WHEN Edward awoke next morning, he could not for a moment remember where
he was. The cave was deserted. Only the grey ashes of the fire, a few
gnawed bones, and an empty keg remained to prove that he was still on
the scene of last night's feast. He went out into the sunlight. In a
little natural harbour the boat was lying snugly moored. Farther out, on
a rocky spit, was the mark of last night's beacon-fire. Here Waverley
had to turn back. Cliffs shut him in on every side, and Edward was at a
loss what to do, till he discovered, climbing perilously out in the rock
above the cave mouth, some slight steps or ledges. These he mounted with
difficulty, and, passing over the shoulder of the cliff, found himself
presently on the shores of a loch about four miles long, surrounded on
every side by wild heathery mountains.
In the distance he could see a man fishing and a companion watching him.
By the Lochaber axe which the latter carried Edward recognised the
fisher as Evan Dhu. On a stretch of sand under a birch tree, a girl was
laying out a breakfast of milk, eggs, barley bread, fresh butter, and
honeycomb. She was singing blithely, yet she must have had to travel far
that morning to collect such dainties in so desolate a region.
This proved to be Alice, the daughter of Donald Bean Lean, and it is
nothing to her discredit that she had made herself as pretty as she
could, that she might attend upon the handsome young Englishman. All
communication, however, had to be by smiles and signs, for Alice spoke
no English. Nevertheless she set out her dainties with right good-will,
and then seated herself on a stone a little distance away to watch for
an opportunity of serving the young soldier.
Presently Evan Dhu came up with his catch, a fine salmon-trout, and soon
slices of the fish were broiling on the wood embers. After breakfast,
Alice gathered what was left into a wicker basket, and, flinging her
plaid about her, presented her cheek to Edward for "the stranger's
kiss." Evan Dhu made haste to secure a similar privilege, but Alice
sprang lightly up the bank out of his reach, and with an arch wave of
her hand to Edward she disappeared.
Then Evan Dhu led Edward back to the boat. The three men embarked, and
after emerging from the mouth of the cavern, a clumsy sail was hoisted,
and they bore away up the lake--Evan Dhu all the time loud in the
praises of Alice Bean Lean.
Edward said that it was a pity that such a maiden should be the daughter
of a common thief. But this Evan hotly denied. According to Evan, Donald
Bean Lean, though indeed no reputable character, was far from being a
thief. A thief was one who stole a cow from a poor cotter, but he who
lifted a drove from a Sassenach laird was "a gentleman drover."
"But he would be hanged, all the same, if he were caught!" objected
Edward. "I do not see the difference."
"To be sure, he would _die for the law_, as many a pretty man has done
before him," cried Evan. "And a better death than to die, lying on damp
straw in yonder cave like a mangy tyke!"
"And what," Edward suggested, "would become of pretty Alice then?"
"Alice is both canny and fendy," said the bold Evan Dhu, with a cock of
his bonnet, "and I ken nocht to hinder me to marry her mysel'!"
Edward laughed and applauded the Highlander's spirit, but asked also as
to the fate of the Baron of Bradwardine's cattle.
"By this time," said Evan, "I warrant they are safe in the pass of
Bally-Brough and on their road back to Tully-Veolan. And that is more
than a regiment of King George's red soldiers could have brought about!"
Evan Dhu had indeed some reason to be proud.
Reassured as to this, Edward accompanied his guide with more confidence
toward the castle of Vich Ian Vohr. The "five miles Scots" seemed to
stretch themselves out indefinitely, but at last the figure of a hunter,
equipped with gun, dogs, and a single attendant, was seen far across the
heath.
"_Shogh_," said the man with the Lochaber axe, "tat's the Chief!"
Evan Dhu, who had boasted of his master's great retinue, denied it
fiercely.
"The Chief," he said, "would not come out with never a soul with him but
Callum Beg, to meet with an English gentleman."
But in spite of this prophecy, the Chief of Clan Ivor it was. Fergus
Mac-Ivor, whom his people called Vich Ian Vohr, was a young man of much
grace and dignity, educated in France, and of a strong, secret, and
turbulent character, which by policy he hid for the most part under an
appearance of courtesy and kindness. He had long been mustering his clan
in secret, in order once more to take a leading part in another attempt
to dethrone King George, and to set on the throne of Britain either the
Chevalier St. George or his son Prince Charles.
When Waverley and the Chief approached the castle--a stern and rugged
pile, surrounded by walls, they found a large body of armed Highlanders
drawn up before the gate.
"These," said Vich Ian Vohr, carelessly, "are a part of the clan whom I
ordered out, to see that they were in a fit state to defend the country
in such troublous times. Would Captain Waverley care to see them go
through part of their exercise?"
