circumstances, the warrant for his committal to gaol was made out,
although he stated that Colonel Mannering, whom he had known in
India, could, if sent for, give evidence of his character and
rank.
The colonel was, however, away from home at the time, and the
friendless and unfortunate Bertram was removed to prison, pending
Mannering's return.
"And now," said Glossin to himself, "to find Dirck Hatteraick and
his people--to get the guard sent off--and then for the grand cast
of the dice." And so saying he hastened away to complete with the
smuggler captain the villainous plan on which they had previously
agreed.
The prison in which Bertram now found himself was a building which
adjoined the custom-house, and both were close beside the sea.
Mac-Guffog, who has been already mentioned, was at the time the
keeper; and a gruff and surly custodian he was, too. Bertram,
however, succeeded in procuring from him the luxury of a separate
room by promising the keeper a large sum of money. He was
accordingly ushered into a small ill-furnished apartment, through
the barred windows of which he could get a glimpse of the sea
which was dashing sullenly against the outer walls.
As he was reflecting on his miserable situation, his attention was
attracted by a loud knocking at the gate of the gaol; and shortly
after his little dog Wasp, which he had left in the care of Dandie
Dinmont, and Dinmont himself were shown into his room.
Bertram was delighted to have his old friend with him, and in
answer to his eager inquiries as to how he came to be in prison,
told him about the accident to young Hazlewood, and that he had
been mistaken for a smuggler.
Dinmont, on his part, then related how he had come to know of
Bertram's being locked up. Gabriel, the huntsman on the moors, he
said, had informed him in a mysterious way that Bertram was in
gaol, and that he was badly in need of a good friend to stay with
him night and day for a day or two. Dinmont added that he had
ridden sixty miles that day to come to his assistance.
They were interrupted in their conversation by Mac-Guffog, who
told them that it was time for the visitor to leave; but by means
of further promises he was induced to allow Dinmont to spend the
night in the same room with his friend; and in no longtime after
the two occupants of the wretched apartment were fast asleep.
Colonel Mannering, who had been from home for some days, returned
to Woodbourne the night of the day on which Bertram had been sent
to prison. The morning after his arrival, the dominie, who even
after so many years continued to blame himself for the loss of
little Harry, made his way, in a spirit of curiosity, to Warroch
Point, a place he had never approached since the child had
disappeared. As he wandered home again, filled with gloomy
recollections of the day of Kennedy's murder, his steps bore him
to the neighbourhood of Derncleugh, with its ruined remains of the
old gipsy village. The place had for many years had the reputation
of being haunted; more especially the tower, or Kaim, of
Derncleugh. As he was passing by it, the door suddenly opened, and
Meg Merrilies stepped out and stood before him. The dominie,
believing she was some sorceress, addressed her in Latin, but the
gipsy queen angrily interrupted him.
"Listen, ye fool, to what I tell ye," she said, "or ye'll rue it
while there's a limb o' ye hangs together. Tell Colonel Mannering
that I know he's seeking me. He knows, and I know, that the blood
will be wiped out, and the lost will be found--
And Bertram's right, and Bertram's might,
Shall meet on Ellangowan height.
Give him this letter, don't fail, and tell him the time's coming
now. Bid him to look at the stars as he looked at them before, and
to do what I desire him in the letter."
She then led the frightened dominie by a short cut through the
woods for about a quarter of a mile, and on reaching the common
told him to stand still.
"Look," she said, "how the setting sun breaks through the cloud
that's been darkening the sky all day. See the stream o' light
that falls on the old tower of Ellangowan; that's not for nothing.
Here I stood," she went on, stretching out her long sinewy arm
and clenched hand--"here I stood when I told the last Laird of
Ellangowan what was coming on his house, and did that fall to the
ground? And here I stand again to bid God prosper the just heir of
Ellangowan that will soon be brought to his own. I'll no live to
see it, maybe; but there will be many a blithe eye see it though
mine be closed. And now, Abel Sampson, as ever ye loved the house
of Ellangowan, away with my message to the English colonel as if
life and death were upon your haste."
So saying, she turned suddenly from the amazed dominie, who
hurried back to Woodbourne, exclaiming as he went, "Prodigious!
prodigious! pro-di-gi-ous!"
