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THE
EVE OF ALL-HALLOWS;
OR,
ADELAIDE OF TYRCONNEL;
A ROMANCE.
_IN THREE VOLUMES._
By MATTHEW WELD HARTSTONGE, ESQ. M. R. I. A.
Nescia mens hominum, fati sortisque futuræ
Et servare modum, rebus sublata secundis!
. . . . . . . . . . tempus erit,
. . . . . et quum spolia ista diemque
Oderit!
VIRGILIUS, Æ. x. I. 501.
VOL. I.
LONDON:
FOR G. B. WHITTAKER, AVE MARIA LANE.
1825.
TO
SIR WALTER SCOTT, OF ABBOTSFORD, BART.,
&c. &c. &c.
(WITH WHOSE KIND PERMISSION,)
THE FOLLOWING TALE OF ERIN
IS RESPECTFULLY INSCRIBED,
BY HIS EVER OBLIGED FRIEND
AND FAITHFUL SERVANT,
THE AUTHOR.
MOLESWORTH-STREET, DUBLIN,
_February 1, 1825._
THE
EVE OF ALL-HALLOWS.
CHAPTER I.
Tollimur in coelum curvato gurgite, et idem
Subductâ ad manes imos descendimus undâ.
Ter scopuli clamorem inter cava saxa dedere;
Ter spumam elisam, et rorantia vidimus astra.
VIRG. Æ. l. III.
* * * * *
Lay her aloof, the sea grows dangerous:
How it spits against the clouds! how it capers,
And how the fiery element frights it back!
There be devils dancing in the air, I think.
_The Sea Voyage._--FLETCHER.
It was upon a dark and lowering afternoon, the 30th day of October, one
thousand six hundred and ---- the day preceding _The Eve of
All-Hallows_, when the Rev. Doctor M'Kenzie, at that time Chaplain to
his Grace the Duke of Tyrconnel, and who had been for some time in the
ancient realm of Scotland, on a visit to his kind relatives and friends
in that hospitable land, had formed a resolution to depart for the
shores of Ireland, to meet his noble patron. When, in pursuance of this
intention, he embarked on board "The William Wallace of Ayr," the sails
of the vessel were unfurled, and the signal-flag was seen streaming from
the pendant of the main-top-gallant, all giving true and significant
indications that the sea-worthy vessel was upon the eve of sailing, and
her destination was known to be for the northern coast of Ireland.
Torrents of rain had showered down during the entire of the day, as is
not unusual at that advanced autumnal period; these were accompanied
with loud peals of thunder, while continuous sheets of lightning
illumined and flashed throughout the darkly tinted horizon, which were
succeeded by frequent squalls of wind, that at intervals dying suddenly
away, served but to make the returning roaring blast the more
tremendous and disheartening.
The vessel was to have sailed at the full tide, but this measure was
entirely prevented by the strong and continued recurrence of the storm,
which blew with such pertinacious force and opposition that "The William
Wallace of Ayr" lay close to its anchors all that afternoon, the whole
of the night, and during the next succeeding day. About nine o'clock,
however, of the evening of the thirty-first, _The Eve of All-Hallows_,
the storm to every appearance had wholly abated, and preparations
accordingly were commenced for the ship to sail, without any further
delay, as bound on its destination. At that point of time the Reverend
Chaplain, Doctor M'Kenzie, and his servant, were the only passengers on
board. "All hands unmoor!" was now loudly and manfully rung forth by the
crew; and all matters having been duly arranged for setting sail, while
the wind blowing fresh and fair, the ponderous anchor was raised from
its oozy bed.
The reader may well imagine, from all these previous preparations, that
the vessel and crew were on the point of sailing; when, hark! the hoarse
exclaiming "halloo!" and the clattering hoofs of horsemen in full
gallop, were heard sounding sullenly on the ear, and next loudly
thundering their deep echoes through the hollow and deserted streets of
Ayr, which rivetted the sailor to the deck, and at once, as if by magic
influence, paralyzed and arrested his motions. The rapid progress of the
strangers exciting the curiosity of the sailors, called forth in a no
less degree the astonishment of the quiet and peaceable burghers of the
good and loyal town of Ayr, who were then about to retire to repose. Two
horsemen now advanced, their wearied steeds pressed onward with the
utmost velocity; who halting for the instant at the brig of Ayr,
inquired with breathless and hurried anxiety, if a boat did not there
await in readiness to convey passengers on board "The William Wallace?"
