Enter Time, as Chorus.
I--that please some, try all; both joy and terror Of good
and had; that make and unfold error--Now take upon me, in
the name of Time, To use my wings. Impute it not a crime
To me, or my swift passage, that I slide O'er sixteen
years, and leave the growth untried Of that wide gap.
Winter's Tale.
Our narration is now about to make a large stride, and omit a space
of nearly seventeen years; during which nothing occurred of any
particular consequence with respect to the story we have undertaken
to tell. The gap is a wide one; yet if the reader's experience in
life enables him to look back on so many years, the space will
scarce appear longer in his recollection, than the time consumed in
turning these pages.
It was, then, in the month of November, about seventeen years after
the catastrophe related in the fast chapter, that, during a cold
and stormy night, a social group had closed around the kitchen fire
of the Gordon Arms at Kippletringan, a small but comfortable inn,
kept by Mrs. Mac-Candlish in that village. The conversation which
passed among them will save me the trouble of telling the few
events occurring during this chasm in our history, with which it is
necessary that the reader should be acquainted.
Mrs. Mac-Candlish, throned in a comfortable easy-chair lined with
black leather, was regaling herself, and a neighbouring gossip or
two, with a cup of genuine tea, and at the same time keeping a
sharp eye upon her domestics, as they went and came in prosecution
of their various duties and commissions. The clerk and precentor
of the parish enjoyed at a little distance his Saturday night's
pipe, and aided its bland fumigation by an occasional sip of
brandy-and-water. Deacon Bearcliff, a man of great importance in
the village, combined the indulgence of both parties--he had his
pipe and his teacup, the latter being laced with a little spirits.
One or two clowns sat at some distance, drinking their twopenny
ale.
"Are ye sure the parlour's ready for them, and the fire burning
clear, and the chimney no smoking?" said the hostess to a
chambermaid.
She was answered in the affirmative.--"Ane wadna be uncivil to
them, especially in their distress," said she, turning to the
Deacon.
"Assuredly not, Mrs. Mac-Candlish; assuredly not. I am sure ony
sma' thing they might want frae my shop, under seven, or eight, or
ten pounds, I would book them as readily for it as the first in the
country.--Do they come in the auld chaise?"
"I dare say no," said the precentor; "for Miss Bertram comes on the
white powny ilka day to the kirk--and a constant kirk-keeper she
is--and it's a pleasure to hear her singing the psalms, winsome
young thing."
"Ay, and the young Laird of Hazlewood rides hame half the road wi'
her after sermon," said one of the gossips in company; "I wonder
how auld Hazlewood likes that."
"I kenna how he may like it now," answered another of the
tea-drinkers; "but the day has been when Ellangowan wad hae liked
as little to see his daughter taking up with their son."
"Ay, has been," answered the first, with somewhat of emphasis.
"I am sure, neighbour Ovens," said the hostess, "the Hazlewoods of
Hazlewood, though they are a very gude auld family in the county,
never thought, till within these twa score o' years, of evening
themselves till the Ellangowans--Wow, woman, the Bertrams of
Ellangowan are the auld Dingawaies lang syne--there is a sang about
ane o' them marrying a daughter of the King of Man; it begins--
"Blythe Bertram's ta'en him ower the faem,
To wed a wife, and bring her hame--
I daur say Mr. Skreigh can sing us the ballant."
"Gudewife," said Skreigh, gathering up his mouth, and sipping his
tiff of brandy punch with great solemnity, "our talents were gien
us to other use than to sing daft auld sangs sae near the Sabbath
day."
"Hout fie, Mr. Skreigh; I'se warrant I hae heard you sing a blythe
sang on Saturday at e'en before now.--But as for the chaise,
Deacon, it hasna been out of the coachhouse since Mrs. Bertram
died, that's sixteen or seventeen years sin syne--. Jock Jabos is
away wi' a chaise of mine for them;--I wonder he's no come back.
It's pit mirk [*Pitch dark]--but there's no an ill turn on the
road but twa, and the brigg ower Warroch burn is safe eneugh, if he
baud to the right side. But then there's Heavieside-brae, that's
just a murder for post-cattle--but Jock kens the road brawly."
[*Very well]
A loud rapping was heard at the door. "That's no them. I dinna
hear the wheels.--Grizzel, ye limmer, gang to the door."
"It's a single gentleman," whined out Grizzel; "maun I take him
into the parlour?"
"Foul be in your feet, then; it'll be some English rider. Coming
without a servant at this time o' night!--Has the ostler ta'en the
horse?--Ye may light a spunk o' fire in the red room."
