Paint Scotland greeting ower her thrissle,
Her mutchkin stoup as toom's a whistle,
And d--n'd excisemen in a bustle,
Seizing a stell,
Triumphant crushin't like a mussel,
Or lampit shell
BURNS.
During the period of Mr. Bertram's active magistracy, he did not forget
the affairs of the revenue. Smuggling, for which the Isle of Man then
afforded peculiar facilities, was general, or rather universal, all
along the southwestern coast of Scotland. Almost all the common people
were engaged in these practices; the gentry connived at them, and the
officers of the revenue were frequently discountenanced in the exercise
of their duty by those who should have protected them.
There was at this period, employed as a riding-officer or supervisor,
in that part of the country a certain Francis Kennedy, already named in
our narrative--a stout, resolute, and active man, who had made seizures
to a great amount, and was proportionally hated by those who had an
interest in the fair trade, as they called the pursuit of these
contraband adventurers. This person was natural son to a gentleman of
good family, owing to which circumstance, and to his being of a jolly,
convivial disposition, and singing a good song, he was admitted to the
occasional society of the gentlemen of the country, and was a member of
several of their clubs for practising athletic games, at which he was
particularly expert.
At Ellangowan Kennedy was a frequent and always an acceptable guest.
His vivacity relieved Mr. Bertram of the trouble of thought, and the
labour which it cost him to support a detailed communication of ideas;
while the daring and dangerous exploits which he had undertaken in the
discharge of his office formed excellent conversation. To all these
revenue adventures did the Laird of Ellangowan seriously incline, and
the amusement which he derived from Kennedy's society formed an
excellent reason for countenancing and assisting the narrator in the
execution of his invidious and hazardous duty.
'Frank Kennedy,' he said, 'was a gentleman, though on the wrang side of
the blanket; he was connected with the family of Ellangowan through the
house of Glengubble. The last Laird of Glengubble would have brought
the estate into the Ellangowan line; but, happening to go to Harrigate,
he there met with Miss Jean Hadaway--by the by, the Green Dragon at
Harrigate is the best house of the twa--but for Frank Kennedy, he's in
one sense a gentleman born, and it's a shame not to support him against
these blackguard smugglers.'
After this league had taken place between judgment and execution, it
chanced that Captain Dirk Hatteraick had landed a cargo of spirits and
other contraband goods upon the beach not far from Ellangowan, and,
confiding in the indifference with which the Laird had formerly
regarded similar infractions of the law, he was neither very anxious to
conceal nor to expedite the transaction. The consequence was that Mr.
Frank Kennedy, armed with a warrant from Ellangowan, and supported by
some of the Laird's people who knew the country, and by a party of
military, poured down upon the kegs, bales, and bags, and after a
desperate affray, in which severe wounds were given and received,
succeeded in clapping the broad arrow upon the articles, and bearing
them off in triumph to the next custom-house. Dirk Hatteraick vowed, in
Dutch, German, and English, a deep and full revenge, both against the
gauger and his abettors; and all who knew him thought it likely he
would keep his word.
A few days after the departure of the gipsy tribe, Mr. Bertram asked
his lady one morning at breakfast whether this was not little Harry's
birthday.
'Five years auld exactly, this blessed day,' answered the lady; 'so we
may look into the English gentleman's paper.'
Mr. Bertram liked to show his authority in trifles. 'No, my dear, not
till to-morrow. The last time I was at quarter-sessions the sheriff
told us that DIES--that dies inceptus--in short, you don't understand
Latin, but it means that a term-day is not begun till it's ended.'
'That sounds like nonsense, my dear.'
'May be so, my dear; but it may be very good law for all that. I am
sure, speaking of term-days, I wish, as Frank Kennedy says, that
Whitsunday would kill Martinmas and be hanged for the murder; for there
I have got a letter about that interest of Jenny Cairns's, and deil a
tenant's been at the Place yet wi' a boddle of rent, nor will not till
Candlemas. But, speaking of Frank Kennedy, I daresay he'll be here the
day, for he was away round to Wigton to warn a king's ship that's lying
in the bay about Dirk Hatteraick's lugger being on the coast again, and
he'll be back this day; so we'll have a bottle of claret and drink
little Harry's health.'
'I wish,' replied the lady, 'Frank Kennedy would let Dirk Hatteraick
alane. What needs he make himself mair busy than other folk? Cannot he
sing his sang, and take his drink, and draw his salary, like Collector
Snail, honest man, that never fashes ony body? And I wonder at you,
Laird, for meddling and making. Did we ever want to send for tea or
brandy frae the borough-town when Dirk Hatteraick used to come quietly
into the bay?'