The kindly interest of Meg Merrilies in the fate of Bertram did
not, however, end here.
Shortly after quitting the dominie she met young Hazlewood on the
road, and told him, in a mysterious way, that the guard of
soldiers had been drawn off from the custom-house, and brought to
his father's house, in the expectation of an attack being made
upon it that night.
"Nobody means to touch his house," she added; "so send the
horsemen back to their post quietly. They will have work to-night;
the guns will flash and the swords will glitter in the moonlight."
She then asked him if he bore any malice to the man that wounded
him, and on Hazlewood assuring her that he had always thought it
was an accident, she said: "Then do what I bid ye, for if he was
left to his ill wishers he would be a bloody corpse ere
morn." And she then disappeared into the wood.
Charles Hazlewood, who now felt certain some diabolical plot was
on foot for the murder of the man who had accidentally wounded
him, rode back at once to his father's house.
He found the place occupied with dragoons, and instantly
endeavoured to persuade his father to send them back to the
custom-house.
Glossin had, however, impressed the old man with a fixed idea of
the impending danger to his house, and he refused to allow the
soldiers to go. While his son was still arguing with him, the
sheriff of the country came in hurriedly, and told him that he had
had information that the removal of the troops from the custom-
house was only part of a plan, and that they should at once
return. Orders were accordingly given without delay, and the
dragoons were shortly after on their way again to the place from
which they came.
But we must return to Bertram and his companion in their
unpleasant abode, in the prison.
Towards midnight Bertram woke after his first sleep. The air of
the small apartment had become close and confined, and he got up
for the purpose, if possible, of opening the window. His failure
to open it reminded him painfully that he was now a prisoner. He
was no longer inclined to sleep, so he continued for some time to
gaze out on the troubled sea, as it rolled under the indistinct
light of a hazy and often overclouded moon. As he looked he
fancied he saw in the distance a boat being rowed towards the
shore; and before long he found that he had not been mistaken.
The boat, which was a large one, drew nearer and nearer, and as it
reached the land some twenty men jumped on shore, and disappeared
up a dark passage which divided the prison from the custom-house.
Almost immediately after, Bertram could hear a tumult in the outer
yard of the bridewell, and, being unable to guess what its meaning
was, he awoke Dinmont.
The smell of fire now commenced to reach the room, and, on Dinmont
looking out of the window, he exclaimed: "Lord's sake, captain!
come here; they have broken in the custom-house!"
Looking from the prison window they could see the gang of
smugglers hurrying here and there, some with lighted torches,
others carrying barrels towards the shore. It was plain, too, from
the thick clouds of smoke that rolled past the window that the
prison was itself on fire.
Dinmont roared loudly for Mac-Guffog to let them out, but all was
silent in the gaol. Outside, the shouts of the smugglers and the
mob resounded far and wide, and it seemed as if the keeper had
himself escaped, and left his prisoners to perish in the flames.
But now a new and fierce attack was heard at the outer gate. It
was soon forced in with sledgehammers and crows, and, before long,
some three or four of the principal smugglers hurried to the
apartment of Bertram with lighted torches, and armed with
cutlasses and pistols. Two of them seized on Bertram, but one of
them whispered in his ear, "Make no resistance till you are
outside." They dragged him roughly to the gate, but amid the riot
and confusion which prevailed, the sound as of a body of horse
advancing was heard. A few moments after, the dragoons were
engaged with the rioters. Shots were fired, and the glittering
broadswords of the soldiers began to flash in the air. "Now,"
whispered the man at Bertram's left, "shake off that fellow and
follow me."
Bertram, with a violent and sudden effort, burst away from the man
on his right, and closely following his mysterious friend,
attended by the faithful Dinmont, who never left him, ran quickly
down a narrow lane which led from the main street.
No pursuit took place, as the smugglers had enough to do to defend
themselves against the dragoons. At the end of the lane there was
a post-chaise and horses waiting.
"Are you here in God's name?" said the guide to the driver.
"Ay, troth I am," said he.
"Open the carriage, then. You, gentlemen, get into it; in a short
time you'll be in a place of safety, and remember your promise to
the gipsy wife."
