of a Spanish cavalier! That is Alice in the spangled dress, with the
white ostrich feathers in her hair."
"Waltzing with the tall fellow in the uniform of the Archer Guard--the
green and gold," added Louis, who had joined them. "Now they leave the
dance. The archer is young Home of Ravenspur. He has dangled after
Alice for three or four weeks, but I will make the fellow quite jealous
in three minutes. Retire to one of the lobbies, and I will bring her to
you. She does not know that you are here; but there must be no
screaming or fainting, or nonsense of that kind. I believe that,
whatever she may feel, Alie will conduct herself admirably."
"For three winters past Alice has been the reigning belle in Edinburgh,"
said Virginia as she led forth Ronald, who had become considerably
bewildered. "She is never absent from a single _fete_, assembly, or
promenade; and indeed you have great reason to be proud of her, for she
causes more envy among the women, and admiration among the men, than
ever woman did before."
"Indeed--indeed!" murmured Ronald, scarcely knowing what he said, for
Virginia's information gave him little satisfaction. He had no
objection that Alice should be a belle, but he should be grieved to find
her a coquette. The merry laughing Alice of Inchavon woods and braes,
the slender girl of seventeen, with her curls flowing wide and free, had
become a stately young lady of two-and-twenty, with her hair braided and
tortured by a fashionable dresser, surmounted by a floating plume of
feathers. Her cheek was paler, and the bloom of rustic health had given
place to the graceful air of a young lady of _ton_. Her form was taller
and rounder, and--
"Here she comes!" said Virginia, cutting short Ronald's reflections. He
became agitated and confused when he saw Louis approaching with a lady
in a bright dress leaning on his arm. "She is more beautiful and more
devoted to you than ever; so, _amigo_, take courage," said Virginia,
pressing his hand. "She knows nothing of what I saw in the convent of
Jarciejo, and never shall. Believe me, Ronald, her heart has never in
the slightest thought wandered from its love to you."
"Alice! dearest Alice!" said Ronald, springing forward, and throwing an
arm around her, while she sank upon his breast, too much agitated to
speak. But immediately she disengaged herself, and a deep blush suffused
her face and neck, rendering her beauty still more striking. Timidly
and hurriedly she looked around, to see whether others than her brother
and Virginia had observed this scene.
"Be brave, Alie!" said Louis; "there are none here but friends."
"Pho--such a bashful couple!" exclaimed Virginia. "What! not a single
kiss to give and exchange, after being separate so long?"
"Ronald, love!" faltered Alice, trembling violently, while she tendered
her flushed cheek. He then drew her arm through his, and led her
towards some of the cool passages, that she might recover from her
agitation, and that the tumult of her spirits might pass away. How
supreme was their delight! Every thing and every one were forgotten in
the rapture of that meeting, and there were two hearts, pure and
happy--wondrously happy, in the midst of all that gay and dissipated
crowd.
"How delighted dear papa will be to see you!" said Alice, after the
first outpouring of their joy and affection had subsided,--an affection
which had surmounted all the perils of a long separation, the
temptations of the gay world, and the dangers of a furious war. They
had not looked upon each other's faces for five years--years of grief,
doubt, and anxiety; and now, how happy! to find themselves united again,
never to separate while on earth. "How happy papa will be to see you!"
"Not more than I shall be to see him, Alice."
"Papa is here somewhere. I saw him only ten minutes ago, with that
Celtic goliath your colonel. They will be looking at the dancers."
"You must dance the next quadrille with me, Alice?"
"I am engaged a dozen deep. I am engaged for every dance the night
before a ball; and that goose in green, young Home,--heavens! what shall
I do?"
"Dance with me, and apologize. I am determined to keep you for the
remainder of the night, in spite of Home and all these holiday
guardsmen;" and he led her towards the dancers.
How many old and fond recollections were awakened by the sound of her
gentle voice! Ronald hung with the purest delight upon every word she
uttered. With the same emotions Alice listened to him, wondering that
the slender youth whose fair unshaven cheek had been so often pressed to
her own, had become the perfect model of a soldier,--stout and well-knit
in figure, accustomed to his arms and harness, and rendered swarth in
visage by continued exposure to a continental sun. They felt an honest
pride in each other as they moved through the crowded rooms, and many
eyes followed them; for the badges sparkling on Ronald's breast, and a
slight scar on his sunburned face, declared that he had acquitted
himself well in the field, while Alice was the leading star, the
reigning queen, of the fashionable world in Edinburgh.
