village, which had once been clustered near it, (according to the usual
fashion in Spain,) had ages ago disappeared. But the outlaws, whom the
feeble and crippled power of the Spanish authorities could not suppress,
had thoroughly repaired it, and made it their principal stronghold; and
from it, as their head-quarters, their lines and posts of communication
were maintained through all the Basque provinces. Tradition said that
it was erected by a petty prince of Navarre, and that the origin of its
name was the murder of a priest within its walls. It was called the
_Torre de los Frayles_ (or Friars' tower); and the Guipuzcoan muleteer
was careful to time his journey so that this ill-omened spot should be a
few leagues in his rear before night fell.
On entering, a temporary drawbridge, crossing a deep fosse or chasm in
the rocks, and forming the sole communication with the cliff, on a
projection of which the tower was perched, was withdrawn, and Stuart,
for the first time, felt his heart sink, as he entered the walls of the
dreary abode of crime, and heard the strong door shut and barricaded
behind him.
*CHAPTER V.*
*HOME.*
"He came not. Still, at fall of night,
She burned her solitary light,
By love enkindled,--love attended;
And still her brother chid her care.
* * * *
Thus pass away the weary weeks,
And dim her eyes, and pale her cheeks."
_The Salamandrine._
During the spring of 1814, while Ronald Stuart was serving with Lord
Wellington's army in the South of France, the pecuniary affairs of his
father came to a complete crisis. The net woven around him by legal
chicanery, by his own unwariness in plunging headlong into law-suits,
and by prodigality of his money otherwise, he was ruined. "A true
Highlander cannot refuse his sword or his purse to a friend," and the
laird of Lochisla had been involved to the amount of several thousands
in an affair of "caution," every farthing of which he had to pay. At the
same time bills and bonds became due, and on his making an application
for cash to Messrs. Caption and Horning, W.S., Macquirk's successors,
they acquainted him, in a very short letter, composed in that peculiar
style for which these gentlemen are so famous, "that Lochisla was
already dipped--that is, mortgaged--to the utmost bearing, and that not
a bodle more could be raised." The unfortunate laird found that every
diabolical engine of "the profession" was in requisition against him,
and that the estate which had descended to him through a long and
martial line of Celtic ancestors, was passing away from him for ever.
In the midst of his affliction he received tidings of the deeds of his
brave son Ronald, who was mentioned with all honour by Sir Rowland Hill
in the despatch which contained the account of the successful passage of
the Nive, and of the storming of the chateau.
"Heaven bless my brave boy!" said the laird; "I shall see him no more.
It would rejoice me to behold his fair face and buirdly figure once
again, before my eyes are closed for ever: but it may not be; he will
never behold my tomb! It will be far distant from the dark pines that
shade the resting-place of my forefathers in the islet of the Loch."
And the old laird spoke truly. Ere long he saw the hall of his fathers
in possession of the minions of the law: the broad lands of Lochisla
became the prey of the stranger; and, with the trusty auld Donald
Iverach and a faithful band of followers, the feeble remnant of his
people, who yet, with true Highland devotion, insisted on following
their chieftain to the far-off shores of Canada, he bade adieu for ever
to his father-land.
Ere yet he had departed, however, there came one who had heard of his
misfortunes and of his contemplated exile, to offer him his hand in
peace and affection. It was the Lord of Inchavon.
"I will be a friend to your noble boy," he said. The Stuart answered
only "Heaven bless you, Lisle! but the lad has his sword, and a fearless
heart."
They parted; and the clan Stuart of Lochisla, with its venerable leader,
was soon on its way across the western wave.
At the time these events were occurring at home, Ronald was in the
neighbourhood of Orthes with his regiment, which, in the battle that
took place there, came in for its usual share of the slaughter and
honour.
The long-awaited and eagerly wished-for peace arrived at last.
Regiments were disbanded, and ships paid off; and in every part of
Europe soldiers and sailors were returning to their homes in thousands,
to take up the plough and spade, which they had abandoned for the musket
and cutlass. The Peninsular part of our army were all embarked at
Toulouse, and the inmates of Inchavon watched anxiously the daily post
and daily papers for some notice of the arrival of the transports
containing Fassifern and his Highlanders, whose destination was the Cove
of Cork.