But the boat was gone! The few sailors, however, or fishermen, who
loitered on the quay, said in reply, that they had gude reason to ken
that the Bonnie Wullie had not slipped cables, sic warstling winds had
blown sic a hurricane, that the gude and bonnie ship was unco snug in
harbour.
The strangers now dashed desperately onward, as if life or death were
staked upon the attainment of their object. The vessel was not yet under
way when they arrived on the beach, their panting steeds besmeared with
blood and foam, and nearly exhausted by fatigue.
The principal personage attracted the gaze of every eye, so noble and
martial was his mien; a tall, graceful, and commanding figure, whose
whole appearance bespoke the undaunted warrior; his firm step, and manly
air, and sinewy arm, boldly told that he knew well how to wield the
falchion in the doubtful fight; while his intrepid eye blazed forth the
talisman of feats in arms and war, and nobly indicating how oft it had
flashed defiance and death upon the daring foe.
"From gory selle and reeling steed
Sprung the fierce horseman with a bound,
And reeking from some recent deed,
He dash'd his carbine on the ground."[1]
[1] Ballad, by Sir Walter Scott.
He was enveloped in a plaid, and wore a Highland bonnet, richly
surmounted with plumes; the stranger was nearly breathless from fatigue
and the rapidity of his flight, for such it seemed to be; added to which
the pallid brow and glaring eye-balls, gave strong and powerful
demonstrations that there existed some other more influential, though
latent source--perchance, it was of sorrow! which affected him even
still more than bodily fatigue. But still these might have been only
mere suspicions, suggestions probably unjustly awakened at the
interesting moment, from the lateness of the hour, the hasty,
embarrassed approach of the stranger; and added to all this, his
impatience and manifest anxiety to embark. It might be assumed that "the
sum and front" of all amounted to no more than this. What then of the
extraordinary or the marvellous could by possibility attach to
circumstances that doubtless any individual, placed in similar
situations, must unavoidably have felt, and betrayed a strong and equal
portion of awkwardness and embarrassment to have encountered?
But without further interlocution we proceed onward with our tale. The
stranger hastily, but urgently, inquired if the vessel would immediately
sail? Upon his being answered in the affirmative, and the boat on the
instant having been hauled down to take him on board, he promptly flung
into it a small valise, which he had carried at his saddle-bow, and
instantly springing after it himself, was followed by his attendant.
When placed in the boat, he took his station at the stern, where,
enveloped in his plaid, he sat immoveably silent, wrapped in gloomy
meditation. Upon the stranger's having reached the ship, he still seemed
deeply absorbed in thought; the same continued gloom and silence were
preserved, while with hurried strides ever and anon he stately paced the
deck. At intervals, however, he would suddenly stop, and then he would
deeply and intently muse within himself, with folded arms, and dark and
lowering brow. Upon his valise was his address written, "Colonel
Davidson,----Brigade;" the term or epithet preceding the word
"brigade," was torn off, whether by accident or intention did not
appear.
All matters on board having been duly arranged and adjusted, while a
momentary interval of silence prevailed--"I say," said a sailor,
addressing his comrade, "its a fearfu' mirk to-night, which bodes nae
gude!"
"Aye, aye!" replied his companion; "but what is still warse, it is
Hallowmass; and too weel I ken that the arch-fient, wi' a' the weirds
and warlocks, will be abread, and alake! I spae the Bonnie Wullie
wull tint the gate! and then we a' maun gang down auld Davie's locker."
"Weel," rejoins the comrade, "it is a donsie night, but I'm nae fasht my
cantie carl! whare we a' maun gang togither, a' that's kenspeckle, sae
nae mair Claivers!"
