As a sort of proëmium to the relation of the following adventure, I
must preadmonish my readers, that I have always entertained a monstrous
aversion to being roused from a comfortable sleep, by the appalling cry
of “murder.” Heaven defend us! the very thought of such matters, even in
broad day-light, causes a queer sensation about one’s throat and fifth
rib: but at the solemn hour of midnight,--“just as the clock strikes
twelve,”--when the winds are howling, and casements creaking, with
all the other paraphernalia of a portentous night (vide ‘Mysteries of
Udolpho’)--oh! it festers up the faculties, and acts as a scare-crow
to the senses. Having premised thus much, and not in the least doubting
that I have touched a sympathetic string in every bosom, I will
forthwith proceed to relate my adventure.
Those who have travelled in the north of Scotland, may perchance
recollect the road between Kincardine and Dingwall. On the right, stands
a decently snug tenement, from which a swinging appendage announces to
all peregrinators, that excellent entertainment is there provided for
“man and beast.” In those parts it was my fortune to be travelling, on
a bleak November evening, with no remarkably near prospect of supper
or bed, when my eyes were suddenly gladdened by the appearance of the
afore-mentioned sign; and so, it appears, were those of my horse, for
without receiving previous notice from me, he instinctively halted
at the door. I alighted, and after a comfortable supper, found myself
snugly deposited in bed, next floor but one to the sky, the other floors
being pre-engaged. But scarcely had gentle sleep diffused its balm over
my eyelids, when I was aroused by a horrible confusion of noises in
an adjoining apartment, from which I was separated only by a slight
partition. First, I heard sundry stampings, and divers violent
exclamations; then I plainly distinguished halfstifled cries of murder,
and, at last, the groans of one, as it were, in his last agony. I was
on my feet in the twinkling of an eye, and the reader may imagine that
there was no occasion to make use of my hands in doffing my night-cap;
the first sound of the word “murder” caused that to deposit itself very
quietly on my pillow. My first movement was towards the door, from
which I as quickly retreated, on discovering a murderous-looking person
through the half-opened door of the next apartment; not, however, before
I had uttered a yell loud enough to rouse all the inmates of the house.
I next made towards the window, but there saw nothing, save a fearful
profundity, which, I was well aware, was terminated by a yard, paved
with rough stones.’Twas agony.
My last resource was the chimney, in which I forthwith proceeded to
enshell myself, taking good care to leave the space of a yard or two
between me and the floor. Scarcely had I thus disposed of myself, when
the landlord entered my apartment, followed by his wife and domestics;
whose voice I no sooner distinguished, than I began very _coolly_
to descend: but, unfortunately, this being my first attempt at
chimney-sweeping, I made such an unsweeper-like descent, that the
landlord and his train, thinking Old Nick was at hand, scampered off,
myself following with all imaginable speed. Helter-skelter we rushed
down the first flight of stairs; at the bottom of which, finding a door
half open, with a night-capped head protruding, in order, no doubt, to
discover the cause of such a disturbance, we all burglariously entered,
knocking down in our tumultuous incourse, the lawful possessor. There
at length the foremost of our party wheeled to the right about, and
the landlady, discovering me, hastily asked me what was the matter.
I explained, as well as I could, the cause of my alarm; to which
explanation, turning up the whites of her eyes, she replied, half
festily, half laughing, “Quwhy, Gude safe us, Sir, ’twas nae mair than
just Sanders Mac Grabbit, ane o’ the play-folk, a skirlin the bit
tregedy, as he’s ganging to play in our barn like.”--“Um!” re-answered
I; and in less than five minutes my nasal organ was playing bass to my
next door neighbour’s treble.
[DIARY OF A TRAVELLER.]
[Illustration: 352]