Ronald's welcome by the old lord was as hearty and kind as he could have
wished. He introduced him to Mr. (afterwards Sir Walter) Scott, to
Jeffrey, Christopher North, and some other leading characters, who were
assembled in one of the ante-rooms. The striking figure of Christopher,
with his lank hair hanging over his shoulders like a water-god's,
attracted his attention particularly. Campbell was seated in a snug
arm-chair, and was detailing sundry anecdotes of Sir Ralph to Scott, who
listened to his prosing with his usual politeness and good nature.
Except in a foursome reel, Campbell had not been dancing that night.
For all fashionable measures he entertained a supreme contempt; the
strathspey, or the sword dance, was his delight and his forte. At the
other end of the supper-table, ladling hot punch, sat the celebrated
Johnnie Clerk (Lord Eldin,) to whom Lisle introduced Stuart, who was
rather surprised by the oddity of his language and observations.
On his saying something complimentary about the society of Edinburgh,
Johnnie replied, "The lassies were weel aneuch; but as for the society,
it's no just as it was in my young days, when I first soopit the
parliament-house wi' the tails o' my goon."
"How so?" asked Scott.
"Because Edinburgh is just like a muckle kailpot,--a' the scum is coming
to the top."
Lord Lisle, Scott and Christopher, Johnnie Clerk and Campbell, had been
sitting beside the decanters for some time, and had contrived to get
considerably merry. As usual, Scott was the life of the party, and none
enjoyed more than he did the queer stories told him by Campbell about
the Highlanders, the adventure with old Mahommed Djedda, the march to
Grand Cairo, the campaign in Corsica, and Heaven knows all what more.
Stuart, with Alice, returned to the ball-room, where they danced
together nearly the remainder of the night; Alice braving the
displeasure of certain beaux, who, although they were sorely displeased
at being jilted, were too well bred, or perhaps too wary, to take any
unpleasant notice of it. Meanwhile, the little party in the ante-room
became quite convivial, and Campbell, in the midst of his glee, proposed
to give the company a song. This offer being applauded, he commenced at
once, while Clerk beat time with his ladle and bowl.
"When Abercrombie, gallant Scot!
Made Britain's foes to tack again,
To fight by him it was my lot;
But now I'm safe come back again."
With a brimming glass in one hand, and a decanter of sherry in the
other, he sung the nine verses of this patriotic song in a style
peculiarly his own, but as loud as it was out of place; and Ronald, when
dancing in the ball-room, heard the tones of his stentorian voice above
even the music of the band. The colonel insisted upon Scott singing in
turn, although he protested that he was no singer. However, as it was
usual in such cases, he gave them a few staves of the old ditty, "Tarry
woo," his only song, and one which he very much admired for its old
style of verse and quaintness of expression. More songs succeeded, and
they enjoyed themselves as much as men could do amid good company and
good wine. Christopher at last set the example of speech-making,
because it was an art in which he particularly excelled: he proposed
"The health of Major Stuart, the hero of Almarez, &c."
Doctor Stuart returned thanks in the name of his clansmen; but the wine
having slightly obscured his perceptions, his speech, somehow, went off
into a dissertation upon gun-shot wounds, and the treatment of
fractures, simple and compound.
It was five in the morning before this splendid fete concluded. How
many head-aches or heart-aches ensued next day, and how many loves were
lost and won, has nothing to do with my story; but several gentlemen
flirts--the tall archer especially--went home breathing war and
defiance, hair-triggers and rifle-balls, against Stuart, who was too
much of a soldier to value their resentment a rush, although he received
some distant hints of it.
Other balls and gaieties succeeded, and during the whole of that happy
winter the officers of the Highlanders were the lions of Edinburgh. The
78th, the brave Ross-shire Buffs, who arrived soon after, came in for a
share of the general attention and festivities. The mess-room tables
were covered every morning with invitation cards. The young ladies had
all caught the scarlet fever, and would certainly have pulled each
other's caps had they worn any; and even the match-making mammas had
work enough upon their hands, and were half worried to death--as they
deserved.