Bertram and Dinmont got in at once, followed by little Wasp, and
in a moment found themselves travelling at a breakneck pace,
neither of them knowing where on earth they were going to.
They were, in fact, on the way to Woodbourne, for the carriage had
been sent by Colonel Mannering, after he had read the letter which
the dominie brought him from Meg Merrilies. The note had given him
no intimation, however, of the persons who were to be conveyed in
the chaise to Woodbourne, merely telling him that it should bring
the folk that should ask if it were there in God's name.
As the colonel's clock was striking one that night the sound of
carriage wheels was heard in the distance, and in no long space
after, Bertram and Dinmont found themselves at Woodbourne.
Bewilderment and astonishment were depicted on the faces of all as
Bertram stepped into the parlour. The colonel saw before him the
man whom he supposed he had killed in India; Julia beheld her
lover; and Lucy Bertram at once recognised the person who had
fired upon young Hazlewood. Each one remained silent, not knowing
what to say, when the absent-minded dominie, looking up from a
book he had been studying in a corner, exclaimed:
"If the grave can give up the dead, that is my dear and honoured
master!"
A lawyer friend of the colonel's, a Mr. Pleydall, was staying at
Woodbourne that night, and he at once set about endeavouring to
solve the mystery. He questioned Bertram as to his recollections
of childhood, and elicited from him some of the incidents of his
early life, with which the reader is already acquainted. Amongst
the persons whom Bertram recalled, "there was," he said, "a tall,
thin, kind-tempered man, who used to teach me my letters and walk
with me."
On hearing this, the poor dominie could contain his feelings no
longer, and rising hastily from his chair, with clasped hands,
trembling limbs and streaming eyes, he called out aloud:
"Harry Bertram, look at me! Was I not the man?"
"Yes," said Bertram, starting from his seat as if a sudden light
had burst in upon his mind. "Yes, that was my very name, and that
is the voice and the figure of my kind old master!"
The following day Colonel Mannering and Mr. Pleydall succeeded in
getting Sir Robert Hazlewood to accept bail for Bertram. While
they were so engaged, Bertram, with his newly-found sister and
Miss Mannering, went walking to the castle of Ellangowan.
Close by the ruin they were suddenly confronted by Meg Merrilies,
who addressed Bertram, saying:
"Remember your promise, and follow me."
It was in vain that his sister and her companion urged him not to
go with the gipsy. He told them he must obey. Then, bidding them
good-bye, he started to follow Meg Merrilies, accompanied by
Dinmont, who had come up a few minutes before.
With quick, long strides the gipsy proceeded straight across the
wintry heath. She turned neither to the left nor the right, and
moved more like a ghost than a human being. On reaching the wood,
she plunged into it, moving still rapidly in the direction of
Derncleugh. After travelling thus for some time, she came at
length to the ruined tower where Bertram had previously spent the
night in concealment from the smugglers. Producing a key from her
pocket, the gipsy opened the door and led the way in. She offered
Bertram and Dinmont food and drink, and fearing to offend her,
they took a little.
"And now," she said, "ye must have arms; but use them not rashly;
take captive, but save life; let the law have its own--he must
speak ere he die."
She then supplied the two with loaded pistols, and started afresh
through the wood in the direction of Warroch Point. She led them
by a long and winding passage almost overgrown with brushwood,
until they suddenly found themselves by the seashore. They were
soon outside the secret cave.
"Follow me as I creep in," she said. "I have placed the firewood
so as to screen you. Bide behind it for a space, till I say--
_The hour and the man are both come_. Then run in on him,
take his arms and bind him tight."
And having said so, she crept in upon her hands and knees,
followed by Bertram and his friend.
As they were creeping in, Dinmont, who was last of the party, felt
his leg caught by someone from behind. He with difficulty
suppressed a shout, and was much relieved when he heard a voice
behind him say: "Be still, I am a friend--Charles Hazlewood."
He had been sent after the others by Lucy Bertram and Miss
Mannering, and had only overtaken them as they were making their
way into the cavern.
Meg Merrilies, on reaching the interior, was greeted by Dirck
Hatteraick with a curse in his old fashion--the smuggler had been
expecting her, and was waiting with anxiety for news of his band.