'Mrs. Bertram, you know nothing of these matters. Do you think it
becomes a magistrate to let his own house be made a receptacle for
smuggled goods? Frank Kennedy will show you the penalties in the act,
and ye ken yoursell they used to put their run goods into the Auld
Place of Ellangowan up by there.'
'Oh dear, Mr. Bertram, and what the waur were the wa's and the vault o'
the auld castle for having a whin kegs o' brandy in them at an orra
time? I am sure ye were not obliged to ken ony thing about it; and what
the waur was the King that the lairds here got a soup o' drink and the
ladies their drap o' tea at a reasonable rate?--it's a shame to them to
pit such taxes on them!--and was na I much the better of these Flanders
head and pinners that Dirk Hatteraick sent me a' the way from Antwerp?
It will be lang or the King sends me ony thing, or Frank Kennedy
either. And then ye would quarrel with these gipsies too! I expect
every day to hear the barnyard's in a low.'
'I tell you once more, my dear, you don't understand these things--and
there's Frank Kennedy coming galloping up the avenue.'
'Aweel! aweel! Ellangowan,' said the lady, raising her voice as the
Laird left the room, 'I wish ye may understand them yoursell, that's
a'!'
From this nuptial dialogue the Laird joyfully escaped to meet his
faithful friend, Mr. Kennedy, who arrived in high spirits. 'For the
love of life, Ellangowan,' he said, 'get up to the castle! you'll see
that old fox Dirk Hatteraick, and his Majesty's hounds in full cry
after him.' So saying, he flung his horse's bridle to a boy, and ran up
the ascent to the old castle, followed by the Laird, and indeed by
several others of the family, alarmed by the sound of guns from the
sea, now distinctly heard.
On gaining that part of the ruins which commanded the most extensive
outlook, they saw a lugger, with all her canvass crowded, standing
across the bay, closely pursued by a sloop of war, that kept firing
upon the chase from her bows, which the lugger returned with her
stern-chasers. 'They're but at long bowls yet,' cried Kennedy, in great
exultation, 'but they will be closer by and by. D--n him, he's starting
his cargo! I see the good Nantz pitching overboard, keg after keg!
That's a d--d ungenteel thing of Mr. Hatteraick, as I shall let him
know by and by. Now, now! they've got the wind of him! that's it,
that's it! Hark to him! hark to him! Now, my dogs! now, my dogs! Hark
to Ranger, hark!'
'I think,' said the old gardener to one of the maids, 'the ganger's
fie,' by which word the common people express those violent spirits
which they think a presage of death.
Meantime the chase continued. The lugger, being piloted with great
ability, and using every nautical shift to make her escape, had now
reached, and was about to double, the headland which formed the extreme
point of land on the left side of the bay, when a ball having hit the
yard in the slings, the mainsail fell upon the deck. The consequence of
this accident appeared inevitable, but could not be seen by the
spectators; for the vessel, which had just doubled the headland, lost
steerage, and fell out of their sight behind the promontory. The sloop
of war crowded all sail to pursue, but she had stood too close upon the
cape, so that they were obliged to wear the vessel for fear of going
ashore, and to make a large tack back into the bay, in order to recover
sea-room enough to double the headland.
'They 'll lose her, by--, cargo and lugger, one or both,' said Kennedy;
'I must gallop away to the Point of Warroch (this was the headland so
often mentioned), and make them a signal where she has drifted to on
the other side. Good-bye for an hour, Ellangowan; get out the gallon
punch-bowl and plenty of lemons. I'll stand for the French article by
the time I come back, and we'll drink the young Laird's health in a
bowl that would swim the collector's yawl.' So saying, he mounted his
horse and galloped off.
About a mile from the house, and upon the verge of the woods, which, as
we have said, covered a promontory terminating in the cape called the
Point of Warroch, Kennedy met young Harry Bertram, attended by his
tutor, Dominie Sampson. He had often promised the child a ride upon his
galloway; and, from singing, dancing, and playing Punch for his
amusement, was a particular favourite. He no sooner came scampering up
the path, than the boy loudly claimed his promise; and Kennedy, who saw
no risk, in indulging him, and wished to tease the Dominie, in whose
visage he read a remonstrance, caught up Harry from the ground, placed
him before him, and continued his route; Sampson's 'Peradventure,
Master Kennedy-' being lost in the clatter of his horse's feet. The
pedagogue hesitated a moment whether he should go after them; but
Kennedy being a person in full confidence of the family, and with whom
he himself had no delight in associating, 'being that he was addicted
unto profane and scurrilous jests,' he continued his own walk at his
own pace, till he reached the Place of Ellangowan.
The spectators from the ruined walls of the castle were still watching
the sloop of war, which at length, but not without the loss of
considerable time, recovered sea-room enough to weather the Point of
Warroch, and was lost to their sight behind that wooded promontory.