*CHAPTER XXII.*
*NEWS FROM AFAR.*
Meanwhile, the arrangements for the marriage of a certain lady and
gentleman were proceeding in the most agreeable manner imaginable, and
the ceremony was only delayed until some definite information could be
procured concerning the fate of the old laird and his followers. Even
the day was fixed; for three months had elapsed, and no tidings had been
heard from Canada.
The Glasgow manufacturer who had purchased Lochisla, established a
splendid household and equipage in Edinburgh. By the marriage of one of
his daughters with some retired naval captain, who, like most naval
captains, was not very particular in his taste, the Macquabester family
continued to squeeze themselves into the assembly-rooms now and then,
and to give large routes at home, where they carried on--as the saying
is--'at hack and manger;' and, one way and another, the poor man
squandered away his hard-earned thousands, the gains of many a long
industrious year, so successfully, that in a short time he was compelled
to betake himself to the loom, while his property was pounced upon
ravenously by his creditors. His affairs were managed by Messrs. Diddle
and Fleece, clerks to the signet, and they transacted matters so
effectually, that Macquabester was soon without a stiver, and his
creditors did not find themselves "muckle the better" either. Under its
new name of Rosemount, Lochisla was advertised for sale, at a small
upset price, and all applications were to be made to Messrs. Diddle and
Fleece, at their office in Queen-street. Fifty thousand pounds was the
sum required; and Ronald, when he read the advertisement one morning in
the mess-room, resolved to become the purchaser, but knew not where to
raise the money. While revolving the matter in his mind, without being
able to form any definite plan, a servant brought a note from Lord
Lisle, requesting to see him immediately. After a consultation with
Alice's father, Ronald found himself able to treat with Messrs. Diddle
and Fleece, on whom he called in the forenoon at their chambers; and he
found them, there being money in the way, the most smooth-faced,
obsequious, and polite men of the quill that Edinburgh possessed. After
a delay of some weeks, and a mighty deal of fuss, burrowing and
searching among the musty records of the Register-house, and after all
sort of doubts, difficulties, delays, replies and duplies, duplicates
and repetitions, amplifications and expenses had been disinterred or
created, brought forward and demolished, the affair was settled, and
Stuart found Lochisla his own.
One forenoon he sat in the front drawing-room of Lisle's house, lounging
on a very comfortable sofa, and occupied in detailing some of his
Peninsular adventures to a bright circle of six young ladies, whose fair
fingers were plying the needle, with great assiduity, at two large
pieces of yellow silk. Several handsome work-baskets lay on the floor,
filled with embroidery, gold fringe, silver thistles, letters for battle
and achievement, and above all a sphinx, weighty and large enough to
please even Campbell, the colonel. The end of the drawing-room, at
which the fair workers sat, was covered with shreds and patches like the
floor of a milliner's shop. Alice and five of her most intimate
companions were busy working a new pair of colours for the Highlanders;
and the rolls of silk, upon which the ladies were embroidering, spread
from the knee of one to another like some great piece of ancient
tapestry. The ladies were all fair and of noble birth, and Master
Ronald, who lay with so much Spanish nonchalance on the sofa, had the
happiness to act as their director; and as the damsels were all anxious
to attract the attention of the handsome officer, although they knew him
to be engaged to their friend, they were continually asking him
questions, where such a badge, such a motto, or the name of such a
battle should be placed.
A chubby little rogue, with fair hair and merry hazel eyes, who bore the
name of Ronald Lisle, was clambering at his namesake's back, and
twisting his curly black locks with dimpled little hands, and crowing
and laughing aloud to Alice and the ladies, with whom he was "an angel,
a sweet pet, a dear love," &c. &c. He was the very picture of a plump
little Cupid; and the ladies bestowed so many kisses and caresses upon
him, that Ronald became quite envious, and told the fair givers so.
He was just in the middle of a very animated detail of his adventures
with Cifuentes in the wood of La Nava, when the shrill blast of the
well-known war-pipe made him stop so suddenly in his narrative, that all
the girls looked up with surprise, for the pipe may be heard at all
times in every part of Edinburgh.