"Aye, but I wiss, Sandy," replies the other, "to make a' sicker, that
the Deil haed a houd o' the haly man belaw!"
"Whom do you mean?--what holy man below do you speak of?" said Colonel
Davidson, the first time that he had noticed aught was going forward.
"A haly auld chiel belaw," rejoined the sailor, "that's boune for
Eirin."
"Who----what----how----whom do you call him, friend?"
"I ca' him nae doot Maukeenzie. Pray wha do ye ca' um, your worship?"
"Is the vessel bound for Ireland?"
"Yea it be, anely frae the gate o' the wind, that says nae to it."
Occasional squalls of wind now arose, the compass veered, the wind
became adverse; and the storm, or rather hurricane, of the preceding day
threatened to return. Under these gloomy presages
"Short time there were for gratulating speech."
Suddenly sounds like the mournful cadence of the plaintive Æolian harp,
were heard above the waves; but no shape, no form, was visible, not
even in shadowy indistinctness: but solemn musical sounds, wherever they
might have proceeded from, and mocking the human voice, only were heard,
sad, slow, and solemn, as the choral chant, _De mortuis_.
THE SPIRIT OF THE STORM.
LOQUITUR.
Where loud tumultuous tempests rave,
And foaming surges daunt the brave;
I mount my storm-swept throne, the wave!
When midnight fiends their vigils keep,
While lightnings rend the mountain's steep,
I, scowling, rise from out the deep!
When hope within each bosom dies,
While heard the drowning seaman's cries,
The raving spirit of the storm, I rise!
Now list! with more than mortal fear,
The dismal dirge which strikes the ear!
THE DIRGE.
Once we held fair Scotland's throne,
Aye, once we claimed that realm our own;
Fuimus, non sumus!
Valorous deeds our claymores crowned,
We ever were true heroes found.
Fuimus, non sumus!
But feuds, dissension, strife arose;
Oppressed by ranks of hostile foes.
Fuimus, non sumus!
Behold! the last of all our race
Is forced to fly his natal place!
He bears the vengeful, fatal knife,
Deep stained by bloody feudal strife!
Fuimus, non sumus![2]
The chant and dirge were audible to the crew, who listened with deep
consternation, and were awfully impressed upon the recollection of the
Reverend Chaplain.
[2] For the benefit of our fair readers, we venture to translate
the Latin chorus to the Dirge; it means, "We have been, and are
not!"
Every succeeding blast of wind bore increased terror as it swept along,
and every startling sound excited suspense and dismay. Again the howling
tempest burst forth, and raged with loud and renovated force, what time
the stately stranger, or more correctly to speak, Colonel Davidson, in
deep apparent despondency, was incontinently observed furiously to pace
to and fro the deck, as if in a state of mental aberration. He appeared
of more than mortal size to the terrified eyes of the beholders; his
action was wild and frantic. At one time he walked with such rapidity as
if pursued by an enemy; anon he would suddenly halt, and, folding his
arms, gaze upon the troubled deep, which seemed in unison with his
troubled mind. Next, loudly he uttered a deep and contrite groan; when
having rapidly pushed aside his plaid, he drew forth dirk, sabre, or
sword, whatever it might be, which brightly glistened in the lightning
flash; and then, with hurried impulse, he at once precipitated it down
the side of the vessel into the foaming waves. It sunk with a hissing
noise, and its descent was accompanied by a fiend-like laugh, which
arose from the billows; while at the moment, in a deep, base, sepulchral
tone, the chorus of the dirge again fearfully was chanted from the
waves:
FUIMUS, NON SUMUS!
When this dolefully awful chorus was repeated, the Colonel's countenance
assumed the horrible expression of one writhing under intolerable pain,
and seeming to undergo the agonizing tortures of the damned! His
eye-balls flashed fire, he gnashed his teeth, then clenched his brawny
hand, and made a sudden spring, as if in the very act of throwing
himself over board. When at the moment his faithful attendant manfully
grasped him by the shoulder. The Colonel was seized with a trance, and
instantly fell, apparently lifeless, upon the deck. This fainting fit
lasted for some time. At length, however, he was heard deeply to
respire; then broke forth a hollow moan; a cold and clammy moisture was
perceivable on his face and hands. His attendant had him carried down
immediately to the cabin, where he was placed in his bed.
