lot of death fell on another woman, who was sacrificed to the prevailing
demon. A consequent recovery of strength now fitted the survivors for
their dreadful task. They proceeded to the mountain pass, headed by
Christie, and killed a traveller, by knocking him on the head with a
hammer, and then removed him to the cavern, where his body was treated in
the same manner as that of the woman on whom the lot of death had
fallen. They repeated this operation whenever their hunger returned;
making no selection of their victims, unless when there was a choice
between a foot-passenger and a horseman--the latter of whom, always
preferred for the sake of his horse, was dragged from his seat with a
large iron hook, fixed to the end of a pole--an invention of Christie's,
serving afterwards to give him the dreadful name by which he became so
well known. That which hunger at first suggested became afterwards a
matter of choice, if not of fiendish delight. The silent process of
assuaging the pain arising from want subsequently changed into a banquet
of cannibals; the song of rivalry was sounded in dithyrambic measure
over the dead body of the victim, and the corrybantic dance of the
wretches who required to still conscience by noise, or die, was footed
to the wild music which, escaping from the cavern, rung among the hills.
Such were the obsequies which Scotchmen, resigning the nature of man,
amidst unheard-of agonies, celebrated over the corpses of their
countrymen.
These things reached the ears of government; and an armed force was
despatched to the hills to seize the cannibals. Several of them were
caught; but Christie and some others escaped, and were never captured.
The bones of their victims were collected, and conveyed to Perth; where,
upon being counted, it appeared that they had killed no fewer than
thirty travellers. From these transactions sprung that name,
Christiecleek, which is so familiar to the ears of Scotchmen.
"Christiecleek! Christiecleek!" became instantly the national nursery
bugbear. No child would cry after the charmed name escaped from the lips
of the nurse; and even old people shuddered at the mention of a term
which produced ideas so revolting to human nature, and so derogatory of
Scottish character.
Now it is said that, some time after the performance of the dreadful
tragedy we have narrated, an old man in the town of Dumfries, who had
three children by his wife, quarrelled her often for the use of a term
intended simply to pacify her children when they cried, but which he
declared was too much even for his ears. He was a respectable merchant,
had earned a considerable sum of money by his trade, and was reputed a
most godly man, attending divine service regularly, and performing all
the domestic duties with order and great suavity of manner. His
neighbours looked up to him with love and respect, and solicited his
counsel in their difficulties. His name--David Maxwell--was applauded in
the neighbourhood, and he received great sympathy from all who knew him,
in consequence of having, as was reported, lost an only brother among
Christiecleek's victims--a fact he had concealed from his wife, till her
use of the name compelled him to mention it to her, but which afterwards
came to be well known.
The silence of the mother had, however, no effect upon the urchins, who,
the more they were requested to cease terrifying each other by their
national _terriculamentum_, "Christiecleek," the more terrible it
appeared to them, and the more they used it. If they abstained from the
use of the word in the presence of their parents, they were the more
ready to have recourse to it in the passages of the house, and in the
dark rooms, and wherever the dreaded being might be supposed to be. The
pastime was general throughout Scotland; and David Maxwell's children
only followed an example which has been repeated for five hundred years.
"Christiecleek!--Christiecleek!" What Scotchman has not heard the
dreaded words? Time rolled on, and the Misses Maxwell resigned their
childish pastime for the duties of women. Their father had become a very
old man; and the attentions which their mother could not bestow, were
willingly yielded by the young women, who were remarked as being very
beautiful, as well as very good. They loved their father dearly, and
looked upon their filial duties as willing tributes of affection. After
they became intrusted with the secret, they substituted for the cry of
their youth, which had given their father so much pain, pity for the
brother of the victim of the execrated fiend.
At last David Maxwell came to die; and, as he lay on his bed, surrounded
by his wife and daughters, he seemed to be wrestling with some dreadful
thought which allowed him no rest, but wrung from him, incessantly,
heavy groans and muttered prayers. His wife pressed him to open his
heart to her, or, if he was disinclined to repose that confidence in her
when dying, which he had awarded to her so liberally during a long
union, he should, she recommended, send for Father John of the Monastery
of St Agnes, and be shrived. The daughters wept as they heard these
melancholy statements, and the old man sympathised in their sorrow,
which seemed to give him additional pain. At last he seemed inclined to
be communicative, and, after a struggle, said to his wife--
"Wha is to tak care o' my dochters when I am consigned to that cauld
habitation whar a faither's love and an enemy's anger are alike unfelt
and unknown? My effects will be sufficient for the support o' my
household; but money, without a guardian, is only a temptation to
destroyers and deceivers. If I could get this point settled to my
satisfaction, I micht die in peace."