Some time afterwards the discharges of several cannon were heard at a
distance, and, after an interval, a still louder explosion, as of a
vessel blown up, and a cloud of smoke rose above the trees and mingled
with the blue sky. All then separated on their different occasions,
auguring variously upon the fate of the smuggler, but the majority
insisting that her capture was inevitable, if she had not already gone
to the bottom.
'It is near our dinner-time, my dear,' said Mrs. Bertram to her
husband; 'will it be lang before Mr. Kennedy comes back?'
'I expect him every moment, my dear,' said the Laird; 'perhaps he is
bringing some of the officers of the sloop with him.'
'My stars, Mr. Bertram! why did not ye tell me this before, that we
might have had the large round table? And then, they're a' tired o'
saut meat, and, to tell you the plain truth, a rump o' beef is the best
part of your dinner. And then I wad have put on another gown, and ye
wadna have been the waur o' a clean neck-cloth yoursell. But ye delight
in surprising and hurrying one. I am sure I am no to baud out for ever
against this sort of going on; but when folk's missed, then they are
moaned.'
'Pshaw, pshaw! deuce take the beef, and the gown, and table, and the
neck-cloth! we shall do all very well. Where's the Dominie, John? (to a
servant who was busy about the table) where's the Dominie and little
Harry?'
'Mr. Sampson's been at hame these twa hours and mair, but I dinna think
Mr. Harry cam hame wi' him.'
'Not come hame wi' him?' said the lady; 'desire Mr. Sampson to step
this way directly.'
'Mr. Sampson,' said she, upon his entrance, 'is it not the most
extraordinary thing in this world wide, that you, that have free
up-putting--bed, board, and washing--and twelve pounds sterling a year,
just to look after that boy, should let him out of your sight for twa
or three hours?'
Sampson made a bow of humble acknowledgment at each pause which the
angry lady made in her enumeration of the advantages of his situation,
in order to give more weight to her remonstrance, and then, in words
which we will not do him the injustice to imitate, told how Mr. Francis
Kennedy 'had assumed spontaneously the charge of Master Harry, in
despite of his remonstrances in the contrary.'
'I am very little obliged to Mr. Francis Kennedy for his pains,' said
the lady, peevishly; 'suppose he lets the boy drop from his horse, and
lames him? or suppose one of the cannons comes ashore and kills him? or
suppose--'
'Or suppose, my dear,' said Ellangowan, 'what is much more likely than
anything else, that they have gone aboard the sloop or the prize, and
are to come round the Point with the tide?'
'And then they may be drowned,' said the lady.
'Verily,' said Sampson, 'I thought Mr. Kennedy had returned an hour
since. Of a surety I deemed I heard his horse's feet.'
'That,' said John, with a broad grin, 'was Grizzel chasing the
humble-cow out of the close.'
Sampson coloured up to the eyes, not at the implied taunt, which he
would never have discovered, or resented if he had, but at some idea
which crossed his own mind. 'I have been in an error,' he said; 'of a
surety I should have tarried for the babe.' So saying, he snatched his
bone-headed cane and hat, and hurried away towards Warroch wood faster
than he was ever known to walk before or after.
The Laird lingered some time, debating the point with the lady. At
length he saw the sloop of war again make her appearance; but, without
approaching the shore, she stood away to the westward with all her
sails set, and was soon out of sight. The lady's state of timorous and
fretful apprehension was so habitual that her fears went for nothing
with her lord and master; but an appearance of disturbance and anxiety
among the servants now excited his alarm, especially when he was called
out of the room, and told in private that Mr. Kennedy's horse had come
to the stable door alone, with the saddle turned round below its belly
and the reins of the bridle broken; and that a farmer had informed them
in passing that there was a smuggling lugger burning like a furnace on
the other side of the Point of Warroch, and that, though he had come
through the wood, he had seen or heard nothing of Kennedy or the young
Laird, 'only there was Dominie Sampson gaun rampauging about like mad,
seeking for them.'
All was now bustle at Ellangowan. The Laird and his servants, male and
female, hastened to the wood of Warroch. The tenants and cottagers in
the neighbourhood lent their assistance, partly out of zeal, partly
from curiosity. Boats were manned to search the sea-shore, which, on
the other side of the Point, rose into high and indented rocks. A vague
suspicion was entertained, though too horrible to be expressed, that
the child might have fallen from one of these cliffs.
The evening had begun to close when the parties entered the wood, and
dispersed different ways in quest of the boy and his companion. The
darkening of the atmosphere, and the hoarse sighs of the November wind
through the naked trees, the rustling of the withered leaves which
strewed the glades, the repeated halloos of the different parties,
which often drew them together in expectation of meeting the objects of
their search, gave a cast of dismal sublimity to the scene.
