Kilsyth, in the summer of the same year, made severe requisition through the Lowlands. He was surprised however, in the midst of his victorious career, and defeated at Philiphaugh near Selkirk, by Leslie and the Covenanting forces. With difficulty he regained the Highlands, and subse- quently retired to the Continent. On the death of Charles I., January, 1649, he advised his son Charles II. not to accept the crown on the terms proposed; but Charles, true to.his own selfish nature, entertained overtures from the Parliament on one hand and encouraged Mon- trose on the other. He returned accordingly in the spring of 1650, and with slender forces renewed the royal cause by an attempted rising in Orkney; but was surprised by an ambus- cade, and finally made prisoner. He reached Edinburgh on the 18th of May, and was cxc- cu ed on the 21st on a gibbet thirty feet high, in terms of a sentence passed against him in 1644, * which was literally enforced, and which he thus commemorates—— “ Let them bestow on every airth a limb; Open all my veins, that I may swim To thee, my Saviour, in that crimson lake; Then place my parboiled head upon a stake ; Scatter my ashes, throw them in the air : Lord, since thou know’st where all these atoms arc, I’m hopeful, once ThouTt recollect my dust, An.l confident ThouTt raise me with the just.’* At the restoration, his remains were indeed actually collected, and buried with great pomp in his grandfather’s tomb in St. Giles’s. As a scholar, a gentleman, a soldier, and a general, he had few equ ils and no superior of his time in Europe; but his cruelties, stimulated by jealousy and revenge, against his own countrymen, have been condemned by the opposite party as inexcusable. An apology for some of these atrocities might perhaps be founded on his devoted love to the King, and his determination to avenge his death. This resolution, indeed, he recorded in his epitaph on the martyred monarch “ IT1 tune thy elegies to trumpet sounds, And write thy epitaph in blood and wounds ”— but unfortunately for his credit in this respect, the atrocities in question were all committed long before that melancholy event occurred. * By this sentence he was declared forfeit and excommunicate in the realm and in the Church, as well as doomed to an ignominious death, from which date, as long as he lived, he was spoken of by the Covenanters, no longer as Earl, but simply as James Graham—a style of address which our Author carefully observes as in their mouths respecting him. Archibald, surnamed the Grim, eighth Earl and first Marquis of Argyle, had the disad- vantage, in comparison with Montrose, of being older, less handsome, and less attractive NOVELS.] NOTES ! BIOGRAPHICAL AND CRITICAL, 289 every way. Besides which, he was irresolute and even timid, by his own public avowal, .vhich disqualified him for hazardous enterprises, and brought him into difficulties as well as into reproach. Yet he was capable of the loftiest resolutions, and even of heroic martyr- dom, when the supreme crisis came. Born in 1598, and representing the most numerous and powerful sept in the West Highlands, he was made Privy-Councillor in 1C26, and extraordi- nary Lord of Session in 1634. At the head of the Covenanting forces in the north he made a successful campaign in the district of Badenoch, Athole, and Mar, against the royalists; and to win him over to their cause was made Marquis by the King. This promotion, however, bad not the desired effect, and he became ultimately the avowed leader of the Covenanters, both in the Cabinet and in the field. In this capacity he undertook a fruitless pursuit of Montrose, with whom he was utterly unqualified to cope, and on the first serious reverse, he threw up his commission and retired in disgust, on the frivolous pretence that ho was ill supported. Montrose in retaliation then invaded Argyleshire, and he was driven reluctantly to the rescue, with what miserable result at Inverlochy the reader is aware. Charles II., as we have already intimated, was guilty of the grossest duplicity between Montrose and the Parliament; the strongest proof of which is that whilst he was negociating with one party for support, Argyle, as representing the other, had the honour of placing the crown on his Majesty’s head at Scone on the most solemn engagements by him to maintain the Covenant. This was on the 1st of January 1651, only seven months after Montrose’s execution for his sake. His Majesty even proposed a Dukedom to Argyle, and offered to espouse his daughter; honours which the Marquis, perhaps wisely, declined for himself and his family. Previous to this, however, it is certain he took part with Cromwell, although he did his best at the same time to restore the monarchy when an opportunity afforded. “When the restoration was accomplished he repaired to London to congratulate the King, but was suddenly arrested and sent to Edinburgh to be tried for his life, on a list of fourteen charges ranging over a period of twenty-three years. Of these charges the most serious were conspiracy against the life of the King, complicity in the death of Montrose, and correspondence with Cromwell. His tribunal, contrary to law, was the Parliament—more guilty than himself, and his prose- cutor, General Middleton, the Royal Commissioner, his most inveterate enemy. Whatever weakness or vacillation he might have shown during his life, Argyle’s inherent greatness displayed itself on this distressing occasion. The iniquity of the trial, one of the most in- iquitous on record in Scotland, he endured with patience; the insolent malignity of his pro- secutors and judges he bore with meekness; the charges against him he repelled with dig- nity and eloquence—but when sentence of acquittal was almost pronounced, some letters of his to General Monk approving the Commonwealth, preserved and forwarded and infamously received after the trial was closed, sealed his fate; yet the sentence of forfeiture and death, which was then pronounced, he listened to with such heroic magnanimity and composure that the very Parliament of cowards who condemned him were for the moment moved to tears. He appealed to His Majesty, but the appeal was forbidden; after which he devoted himself to religious consolation in company with his wife, and prepared to die. “I could die,” he laid, “like a Roman, but I choose rather to die like a Christian.” He was beheaded on the 27th of May, 1661, and his head fixed publicly on the identical spike on which Montrose’s eleven years before had been exposed. The body was conveyed with solemn ceremony, from Edinburgh by way of New Kilpatrick and Dunoon, to the family burying place at Kilmun; and the head, which was not removed till June 8th 1664, was then laid beside it in the vault. Notwithstanding this tragic vengeance, his enemies obtained no personal advantage; for his son was reinstated in all his father’s titles except that of Marquis, and in all the patrimonial estates. This nobleman, like his father, was also betrayed, attainted, and martyred, 1685 ; but the Convention of Estates, in due time repentant, unanimously declared the sentence of forfeiture null and void, and selected his son from all the nobility of Scotland to offer the crown of the Revolution to William and Mary; whilst his illustrious grandson, Duke of Ar- gyle and Greenwich, was chiefly instrumental in placing the Hanoverian dynasty on the throne of the Empire, and was himself, for all political purposes, the practical King of Scot- lanu—of whom, as represented in “ The Heart of Mid-Lothian,” more hereafter. K 200 ' NOTES: BIOGRAPHICAL AND CRITICAL, [WAYERLFY

