YOUTHFUL VISIONS.
A nest of rocks standing out upon the ocean, around which the waves
dash with mournful measure, is one of the most inviting retreats for
the people around Woodcliff.
On this bright summer afternoon, a beautiful dreamer sits upon its
summit, with eyes turned upward on the rapidly changing clouds. Ever
and anon, a smile passes over the young face, as some bright thought
flits through the teeming fancy.
"Down, Hector, what is the matter?" said the child; but the dog
continued barking and wagging his tail, as he ran down the side of
the rock, and bounded along the beach.
Madeline soon saw that her young friend Roland was coming towards
them, with whom Hector was well acquainted.
"Come up, Roland, it is perfectly splendid," exclaimed the little
girl, and soon she was joined by her young companion.
"I want you to come and help me watch the clouds. I don't know if
you can see as I do, but there is everything that is beautiful this
afternoon."
"Look there, Roland! see that white-winged angel sailing along so
softly; but it is fading--it is all gone--it seemed to wave its hand
to us, bidding us farewell. Oh! look there at that group of clouds;
there are soldiers, and banners, and spears flashing--don't you see
that flag waving so grandly? Now just see, Roland, the flag has
turned into a long fish with wings--now don't laugh at me, Roland."
Roland could not but smile at her wild fancies, and replied,
"I ought not to laugh at you, Miss Madeline, for many a beautiful
picture have I seen on the clouds, and many an odd one in the winter
fire."
"Don't call me Miss Madeline, Roland; we go to the same school; I am
younger than you, and I'm sure that you are a great deal wiser and
better than I. It sounds so stiff; call me Madeline, or Maddy."
"I'm only a poor boy, very far beneath you, Miss Madeline, and I
don't think I can take the liberty," answered Roland.
"Well, I won't answer you, Roland. If my father is a rich man, I'm
only a little girl."
"Look there, Madeline! that is a very black cloud. I think that we
shall soon have a storm."
"I'm not afraid of a storm; I rather like to see the lightning flash,
and to hear the distant thunder; but I don't much like the thoughts
of being wet."
The clouds thickened rapidly; thunder began to rumble in the
distance, and some large drops fell around them.
"Had we not better turn our steps homeward?" asked Roland.
"I think not," was the quick reply, "I have a fancy for seeing this
storm."
"Is there any shelter, Madeline?"
"Yes, there is an old fisherman's hut among the next nest of rocks.
We can go there."
Quickening their pace, Roland took Madeline's hand, and hurried her
rapidly along, for the wind was now blowing at a fearful rate.
They were soon sheltered in old Peter's cabin, and the children stood
at the door, watching the storm. It was a grand sight, but not more
so than the little enthusiast, who stood with parted lips, eyes
turned upward, and her long ringlets waving wildly in the wind,
gazing entranced on the war of the elements, and looking the very
genius of the ocean. The waves dashed in foaming spray against the
rocks; the sea gulls in large flocks flew low down, skimming the
white caps of the crested billows, which chased each other out on the
stormy ocean, the birds screaming as if inspired by the spirit of the
storm. The lightning flashed, the thunder roared, and the rain now
fell in torrents. Poor Hector was sadly frightened, and cowering at
Madeline's feet, continued whining so long as the storm lasted.
It raged furiously for one hour. When it subsided, the sun once more
appeared in his setting glory, shining on the still falling rain
drops, painting a rainbow on the clouds which spanned the ocean.
Further up the beach, the town of L---- lay in the sunlight, and
reflected on the window-panes, the whole town glittered as though
each house was decked with diamonds.
Madeline clapped her little hands with delight. "Was there ever
anything so beautiful?"
"Look, Maddy!" said Roland, "at those clouds piled up so grandly;
they look like the snow-clad Alps that hang in your father's library."
"See how the sun glistens on the top of them, Roland; it looks just
as if the light came right down from the palace in the skies, and as
if the angels stood in crowds on the mountain tops, looking down upon
us."
"We don't know, Maddy, how many of the shining ones may be there; for
the Bible tells us that they are ministering spirits, sent down to
minister to God's people."
"Look, Roland, at that bird; it seems to fly right round the top of
that mountain-cloud. See how its white breast shines in the
sunlight! Did you ever wish you were a bird? Wouldn't I like to see
as much as that bird sees now, so far above the earth."
"Did you ever see a mountain, Maddy?" inquired Roland.
"No, I have not; I have often looked at papa's pictures, and wished
that I could climb up one of the mountains of Switzerland."