One evening, a bright and sunny one in June, when Lord Lisle had pushed
from him the sparkling decanters across the elaborately-polished table,
and sunk back in his well-cushioned easy chair to enjoy a comfortable
nap, and when Alice had tossed aside successively all the newspapers,
(she read only the marriages, fashionable news, and the Gazette,) and
taken up the last novel, which in her restlessness she resigned for
_Marmion_, her favourite work, she was suddenly aroused from its glowing
numbers by the noise of wheels, and the tramp of carriage-horses
treading shortly and rapidly in the birchen lane, between the walls and
trees of which the sound rung deep and hollow. The book fell from her
hand; she started and listened, while her bosom rose, and a blush
gathered on her soft girlish cheek. The sound increased: now the
travellers had quitted the lane, and their carriage was rattling up the
avenue, where the noise of the horses' feet came ringing across the wide
and open lawn.
Alice shook the dark curls from her animated face, which became flushed
with expectation. She moved to the window and beheld a
travelling-chariot, drawn by a pair of stout bays, with the great-coated
driver on the saddle. The whole equipage appeared only at intervals
between the trees and clumps of the lawn, as the driver made the horses
traverse the long and intricate windings of the avenue, which had as
many turnings as the Forth, before the house was reached.
"O papa! papa!" she exclaimed, clapping her white dimpled hands
together, and leaping to his side to kiss him and shake sturdily the
huge knobby arms of his old easy chair, and again skipping back to the
windows with all the wild buoyancy of her age, "dear papa, do waken!
Here comes Louis!"
"Eh! what! eh! Louis, did you say?" cried the old lord, bolting up like
a harlequin. "Is the girl mad, that she frisks about so?"
"O dear papa! 'tis my brother Louis!" and she began to weep with joy and
excitement.
"It must be he," replied her father, looking from a window; "it must be
Louis! I don't think we expect any visitors. But to come thus! I
always thought he would ride up from Perth on horseback. On my honour
'tis a smart turn-out that! A double imperial on the roof, and--how!
there is a female, a lady's maid behind, and the rogue of a footman with
his arm around her waist, according to the usual wont and practice. A
lady inside, too! See, she is bowing to us. Well; I would rather have
seen Louis, but I wonder who these can be!" He rang a bell violently.
"'Tis our own Louis, indeed! O my dear brother!" exclaimed Alice,
trembling with delight. "Hold me up, papa; I am almost fainting. Ah!"
added she inwardly, "when Louis is so near, Ronald Stuart cannot be far
off."
"Louis, indeed!" replied her father pettishly, for he thought she had
disappointed him. "Tut, girl! do you not see the lady in the vehicle?"
"O papa! that is a great secret,--the affair of the lady; we meant to
surprise you;" and without saying more, she bounded away from his side.
The chaise was brought up at a gallop to the steps of the portico, and
the smart postilion wheeled it skilfully round, backing and spurring
with an air of speed and importance, scattering the gravel in showers
right and left, and causing the chaise to rock from side to side like a
ship in a storm. This was for effect. A postilion always brings his
cattle up at a sharp pace; but the chaise was well hung on its springs,
and the moment the panting horses halted, it became motionless and
steady. At that instant Alice, with her masses of curls streaming
behind her, rushed down the splendid staircase, through the lofty
saloon, and reached the portico just as the footman sprang from the
dickey and threw down the iron steps with a bang as he opened the door.
An officer, muffled in a large blue cloak lined with red, leaped out
upon the gravel walk; Alice threw her arms around her brother, and hung
sobbing on his breast.
"Alie, my merry little Alie, has become a tall and beautiful woman!"
exclaimed Louis, holding her from him for a moment while he gazed upon
her face, and then pressed her again to his breast. "Upon my honour you
have grown quite a tall lady," he added, laughing. "Our father--"
"Is well, Louis, well; and waiting for you."
"Good! This is my--this is our Virginia," said Louis, handing out his
Spanish wife. "This is the dear girl I have always mentioned in my
letters for two years past, Alice; her friends have all perished in the
Peninsular war, and I have brought her far from her native land, to a
foreign country. You must be a kind sister to her, Alie, as you have
ever been to me."
"I will always love her, Louis; I will indeed," murmured the agitated
girl, who, never having beheld a Spaniard before, expected something
very different from the beautiful creature around whose neck she fondly
twined an arm. "I am your sister: kiss me, Virginia dear!" said she,
and two most young-lady-like salutes were exchanged. The fair face of
Alice Lisle blushed with pleasure. The darker cheek of the Castilian
glowed likewise, and her bright hazel eyes flashed and sparkled with all
the fire and vivacity of her _nacion_.