Such have been the strange vicissitudes of this Covenant-keeping, King-crowning house of Argyle, now related, by an auspicious matrimonial alliance, to the reigning family. Of secondary characters, Lord Kilpont, son of the Earl of Menteith, an amiable and pro- mising young nobleman, and intimate friend of Montrose’s, who corresponds to the so-called Eakl of Menteith in the text, was in reality said to have been assassinated by James Stewart of Ardvoirlich, the peculiarities of whose birth and character corresponded exactly to those of Allan MacAulay’s; but the fact of this assassination by his hand, although main- tained by the Rev. Dr Wish art, Montrose’s historian, has since been repudiated by the re- presentative of the family of Ardyoirlieh. Kilpont’s death, however, accompanied by strong proofs of betrayal in Montrose’s camp, is certain; and it is also certain that Stewart, his bosom friend and companion, who lodged in his tent and shared his bed, fled immediately to the standard of Argyle, from whom he received honours and preferment. Stewart’s maternal uncle, so brutally murdered, was Drummond of Drummondernoch; but by whom the atro- city was committed— whether by the Children of the Mist, by the MacGregors, or some out- lawed family of the MacDonalds, at feud with the Drummonds, has never been ascertained. We must not forget to state that there was a veritable Laird of Dalgettt also, in Mon- trose’s following; but the actual personage of the time, who corresponded most to that redoubtable Soldado, was Sir John Urry, or Hurry, who had served with equal bravery and unscrupulousness on both sides, but was at the date in question engaged as a soldier of for- tune, for his pay, with the opposite party. This resemblance must of course be understood as chiefly in the mercenary exchange of services and variety of military experienoe, for Sir Dugald’s originality and scholarship,—to say nothing of his wisdom, are all his own. Gustavos Adolphus, his patron saint, so to speak, was one of the most illustrious warrior kings and champions of freedom, religious and political, in Europe. He was the second Gustavus of Sweden, being grandson to Gustavus I., or Gustavus Wasa, the liberator of Sweden, who triumphed over so many romantic hardships, broke the dominion of Denmark, and established an independent monarchy at Stockholm. Gustavus Adolphus was born there in 1594, and on the death of his father, Carl IX., succeeded to the throne at the age of seventeen; at which early date, so great seem to have been his accomplishments and saga- city, he was decreed competent to administer in his own person the entire affairs of the state. He had, indeed, been so far accustomed to these in his father’s company, under whom he held an important command from his very boyhood, that independent government was in a manner familiar to him; but his choice of a prime minister so wise and capable as Oxcnstiern, was proof at once, and security for the moderation and success of his reign. At his father’s death, Sweden had still the arrears of contest with Denmark, Russia, and Poland, to settle. The two first of these, after much serious fighting, he concluded favour- ably for Sweden, in the years 1613 and 1617 respectively; and in 1026, the Poles, against whom, on his cousin Ladislaus’ behalf, the claimant of their crown, he had continued to act, were reduced to negotiate a peace. At this juncture, Pe^Unand II., Emperor of Ger- many, but by the mother’s side of Spanish descent, educated by the Jesuits, and by nature fanatically cruel, was devastating his own Protestant territories and alarming all Europe with his atrocities, in fulfilment of a vow to restore the authority of the Catholic Church and the extremest domination of the priesthood. Even the Gennan Catholic Princes themselves began to tremble for their liberties, and the Protestant people, terrified, oppressed, and outraged everywhere, appealed in despair to Gustavus. Gustavus, glad for political reasons nf his own to keep a madman like Ferdinand in check, went freely to the aid of the German Protestants with fifteen thousand Swedish troops, and a valuable contingent of six regi- ments of Scots, under the command of the Marquis of Hamilton—the same who was subse- quently Duke, and finally superseded by Montrose at home. The war, in short, which, with intervals, raged for thirty years, w-as a war of religions and of liberties—of Protestant free- dom and toleration against the fiercest despotism of tyrants and inquisitors, and lasted long after the death of both Ferdinand and Gustavus. One of Ferdinand’s most hated military representatives was Tilly—once a Jesuit, then a successful soldier, now field-marshal and commander-in-chief, whom Gustavus defeated with signal loss at Leipsic. Tilly shortly NOVEtS.J NOTES : BIOGEAPHICAL AND CRITICAL 291

