naething but what your honour could hae studden in the way o’ agreeable
conversation, unless it was about the Praetorian yonder, or the bodle
that the packman sauld to ye for an auld coin.”
“Pshaw! pshaw!” said the Antiquary, turning from him hastily, and
retreating into the house.
The mendicant looked after him a moment, and with a chuckling laugh,
such as that with which a magpie or parrot applauds a successful exploit
of mischief, he resumed once more the road to Fairport. His habits had
given him a sort of restlessness, much increased by the pleasure he took
in gathering news; and in a short time he had regained the town which he
left in the morning, for no reason that he knew himself, unless just to
“hae a bit crack wi’ Monkbarns.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOURTH.
Red glared the beacon on Pownell
On Skiddaw there were three;
The bugle horn on moor and fell
Was heard continually.
James Hogg.
The watch who kept his watch on the hill, and looked towards Birnam,
probably conceived himself dreaming when he first beheld the fated grove
put itself into motion for its march to Dunsinane. Even so old Caxon,
as perched in his hut, he qualified his thoughts upon the approaching
marriage of his daughter, and the dignity of being father-in-law to
Lieutenant Taffril, with an occasional peep towards the signal-post with
which his own corresponded, was not a little surprised by observing a
light in that direction. He rubbed his eyes, looked again, adjusting his
observation by a cross-staff which had been placed so as to bear upon
the point. And behold, the light increased, like a comet to the eye of
the astronomer, “with fear of change perplexing nations.”
“The Lord preserve us!” said Caxon, “what’s to be done now? But there
will be wiser heads than mine to look to that, sae I’se e’en fire the
beacon.”
And he lighted the beacon accordingly, which threw up to the sky a long
wavering train of light, startling the sea-fowl from their nests, and
reflected far beneath by the reddening billows of the sea. The brother
warders of Caxon being equally diligent, caught, and repeated his
signal. The lights glanced on headlands and capes and inland hills, and
the whole district was alarmed by the signal of invasion. *
* Note J. Alarms of Invasion.
Our Antiquary, his head wrapped warm in two double night-caps, was
quietly enjoying his repose, when it was suddenly broken by the screams
of his sister, his niece, and two maid-servants.
“What the devil is the matter?” said he, starting up in his bed--
“womankind in my room at this hour of night!--are ye all mad?”
“The beacon, uncle!” said Miss M’Intyre.
“The French coming to murder us!” screamed Miss Griselda.
“The beacon! the beacon!--the French! the French!--murder! murder! and
waur than murder!”--cried the two handmaidens, like the chorus of an
opera.
[Illustration: The Antiquary Arming]
“The French?” said Oldbuck, starting up--“get out of the room, womankind
that you are, till I get my things on--And hark ye, bring me my sword.”
“Whilk o’ them, Monkbarns?” cried his sister, offering a Roman falchion
of brass with the one hand, and with the other an Andrea Ferrara without
a handle.
“The langest, the langest,” cried Jenny Rintherout, dragging in a
two-handed sword of the twelfth century.
“Womankind,” said Oldbuck in great agitation, “be composed, and do not
give way to vain terror--Are you sure they are come?”
“Sure, sure!” exclaimed Jenny--“ower sure!--a’ the sea fencibles, and the
land fencibles, and the volunteers and yeomanry, are on fit, and driving
to Fairport as hard as horse and man can gang--and auld Mucklebackit’s
gane wi’ the lave--muckle gude he’ll do!--Hech, sirs!--he’ll be missed the
morn wha wad hae served king and country weel!”
“Give me,” said Oldbuck, “the sword which my father wore in the year
forty-five--it hath no belt or baldrick--but we’ll make shift.”
So saying he thrust the weapon through the cover of his breeches pocket.
At this moment Hector entered, who had been to a neighbouring height to
ascertain whether the alarm was actual.
“Where are your arms, nephew?” exclaimed Oldbuck--“where is your
double-barrelled gun, that was never out of your hand when there was no
occasion for such vanities?”
“Pooh! pooh! sir,” said Hector, “who ever took a fowling-piece on
action? I have got my uniform on, you see--I hope I shall be of more use
if they will give me a command than I could be with ten double-barrels.
And you, sir, must get to Fairport, to give directions for quartering
and maintaining the men and horses, and preventing confusion.”