"Louis," whispered Alice, blushing crimson as she spoke, and as they
ascended the sixteen steps of variegated Portsoy marble which led to the
house; "Louis, is not Ronald Stuart with you?":
"Alas! no, Alice," replied Lisle, changing colour.
"Poor dear Ronald!" said his sister sorrowfully, "could he not procure
leave too? Papa must apply to the colonel--to your proud Fassifern, for
it."
"Virginia will inform you of what has happened," said Louis, with so sad
a tone that all the pleasant visions which were dancing in the mind of
the joyous girl were instantly destroyed, and she grew deadly pale;
"Virginia will tell you all about it, Alie. Ladies manage these matters
of explanation better than gentlemen."
"Matters!" reiterated the affrighted Alice involuntarily; "matters!
Heaven guide me! I thought all the terrors of these four years were
passed for ever. But what has misfortune in store for me now?"
Her father, whose feet and limbs were somewhat less nimble and flexible
than hers, and had thus been longer in descending the stair and
traversing the long lobbies, now approached, and embraced his son with
open arms; while, _en masse_, the servants of the mansion crowded round,
offering their good wishes and congratulatory welcome to _the Master_,
as Louis was styled by them, being the son of a Scottish baron. He was
now the Master of Lisle, or Lysle, as it is spelt in the Peerage. The
stately figure of the fair Castilian, who, embarrassed and confused,
clung to the arm of the scarcely less agitated Alice, puzzled the old
lord a good deal. She yet wore her graceful mantilla and tightly
fitting Spanish frock of black satin. The latter was open at the bosom,
to show her embroidered vest and collar, but was laced zig-zag across
with a silver cord. The thick clusters of her hair were gathered in a
_redecilla_, or net-work bag, behind, all save the glossy brown curls
escaping from beneath a smart English bonnet, which although it fully
displayed her noble and beautiful features, contrasted or consorted
strangely with the rest of her attire.
The old lord appeared astonished and displeased for a moment. He bowed,
smiled, and then stared, and bowed and smiled again, while Virginia
coloured crimson, and her large Spanish eyes began to sparkle in a very
alarming manner; but beginning to suspect who the fair stranger was, the
frank old lord took both her hands in his, kissed her on each cheek,
begged pardon, and then asked whom he had the honour of addressing.
"How!" exclaimed Louis in astonishment; "is it possible that you do not
know?"
"Not I, upon my honour!" replied his father, equally amazed; "how should
I?"
"Were my letters from Orthes and Toulouse relative to my marriage never
received?"
"Marriage!" exclaimed his father, almost pausing as they crossed the
saloon. "By Jove! Master Louis, you might have condescended to consult
me in such a matter!"
"My dear father," replied Louis, laughing, for he saw that his parent
was more astonished than displeased, "you cannot be aware of the
circumstances under-- But you know the proverb, all is fair in war; and
my letters--"
"Were all received,--at least, Alice received them all."
"Ah! you cunning little fairy," said Louis turning towards his pale
sister; "you have played us all this trick to surprise your good papa,
when he heard of his new daughter."
"A wonderful girl! to be the repository of so important a secret so
long," said her father, evidently in high glee. "But she always loved
to produce a commotion, and to study effect. I will hear all your
stories by-and-by, and sentence you each according to your demerits; but
we must not stand here, with all the household gaping at us. Lead your
naughty sun-burnt brother up-stairs, Alice--he seems to have forgotten
the way,--and I will escort your new sister."
He gave his arm to Virginia, and conducted her up the broad staircase
which led to the upper part of the mansion, where the splendour and
elegance of the furniture, the size of the windows, the hangings, the
height of the ceilings, the rich cornices, the carving, the gilding, the
paintings, statues, lustres, the loftiness, lightness, and beauty of
everything architectural and decorative, struck the stranger forcibly
when she remembered the sombre gloom and clumsiness, both of fabric and
fashion, to which she had been accustomed in the dwellings of her native
country. Indeed, the mansion of the richest Spanish grandee was not so
snug by one-half as the coachman's apartment above the stables at
Inchavon-house.
