Yes ye moss-green walls,
Ye towers defenceless, I revisit ye
Shame-stricken! Where are all your trophies now?
Your thronged courts, the revelry, the tumult,
That spoke the grandeur of my house, the homage
Of neighbouring barons?
Mysterious Mother.
Entering the castle of Ellangowan by a postern doorway which showed
symptoms of having been once secured with the most jealous care, Brown
(whom, since he has set foot upon the property of his fathers, we shall
hereafter call by his father's name of Bertram) wandered from one
ruined apartment to another, surprised at the massive strength of some
parts of the building, the rude and impressive magnificence of others,
and the great extent of the whole. In two of these rooms, close beside
each other, he saw signs of recent habitation. In one small apartment
were empty bottles, half-gnawed bones, and dried fragments of bread. In
the vault which adjoined, and which was defended by a strong door, then
left open, he observed a considerable quantity of straw, and in both
were the relics of recent fires. How little was it possible for Bertram
to conceive that such trivial circumstances were closely connected with
incidents affecting his prosperity, his honour, perhaps his life!
After satisfying his curiosity by a hasty glance through the interior
of the castle, Bertram now advanced through the great gateway which
opened to the land, and paused to look upon the noble landscape which
it commanded. Having in vain endeavoured to guess the position of
Woodbourne, and having nearly ascertained that of Kippletringan, he
turned to take a parting look at the stately ruins which he had just
traversed. He admired the massive and picturesque effect of the huge
round towers, which, flanking the gateway, gave a double portion of
depth and majesty to the high yet gloomy arch under which it opened.
The carved stone escutcheon of the ancient family, bearing for their
arms three wolves' heads, was hung diagonally beneath the helmet and
crest, the latter being a wolf couchant pierced with an arrow. On
either side stood as supporters, in full human size or larger, a
salvage man PROPER, to use the language of heraldry, WREATHED AND
CINCTURED, and holding in his hand an oak tree ERADICATED, that is,
torn up by the roots.
'And the powerful barons who owned this blazonry,' thought Bertram,
pursuing the usual train of ideas which flows upon the mind at such
scenes--'do their posterity continue to possess the lands which they
had laboured to fortify so strongly? or are they wanderers, ignorant
perhaps even of the fame or power of their fore-fathers, while their
hereditary possessions are held by a race of strangers? Why is it,' he
thought, continuing to follow out the succession of ideas which the
scene prompted--'why is it that some scenes awaken thoughts which
belong as it were to dreams of early and shadowy recollection, such as
my old Brahmin moonshie would have ascribed to a state of previous
existence? Is it the visions of our sleep that float confusedly in our
memory, and are recalled by the appearance of such real objects as in
any respect correspond to the phantoms they presented to our
imagination? How often do we find ourselves in society which we have
never before met, and yet feel impressed with a mysterious and
ill-defined consciousness that neither the scene, the speakers, nor the
subject are entirely new; nay, feel as if we could anticipate that part
of the conversation which has not yet taken place! It is even so with
me while I gaze upon that ruin; nor can I divest myself of the idea
that these massive towers and that dark gateway, retiring through its
deep-vaulted and ribbed arches, and dimly lighted by the courtyard
beyond, are not entirely strange to me. Can it be that they have been
familiar to me in infancy, and that I am to seek in their vicinity
those friends of whom my childhood has still a tender though faint
remembrance, and whom I early exchanged for such severe task-masters?
Yet Brown, who, I think, would not have deceived me, always told me I
was brought off from the eastern coast, after a skirmish in which my
father was killed; and I do remember enough of a horrid scene of
violence to strengthen his account.'
It happened that the spot upon which young Bertram chanced to station
himself for the better viewing the castle was nearly the same on which
his father had died. It was marked by a large old oak-tree, the only
one on the esplanade, and which, having been used for executions by the
barons of Ellangowan, was called the Justice Tree. It chanced, and the
coincidence was remarkable, that Glossin was this morning engaged with
a person whom he was in the habit of consulting in such matters
concerning some projected repairs and a large addition to the house of
Ellangowan, and that, having no great pleasure in remains so intimately
connected with the grandeur of the former inhabitants, he had resolved
to use the stones of the ruinous castle in his new edifice. Accordingly
he came up the bank, followed by the land-surveyor mentioned on a
former occasion, who was also in the habit of acting as a sort of
architect in case of necessity. In drawing the plans, etc., Glossin was
in the custom of relying upon his own skill. Bertram's back was towards
them as they came up the ascent, and he was quite shrouded by the
branches of the large tree, so that Glossin was not aware of the
presence of the stranger till he was close upon him.
