ascended to the hall after the Lady Stradawn. A deathlike silence
prevailed within it. A single lamp was glimmering feebly on a sconce
at the upper end of it: and there stood the lady, pale and trembling,
at that side of the chimney which was farthest from Sir Allan's
chair. Sir Patrick, in his agitation, moved hurriedly forward; and
the moment the light of the lamp fell upon his features, the lady
uttered a loud scream, and swooned away upon the floor.
The spectacle that now met his eyes harrowed up his very soul. His
father lay dead in his chair, with his features and his limbs fixed
in the last frightful convulsion, by which the racking poison had
terminated his existence. His mouth was twisted, his tongue thrust
out, and his eyeballs so fearfully staring, that even his tenderly
affectionate son felt it a dreadful effort to look upon that, which
used to be to him an object of the deepest veneration and love. Beside
his chair was the small table, on which he was usually served with
his food. There stood a silver porringer containing the minced meat,
which his extreme age required; and notwithstanding all that the Lady
Stradawn had said to the contrary, the operation of the poison seemed
to have been so quick, as to have mortally affected him, ere he had
taken the fourth part of the mess that had been provided for him. Sir
Patrick was overpowered by his feelings. He sank into a chair, and
covering his face with his hands, he gave way to his grief, in which
he remained so entirely absorbed, that neither the entrance of Dugald,
nor the thundering which some time afterwards took place at the outer
gate, nor the noise of the many voices of those who came pouring in,
were sufficient to arouse him.
Dugald Roy had the presence of mind to hurry down to the court-yard,
to prepare the Lord of Curgarf, and those who came with him, for the
dreadful spectacle they were to witness. Thunderstruck and shocked
by his intelligence, they crowded up to the hall, where the general
horror was for some time so great, as to render every one incapable of
acting; but at length they gathered sufficient recollection to bestir
themselves. The poisoned porringer was first carefully preserved;
the Lady Stradawn was carried off in strong fits to her apartment;
the body of Sir Walter Stewart was borne up into the hall; and there,
after undergoing the necessary preparations used on such occasions,
the father and son were laid out in state together, and the couches
on which the bodies rested were surrounded by so great a multitude
of wax tapers, as to exchange the melancholy gloom of the place into
a blaze of light, which, reflected as it was from the various pieces
of armour that glittered in vain pomp upon the walls, shone but to
produce a greater intensity of sadness. The good priest of Dounan
was sent for; and the appalling news having spread quickly around,
the retainers began to swarm into the Castle, from all quarters, in
sorrowing groups, full of lamentation. Meanwhile the Lord of Curgarf
and his son, the Master of Forbes, occupied themselves in soothing
the afflicted Sir Patrick Stewart, and in aiding and encouraging him
to go through with those trying and painful duties which this most
afflicting occasion demanded of him.
Food and wine had been carried to the Lady Stradawn, where she
sat alone in her bower, so deeply sunk in remorse, and dejection,
and dread, as to be quite unconscious of the entrance or departure
of those who brought her these comforts. Those who were compelled
to be the bearers of them, gazed on her with fear, and hastened
from her with expedition, and no one else could be persuaded to go
near her, even her woman refused to remain with her, as something
accursed, so that she was left abandoned by all, as a prey to her
evil thoughts. Had any one ventured to look in upon her, as she sat
motionless in her great chair, with a lamp flickering on a table beside
her, and throwing an uncertain light by fits and snatches on her face,
now pale and fixed as marble,--and on her glazed and tearless eyes,
and her dry and withered lips, he might have fancied that she was
already a corpse; yet deep, deep was the mental agony that she felt.
The midnight watch had been set, and all had been for some time silent
within the walls of Drummin, save the distant hum of the subdued
voices of those who, according to custom, sat waking the corpses in
the hall, when the door of the Lady Stradawn's bower opened, and her
son Murdoch appeared. If the spirit of her murdered husband had arisen
before her eyes, she could not have started with more astonishment,
or recoiled with greater apparent horror.