“You are right, Hector,--l believe I shall do as much with my head as my
hand too. But here comes Sir Arthur Wardour, who, between ourselves, is
not fit to accomplish much either one way or the other.”
Sir Arthur was probably of a different opinion; for, dressed in his
lieutenancy uniform, he was also on the road to Fairport, and called in
his way to take Mr. Oldbuck with him, having had his original opinion
of his sagacity much confirmed by late events. And in spite of all the
entreaties of the womankind that the Antiquary would stay to garrison
Monkbarns, Mr. Oldbuck, with his nephew, instantly accepted Sir Arthur’s
offer.
Those who have witnessed such a scene can alone conceive the state of
bustle in Fairport. The windows were glancing with a hundred lights,
which, appearing and disappearing rapidly, indicated the confusion
within doors. The women of lower rank assembled and clamoured in the
market-place. The yeomanry, pouring from their different glens, galloped
through the streets, some individually, some in parties of five or
six, as they had met on the road. The drums and fifes of the volunteers
beating to arms, were blended with the voice of the officers, the sound
of the bugles, and the tolling of the bells from the steeple. The ships
in the harbour were lit up, and boats from the armed vessels added to
the bustle, by landing men and guns destined to assist in the defence
of the place. This part of the preparations was superintended by Taffril
with much activity. Two or three light vessels had already slipped their
cables and stood out to sea, in order to discover the supposed enemy.
Such was the scene of general confusion, when Sir Arthur Wardour,
Oldbuck, and Hector, made their way with difficulty into the principal
square, where the town-house is situated. It was lighted up, and the
magistracy, with many of the neighbouring gentlemen, were assembled.
And here, as upon other occasions of the like kind in Scotland, it was
remarkable how the good sense and firmness of the people supplied almost
all the deficiencies of inexperience.
The magistrates were beset by the quarter-masters of the different corps
for billets for men and horses. “Let us,” said Bailie Littlejohn, “take
the horses into our warehouses, and the men into our parlours--share
our supper with the one, and our forage with the other. We have made
ourselves wealthy under a free and paternal government, and now is the
time to show we know its value.”
A loud and cheerful acquiescence was given by all present, and the
substance of the wealthy, with the persons of those of all ranks, were
unanimously devoted to the defence of the country.
Captain M’Intyre acted on this occasion as military adviser and
aide-de-camp to the principal magistrate, and displayed a degree of
presence of mind, and knowledge of his profession, totally unexpected
by his uncle, who, recollecting his usual insouciance and impetuosity,
gazed at him with astonishment from time to time, as he remarked the
calm and steady manner in which he explained the various measures
of precaution that his experience suggested, and gave directions for
executing them. He found the different corps in good order, considering
the irregular materials of which they were composed, in great force
of numbers and high confidence and spirits. And so much did military
experience at that moment overbalance all other claims to consequence,
that even old Edie, instead of being left, like Diogenes at Sinope, to
roll his tub when all around were preparing for defence, had the duty
assigned him of superintending the serving out of the ammunition, which
he executed with much discretion.
Two things were still anxiously expected--the presence of the Glenallan
volunteers, who, in consideration of the importance of that family, had
been formed into a separate corps, and the arrival of the officer
before announced, to whom the measures of defence on that coast had been
committed by the commander-in-chief, and whose commission would entitle
him to take upon himself the full disposal of the military force.
At length the bugles of the Glenallan yeomanry were heard, and the Earl
himself, to the surprise of all who knew his habits and state of health,
appeared at their head in uniform. They formed a very handsome and
well-mounted squadron, formed entirely out of the Earl’s Lowland
tenants, and were followed by a regiment of five hundred men, completely
equipped in the Highland dress, whom he had brought down from the upland
glens, with their pipes playing in the van. The clean and serviceable
appearance of this band of feudal dependants called forth the admiration
of Captain M’Intyre; but his uncle was still more struck by the manner
in which, upon this crisis, the ancient military spirit of his house
seemed to animate and invigorate the decayed frame of the Earl, their
leader. He claimed, and obtained for himself and his followers, the post
most likely to be that of danger, displayed great alacrity in making the
necessary dispositions, and showed equal acuteness in discussing their
propriety. Morning broke in upon the military councils of Fairport,
while all concerned were still eagerly engaged in taking precautions for
their defence.