The only light within the cave was from a charcoal fire, the dark-
red glow from which gave a dismal and unearthly appearance to the
smuggler's hiding place.
Bertram and his friends had advanced far enough to enable them to
stand upright, and concealed from the view of Hatteraick, they
listened to his conversation with the gipsy.
"Have you seen Glossin?" he said to her.
"No," replied Meg Merrilies; "you've missed your blow, ye blood-
spiller! and ye have nothing to expect from the tempter."
"What am I to do, then?" said the smuggler, with a Dutch oath.
"Do?" answered the gipsy. "Die like a man, or be hanged like a
dog. Didn't I tell ye, when ye took away the boy Harry Bertram, in
spite of my prayers, that he would come back again in his twenty-
first year? You'll never need to leave this."
"What makes you say that?" asked Hatteraick.
And Meg, who now threw some flax upon the fire, which rose in a
bright flame, answered: "_Because the hour and the man are both
come_."
At the appointed signal, Bertram and his companions rushed upon
Hatteraick. The ruffian, who instantly saw he was betrayed, turned
his first vengeance on Meg Merrilies, at whom he discharged a
pistol.
She fell, with a piercing shriek, muttering, "I knew it would be
this way."
A terrific struggle ensued between the smuggler and his
assailants, in which Hatteraick contrived to discharge a second
bullet at Bertram, which only missed its mark by a lucky accident.
Strong, however, as the ruffian was, he was not equal to the joint
efforts of the three men, and at length he was fairly mastered,
disarmed, and tightly bound.
Hazlewood, whose horse was outside the cave, then rode off for
assistance, and after some time returned with several others. The
prisoner was carried out, still firmly bound, and also Meg
Merrilies, who was still living, though desperately wounded in the
chest.
They wished to take her to the nearest cottage, but she refused to
be moved anywhere but to the Kaim of Derncleugh. Accordingly they
bore her to the vault in the ruined tower.
The alarm had now spread through the countryside that Kennedy's
murderer had been taken on the very spot where the murder had been
committed years before; and a crowd of people, with a clergyman
and a surgeon, had flocked to the place where the dying gipsy lay.
She, however, refused all offers of assistance, and called for
Harry Bertram.
When Bertram approached the wretched bed on which she lay, she
took his hand.
"Look at him," she said to those about her, "the image of his dead
father. And hear me now--let that man," pointing to Hatteraick,
"deny what I say if he can." And then she told the story of how
the young boy had been carried off from Warroch Wood; how she
saved his life from smugglers who would have murdered him; and how
she swore an oath to keep the secret till he was one-and-twenty,
and vowed that if she lived to see the day of his return she would
set him again in his father's seat, though every step was on a
dead man. "Dirck Hatteraick," she said, "you and I will never
meet again until we are before the Judgment-seat--will ye dare
deny it?"
And as Hatteraick refused to open his lips, she added: "Farewell!
and God forgive you! your hand has sealed my evidence."
And shortly after, as she heard the crowd about her greet Bertram
with enthusiastic cheers as the true Laird of Ellangowan, her
troubled spirit passed peacefully away.
The following day, Hatteraick was brought before the magistrates
at Kippletringan. The dying declaration of Meg Merrilies was
proved by the surgeon and the clergyman who had heard it. Bertram
again told his recollections of early childhood. Gabriel, the
gipsy, the same man who had avoided meeting Bertram's eye when out
hunting with Dandie Dinmont, told the whole story of Kennedy's
murder, as he was at Warroch Point on the day of its occurrence.
He stated that Glossin was present and accepted a bribe to keep
the matter a secret. This witness also stated that it was he that
had told his aunt, Meg Merrilies, that Bertram had returned to the
country; and that it was by her orders that three or four of the
gipsies had mingled in the crowd when the custom-house was
attacked, for the purpose of helping Bertram to escape. He also
added that Meg Merrilies had often said that Harry Bertram carried
the proof of his birth hung round his neck.
Bertram here produced the velvet bag which had been worked by his
mother, and which he said he had always continued to wear. On its
being opened, Colonel Mannering instantly recognised his own
writing on the paper it enclosed, proving to everyone's
satisfaction that the wearer was the real heir of Ellangowan.