"Murdoch!" cried she, in a loud and agitated voice, "Is it thee,
Murdoch?"--And then, sinking back into the same fixed and motionless
attitude, whence she had been thus momentarily aroused, she added,
in a faint, low, and feeble tone, "Murdoch!--would that thou hadst
never been born!"
"Mother," said Murdoch, calmly shutting the door behind him, and taking
a seat beside her chair, "I have heard all from Nicol, the playfellow
of my boyhood, who chanced to be set to guard me, in the apartment
below. I wished to see thee ere we die; and I purchased from the
sordid wretch this midnight hour--this last hour of privacy with thee."
"Ha!" cried the Lady Stradawn, with a strange and sudden
transition from the apathy and torpor of despair, to the most
energetic anxiety of hope; "If Nicol did that for thee, why may
we not bribe him to open a way for us through those who guard the
gate?--Quick!--quick!--quick!--Oh, let us quickly escape!--Oh, let
us not tarry one moment longer! There are my keys; we have treasure
in that cabinet, which may well bribe him, and yet leave us rich!"
"Be composed, my most worthy mother," said Murdoch Stewart; "There
is not the shadow of a chance for us in that way. The door of the
keep is doubly barred, and doubly guarded, and no one leaves it
unexamined beneath the light of a blazing torch. The whole men-at-arms
and clansmen within the walls, infuriated against us, are of their
own free will engaged in vigilant watching. The portcullis is down,
the gate barricaded, the barbican manned, and the walls surrounded
by patroles. Mother, cast aside all such hopes as useless, for as the
guilt of both of us must soon appear as clear as to-morrow's noonday,
so that sun, which shall certainly arise to-morrow morning, shall as
surely look upon our graves ere he sets."
The Lady Stradawn sank again into the chair, from which the sudden
impulse of hope had so energetically raised her, and, groaning deeply,
she relapsed into her former state of deathlike stillness, broken
only by the long drawn sob that at certain intervals convulsed her
whole frame.
"Mother!" said Murdoch Stewart, after a pause; "Where are all the
fruits of that career of crime for which thou nursed me as an infant,
tutored me as a boy, and prompted me as a man? Have I not followed
thy bidding through deceit, robbery, and murder, and where is now my
reward?--Thine is locked up there in that secret cabinet of glittering
toys, which to-morrow thou must leave, to go out to be hanged by
the neck on the gallows-tree, with the son, whom thou wouldst have
had Lord of the Aven, grinning at thee like a caitiff cur from the
farther end of its beam--"
"Oh!--Oh--ho!" cried the agonized woman, shaken through every limb
by the palsy of her fears; "Is there no--no deliverance for us?"
"Yes," said Murdoch Stewart, calmly; "yes, there is a deliverance,
and a speedy one too."
"Oh, name it!" cried the frantic woman; "Oh, name it! and quickly
let us avail ourselves of it!"
"Here it is," said Murdoch Stewart, quietly taking a small paper
packet from his bosom; "Here it is, mother. A few small pinches of
this powder, mingled in a cup of that wine, will snatch us both from
the torture of being made a disgraceful public spectacle to-morrow--of
being gazed at by the vulgar eyes, and pointed at by the vile fingers
of those wretched serfs, and their grovelling mates and spawn, whom,
a little better luck and better fortune for us, had by that time made
the abject slaves of our will. See! here it is mingled, already it
is dissolved, and now the draught is potent. Good mother, I pledge
thee," said he, drinking down half of what the goblet contained;
"and now here is thy share."
"No,--no,--no!--I cannot!--no, I cannot!" cried the Lady Stradawn,
with frantic horror in her averted eyes.