The unearthly dirge and chorus, as has been before observed, were long
remembered by Doctor M'Kenzie, who was then in bed in the cabin below;
and he has been often heard to express his feelings deeply excited upon
this awful occasion; and to declare, that to the last expiring moment of
his existence, he never could forget the mysterious sounds of that
ominous night!
The events, beyond all dispute, were passing strange and fearful; but
then all on board "The William Wallace" bore strongly in their
remembrance, that this portentously awful night was "_The Eve of
All-Hallows_;" and then they ceased to wonder, while each thought to
himself, that
"Hell is empty, and all the devils are here!"
They scarcely had been a few hours at sea, bound on their destined
track, when again, with resumed fury, the storm returned. They
consequently were obliged to make several tacks, still endeavouring to
force their way upon the perilous voyage. The harbour of Ayr is a
dangerous one, and to attempt to regain it were to encounter greater
danger than what might eventually await the navigators upon the open
seas. For a length of time they beat between the isles of Arran and the
Firth of Clyde; when at last the wind changing, the breeze blew fair
from the north-east, while the staunch vessel proceeded on her watery
way. They were now sailing along the deep-indented and romantic coast of
Ayrshire, when wearied by the eternal tacking to and fro, the heat and
pent-up-air, and all the dull monotony and purgatorial misery of the
cabin of a ship, Doctor M'Kenzie ascended the deck, and thence inhaled
the invigorating and refreshing breeze, while intently, with admiring
gaze, he surveyed the bold and broken masses of those picturesque
shores, which had become strongly illuminated by the bright lightning
flashes then briskly darting over the wild masses of rock, bank, and
brae, and glanced athwart steeple, fort, and tower, o'er lofty peak and
promontory; when suddenly again all was immersed in darkness! Yet he
perceived that this interesting scene totally failed to attract the
stranger's attention, who had returned about the same time on deck that
the Reverend Chaplain had done, and continued with persevering
pertinacity to pace it, as upon the preceding day.
At that period of time nobly frowned in feudal grandeur those
fortresses, castles, towers, and rampires, which then defended the
romantic shores of Ayrshire from the sword of the invader, extending
their line of defence from Loch-Ryan to the port of Irvine; but which in
our own days have become picturesque ruins, festooned with fern, lichen,
and ivy, and affording solitary shelter to the owl, bat, and raven.
All these were passed by unlooked at and unobserved by the singular and
silent stranger; those classic shores of fame, destined in subsequent
ages to be immortalized in the ever imperishable song of the tender and
inimitable BURNS; these scenes, the favourite haunt of his "Tam o'
Shanter," the rich and verdant lawns, and the romantic rocky braes of
lordly Cassilis. All these delightful scenes were passed by unheeded,
for the stranger did not even look to shore, but studiously turned his
eyes seaward; and wrapt in deep, moody, mournful meditation, he seemed
to rejoice in the bounding billow, and in the roar of the tempest. Not
the mighty towering pyramid, of stupendous height, the colossal craig
of Ailsa,[3] which now they sailed past, could arrest his eye; nor the
fierce wild scream of the osprey, on its summit, could strike his ear,
although joined in hoarse, sullen, and dissonant chorus, by myriads of
the Solan tribe, that plumaged its surrounding base; while other
sea-fowl, like a misty-halo, hovering in mid-air, crowned its conic
crest.