At length a cry among the people announced, “There’s the brave Major
Neville come at last, with another officer;” and their post-chaise and
four drove into the square, amidst the huzzas of the volunteers and
inhabitants. The magistrates, with their assessors of the lieutenancy,
hastened to the door of their town-house to receive him; but what was
the surprise of all present, but most especially that of the Antiquary,
when they became aware, that the handsome uniform and military cap
disclosed the person and features of the pacific Lovel! A warm embrace,
and a hearty shake of the hand, were necessary to assure him that
his eyes were doing him justice. Sir Arthur was no less surprised
to recognise his son, Captain Wardour, in Lovel’s, or rather Major
Neville’s company. The first words of the young officers were a positive
assurance to all present, that the courage and zeal which they had
displayed were entirely thrown away, unless in so far as they afforded
an acceptable proof of their spirit and promptitude.
“The watchman at Halket-head,” said Major Neville, “as we discovered by
an investigation which we made in our route hither, was most naturally
misled by a bonfire which some idle people had made on the hill
above Glenwithershins, just in the line of the beacon with which his
corresponded.”
Oldbuck gave a conscious look to Sir Arthur, who returned it with one
equally sheepish, and a shrug of the shoulders.
“It must have been the machinery which we condemned to the flames in
our wrath,” said the Antiquary, plucking up heart, though not a little
ashamed of having been the cause of so much disturbance--“The devil take
Dousterswivel with all my heart!--I think he has bequeathed us a legacy
of blunders and mischief, as if he had lighted some train of fireworks
at his departure. I wonder what cracker will go off next among our
shins. But yonder comes the prudent Caxon.--Hold up your head, you
ass--your betters must bear the blame for you--And here, take this
what-d’ye-call it”--(giving him his sword)--“I wonder what I would have
said yesterday to any man that would have told me I was to stick such an
appendage to my tail.”
Here he found his arm gently pressed by Lord Glenallan, who dragged him
into a separate apartment. “For God’s sake, who is that young gentleman
who is so strikingly like”--
“Like the unfortunate Eveline,” interrupted Oldbuck. “I felt my heart
warm to him from the first, and your lordship has suggested the very
cause.”
“But who--who is he?” continued Lord Glenallan, holding the Antiquary
with a convulsive grasp.
“Formerly I would have called him Lovel, but now he turns out to be
Major Neville.”
“Whom my brother brought up as his natural son--whom he made his heir--
Gracious Heaven! the child of my Eveline!”
“Hold, my lord--hold!” said Oldbuck, “do not give too hasty way to such a
presumption;--what probability is there?”
“Probability? none! There is certainty! absolute certainty! The agent I
mentioned to you wrote me the whole story--I received it yesterday, not
sooner. Bring him, for God’s sake, that a father’s eyes may bless him
before he departs.”
“I will; but for your own sake and his, give him a few moments for
preparation.”
And, determined to make still farther investigation before yielding his
entire conviction to so strange a tale, he sought out Major Neville,
and found him expediting the necessary measures for dispersing the force
which had been assembled.
“Pray, Major Neville, leave this business for a moment to Captain
Wardour and to Hector, with whom, I hope, you are thoroughly reconciled”
(Neville laughed, and shook hands with Hector across the table), “and
grant me a moment’s audience.”
“You have a claim on me, Mr. Oldbuck, were my business more urgent,”
said Neville, “for having passed myself upon you under a false name, and
rewarding your hospitality by injuring your nephew.”
“You served him as he deserved,” said Oldbuck--“though, by the way, he
showed as much good sense as spirit to-day--Egad! if he would rub up his
learning, and read Caesar and Polybus, and the Stratagemata Polyaeni, I
think he would rise in the army--and I will certainly lend him a lift.”
“He is heartily deserving of it,” said Neville; “and I am glad you
excuse me, which you may do the more frankly, when you know that I am so
unfortunate as to have no better right to the name of Neville, by which
I have been generally distinguished, than to that of Lovel, under which
you knew me.”
“Indeed! then, I trust, we shall find out one for you to which you shall
have a firm and legal title.”
“Sir!--I trust you do not think the misfortune of my birth a fit
subject”--
“By no means, young man,” answered the Antiquary, interrupting him;--“I
believe I know more of your birth than you do yourself--and, to convince
you of it, you were educated and known as a natural son of Geraldin
Neville of Neville’s-Burgh, in Yorkshire, and I presume, as his destined
heir?”