"You never tauld me o' yer freens, David," said his wife--"a
circumstance that has often grieved me. The hundreds o' Maxwells in the
Stewartry and in Dumfries-shire surely contain among them some relation,
however distant; but my uncle will act as guardian to our dochters, and
ye hae tried his honesty."
"Yet I dinna want relations," groaned the dying man. "I hae a
_brither_."
"A brither," ejaculated the mother and daughter in astonishment; "was he
no killed by the monster, Christiecleek, in the Highland cavern?"
"No," answered David, with great pain.
"Whar lives he, and what's his Christian name?" cried the wife, in
amazement.
"Is it his _Christian_ name ye ask?" said the old man. "Surely David,"
replied the wife--"his surname maun be Maxwell."
"But it is not Maxwell," said he, still groaning.
"Not Maxwell!" said the wife. "What is it then?"
"_Christie!_" ejaculated David, with a groan.
The mention of this name produced a strange effect on the minds of the
wife and daughters, who, in the brother, saw (as they thought) at once
the hated Christiecleek, and found an explanation of the horror which
David Maxwell had uniformly exhibited when the name was mentioned in his
presence. They had at last discovered the true solution of what had
appeared so wonderful; and, having retired for a few minutes, to allow
their excitement to subside, they, by comparing notes, came to the
conclusion that their father, having been ashamed of his connection with
the unnatural being, had changed his name, and dropped all intercourse
with him; but that now, when he was about to die, his feelings had
overpowered him, and forced him to make the awful confession he had
uttered. Pained and shamed by this newly-discovered connection, they
were not regardless of what was due to him whose shame and grief had
been even greater than theirs, and, accordingly, resolved to yield all
the consolation in their power to the good man who could not help having
a bad brother. On their return to the bedside, they found him in great
agony both of mind and body.
"This brither, David," said the wife, "I fear, is little worthy o' your
friendship, and the change o' your name is, doubtless, the consequence
o' a virtuous shame o' the connection. But can it be possible that he is
that man o' the mountain cavern, whose name terrifies the bairns o'
Scotland, and maks even the witches o' the glens raise their bony hands
in wonder and execration? Tell us, David, freely, if this be the burden
which presses sae heavily on yer mind. Yer wife and dochters will think
nae less o' you for having been unfortunate; and consolation is never
sae usefu as when it is applied to a grief that is nae langer secret.
The surgeon's skill is o' little avail when the disease is unknown."
This speech, containing apparently the fatal secret, produced a great
effect upon the bedridden patient, who rolled from side to side, and
sawed the air with his sinewy hands, like one in a state of madness.
"We were speakin o' guardians for my dochters," said he, at last, "and I
said I had a brither whase surname is Christie. You promised me
consolation. Is this your comfort to a deein man? For twenty years I
have hated the mention o' that dreadfu name; and now, when I am on my
death-bed, speakin o' curators for my bairns, ye rack my ears by tellin
me I am the brither o' _Christiecleek_! Would Christiecleek be a
suitable guardian for my dochters? Speak, Agnes--say if ye think
Christiecleek would tak care o' their bodies and their gowd as weel as
he tended the victims o' the Highland cave?"
The wife saw she had gone too far, and begged his pardon for having made
the suggestion.
"Ye will forgive me, David," said she, "for the remark I hae dune ye
great injustice; for how is it possible to conceive that sae guid a man
could be sae nearly related to a monster? But ye hae to explain to me
the change o' name. How hae you and your brither different surnames?"
"_Because_," said the dying man, turning round, and staring with
lacklustre eyes broadly in the face of his wife--"_because I am
Christiecleek!_"
Transcriber's notes:
- Obvious punctuation errors repaired.
- Title page: No glossary included in the original.
- pg 010: 'ferula' corrected to 'ferule'
- pg 081: 'douce' corrected to 'douse'
- pg 095: 'iron gripe' corrected to 'iron grip'
- pg 107; 'spitfire' corrected to 'Spitfire'
- pg 211: 'neices' corrected to 'nieces'
- pg 223: 'Shakpere' corrected to 'Shakspere' (to match GWL)