[3] "The stupendous rock of Ailsa rises almost perpendicularly to
the height of 940 feet. The circumference of this singular rock at
its base is about two miles; its shape is somewhat conical, and it
is on all sides extremely precipitous. The only landing-place is
on the north-east, where there is a small beach, formed by
fragments which have fallen from the neighbouring rocks. The
cliffs of Ailsa are in several places distinctly columnar; and the
whole isle appears to be composed of rocks belonging to the newest
Floetz formation, the individual members of which resemble those
that occur in the island of Arran. This rock is inhabited by
immense flocks of birds, particularly gannets, or Solan geese; and
is rented from the Earl of Cassilis at £33 a year."--_Description
of Ayrshire._
The vessel had just shot past Ailsa-Rock, when fiercely the rising
tempest blew such a violent gale, that it caused "The William Wallace"
to be hurried, with vast impetuosity, through the straits between
Fair-Head and the Mull of Cantyre, and then boldly to be at once
launched into the Irish Sea.
The storm now raged with such fury, that it was necessary to furl every
sail, and to beat about the entire night under bare poles; while the
pitchy darkness of the sky, added to the horrors of the storm, made
their situation still more alarming and formidable.
The Reverend Chaplain, much fatigued and wearied, thought it advisable
to retire below to his hammock; so thought too even the solitary
stranger, who, although hitherto he seemed to woo the breeze, and enjoy
the storm, yet also thought it prudent to resume his station in the
cabin, and descended accordingly.
None now remained upon deck except such of the crew as were upon
immediate duty, and who were lashed to the masts; the hatchways were
closed down, and the sea, in mountain cataracts, burst over the deck
with impetuous roar; while overpowered with fatigue, perhaps too with
fear, the passengers fell into a sound sleep. Thus passed away the first
tempestuous night of their voyage.
Before the morning watch the wind strangely and perversely changed to
the opposite point of the compass, while squall fiercely succeeded
squall; and the dawn of day witnessed them coasting, west and by south,
"The storm-swept Orcades,"[4]
in a boisterous swollen sea, and beneath a darkened sky. Sorry we are
here to have it our duty to narrate that the vessel, probably from the
straining of her timbers, unhappily sprung a leak. All hands instantly
were at their post, and the crew exerted them-selves to the utmost in
closing the chasm, and incessantly, without respite or intermission,
plying every pump; and at length their efforts providentially fully
succeeded: for what will not determined resolution do, and persevering
unabating energy achieve! Relieved from this imminent and impending
danger, once more they proceed on their perilous course, amid this
fearful warfare of the elements.
[4] The Hebrides.
The entire of this eventful day the storm raged with unabated fury, the
wind continuing still in the same point, and onward tumultuously they
were driven by force of wave and wind. Towards night-fall the vessel
came close to the Feroe Islands, where it shortly got hemmed
in amid a cluster of rocks, not noticed in their charts. The night was
pitch-dark. However, after an interval, the clouds partially giving way,
the moon, which was nearly full, arose, and afforded a sufficient
friendly light for the Captain to ascertain the extent of the danger
which he had to encounter. He immediately caused the gunwale to be
lightened, by throwing the guns overboard, which effectually raised her,
and the waves of the returning tide assisted in extricating the vessel
from imminent peril. They at length happily succeeded in clearing the
vessel from her jeopardy, and rescuing the crew from impending
destruction. Still, however, it was momentarily dreaded that a new leak
might break forth, or that the vessel, bulging upon other unknown rocks,
might go to pieces, and the sufferers be swallowed up by the treacherous
and remorseless deep. These apprehensions continued throughout the
entire day.
The storm ere long returned more furious than at its first onset, and
soon broadly launched the vessel into the Northern Sea,
"While to the helm unfaithful still she lies."
The masts now became dreadfully shattered from the intensity of the
storm. Dangers and difficulties so increased, that all hopes of safety
seemed nearly at an end. Upon Providence, nevertheless, still the
hapless crew devoutly placed their trust; the Captain, from the very
perilous situation in which they were placed, was compelled to try one
desperate remedy, namely, to cut away the shrouds, and stay, and with
all possible expedition to hew down the mizen-mast. During this awful
operation the crew did not conduct them-selves like men without hope,
although around them all was danger and despair! They felt, however,
fully aware that little less than a miracle could extricate them from
the horrors which surrounded them. With instant promptitude having
obeyed and executed the orders of their Captain, with bold and skilful
celerity they soon lightened the vessel, which bounded with desperate
rapidity into the vast and boundless German Ocean: the watery world was
now all before them, and Providence their guide!