“Pardon me--no such views were held out to me. I was liberally educated,
and pushed forward in the army by money and interest; but I believe my
supposed father long entertained some ideas of marriage, though he never
carried them into effect.”
“You say your supposed father?--What leads you to suppose Mr. Geraldin
Neville was not your real father?”
“I know, Mr. Oldbuck, that you would not ask these questions on a
point of such delicacy for the gratification of idle curiosity. I will
therefore tell you candidly, that last year, while we occupied a
small town in French Flanders, I found in a convent, near which I
was quartered, a woman who spoke remarkably good English--She was a
Spaniard--her name Teresa D’Acunha. In the process of our acquaintance,
she discovered who I was, and made herself known to me as the person
who had charge of my infancy. She dropped more than one hint of rank to
which I was entitled, and of injustice done to me, promising a more
full disclosure in case of the death of a lady in Scotland, during whose
lifetime she was determined to keep the secret. She also intimated that
Mr. Geraldin Neville was not my father. We were attacked by the enemy,
and driven from the town, which was pillaged with savage ferocity by the
republicans. The religious orders were the particular objects of their
hate and cruelty. The convent was burned, and several nuns perished--
among others Teresa; and with her all chance of knowing the story of my
birth: tragic by all accounts it must have been.”
“Raro antecedentem scelestum, or, as I may here say, scelestam,” said
Oldbuck, “deseruit poena--even Epicureans admitted that. And what did you
do upon this?”
“I remonstrated with Mr. Neville by letter, and to no purpose. I then
obtained leave of absence, and threw myself at his feet, conjuring him
to complete the disclosure which Teresa had begun. He refused, and, on
my importunity, indignantly upbraided me with the favours he had already
conferred. I thought he abused the power of a benefactor, as he was
compelled to admit he had no title to that of a father, and we parted
in mutual displeasure. I renounced the name of Neville, and assumed
that under which you knew me. It was at this time, when residing with a
friend in the north of England who favoured my disguise, that I became
acquainted with Miss Wardour, and was romantic enough to follow her to
Scotland. My mind wavered on various plans of life, when I resolved to
apply once more to Mr. Neville for an explanation of the mystery of my
birth. It was long ere I received an answer; you were present when it
was put into my hands. He informed me of his bad state of health, and
conjured me, for my own sake, to inquire no farther into the nature of
his connection with me, but to rest satisfied with his declaring it to
be such and so intimate, that he designed to constitute me his heir.
When I was preparing to leave Fairport to join him, a second express
brought me word that he was no more. The possession of great wealth was
unable to suppress the remorseful feelings with which I now regarded
my conduct to my benefactor, and some hints in his letter appearing
to intimate there was on my birth a deeper stain than that of ordinary
illegitimacy, I remembered certain prejudices of Sir Arthur.”
“And you brooded over these melancholy ideas until you were ill, instead
of coming to me for advice, and telling me the whole story?” said
Oldbuck.
“Exactly; then came my quarrel with Captain M’Intyre, and my compelled
departure from Fairport and its vicinity.”
“From love and from poetry--Miss Wardour and the Caledoniad?”
“Most true.”
“And since that time you have been occupied, I suppose, with plans for
Sir Arthur’s relief?”
“Yes, sir; with the assistance of Captain Wardour at Edinburgh.”
“And Edie Ochiltree here--you see I know the whole story. But how came
you by the treasure?”
“It was a quantity of plate which had belonged to my uncle, and was left
in the custody of a person at Fairport. Some time before his death he
had sent orders that it should be melted down. He perhaps did not wish
me to see the Glenallan arms upon it.”
“Well, Major Neville--or let me say, Lovel, being the name in which I
rather delight--you must, I believe, exchange both of your alias’s for
the style and title of the Honourable William Geraldin, commonly called
Lord Geraldin.”
The Antiquary then went through the strange and melancholy circumstances
concerning his mother’s death.
“I have no doubt,” he said, “that your uncle wished the report to be
believed, that the child of this unhappy marriage was no more--perhaps he
might himself have an eye to the inheritance of his brother--he was then
a gay wild young man--But of all intentions against your person, however
much the evil conscience of Elspeth might lead her to inspect him from
the agitation in which he appeared, Teresa’s story and your own
fully acquit him. And now, my dear sir, let me have the pleasure of
introducing a son to a father.”