Thereupon the men, after showing their dexterity at drill, and their
fine target-shooting, divided into two parties, and went through the
incidents of a battle--the charge, the combat, the flight, and the
headlong pursuit--all to the sound of the great warpipes.
Edward asked why, with so large a force, the Chief did not at once put
down such robber bands as that of Donald Bean Lean.
"Because," said the Chief, bitterly, "if I did, I should at once be
summoned to Stirling Castle to deliver up the few broadswords the
government has left us. I should gain little by that. But there is
dinner," he added, as if anxious to change the subject, "let me show you
the inside of my rude mansion."
The long and crowded dinner-table to which Edward sat down, told of the
Chief's immense hospitality. After the meal, healths were drunk, and the
bard of the clan recited a wild and thrilling poem in Gaelic--of which,
of course, Edward could not understand so much as one word, though it
excited the clansmen so that they sprang up in ecstasy, many of them
waving their arms about in sympathy with the warlike verses. The Chief,
exactly in the ancient manner, presented a silver cup full of wine to
the minstrel. He was to drink the one and keep the other for himself.
After a few more toasts, Vich Ian Vohr offered to take Waverley up to be
presented to his sister. They found Flora Mac-Ivor in her parlour, a
plain and bare chamber with a wide prospect from the windows. She had
her brother's dark curling hair, dark eyes, and lofty expression, but
her expression seemed sweeter, though not, perhaps, softer. She was,
however, even more fiercely Jacobite than her brother, and her devotion
to "the King over the Water" (as they called King James) was far more
unselfish than that of Vich Ian Vohr. Flora Mac-Ivor had been educated
in a French convent, yet now she gave herself heart and soul to the good
of her wild Highland clan and to the service of him whom she looked on
as the true King.
She was gracious to Edward, and at the request of Fergus, told him the
meaning of the war-song he had been listening to in the hall. She was,
her brother said, famed for her translations from Gaelic into English,
but for the present she could not be persuaded to recite any of these to
Edward.
He had better fortune, however, when, finding Flora Mac-Ivor in a wild
spot by a waterfall, she sang him, to the accompaniment of a harp, a
song of great chiefs and their deeds which fired the soul of the young
man. He could not help admiring--he almost began to love her from that
moment.
After this reception, Edward continued very willingly at
Glennaquoich--both because of his growing admiration for Flora, and
because his curiosity increased every day as to this wild race, and the
life so different from all that he had hitherto known. Nothing occurred
for three weeks to disturb his pleasant dreams, save the chance
discovery, made when he was writing a letter to the Baron, that he had
somehow lost his seal with the arms of Waverley, which he wore attached
to his watch. Flora was inclined to blame Donald Bean Lean for the
theft, but the Chief scouted the idea. It was impossible, he said, when
Edward was his guest, and, besides (he added slyly), Donald would never
have taken the seal and left the watch. Whereupon Edward borrowed Vich
Ian Vohr's seal, and, having despatched his letter, thought no more of
the matter.
Soon afterwards, whilst Waverley still remained at Glennaquoich, there
was a great hunting of the stag, to which Fergus went with three hundred
of his clan to meet some of the greatest Highland chiefs, his
neighbours. He took Edward with him, and the numbers present amounted
almost to those of a formidable army. While the clansmen drove in the
deer, the chiefs sat on the heather in little groups and talked in low
tones. During the _drive_, the main body of the deer, in their
desperation, charged right upon the place where the chief sportsmen
were waiting in ambush. The word was given for every one to fling
himself down on his face. Edward, not understanding the language,
remained erect, and his life was only saved by the quickness of Vich Ian
Vohr, who seized him and flung him down, holding him there by main force
till the whole herd had rushed over them. When Edward tried to rise, he
found that he had severely sprained his ankle.
However, among those present at the _drive_, there was found an old man,
half-surgeon, half-conjurer, who applied hot fomentations, muttering all
the time of the operation such gibberish as _Gaspar-Melchior-Balthazar-max-prax-fax!_
Thus it happened that, to his great disappointment, Edward was unable to
accompany the clansmen and their chiefs any farther. So Vich Ian Vohr
had Edward placed in a litter, woven of birch and hazel, and walked
beside this rude couch to the house of an old man, a smaller chieftain,
who, with only a few old vassals, lived a retired life at a place called
Tomanrait.
Here he left Edward to recruit, promising to come back in a few days, in
the hope that by that time Edward would be able to ride a Highland pony
in order to return to Glennaquoich.
On the sixth morning Fergus returned, and Edward gladly mounted to
accompany him. As they approached the castle, he saw, with pleasure,
Flora coming to meet them.