"I have seen mountains, Maddy, so grand! so dark! so rugged! I
suppose that the mountains of Scotland are not so beautiful as those
of Switzerland; they are so dark and gloomy, and those deep ravines
which lie among them are so terrible. I have walked there after
sunset, and heard the thunder echoing from cliff to cliff, while the
wild birds screamed as they flew to their mountain eyry."
"Were you not afraid, Roland, to be there all alone?"
"I was not alone, Maddy, my uncle used to take me, for I was a little
boy; but I shall never forget the fear which I have felt among those
heather-clad mountains; I used to cling so tightly to his hand, for I
was filled with solemn awe."
"I wonder if I shall ever see a mountain, Roland?"
"I dare say that by-and-bye your father will show you all these
wonders."
"How long since you were in Scotland, Roland?" asked Madeline.
"It is now seven years. My father was a very sad, strange man,
Maddy, and he took a sudden fancy to come over to America; my mother
was a minister's daughter, her name was Mary Gordon; she lived with
my grandfather at the manse even after she was married."
"What is a manse, Roland?"
"A manse is a Scotch name for a parsonage; it was a pleasant little
home, situated in a hamlet, at the foot of the mountains, not far
from my grandfather's kirk."
"What is a kirk, Roland?"
"A kirk is a Scotch name for a church. There was a lake not far from
our house, and many a time did Uncle Alick take us children out in
the boat; sometimes we would cross the lake, and pay visits to our
neighbors. Once he told me that he was going to show me a place that
I must never forget; he said that we should be gone all day; so my
mother, Effie, Uncle Alick and I started with our little basket of
provisions. We crossed the lake, and made our way up the sides of
the mountain; at length, we commenced descending, and soon found
ourselves in a thickly shaded glen, covered with a heavy sward of
rich green grass. We stopped under a large old tree, and after we
had been seated awhile in silence, my mother said: 'Roland, do you
see that old ruin behind that clump of trees?' 'I see a pile of
stones and an old chimney, mother,' I replied. 'There lived our
ancestor, the old pastor of Glencoe. His name was David Gordon; he
lived in those dreadful days when men were hunted like wild beasts
for conscience' sake--your great ancestor was a holy man, and had
bound his soul by the solemn "League and Covenant," not to submit to
the tyranny of the English Church. He was the father of a large
family, and was a faithful shepherd of the flock of Christ. Many a
time, when those bloody troopers were in hot pursuit, did this aged
man of God, at the head of his little flock of parishioners, sally
out at night, marching over the wild moors and up the steep mountain
sides, seeking shelter in the caves of these old hills.'
"'Who was king then, mother?' I inquired.
"'Charles the First; and who, though a good husband and father, was a
bigoted and tyrannical king.'
"'Did he hurt God's people?' I asked.
"'He let his soldiers persecute and kill them. Their blood cried to
Heaven against him, and deeply were they avenged.'
"'Then I'll never love the Church of England, mother,' and my little
heart burned within me. 'But, mother, you were going to tell me a
story.'
"'Yes, Roland, I want to show you how strong the old pastor of
Glencoe was when called to suffer for God. One day, his eldest son,
Gilbert, had gone away from home on an errand that would bring him
back late in the evening; and David Gordon, his wife, and
granddaughter, Lilian, were left at home. Suddenly, they heard the
sound of horses' hoofs, and they knew that their day had come. In a
very few minutes, a company of troopers appeared in the green before
the manse; dismounting, they fastened their horses to the neighboring
trees; the captain, entering the manse, dragged old David Gordon from
his study, and bade him prepare for death.
"'Down on your knees, you old canting hypocrite!' said the hardened
man; 'you have but a minute to prepare for death.'
"'Just let me hae a few minutes for prayer,' said the old Christian;
and, kneeling down, he raised his eyes to Heaven, while his white
hair floated in the cool breeze, and ought to have softened the
hearts of those cruel men.
"'In another minute his faithful wife, the companion of fifty years,
knelt by his side.
"'I am wi' ye, David, whatever is yer fate; I will be wi' ye; and the
blessed Saviour, who strengthened the martyr Stephen, will stan' by
his weak disciples.'
"'Hold your clatter, you old beldame; see if your God will come to
save you from the bullets when they are sent.'
"'How lang, O Lord! holy an' true, shall the wicked triumph?'
breathed out old David. 'Wilt thou leave us forever? hae mercy, O
Lord! upon our enemies; turn the heart o' Charles Stuart to thysel.'
"'Do you dare to speak the name of the king?' shouted the trooper, at
the same time pointing to the band that stood waiting his orders.