We will not attempt to describe such a meeting. The proofs on all sides
were found to be complete, for Mr. Neville had left a distinct account
of the whole transaction with his confidential steward in a sealed
packet, which was not to be opened until the death of the old Countess;
his motive for preserving secrecy so long appearing to have been an
apprehension of the effect which the discovery, fraught with so much
disgrace, must necessarily produce upon her haughty and violent temper.
In the evening of that day, the yeomanry and volunteers of Glenallan
drank prosperity to their young master. In a month afterwards Lord
Geraldin was married to Miss Wardour, the Antiquary making the lady a
present of the wedding ring--a massy circle of antique chasing, bearing
the motto of Aldobrand Oldenbuck, Kunst macht gunst.
Old Edie, the most important man that ever wore a blue gown, bowls away
easily from one friend’s house to another, and boasts that he never
travels unless on a sunny day. Latterly, indeed, he has given some
symptoms of becoming stationary, being frequently found in the corner
of a snug cottage between Monkbarns and Knockwinnock, to which
Caxon retreated upon his daughter’s marriage, in order to be in the
neighbourhood of the three parochial wigs, which he continues to keep in
repair, though only for amusement. Edie has been heard to say, “This is
a gey bein place, and it’s a comfort to hae sic a corner to sit in in
a bad day.” It is thought, as he grows stiffer in the joints, he will
finally settle there.
The bounty of such wealthy patrons as Lord and Lady Geraldin flowed
copiously upon Mrs. Hadoway and upon the Mucklebackits. By the former
it was well employed, by the latter wasted. They continue, however, to
receive it, but under the administration of Edie Ochiltree; and they
do not accept it without grumbling at the channel through which it is
conveyed.
Hector is rising rapidly in the army, and has been more than once
mentioned in the Gazette, and rises proportionally high in his uncle’s
favour; and what scarcely pleases the young soldier less, he has also
shot two seals, and thus put an end to the Antiquary’s perpetual harping
upon the story of the _phoca_. People talk of a marriage between Miss
M’Intyre and Captain Wardour; but this wants confirmation.
The Antiquary is a frequent visitor at Knockwinnock and Glenallan House,
ostensibly for the sake of completing two essays, one on the mail-shirt
of the Great Earl, and the other on the left-hand gauntlet of
Hell-in-Harness. He regularly inquires whether Lord Geraldin has
commenced the Caledoniad, and shakes his head at the answers he
receives. _En attendant_, however, he has completed his notes, which, we
believe, will be at the service of any one who chooses to make them
public without risk or expense to THE ANTIQUARY.
NOTES TO THE ANTIQUARY.
Note A, p. #.--Mottoes.
[“It was in correcting the proof-sheets of this novel that Scott first
took to equipping his chapters with mottoes of his own fabrication. On
one occasion he happened to ask John Ballantyne, who was sitting by him,
to hunt for a particular passage in Beaumont and Fletcher. John did
as he was bid, but did not succeed in discovering the lines. ‘Hang it,
Johnnie,’ cried Scott, ‘I believe I can make a motto sooner than you
will find one.’ He did so accordingly; and from that hour, whenever
memory failed to suggest an appropriate epigraph, he had recourse to the
inexhaustible mines of “old play” or “old ballad,” to which we owe
some of the most exquisite verses that ever flowed from his pen.”--J. G.
Lockhart.
See also the Introduction to “Chronicles of the Canongate,” vol. xix.]
Note B, p. #.--Sandy Gordon’s Itinerarium.
[This well-known work, the “Itinerarium Septentrionale, or a Journey
thro’ most of the Counties of Scotland, and those in the North of
England,” was published at London in 1727, folio. The author states,
that in prosecuting his work he “made a pretty laborious progress
through almost every part of Scotland for three years successively.”
Gordon was a native of Aberdeenshire, and had previously spent some
years in travelling abroad, probably as a tutor. He became Secretary to
the London Society of Antiquaries in 1736. This office he resigned in
1741, and soon after went out to South Carolina with Governor Glen,
where he obtained a considerable grant of land. On his death, about
the year 1753, he is said to have left “a handsome estate to his
family.”--See Literary Anecdotes of Bowyer, by John Nichols, vol. v., p.
329, etc.]
Note C, p. #.--Praetorium.