"I wish, ma'am," said the traveller, entering the kitchen, "you
would give me leave to warm myself here, for the night is very
cold."
His appearance, voice, and manner, produced an instantaneous effect
in his favour. He was a handsome, tall, thin figure, dressed in
black, as appeared when he laid aside his riding-coat; his age
might be between forty and fifty; his cast of features grave and
interesting, and his air somewhat military. Every point of his
appearance and address bespoke the gentleman. Long habit had given
Mrs. Mac-Candlish an acute tact in ascertaining the quality of her
visitors, and proportioning her reception accordingly To every
guest the appropriate speech was made, And every duty with
distinction paid; Respectful, easy, pleasant, or polite--"Your
honour's servant!--Mister Smith, good-night."
On the present occasion, she was low in her curtsey, and profuse in
her apologies. The stranger begged his horse might be attended
to--she went out herself to school the hostler.
"There was never a prettier bit o' horse-flesh in the stable o' the
Gordon Arms," said the man; which information increased the
landlady's respect for the rider. Finding, on her return, that the
stranger declined to go into another apartment (which, indeed, she
allowed, would be but cold and smoky till the fire bleezed up), she
installed her guest hospitably by the fireside, and offered what
refreshment her house afforded.
"A cup of your tea, ma'am, if you will favour me." Mrs.
Mac-Candlish bustled about, reinforced her teapot with hyson, and
proceeded in her duties with her best grace. "We have a very nice
parlour, sir, and everything very agreeable for gentlefolks; but
it's bespoke the night for a gentleman and his daughter, that are
going to leave this part of the country--ane of my chaises is gane
for them, and will be back forthwith--they're no sae weel in the
warld as they have been; but we're a' subject to ups and downs in
this life, as your honour must needs ken--but is not the
tobacco-reek disagreeable to your honour?"
"By no means, ma'am; I am an old campaigner, and perfectly used to
it.--Will you permit me to make some inquiries about a family in
this neighbourhood?"
The sound of wheels was now heard, and the landlady hurried to the
door to receive her expected guests; but returned in an instant,
followed by the postilion--
"No, they canna come at no rate, the Laird's sae ill."
"But God help them," said the landlady, "the morn's the term--the
very last day they can bide in the house--a' thing's to be
roupit." [*Sold by auction]
"Weel, but they can come at no rate, I tell ye--Mr. Bertram canna
be moved."
"What Mr. Bertram?" said the stranger; "not Mr. Bertram of
Ellangowan, I hope?"
"Just e'en that same, sir; and if ye be a friend o' his, ye have
come at a time when he's sair bested."
"I have been abroad for many years--is his health so much
deranged?"
"Ay, and his affairs an' a'," said the Deacon "the creditors have
entered into possession o' the estate, and it's for sale; and some
that made the maist by him--I name nae names, but Mrs. Mac-Candlish
kens wha I mean--(the landlady shook her head significantly)
they're sairest on him e'en now. I have a sma' matter due mysell,
but I would rather have lost it than gane to turn the auld man out
of his house, and him just dying."
"Ay, but," said the parish-clerk, "Factor Glossin wants to get rid
of the auld Laird, and drive on the sale, for fear the heir-male
should cast up upon them; for I have heard say, if there was an
heir-male, they couldna sell the estate for auld Ellangowan's
debt."
"He had a son born a good many years ago," said the stranger; "he
is dead, I suppose?"
"Nae man can say for that," answered the clerk mysteriously.
"Dead!" said the Deacon, "I'se warrant him dead lang syne; he hasna
been heard o' these twenty years or thereby."
"I wot weel it's no twenty years," said the landlady; "it's no
abune seventeen at the outside in this very month; it made an unco
noise ower a' this country--the bairn disappeared the very day that
Supervisor Kennedy cam by his end.--If ye kenn'd this country lang
syne, your honour wad maybe ken Frank Kennedy the Supervisor. He
was a heartsome pleasant man, and company for the best gentlemen in
the county, and muckle mirth he's made in this house. I was young
then, sir, and newly married to Bailie Mac-Candlish, that's dead
and gone--(a sigh)--and muckle fun I've had wi' the Supervisor. He
was a daft dog--Oh, an he could hae hauden aff the smugglers a bit!
but he was aye venturesome.--And so ye see, sir, there was a king's
sloop down in Wigton Bay, and Frank Kennedy, he behoved to have her
up to chase Dirk Hatteraick's lugger--ye'll mind Dirk Hatteraick,
Deacon? I dare say ye may have dealt wi' him--(the Deacon gave a
sort of acquiescent nod and humph). He was a daring chield, and he
fought his ship till she blew up like peelings of ingans; and Frank
Kennedy he had been the first man to board, and he was flung like a
quarter of a mile off, and fell into the water below the rock at
Warroch Point, that they ca' the Gauger's Loup to this day."