The performer came nearer and nearer, and the notes of his instrument
were making the great square, the lofty dome and portico of St.
George's,--even the very sky, ring to the warlike blast. It was a great
Highland pipe, of the largest size, and Ronald's blood came and went in
his changing face while he listened.
"That is the 'Prince's Lament!'" said he.
"Surely I have heard that pipe and tune before," said Alice, throwing
aside the standard and her needle, and going to a window. She uttered
an exclamation of surprise, and started back.
"'Tis either Donald Iverach or the devil!" cried Ronald impetuously, as
he sprung to her side.
"It is indeed poor old Iverach!" replied Alice, piteously.
"My father's piper a beggar in the streets of Edinburgh!--a mendicant in
his old age!" muttered Ronald through his clenched teeth, striking the
floor with his heel till a spur tore the carpet, while the ladies
crowded round him with timidity and astonishment. "What cursed
misfortune can have brought this about!"
"Dear Ronald! be composed a little," said Alice, taking his hands within
her own; "you must obey me just now, and I will obey you by-and-by. I
will desire Iverach to be looked after." She rang the bell violently.
The piper was now in front of the house. He stood at the curb-stone and
paused a moment,--supposing, probably, that he should not play long in
vain before so splendid a mansion. He was clad in the royal tartan;
having come of a broken clan, he had always worn the family colours of
the house under which his ancestors had been vassals. His kilt, plaid,
and coat were worn to rags, and the once bright scarlet checks of the
tartan were faded and dark; yet the dirk and claymore were swinging as
of old at his nut-brown thigh. He was pale and wan, and evidently
broken down with age, want, and sorrow. His silvery hairs were almost
destitute of covering, and his feet were in the same condition. The
proud expression of his eye was gone: he rarely raised it from the
pavement, and when a coin was thrown from a window or the hand of a
passer-by, his cheek grew red, and he picked up the gift with such
confusion, that he forgot to thank the donor.
"Oh, Alice!" groaned Stuart; "now indeed I know that my father is no
more. Death alone could separate Iverach from him; but I have long been
prepared to expect the worst. Let some one take care of the old man,
and bring him here."
While he was speaking, the piper was ushered in and stood near the door,
bowing, bonnet in hand, to the ladies successively, with that native
dignity and pride, mingled with respect, which a Highlander never, under
any circumstances, loses. He bowed profoundly to Ronald, and his keen
eyes wandered restlessly over his uniform. Then, as if some sudden
recollection flashed upon his mind, the piob mhor fell from his grasp;
he sprang forward, and bursting into tears, clasped Stuart round the
neck.
"It's my ain pairn! It's Maister Ronald! Oich! oich! Got tam! I'm
creetin' mair like a bit giglet o' a lassie, than a teuch auld carle
that's come through sae muckle! Gude pe thankit we hae met at last,
Maister Ronald! I have been wandering to meet ye through many a queer
place; but sair and sad are the news I hae to tell ye,--sad and sair
indeed! So joost prepare yersel for the warst!"
"I suppose you would speak of my father?" said Ronald with a quivering
lip.
"Aich, ay! ta laird, ta laird! Aich, ay! Got pless us!" replied the
vassal, bursting again into tears, which he endeavoured in vain to hide
by burying his head in the folds of his tattered plaid; while Stuart
half reclined on Alice's shoulder, and turned aside, deeply touched with
the old man's sorrow,--for grief, like joy, is infectious. "Ay; I wad
speak o' the laird, puir man! an' prood he wad hae peen to see his only
son coming home frae the wars an' devildoms a stoot an' handsome chield,
wi' a proon face, and a hand hardened wi' the hilt o' the proad-sword.
But, ochone-aree! he's low aneuch the day, an' mony a pretty man tat
followed him far awa' ower the wide and trackless seas to the stranger's
cauld an' meeserable country!"
"Poor, dear old man!" said Alice, while she pressed Ronald's hand to
compose him, as the piper was speaking.
"I have sad news to tell you, too, Iverach," said he. "Poor Evan
Bean,--Evan with the fair hair, is no more! I find this is to be a
sorrowful meeting, Donald; for I have lost my father, and you your only
son."