"Then do I tell thee, mother mine," said Murdoch Stewart sternly;
"thou hast not trained me up to deal in deeds of blood and death for
naught. I shall never suffer thy womanish fears to bring the disgrace
of the gallows upon thee. I love thee too much for that. See here,
good mother! 'tis but a choice of deaths. Here is a concealed dagger,
look you. Say! wouldst thou bring one more murder--the murder of
a mother on my already overburdened soul, to sink it deeper in that
sea of torment, to which these priests would fain have us believe that
those, who, like us, have used the wit and the strength with which they
have been gifted, for bettering their own condition in this world,
must hasten from hence. Drink! or by every fiend that suffers there,
thou diest in the instant!"
The Lady Stradawn glared at her son with a vacant stare, as if all
reason had fled from her. She took the cup mechanically from his hand,
and drained it to the bottom.
"What hast thou done?" cried the man-at-arms, who had been brought to
the door by the violent tone of some of Murdoch Stewart's last words,
and who rushed in just as the Lady Stradawn had swallowed the poison.
"Do what thou wilt now, Nicol," said Murdoch Stewart, with perfect
composure; "We are both beyond thy power, or that of any one else
within the castle of Drummin."
Nicol at once guessed at what had happened, and ran instantly for
the Priest. The good Father of Dounan was deeply skilled in medicine,
as well as in divinity. He called for assistance, and antidotes were
forcibly given to Murdoch Stewart, and passively received by his
mother the Lady Stradawn. Their wretched existence was thus prolonged,
though death could not be altogether averted. They lingered on,
in great pain, for many days, during which all judicial proceedings
were suspended. The pious priest lost not one moment of this precious
time. By exerting all his religious learning, and all his eloquence,
he at length succeeded in bringing both of them to a full sense of
the enormity of their guilt, as well as to an ample confession of
all their crimes. It is not for us to interpret the decrees of the
Almighty in such a case as theirs; but if the apparent deep contrition
that followed was real, and heartfelt, we may trust that the mercy,
as well as the benefit of the merits of that blessed Saviour, who died
for us all upon the cross, even for the thief that was crucified with
him, was extended to them, dreadful as their crimes had been.
My legend now draws to a hasty conclusion. The days of mourning were
fully numbered by Sir Patrick Stewart, for his murdered father and
brother. The kindness of the old Lord of Curgarf, and his son Arthur
Master of Forbes, towards him, was unwearied and most consolatory. Nor
were the delicate affections of the Lady Catherine Forbes less tenderly
or unremittingly displayed, so that, in due time, by becoming her
husband, he bound himself to both his friends by the closest and
dearest ties. In pious remembrance of his brother Sir Walter's murder,
he erected the pillar of stone I spoke of, as that which stood so long
by the side of the well-eye where he was slain; but he refrained from
inscribing any thing upon it, lest his doing so might have revived
the recollection of Murdoch Stewart's atrocity. He likewise ordered
a stone to be set up, where the proud Priest of Dalestie was burned,
rather as a sort of expiation of the stern act of justice, which his
brother Sir Walter had inflicted upon him, than to perpetuate the
detested memory of the depraved wretch who suffered there.
FATE OF THE OULD AUNCIENT MONUMENTS.
Clifford.--(as we arose to pursue our journey.)--And what became of
these two monuments, Serjeant Stewart?