The investigation was concluded by both Hatteraick and Glossin
being sent to gaol.
The smuggler, whose violence and strength were well known, was
secured in what was called the condemned ward. In this apartment,
which was near the top of the prison, his feet were chained to an
iron bar firmly fixed at the height of about six inches from the
floor. The chain enabled him to move a distance of about four feet
from the bar, and when thus secured his handcuffs were removed.
Glossin was confined in another room, his mind still teeming with
schemes of future deceit to cover his former villainies. As he
reflected on his position, he came to a determination to see
Hatteraick, if possible, and to induce him by a tempting bribe to
give evidence in his favour when his trial came on.
Accordingly, when Mac-Guffog, the keeper, appeared at night time,
he gave him some gold pieces, and so obtained his consent to an
interview with his fellow prisoner.
The keeper, however, told him that as the prison rules were now
much stricter than before, his seeing Hatteraick would be only on
condition that he should spend the whole night with him.
As the prison clock tolled ten, Glossin slipped off his shoes, and
silently followed Mac-Guffog to the smuggler's room. As he
entered, the door was locked on the outside; and he found himself
alone with the former partner of his guilt. The cell was so dark
that it was some time before he could detect the form of the
smuggler, who was lying on a pallet-bed beside the bar.
"Dirck Hatteraick," he whispered. And the smuggler, recognising
his voice, told him with a curse to begone.
"Speak to me no more. I'm dangerous."
"Then," said Glossin, losing his temper, "at least get up, for an
obstinate Dutch brute!" But he had barely uttered the words when
Hatteraick sprang from where he lay and grappled with him. So
sudden and irresistible was the attack, that Glossin fell, the
back part of his neck coming full upon the iron bar with stunning
violence. Nor did the ruffian release the deadly grip upon his
throat until the last remnant of life had left his victim's
miserable corpse.
On the day following the death of Glossin, Dirck Hatteraick was
himself found dead in the cell, having hanged himself by means of
a cord taken from his bed, which he had cunningly contrived to
attach to the prison wall.
Little more remains to be told. Bertram was before long restored
to the possession of his father's house and property, and Julia
Mannering became his wife.
His sister Lucy found a husband in her old lover Charles
Hazlewood, and the dominie was raised once again to a condition of
ecstatic happiness, seeing "his little Harry"--as he still
continued to call him--now Laird of Ellangowan, and himself
librarian in the house to which he had been so long a stranger.
THE STARTLING ADVENTURES OF BARON MUNCHAUSEN
_Although the short book from which these stories are taken was
written in 1785 by Rudolf Erich Raspe, a German of many talents
who took up his residence in England, there really was a Baron
Munchausen who served the author as a model. His whole name was
Hieronymus Karl Friedrich von Munchausen, a German, of course, but
serving in the Russian army. After several campaigns against the
Turks, he retired from the army and amused himself by telling
awful whoppers about his bravery as a soldier and huntsman.
A German editor who visited the baron two years before he died was
told by the baron's neighbors that he really did tell wonderful
stories in his younger days._
AN ADVENTURE WITH A LION AND A CROCODILE
By R. E. Raspe
Some years before my beard announced approaching manhood, or, in
other words, when I was neither man nor boy, but between both, I
expressed in repeated conversations a strong desire of seeing the
world, from which I was discouraged by my parents, though my
father had been no inconsiderable traveller himself. A cousin by
my mother's side took a liking to me, often said I was a fine
forward youth, and was much inclined to gratify my curiosity. His
eloquence had more effect than mine, for my father consented to my
accompanying him in a voyage to the island of Ceylon, where his
uncle had resided as governor many years.
We sailed from Amsterdam with despatches from their High
Mightinesses the States of Holland, and in about six weeks we
arrived at Ceylon, where we were received with great marks of
friendship and true politeness.
After we had resided at Ceylon about a fortnight I accompanied one
of the governor's brothers upon a shooting party.
Near the banks of a large piece of water, which had engaged my
attention, I thought I heard a rustling noise behind; on turning
about I was almost petrified (as who would not be?) at the sight
of a lion, which was evidently approaching with the intention of
satisfying his appetite with my poor carcass, and that without
asking my consent.