afterwards died, partly of despair, partly of his wounds, at Ingolstadt, and Wallenstein, whom he had formerly superseded, returned to the supreme command, under whom the Imperial forces encountered Gustavus at Lutzen, 16th November, 1632. In preparation for battle, Gustavus and his people engaged in prayer. The soldiers, kneeling round him, sang Luther’s magnificent hymn, “Ein feste Burg,” and then, with shouts of “God for us!” rushed to the onset. When leading the second charge, Gustavus fell by the shot of an assassin from behind, generally supposed to have been the Duke of Lauenhurg, who had twice changed his religious profession, and had very recently gone over from the Imperial side. This murder only stimulated the troops to greater fury, and contributed to Wallenstein’s utter defeat. In clearing the field after battle, the king’s body was found stripped and trodden, but was conveyed in solemn embassage by Count Bernard of Weimar to the Queen, who removed it for burial to Sweden, Wallenstein himself, by his rapacity and ambition, be- came at last intolerable even to his employer. His dismissal was demanded, by the people alike and by the Princes of the Empire; and his own death by assassination was accom- plished at Ferdinand’s personal command, the instruments of which were some Irish officers formerly attached to his service. This occurred in 1634; Ferdinand himself died in 1037; and it was shortly after these events, whilst the wav against religious liberty was still raging on the Continent under Ferdinand’s son and successor, the Third of that name, that Sir j Dugald Dalgetty’s service in Scotland is supposed to begin. The Scottish Beigade, to which he was attached on the Continent, consisted originally

[For common Scotch Terms employed in these Romances, see previous Glossaries,]

LATiisr* Ad deliquium—to melting. Signifer; furcifer—standard bearer; stake oi Aut quocunquc alio nomine qaudes—ov in •what- clog bearer—vagabond. ever other name you rejoice. Teterrima causa—the dreadful occasion, Bonus socius—good ally, or companion. Turpes personae—xile beings. Cceteris paribus—other things being equal. Vino ciboque graraZMS—oppressed with wine Clam, vi, vel precario—by stealth, by force, and food. or by hazard. (SPECIAL QUOTATIONS.) Damnum /atoZe—fatal injury. Diem clausit supremum—has closed his last day Cynthius aurem vellet—Cynthius will have a pull at his ear. Ex contrario—on the other hand. Expeditus; impeditus—light armed; heavy Iprae, “Master, go on, I follow you.” armed, soldier. Movit Ajacem, Telamone natum, Fidcs et fiducia sunt relativa — honourable Forma captivae dominum Tecmessae. pledge and frank acceptance are mutually Captive Tccmessa’s beauteous form dependent. Subdued her lord, Ajax, son of Telamon. Flagrante hello, multo majus flagrante preelio— in heat of war, much more in heat of battle. Non eget Mauri jaculis, neque arcu, Nee venenatis gravida sagittis, In nomine Domini—in the name of the Lord. Fusee, pharetra. Inter pocula—among his cups; carousing. Fuscus, the honest man needs neither Moor- ish darts, nor bow, Jus dmnwm—Divine law. Nor quiver bent, with poison’d arrows, low. Jus gentium—law of nations. Nullum vitae genus est improbius, qnam eorum, Locum tenens—a substitute. qui, sine causes respectu, mercede conducti, militant. Men paupera regna—my small domains. No line of life is more infamous than theirs, who, induced by pay alone, make war Eon compos mentis—not master of his wits. without an interest in the quarrel. Quae quaestum corporibus faciebant—who Opijerque per orbem dicor. made gain of their own bodies. Helper throughout the world I’m called.

GERMAN, FRENCH, SPANISH. Alle gnten,

THE END,