Serjeant.--A certain gentleman, who was building a house somewhere
in this neighbourhood, (for I had rather not designate him too
particularly,) cast his eyes on the fine stone that stood by the
well-eye, and perceiving that it would make an excellent lintel,
he took immediate measures to get it carried off to his rising
edifice. Having accomplished his intention, with no little difficulty,
it was speedily employed in the building, where it promised to
conduct itself with the same quiet and decorum which were observed
by all the other stones of the edifice, after being put to rest,
each in his separate bed of mortar. But no sooner did the house
come to be inhabited, than it began to be haunted by strange and
mysterious noises. Some of these were quite unintelligible, for they
resembled no earthly sound that had ever been heard before. Then long
conversations began, and were continued, in small sharp clear voices;
but although the words fell distinctly enough on the ears of those
who heard them, the language was as a sealed book to them. And ever
and anon the seeming dialogue would be interrupted by strange uncouth
fits of laughter, as if of several persons together, or in different
parts of the premises, that were so far from creating a corresponding
disposition to mirth or merriment in the listeners, that they froze up
the very blood in their veins. But this was not all. The most dismal
croaking of frogs arose in every part of the house. You would have
sworn that the creatures were in the cup-boards--the presses--the
chimnies--in the beds--on the floors--nay, on the very tables, and
among the dishes which the good folks of the family had set before
them. It was as if the frogs, that formed the great plague in Egypt,
had filled the house with their hoarse voices. One would begin as if
he were the leader of the band, and then others would start off, one
after another, till the doleful chorus, resounding from all quarters,
made the concert loud and sonorous. It was no uncommon thing, during
the dark and dreary watches of the night, for the voice of the leader,
which had something peculiarly striking in it, to arise of a sudden,
as if he that uttered it was sitting astraddle on the nose of the
goodman of the house. In vain was the hand applied to the organ,
to drive off what, in reality, appeared to be the organist. There
was nothing there; yet the sound continued as if it had come from the
deepest pipe in the organ loft of some cathedral, yea, of that of the
great organ of Haerlem itself. The more he rubbed the more it grew,
and the louder and more universal became the chorus. His very nose
itself increased in size, from the frequent and severe rubbings to
which it was thus subjected, whilst he began to grow thin and emaciated
in proportion, till his whole person at length appeared rather as if
it had been an appendage to his nose, than his nose an appendage to
his person. At last, being worn out in spirit, as he was very nearly
in body also, he was fain to take out the stone from the building,
and to carry it back to the hill-side again, and then, to be sure,
he enjoyed perfect quiet.
Clifford.--A sensible man, truly. But what had evil spirits or fairies
to do with a monumental stone?
Serjeant.--Nothing that I can see, sir, except that being guilty
of so impious a deed as the removal of such a stone, he was for a
time left unprotected by all good angels, and consequently he was
altogether at the mercy of those evil ones.
Grant.--Very well made out, Mister Serjeant. But where is the
stone now?
Serjeant.--Why, sir, I am sure you will hardly believe me when I
tell you, that a few years ago it was wantonly destroyed by another
gentleman, who shall be also nameless.
Grant.--What a Goth he must have been! Why should you conceal his name,
Serjeant?--It deserves to be held up to public reprobation
Serjeant.--I know my own interest too well to be the officious person
who shall publish it though. Yet I must own that it would have served
him right that it should have been so marked. What do you think he did,
gentlemen? Happening to be in this part of Strathdawn, he, without
rhyme or reason, and out of sheer wickedness, ordered his people
to break both that and the Clach-na-Tagart, or the Priest's stone,
which shocking pieces of barbarism he took care to see executed in
his own presence, whilst he stood by, like a mischievous baboon,
chuckling over their destruction.
Clifford.--The fellow deserved to have been plunged over head and ears
into the Wallee in the first place, and after being thus well soaked,
he ought to have been leisurely consumed at the Priest's stone,
like a well watered sack of Newcastle coals.
Serjeant.--Why, sir, I must allow that he has been punished severely
enough. The whole people of the country cried out upon him, and every
one declared that it was quite impossible that the fellow could thrive,
after having demolished two such ould auncient antiquities. And so in
truth it turned out, for not long afterwards he lost the whole fushon
[6] of his side. As for the Clach-na-Tagart, the Roman Catholics,
who form the chief population hereabouts, intended to have clasped
it together with iron bands, but, (addressing author,) as you know
very well, sir, from having recorded the fact in your book, the great
flood of August 1829 saved them the trouble of doing so, for the Aven
then carried the broken stone clean away, aye, and it swept off the
best part of the haugh it stood upon into the bargain.
Grant.--But stay, my good friend, Archy. What do you mean by quitting
the level path to climb this confounded steep hill, as the direction
of your nose, at this moment, would seem to indicate your present
intention to be?