'Yes, sir, as I have often said before to you, the Old Place is a
perfect quarry of hewn stone, and it would be better for the estate if
it were all down, since it is only a den for smugglers.' At this
instant Bertram turned short round upon Glossin at the distance of two
yards only, and said--'Would you destroy this fine old castle, sir?'
His face, person, and voice were so exactly those of his father in his
best days, that Glossin, hearing his exclamation, and seeing such a
sudden apparition in the shape of his patron, and on nearly the very
spot where he had expired, almost thought the grave had given up its
dead! He staggered back two or three paces, as if he had received a
sudden and deadly wound. He instantly recovered, however, his presence
of mind, stimulated by the thrilling reflection that it was no
inhabitant of the other world which stood before him, but an injured
man whom the slightest want of dexterity on his part might lead to
acquaintance with his rights, and the means of asserting them to his
utter destruction. Yet his ideas were so much confused by the shock he
had received that his first question partook of the alarm.
'In the name of God, how came you here?' said Glossin.
'How came I here?' repeated Bertram, surprised at the solemnity of the
address; 'I landed a quarter of an hour since in the little harbour
beneath the castle, and was employing a moment's leisure in viewing
these fine ruins. I trust there is no intrusion?'
'Intrusion, sir? No, sir,' said Glossin, in some degree recovering his
breath, and then whispered a few words into his companion's ear, who
immediately left him and descended towards the house. 'Intrusion, sir?
no, sir; you or any gentleman are welcome to satisfy your curiosity.'
'I thank you, sir,' said Bertram. 'They call this the Old Place, I am
informed?'
'Yes, sir; in distinction to the New Place, my house there below.'
Glossin, it must be remarked, was, during the following dialogue, on
the one hand eager to learn what local recollections young Bertram had
retained of the scenes of his infancy, and on the other compelled to be
extremely cautious in his replies, lest he should awaken or assist, by
some name, phrase, or anecdote, the slumbering train of association. He
suffered, indeed, during the whole scene the agonies which he so richly
deserved; yet his pride and interest, like the fortitude of a North
American Indian, manned him to sustain the tortures inflicted at once
by the contending stings of a guilty conscience, of hatred, of fear,
and of suspicion.
'I wish to ask the name, sir,' said Bertram, 'of the family to whom
this stately ruin belongs.'
'It is my property, sir; my name is Glossin.'
'Glossin--Glossin?' repeated Bertram, as if the answer were somewhat
different from what he expected. 'I beg your pardon, Mr. Glossin; I am
apt to be very absent. May I ask if the castle has been long in your
family?'
'It was built, I believe, long ago by a family called Mac-Dingawaie,'
answered Glossin, suppressing for obvious reasons the more familiar
sound of Bertram, which might have awakened the recollections which he
was anxious to lull to rest, and slurring with an evasive answer the
question concerning the endurance of his own possession.
'And how do you read the half-defaced motto, sir,' said Bertram, 'which
is upon that scroll above the entablature with the arms?'
'I--I--I really do not exactly know,' replied Glossin.
'I should be apt to make it out, OUR RIGHT MAKES OUR MIGHT.'
'I believe it is something of that kind,' said Glossin.
'May I ask, sir,' said the stranger, 'if it is your family motto?'
'N--n--no--no--not ours. That is, I believe, the motto of the former
people; mine is--mine is--in fact, I have had some correspondence with
Mr. Cumming of the Lyon Office in Edinburgh about mine. He writes me
the Glossins anciently bore for a motto, "He who takes it, makes it."'
'If there be any uncertainty, sir, and the case were mine,' said
Bertram, 'I would assume the old motto, which seems to me the better of
the two.'
Glossin, whose tongue by this time clove to the roof of his mouth, only
answered by a nod.
'It is odd enough,' said Bertram, fixing his eye upon the arms and
gateway, and partly addressing Glossin, partly as it were thinking
aloud--'it is odd the tricks which our memory plays us. The remnants of
an old prophecy, or song, or rhyme of some kind or other, return to my
recollection on hearing that motto; stay--it is a strange jingle of
sounds:--
The dark shall be light,
And the wrong made right,
When Bertram's right and Bertram's might
Shall meet on---
I cannot remember the last line--on some particular height; HEIGHT is
the rhyme, I am sure; but I cannot hit upon the preceding word.'
'Confound your memory,' muttered Glossin, 'you remember by far too much
of it!'
'There are other rhymes connected with these early recollections,'
continued the young man. 'Pray, sir, is there any song current in this
part of the world respecting a daughter of the King of the Isle of Man
eloping with a Scottish knight?'
'I am the worst person in the world to consult upon legendary
antiquities,' answered Glossin.