Alice was in an agony of expectation to hear what Louis had to say about
Ronald Stuart; but she was doomed to be kept cruelly on the mental rack
for some time, while all her brother's humble but old and respected
friends among the household appeared in succession, to tender their
regards and bid him welcome, expressing their pleasure to "see him safe
home again among decent, discreet, and responsible folk," as the jolly
old butler, who acted as spokesman, said. There was the bluff
game-keeper, in his tartan jacket, broad bonnet, and leather spats, or
leggings, long Louis's rival shot, and master of the sports; there was
the pinched and demure old housekeeper, with her rusty silk gown, keys,
and scissors, and huge pouch, which was seldom untenanted by a small
Bible and big brandy flask; the fat, flushed and greasy cook, whose
ample circumference proclaimed her the priestess and picture of good
living; the smart and rosy housemaids all ribands and smiles,--Jessie
Cavers in particular; and there was Jock, and Tom, and Patie, laced and
liveried chevaliers of the cockade and shoulder-knot, who were all
introduced at the levee in their turn, while confusion, bustle, and
uproar reigned supreme through the whole of the usually quiet and
well-ordered mansion of Inchavon.
Every one was glad and joyful to behold again the handsome young Master
of Lisle; but then his lady! she was termed '_an unco body_,' and about
her there were two conflicting opinions. The men praised her beauty,
"her glossy hair, and her hawk's een," the women her sweetness and
affability; but almost all had observed the crucifix that hung at her
neck, and whispered fearful surmises of her being a Papist.
"My dear sir," said Louis, after they had become tolerably composed in a
sort of snug library, termed by the servants, 'my lord's chaumer,'--"can
it be possible, or true, that Alice has never informed you of my
marriage with Donna Virginia de Alba?"
"I concealed it to surprise dear papa," replied Alice, making a sickly
attempt to smile.
"You always loved effect, Alie," said her father; "but really I could
have dispensed with so sudden a surprise on this occasion. How
fortunate I am in having such a beauty for a daughter!" He passed his
hand gently over the thick brown curls of the Spaniard. "Look up at me,
Virginia; a pretty name, too! On my honour, my girl, you have beautiful
eyes! I ever thought Alie's were splendid, but she will find hers
eclipsed. Your father--"
"Was the Duke of Alba de T----," interrupted Louis, who was now anxious
to produce an effect of a different kind in his bride's favour. "He was
a Buonapartist--"
"Ah! his name is familiar to me. He--"
"Was unfortunately slain when the fort, or chateau, where I was
confined, was so bravely stormed by Ronald Stuart's light company."
"I heard of all that, when the news arrived in London. Our Virginia
comes of a proud, but a--a--an unfortunate race." He could not find a
more gentle word.
"Spain boasts not of a nobler name than that of Alba; but, save a sister
in a convent in Galicia, my dear Virginia is its only representative.
All the cavaliers of her house have fallen in battle; and lastly the
duke, by the hands of Evan Iverach and Macrone, a serjeant, who attacked
him with his pike. Poor Stuart, though in peril himself, did all he
could to save him; but the hot blood of the Gael was up, and the fierce
Spaniard perished. But Virginia is weeping: we are only recalling her
sorrows, and must say no more of these matters just now. Ronald
Stuart--"
"Ah! by-the-by, what of him? A brave fellow! See how Alice blushes.
Faith! I shall never forget the day the dauntless young Highlandman
pulled me out of Corrie-avon. Has the good lad returned with you to
Perthshire?"
"No," answered Louis with hesitation, glancing uneasily at Alice while
he spoke. "He has not returned yet."
"'Tis well," continued his father. "Poor Stuart! he will have no
home--no kind friends to return to, as you have, Louis, after all his
toil and bloodshed. Not a hand is there now in the green glen of the
Isla to grasp his in welcome!"
"I read in the Perthshire papers that the estate had been sold, and that
his father, with all the Stuarts of the glen, had emigrated to Canada.
Dreadful intelligence it will be for him when he hears it! He will be
wounded most deeply in those points where the true Highlander is
assuredly most vulnerable. He will be almost driven mad; and I would
scarcely trust other lips than yours, Alice, to reveal the sad tidings
to him. I read them at Toulouse. Stuart was not with us then. He has
been--he has been--six weeks missing from the regiment."
"Six weeks missing!" cried Lord Lisle, while a cry of horror died away
on the pallid lips of Alice, who drooped her head on the shoulder of
Virginia.
"Keep a brave heart, Alie dear!" said Louis, clasping her waist
affectionately. "I have no fears for your knight of Santiago, as the
mess call him. He will swim where another man would sink. Had you seen
him, as I often have, skirmishing in advance, charging at the head of
his company, or leading the forlorn hope at Almarez on the Tagus, or the
chateau on the Nive, you would suppose he had a charmed life, and was
invulnerable to steel and lead, as men supposed Dundee to be until the
field of Killiecrankie. Perhaps he has joined by this time. I procured
six months' leave, and left the Highlanders the instant the anchor was
dropped at Cove. My next letters from the regiment may have some
intelligence. Campbell, I know, will write to me instantly, if he hears
aught."