Serjeant.--I would fain show you an extensive prospect, gentlemen. It
is only a bit start of a pull up here. A mere breathing for you after
the long rest you had by the water side yonder.--(Then addressing
the gilly.)--My man, hold you on the road to Inchrory with the horse,
and tell the gudewife there that we are coming.
Clifford.--'Tis a very stiff pull, Archy. But we shall be all the
better for something of this sort to put us in wind. I calculate that
we shall have some worse climbing than this before we are done with
these mountains.
Serjeant.--Troth, you may well say that, sir; and as for this hill,
we may be very thankful that we have not to climb it with a strong
demonstration of the enemies' riflemen lining the ridge of it.
Clifford.--You are out there, serjeant. Depend upon it, if we saw an
enemy lining the height, we should both of us climb it like roebucks,
to be at them.
Serjeant.--I'm not saying but we might, sir; that is, if we saw that
we were sufficiently well backed. But for all that, we might find
our graves before we were half way up the hill; and then what the
better should we be, of our comrades saying, as they passed by us,
"Poor fellows, you are settled!" Would that be any consolation to us,
as we lay writhing in the last agonies?
Grant.--Very small consolation indeed, Archy.
Serjeant.--I wot it would be little indeed, sir. Yet ought a man to
do his duty for all that, simply because it is his duty. Many is the
time I have heard my good friend Captain Ketley say that; and there
were few words fell from his mouth that had not some good sense,
or some good moral in them. And certain it is, that if we did not
always keep this rule of our conduct in view, we should neither be
good sodgers nor good Christians.
Clifford.--Right again, old boy.
Serjeant.--And yet, Mr. Clifford, as I reckon, there is some pleasure
in coming out of the skrimmage in a whole skin, and with ears that
can hear all the honest commendations that are bestowed upon your
own brave and gallant conduct.
Grant--(after reaching the summit of the hill.)--That was indeed
a breather; but now, Serjeant, for the prospect you promised us,
I see nothing as yet but the bare flat moist moory hill-top.
Serjeant--(leading us to the eastern verge of the top of the
hill.)--Come this way, then, gentlemen. See here what an extensive
prospect you have down the course of the river Don. It looks but a
small stream there, especially from this height.
Author.--What old castle is that which we see below us there, near
yonder clump of trees?
Serjeant.--That is Curgarf Castle. That is the very spot to which so
much of my legend referred, though I shall not pretend to say that
the building you see there is precisely the same. But now, gentlemen,
turn your eyes westward again. Is not that a fine mountain view? See
how proudly the Cairngorms rise yonder! But, observe me--you don't
see the very highest summits as yet, because those big black lumps
opposite to us there, hide the highest tops from our eyes.
Author.--It is a magnificent scene notwithstanding, especially as
viewed at present, under that splendid display of evening light,
that is now shooting over those loftier ridges from the descending sun.
Grant.--A very grand scene indeed!
Clifford.--Aye, Grant, we shall have some climbing there, I promise
you.
Grant.--There can be little doubt of that. But tell me, Serjeant,
what solitary house is that we see in the valley below?
Author.--I can answer you that question. That is Inchrory, the
small place, half farm-house, half hostel, where we are to sojourn
to-night. It is used as a place of rest and refreshment, by the few
travellers who pass on foot, or on horseback, by the rugged path which
we left in the valley, and which goes hence southwards, up through
the valley of the Builg--past the lake of that name,--so across what
is there the rivulet of the Don,--and then onwards over the hills to
Castleton of Braemar. That deep hollow in the mountains, that turns
sharp westwards beyond Inchrory yonder, is what is more properly called
Glenaven. The river Aven comes pouring down hitherwards through it,
and our way lies up its course.
Clifford.--I should be sorry if it did so this evening. I am quite
prepared to hail yonder house of Inchrory below, as a welcome place
of refuge for this night.
Author.--Few places must be more welcome to a wayworn traveller than
Inchrory, especially when first descried by the weary wayfarer from
Castleton, in a winter's evening, as the sun is hasting downwards.