"'Planting themselves opposite to the kneeling pair, they commenced
loading their carbines; and, just as they prepared to fire, a young
creature, not more than sixteen, rushed from the manse, and throwing
herself upon the bosom of her grandfather, stretched forth one
pleading hand, exclaiming,
"'Oh! spare his grey hairs; he has ne'er harmed ye! he has done
naething but guid a' the days o' his life, an' if ye kill him, his
bluid will call frae the ground against ye at the judgment-day.'
"'Take her away,' shouted the Captain; 'the old parson must die.'
"'I will na gae! I will na leave my dear auld grandfather; an' ye
can na hae the heart to kill us a',' answered Lilian, in her innocent
trust.
"'Fire, men!' shouted the Captain, and in another minute, the sharp
report of a dozen guns, echoing through the glen, sending their
deadly bullets among the kneeling group, released the souls of the
aged pastor, his faithful wife, and sweet Lilian Gordon, covered with
the blood of her aged grand-parents. She lay on the green sward, and
even those fierce soldiers were touched when they looked at the pale
face of the beautiful girl, around which hung in rich profusion those
golden locks, stained with her life-blood, as it oozed quietly away.
"'She might have gone away,' said one of the troopers; 'we didn't
want to kill her or the old woman; it was their own fault.'
"'All this fearful scene had been witnessed by a faithful servant,
who had hidden herself in a loft, where, trembling and overpowered
with grief, she had seen and heard all.
"'When Gilbert Gordon returned in the evening, what was his horror to
see his father, mother and only daughter weltering in their blood on
the green sward in front of the manse!
"'With the assistance of a few mourning parishioners, by the light of
the pale moon, they dug a hurried grave, and after a few words of
solemn prayer from the lips of Gilbert Gordon, they laid away the
precious remains of the martyred dead in hope of a joyful
resurrection, placing a small board to mark the place where they
slept; and when those troubled days were over, an humble tomb-stone
marked the very spot where they lay down their lives for Jesus.
"'Go, read it, Roland,' said my mother; 'and never forget that the
blood of martyrs flows in your veins. Always be strong for the
right, my son; and remember that you are a Gordon as well as a Bruce.'
"I read the inscription on the simple tomb-stone, partially defaced
by time; the letters were very faint, but I still could read: 'The
Rev. David Gordon; Janet, his wife; and his granddaughter, Lilian
Gordon; martyred on the 20th day of October, 1643. They sleep in
Jesus.'
"Maddy, I have never forgotten that sacred spot; and so deep was the
impression that, boy as I was, I felt as if my soul grew larger from
that day, and as if I would rather suffer anything than dishonor a
name so sacred as that of Gordon. I remember every word my mother
said. I have thought of the story in the dark hours of the night,
and have prayed that God would give me such a heroic soul as David
Gordon's."
Maddy listened to the recital, and all the deep feelings of her
imaginative nature were stirred to their very depths. She could
never again look upon Roland Gordon Bruce with any other feelings
than those of deepest veneration; for, boy as he was, and poor as he
was, was he not a descendant of martyrs? and as much of a hero in her
young fancy, as though he had figured himself upon that bloody sward,
and as though, instead of occurring in 1643, it had been an event of
yesterday.
The story had ended--returning to the rock, they took their seat once
more upon its summit. The storm had all passed away; the gulls were
flying to their nests, their white breasts glistening in the bright
sunlight that now flooded the waters.
"Maddy, I do think that I like storms better than calms. I like
everything that brings the grandeur of God before me; there is a
voice within, Maddy, that answers to the music of a storm."
"I never could tell just how it was, Roland, but I often think just
as you do, only I never could speak it in words."
"Maddy, our talk to-day has brought back my home in Scotland; and it
makes me feel sad to think that I am so far away from the land that I
love. You ought to hear some of our music, it is so beautiful."
"Won't you sing me one of the songs that you like, Roland?"
"Will you try to sing one with me, Maddy?"
"Yes, I would if I only knew one."
"I will teach you one, Maddy, if you will try-.--I know that you will
like it;" and Roland dictated the words of the following Scotch song:
"Scots, wha hae wi Wallace bled!
Scots, wham Bruce has often led!
Welcome to your gory bed,
Or to victorie!
"Now's the day, and now's the hour:
See the front of battle lour:
See approach proud Edward's power--
Chains and slaverie!
"Wha will be a traitor knave?
Wha can fill a coward's grave?
Wha sae base as be a slave?
Let him turn and flee!" &c.