"And Mr. Bertram's child," said the stranger, "what is all this to
him?"
"Ou, sir, the bairn aye held an unca wark wi' the Supervisor; and
it was generally thought he went on board the vessel alang wi' him,
as bairns are aye forward to be in mischief."
"No, no," said the Deacon, "ye're clean out there, Luckie--for
the young Laird was stown away by a randy gipsy woman they ca'd Meg
Merrilies,--I mind her looks weel,--in revenge for Ellangowan
having gar'd her be drumm'd through Kippletringan for stealing a
silver spoon."
"If ye'll forgie me, Deacon," said the precentor, "ye're e'en as
far wrang as the gudewife."
"And what is your edition of the story, sir?" said the stranger,
turning to him with interest.
"That's maybe no sae canny to tell," said the precentor, with
solemnity.
Upon being urged, however, to speak out, he preluded with, two or
three large puffs of tobacco-smoke, and out of the cloudy sanctuary
which these whiffs formed around him, delivered the following
legend, having cleared his voice with one or two hems, and
imitating, as near as he could, the eloquence which weekly
thundered over his head from the pulpit.
"What we are now to deliver, my brethren,--hem--hem,--I mean, my
good friends,--was not done in a corner, and may serve as an answer
to witch-advocates, atheists, and misbelievers of all kinds.--Ye
must know that the worshipful Laird of Ellangowan was not so
preceese as he might have been in clearing his land of witches
(concerning whom it is said, 'Thou shalt not suffer a witch to
live'), nor of those who had familiar spirits, and consulted with
divination, and sorcery, and lots, which is the fashion with the
Egyptians, as they ca' themsells, and other unhappy bodies, in this
our country. And the Laird was three years married without having
a family-and he was sae left to himself, that it was thought he
held ower muckle troking [*Trafficking] and communing wi' that Meg
Merrilies, wha was the maist notorious, witch in a' Galloway and
Dumfriesshire baith."
"Aweel I wot there's something in that," said Mrs. Mac-Candlish;
"I've kenn'd him order her twa' glasses o' brandy in this very
house."
"Aweel, gudewife, then the less I lee.--Sae the lady was wi' bairn
at last, and in the night when she should have been delivered,
there comes to the door of the ha' house--the Place of Ellangowan
as they ca'd--an ancient man, strangely habited, and asked for
quarters. His head, and his legs, and his arms were bare, although
it was winter time o' the year, and he had a gray beard three
quarters lang. Weel, he was admitted; and when the lady was
delivered, he craved to know the very moment of the hour of the
birth, and he went out and consulted the stars. And when he came
back, he tell'd the Laird, that the Evil One wad have power over
the knave-bairn, that was that night born, and he charged him that
the babe should be bred up in the ways of piety, and that he should
aye hae a godly minister at his elbow, to pray wi' the bairn and
for him. And the aged man vanished away, and no man of this country
saw mair o' him."
"Now, that will not pass," said the postilion, who, at a respectful
distance, was listening to the conversation, "begging Mr. Skreigh's
and the company's pardon,--there was no sae mony hairs on the
warlock's face as there's on Letter-Gae's [*The precentor is
called by Allan Ramsay,--"The Letter-Gae of haly rhyme."] ain at
this moment; and he had as gude a pair o' boots as a man need
streik on his legs, and gloves too;--and I should understand boots
by this time, I think."
"Whisht, Jock," said the landlady.
"Ay? and what do ye ken o' the matter, friend Jabos?" said the
precentor contemptuously.
"No muckle, to be sure, Mr. Skreigh--only that I lived within a
penny-stane cast o' the head o' the avenue at Ellangowan, when a
man cam jingling to our door that night the young Laird was born,
and my mother sent me, that was a hafflin callant, [*Half-grown
lad] to show the stranger the gate to the Place, which, if he had
been sic a warlock, he might hae kenn'd himself, ane wad think--and
he was a young, weel-faured, weel-dressed lad, like an Englishman.
And I tell ye he had as gude a hat, and boots, and gloves, as ony
gentleman need to have. To be sure he did gie an awesome glance up
at the auld castle--and there was some spae-work gaed on--I aye
heard that; but as for his vanishing, I held the stirrup mysell
when he gaed away, and he gied me a round half-crown--he was
riding on a haick they ca'd Souple Sam--it belanged to the George
at Dumfries--it was a blood-bay beast, very ill o' the spavin--I
hae seen the beast baith before and since."