At length, after a minute and fruitless investigation through the wood,
the searchers began to draw together into one body, and to compare
notes. The agony of the father grew beyond concealment, yet it scarcely
equalled the anguish of the tutor. 'Would to God I had died for him!'
the affectionate creature repeated, in notes of the deepest distress.
Those who were less interested rushed into a tumultuary discussion of
chances and possibilities. Each gave his opinion, and each was
alternately swayed by that of the others. Some thought the objects of
their search had gone aboard the sloop; some that they had gone to a
village at three miles' distance; some whispered they might have been
on board the lugger, a few planks and beams of which the tide now
drifted ashore.
At this instant a shout was heard from the beach, so loud, so shrill,
so piercing, so different from every sound which the woods that day had
rung to, that nobody hesitated a moment to believe that it conveyed
tidings, and tidings of dreadful import. All hurried to the place, and,
venturing without scruple upon paths which at another time they would
have shuddered to look at, descended towards a cleft of the rock, where
one boat's crew was already landed. 'Here, sirs, here! this way, for
God's sake! this way! this way!' was the reiterated cry. Ellangowan
broke through the throng which had already assembled at the fatal spot,
and beheld the object of their terror. It was the dead body of Kennedy.
At first sight he seemed to have perished by a fall from the rocks,
which rose above the spot on which he lay in a perpendicular precipice
of a hundred feet above the beach. The corpse was lying half in, half
out of the water; the advancing tide, raising the arm and stirring the
clothes, had given it at some distance the appearance of motion, so
that those who first discovered the body thought that life remained.
But every spark had been long extinguished.
'My bairn! my bairn!' cried the distracted father, 'where can he be?' A
dozen mouths were opened to communicate hopes which no one felt. Some
one at length mentioned--the gipsies! In a moment Ellangowan had
reascended the cliffs, flung himself upon the first horse he met, and
rode furiously to the huts at Derncleugh. All was there dark and
desolate; and, as he dismounted to make more minute search, he stumbled
over fragments of furniture which had been thrown out of the cottages,
and the broken wood and thatch which had been pulled down by his
orders. At that moment the prophecy, or anathema, of Meg Merrilies fell
heavy on his mind. 'You have stripped the thatch from seven cottages;
see that the roof-tree of your own house stand the surer!'
'Restore,' he cried, 'restore my bairn! bring me back my son, and all
shall be forgot and forgiven!' As he uttered these words in a sort of
frenzy, his eye caught a glimmering of light in one of the dismantled
cottages; it was that in which Meg Merrilies formerly resided. The
light, which seemed to proceed from fire, glimmered not only through
the window, but also through the rafters of the hut where the roofing
had been torn off.
He flew to the place; the entrance was bolted. Despair gave the
miserable father the strength of ten men; he rushed against the door
with such violence that it gave way before the momentum of his weight
and force. The cottage was empty, but bore marks of recent habitation:
there was fire on the hearth, a kettle, and some preparation for food.
As he eagerly gazed around for something that might confirm his hope
that his child yet lived, although in the power of those strange
people, a man entered the hut.
It was his old gardener. 'O sir!' said the old man, 'such a night as
this I trusted never to live to see! ye maun come to the Place
directly!'
'Is my boy found? is he alive? have ye found Harry Bertram? Andrew,
have ye found Harry Bertram?'
'No, sir; but-'
'Then he is kidnapped! I am sure of it, Andrew! as sure as that I tread
upon earth! She has stolen him; and I will never stir from this place
till I have tidings of my bairn!'
'O, but ye maun come hame, sir! ye maun come hame! We have sent for the
Sheriff, and we'll seta watch here a' night, in case the gipsies
return; but YOU--ye maun come hame, sir, for my lady's in the
dead-thraw.'
Bertram turned a stupefied and unmeaning eye on the messenger who
uttered this calamitous news; and, repeating the words 'in the
dead-thraw!' as if he could not comprehend their meaning, suffered the
old man to drag him towards his horse. During the ride home he only
said, 'Wife and bairn baith--mother and son baith,--sair, sair to
abide!'
It is needless to dwell upon the new scene of agony which awaited him.
The news of Kennedy's fate had been eagerly and incautiously
communicated at Ellangowan, with the gratuitous addition, that,
doubtless, 'he had drawn the young Laird over the craig with him,
though the tide had swept away the child's body; he was light, puir
thing, and would flee farther into the surf.'
Mrs. Bertram heard the tidings; she was far advanced in her pregnancy;
she fell into the pains of premature labour, and, ere Ellangowan had
recovered his agitated faculties, so as to comprehend the full distress
of his situation, he was the father of a female infant, and a widower.