'I could sing such a ballad,' said Bertram, 'from one end to another
when I was a boy. You must know I left Scotland, which is my native
country, very young, and those who brought me up discouraged all my
attempts to preserve recollection of my native land, on account, I
believe, of a boyish wish which I had to escape from their charge.'
'Very natural,' said Glossin, but speaking as if his utmost efforts
were unable to unseal his lips beyond the width of a quarter of an
inch, so that his whole utterance was a kind of compressed muttering,
very different from the round, bold, bullying voice with which he
usually spoke. Indeed, his appearance and demeanour during all this
conversation seemed to diminish even his strength and stature; so that
he appeared to wither into the shadow of himself, now advancing one
foot, now the other, now stooping and wriggling his shoulders, now
fumbling with the buttons of his waistcoat, now clasping his hands
together; in short, he was the picture of a mean-spirited, shuffling
rascal in the very agonies of detection. To these appearances Bertram
was totally inattentive, being dragged on as it were by the current of
his own associations. Indeed, although he addressed Glossin, he was not
so much thinking of him as arguing upon the embarrassing state of his
own feelings and recollection. 'Yes,' he said, 'I preserved my language
among the sailors, most of whom spoke English, and when I could get
into a corner by myself I used to sing all that song over from
beginning to end; I have forgot it all now, but I remember the tune
well, though I cannot guess what should at present so strongly recall
it to my memory.'
He took his flageolet from his pocket and played a simple melody.
Apparently the tune awoke the corresponding associations of a damsel
who, close beside a fine spring about halfway down the descent, and
which had once supplied the castle with water, was engaged in bleaching
linen. She immediately took up the song:--
'Are these the Links of Forth, she said,
Or are they the crooks of Dee,
Or the bonnie woods of Warroch Head
That I so fain would see?'
'By heaven,' said Bertram, 'it is the very ballad! I must learn these
words from the girl.'
'Confusion!' thought Glossin; 'if I cannot put a stop to this all will
be out. O the devil take all ballads and ballad-makers and
ballad-singers! and that d--d jade too, to set up her pipe!'--'You will
have time enough for this on some other occasion,' he said aloud; 'at
present' (for now he saw his emissary with two or three men coming up
the bank)--'at present we must have some more serious conversation
together.'
'How do you mean, sir?' said Bertram, turning short upon him, and not
liking the tone which he made use of.
'Why, sir, as to that--I believe your name is Brown?' said Glossin.
'And what of that, sir?'
Glossin looked over his shoulder to see how near his party had
approached; they were coming fast on. 'Vanbeest Brown? if I mistake
not.'
'And what of that, sir?' said Bertram, with increasing astonishment and
displeasure.
'Why, in that case,' said Glossin, observing his friends had now got
upon the level space close beside them--'in that case you are my
prisoner in the king's name!' At the same time he stretched his hand
towards Bertram's collar, while two of the men who had come up seized
upon his arms; he shook himself, however, free of their grasp by a
violent effort, in which he pitched the most pertinacious down the
bank, and, drawing his cutlass, stood on the defensive, while those who
had felt his strength recoiled from his presence and gazed at a safe
distance. 'Observe,' he called out at the same time, 'that I have no
purpose to resist legal authority; satisfy me that you have a
magistrate's warrant, and are authorised to make this arrest, and I
will obey it quietly; but let no man who loves his life venture to
approach me till I am satisfied for what crime, and by whose authority,
I am apprehended.'
Glossin then caused one of the officers show a warrant for the
apprehension of Vanbeest Brown, accused of the crime of wilfully and
maliciously shooting at Charles Hazlewood, younger of Hazlewood, with
an intent to kill, and also of other crimes and misdemeanours, and
which appointed him, having been so apprehended, to be brought before
the next magistrate for examination. The warrant being formal, and the
fact such as he could not deny, Bertram threw down his weapon and
submitted himself to the officers, who, flying on him with eagerness
corresponding to their former pusillanimity, were about to load him
with irons, alleging the strength and activity which he had displayed
as a justification of this severity. But Glossin was ashamed or afraid
to permit this unnecessary insult, and directed the prisoner to be
treated with all the decency, and even respect, that was consistent
with safety. Afraid, however, to introduce him into his own house,
where still further subjects of recollection might have been suggested,
and anxious at the same time to cover his own proceedings by the
sanction of another's authority, he ordered his carriage (for he had
lately set up a carriage) to be got ready, and in the meantime directed
refreshments to be given to the prisoner and the officers, who were
consigned to one of the rooms in the old castle, until the means of
conveyance for examination before a magistrate should be provided.