"Aweel, aweel, Jock," answered Mr. Skreigh, with a tone of mild
solemnity, "our accounts differ in no material particulars; but I
had no knowledge that ye had seen the man.--So ye see, my friends,
that this soothsayer having prognosticated evil to the boy, his
father engaged a godly minister to be with him morn and night."
"Ay, that was him they ca'd Dominie Sampson," said the postilion.
"He's but a dumb dog that," observed the Deacon; "I have heard that
he never could preach five words of a sermon endlang, for as lang
as he has been licensed."
"Weel, but," said the precentor, waving his hand, as if eager to
retrieve the command of the discourse, he waited on the young
Laird by night and day. Now, it chanced, when the bairn was near
five years auld, that the Laird had a sight of his errors, and
determined to put these Egyptians aff his ground; and he caused
them to remove; and that Frank Kennedy, that was a rough swearing
fellow, he was sent to turn them off. And he cursed and damned at
them, and they swure at him; and that Meg Merrilies, that was the
maist powerfu' with the Enemy of Mankind, she as gude as said she
would have him, body and soul, before three days were ower his
head. And I have it from a sure hand, and that's ane wha saw it,
and that's John Wilson, that was the laird's groom, that Meg
appeared to the Laird as he was riding hame from Singleside, over
Gibbie's-know, and threatened him wi' what she wad do to his
family; but whether it was Meg, or something waur in her likeness,
for it seemed bigger than ony mortal creature, John could not say."
"Aweel," said the postilion, "it might be sae--I canna say against
it, for I was not in the country at the time; but John Wilson was a
blustering kind of chield, without the heart of a sprug."
[*Sparrow]
"And what was the end of all this?" said the stranger, with some
impatience.
"Ou, the event and upshot of it was, sir," said the precentor,
"that while they were all looking on, beholding a king's ship chase
a smuggler, this Kennedy suddenly brake away frae them without ony
reason that could be descried--ropes nor tows wad not hae held
him--and made for the wood of Warroch as fast as his beast could
carry him; and by the way he met the young Laird and his governor,
and he snatched up the bairn, and swure, if he was bewitched, the
bairn should have the same luck as him; and the minister followed
as fast as he could, and almaist as fast as them, for he was
wonderfully swift of foot--and he saw Meg the witch, or her master
in her similitude, rise suddenly out of the ground, and claught the
bairn suddenly out of the gauger's arms--and then he rampauged and
drew his sword--for ye ken a fie man and a cusser fearsna the
deil."
"I believe that's very true," said the postilion.
"So, sir, she grippit him, and clodded [*Hurled] him like a stane
from the sling ower the craigs of Warroch Head, where he was found
that evening--but what became of the babe, frankly I cannot say.
But he that was minister here then, that's now in a better place,
had an opinion that the bairn was only conveyed to Fairyland for a
season."
The stranger had smiled slightly at some parts of this recital, but
ere he could answer, the clatter of a horse's hoofs was heard, and
a smart servant, handsomely dressed, with a cockade in his hat,
bustled into the kitchen, with "Make a little room, good people";
when, observing the stranger, he descended at once into the modest
and civil domestic, his hat sunk down by his side, and he put a
letter into his master's hands. "The family at Ellangowan, sir,
are in great distress, and unable to receive any visits."
"I know it," replied his master.--"And now, madam, it you will have
the goodness to allow me to occupy the parlour you mentioned, as
you are disappointed of your guests--"
"Certainly, sir," said Mrs. Mac-Candlish, and hastened to light
the way with all the imperative bustle which an active landlady
loves to display on such occasions.
"Young man," said the Deacon to the servant, filling a glass,
"ye'll no be the waur o' this, after your ride."
"Not a feather, sir,--thank ye--your very good health, sir."
"And wha may your master be, friend?"
"What, the gentleman that was here?--that's the famous Colonel
Mannering, sir, from the East Indies."
"What, him we read of in the newspapers?"
"Ay, ay, just the same. It was he relieved Cuddieburn, and
defended Chingalore, and defeated the great Mahratta chief, Ram
Jolli Bundleman--I was with him in most of his campaigns."
"Lord safe us," said the landlady, "I must go see what he would
have for supper--that I should set him down here!"
"Oh, he likes that all the better, mother;--you never saw a plainer
creature in your life than our old Colonel; and yet he has a spice
of the devil in him too."
The rest of the evening's conversation below stairs tending little
to edification, we shall, with the reader's leave, step up to the
parlour.