The old man smote himself on the forehead, and reeled back giddily as if
struck, by a blow; but he almost immediately recovered. He stared
wildly at the speaker for a moment, and then said, with strange
calmness,
"I never again expeckit to pehauld him, for auld Shanet tauld me his
weird; and Shanet never spoke in vain, nor tauld an untrue tale. Her
father was a taischatr. She said he wad return nae mair,--that he was
doomed! The words were hard to pelieve; put I mourned for him then as
one that was deid and awa'. Oich! I thought the pang was ower.
Put--put, O Maister Ronald! my puir Evan,--and whar was he killed?"
"At Toulouse, Donald--at Toulouse, where we gained a signal victory over
France. He died bravely, like his comrades, for all were brave alike: I
laid him with my own hands in the church-yard of Muret. But for pity's
sake, Donald, tell me of my father, and the fate of the Lochisla people,
and then I will tell you more of your son, who, as a token of
remembrance, has sent you the clasp which fastened the green feather of
his bonnet. Miss Lisle will give it when you are more composed. Come;
take courage, Donald, and tell us your story. There are none here but
old friends, who have often danced to the sound of your pipes, and shall
yet again,--ay, next month, and in the old hall of Lochisla too!"
Alice blushed, and her companions smiled. The old man's eyes flashed a
red light through their tears. He looked from one fair face to another,
and, as he read nothing but innocence and happiness in them all, he
smiled, and appeared to become happy too. After being comforted with a
few mouthfuls of mountain-dew, filled from a decanter into an ancient
quaigh that he carried, and from which he drank every thing, he became
quite composed, and commenced his story.
After leaving the Clyde, the vessel containing the emigrants encountered
a continuance of adverse winds, and was driven from her course far to
the northward of the Canadas, upon the coast of Newfoundland,--the most
barbarous and desolate of all the British colonies. Having lost their
rudder, and had their compass washed overboard in a gale, the vessel
was, while surrounded by a dense fog, carried into Baboul Bay, or, as it
is commonly called, the Bay of Bulls, by the strong current which there
runs in shore. Finding that the brig was drifting among the breakers,
and that she was quite unmanageable, the master ordered out the boats to
tow her off, but the order was given too late. The boats were swamped
among the surf, and a few moments afterwards the vessel grounded on a
reef, where the boiling sea made clean breaches over her every instant.
She heeled over on her beam-ends, and the fore-mast went away by the
board, carrying with it the maintop-mast and all the rigging above the
top. The vessel thus became a total wreck in five minutes.
"At the time the ship struck," continued the piper, "the laird was lying
sick in the cabin, unco unwell in mind and body, for he had lang been
pining awa' wi' dule and sorrow for leaving you, and the heathery hills
o' Albyn, and to find himsel so far awa' frae his tower and glen, and
the graves o' his kindred and forbears. When I found that a' was ower,
I determined to save him or to dee wi' him. Drawing our dirks, and
vowing we would slay to the death ony man that opposed us, Alpin Oig and
mysel rushed into the cabin, and bore him therefrae in our arms upon the
deck, and frae there into a boat, the last ane that was left. The
sailors tried to crowd in, but our bare blades keepit them off. Nae
man, woman, or bairn frae Lochisla, though death was staring them in the
face, wad hae thocht their ain lives worth savin' if the laird's was
lost; and sae a' helpit us into the boat, where we solemnly swore, on
the blades of our dirks, to return and take as many frae the wreck as we
could, and a line was thrown us to make fast to the shore. The laird
lay as if he was dead at the bottom o' the boat, wi' naething on but his
dressing-gown, and the saut sea pouring like rain ower him. Ochone! it
was an awsome time for me! Puir gentleman! he was helpless as a wean in
our hands."
Owing to the denseness of the fog there was no shore to be seen but the
beach; or what they supposed to be the beach could be discerned through
the unnatural mid-day gloom by the white foam of the breakers, towards
which the two brave and determined Celts, who had never been on rougher
water than the loch of the Isla, urged their frail bark with all the
strength of bending oars and muscular arms. They soon lost sight of the
water-logged wreck, which the fog enveloped like a shroud; but the
shrieks and prayers of those on board were heard ringing above the roar
of the wrathful breakers, which hurl their crested heads with such
tremendous fury on the desert beach of Baboul Bay.