"But how comes it to pass, that Stuart is missing? what happened?" asked
his father, while Alice listened in breathless agony to the reply.
"We were quartered at Muret, a town on the Garonne, eight or nine miles
distant from Toulouse. We had lain there ever since the decisive battle
gained over Soult; and in the church-yard of Muret Stuart buried his
servant, a brave lad from Lochisla, who had received a death-shot on
that memorable Easter Sunday. Ronald mourned his loss deeply; for the
lad had become a soldier for his sake, and they were old
schoolfellows--old companions and playmates. He was a gallant and
devoted fellow. You remember him, Alice? Many a love-letter he has
carried to and fro, between this and Lochisla; and often, bonnet in
hand, he has led your pony among the steepest cliffs of Craigonan, by
ways and crooks where I should tremble to venture now."
"And he is dead?" said Alice, giving vent to her feelings by a plentiful
shower of tears.
"He was shot by a Frenchman's bullet, Alie."
"Poor dear Evan!" replied his sister, wringing her white hands; "I shall
never forget him. He was ever so respectful and so obliging."
"Jessie Cavers has lost her handsome sweetheart. He was buried close by
the old church of Muret, and Ronald's hand laid his head in the grave.
He received a deeper--a better--yet not less hallowed tomb than the many
thousands who were covered up in ditches, in the fields, and by the
way-sides, just wherever they were found lying dead. At Muret, one
night, a despatch arrived from Lord Wellington by an orderly dragoon.
It was to be forwarded to the Conde de Penne Villamur, at Elizondo, a
town on the Spanish side of the Pyrenees; and, as its bearer, Stuart
departed about midnight, on horseback. Sufficient time for his return
elapsed before our embarkation at Toulouse. The eventful day came; but
no Stuart appeared, and we embarked without him. Some unlooked-for
circumstance must have caused delay,--perhaps his horse becoming lame,
or his cash running short: but we shall probably hear of him from
Toulouse, or Passages, in a fortnight at the furthest. I have no fears
for Ronald Stuart. He will cut his way, scatheless, through perils
which a score of men would sink under."
"I trust in Heaven that it may be so," said Lord Lisle fervently.
"Truly, I wish the lad well; he is the last stem of an old tree, that
has fallen to the earth at last."
Although Louis spoke cheerfully to comfort his agitated sister, he
nevertheless felt considerable anxiety regarding the fate of his friend.
He knew too well the disorderly state of the country through the wild
frontiers of which he had to pass; and his imagination pictured a
hundred perils, against which Ronald's courage and tact would be
unavailing. He besought Virginia to comfort Alice, by putting the best
possible face upon matters; but her unwary relative made circumstances
worse, by letting truths slip out which had been better concealed, and
which, although they seemed quite common-place matters to a Castilian,
presented a frightful picture of Spain to a young Scottish lady.
The unhappy Alice became a prey to a thousand anxious fears and
apprehensions, which prepared her mind to expect the worst. A month
passed away--a weary month of misery, of sad and thrilling expectation,
and no tidings were heard of Stuart. By Louis's letters from the
regiment, it seemed that his brother-officers had given him up for lost.
The newspapers were searched with sickening anxiety, but nothing
transpired; and the family at Inchavon beheld, with deep uneasiness, the
cheek of Alice growing pale day after day, and her bright eyes losing
their wonted lustre. About six weeks after Louis's arrival, Lord Lisle
communicated with the military authorities in London regarding the young
soldier, in whose fate his family were so greatly interested. All were
in a state of great expectation when the long, formidable letter,
covered with franks, initials, and stamps, arrived. To support herself
Alice clung to Virginia, and hid her face in her bosom, for she trembled
excessively while her father read the cold and official reply to his
anxious letter.
"_Horse Guards_,
* * * 1814.
"My Lord,
In reply to your Lordship's letter of the 25th instant, I have the
honour to acquaint you, by the direction of His Royal Highness the
Commander-in-chief, that nothing has transpired, further than what the
public journals contain, respecting the fate of Captain Ronald Stuart,
of the Gordon Highlanders. But, if that unfortunate officer does not
rejoin his regiment at Cork before the next muster-day, he must be
superseded.
I have the honour to be,
My Lord, &c. &c.
HENRY TORRENS,
_Mil Sec._"
"Right Hon. Lord Lisle,
of Inchavon."