Once more it was day. Nothing however, worthy of being recorded,
occurred at that period, nor during the night.
On the fourth morning a watery sun arose in a hazy sky, they now were
close in view of the coast of Austrian-Flanders, with such rapidity, had
wind, and tide, and currents impelled them onward. They now proceeded at
the surprising rate of twelve knots an hour, the wind and tide
conjointly impelling, unassisted by any sail!
On the disastrous afternoon of this day the vessel made a desperate
plunge, striking upon a cluster of rocks some leagues distant from
land; the shock was so violent that nearly it had split the stern of the
gallant ship. Overcome by terror and fatigue, depressed by despair, and
more like the dead than the living, they remained awfully wedged in
between these dreadful rocks. Eventually, after an interval of suspense
and horror, which appeared to all as though it would never end, the
force and ascendant power of the buoyant billows heaved the vessel
completely over these formidable crags. She was now once more afloat,
but her rudder was borne away; and onward she was drifted at the sport
and will of the fiercely rolling waves.
Thus rapid was the vessel whirled, the mounting waves every moment
dashing in torrents athwart the deck. Again a second shock was
encountered. It was then all despair, desperation, madness! But, oh how
appalling to every feeling heart was the dreadful cry,
"All's lost! to prayers, to prayers! all's lost!"
Still in this state awfully the vessel rapidly was impelled, and
approached more closely to the coast of Austrian-Flanders. But alas! it
is our painful lot to record the unhappy fate of "The William Wallace of
Ayr;" when approaching Ostend the ill-omened bark struck upon a sand
bank, which but too truly is called "_Banc-Dangereux_;" then her
crushing timbers fatally loosened, and, dissevered by the convulsive
shock, promiscuously scattered upon the surface of the waves were seen
floating the disjoined wreck, shattered spars, divided stores, bales of
cargo, &c., along with the mangled corses of the dead, and the
struggling bodies of the living, all commingled, and tumultuously
undulating upon the agitated billows. But providential it was for the
survivors, who, in number, we grieve to state, were but few, that this
dreadful catastrophe occurred so closely to the shores of Ostend. Sorry,
however, we are to relate that all the crew (except two persons)
perished; and that among those who were saved, we have only to count the
Captain of the ship, the Mate, the Rev. Doctor M'Kenzie, Colonel
Davidson and his servant, these forming the very confined list, we
regret to say, of those who survived the terrors of that eventful day.
Impelled by the resistless call of humanity, several boats had put out
from the harbour, perceiving the perilous situation of the poor unhappy
sufferers; so that when the dread event took place, these were ready and
prompt to save the remnant of those who survived what time "The William
Wallace"
"Bulg'd at once, and in the deep was lost!"
The humanity of the Flemish sailors was rewarded by preserving the lives
of five individuals, as we have already observed, from a watery grave;
great manual and unwearied exertions were necessary for success, and the
unhappy sufferers were landed in safety upon the quay of Ostend.
Ostend is well known to every intelligent reader as a strong fortified
sea-port; but at the period of our narrative it did not appear under the
most favourable point of view, from the devastation that had ensued in
consequence of the long protracted siege of three years and three
months, which it had sustained against the Spaniards, under the command
of Spinola,[5] when fifty thousand of the garrison and inhabitants
perished in this fatal siege, either by disease or the sword; which
losses were severely retaliated and multiplied by the deaths of eighty
thousand of the besiegers!
[5] This, by the way, seems too like a bold anachronism of the
Reverend Gentleman's, but it has been correctly transcribed from
the M'Kenzie MSS. at least _omnia quæ extant_. However, for our
own part we must say, that we are strongly inclined to acquit the
Reverend Gentleman and scholar upon this score, inasmuch as he has
high authority to plead in self-defence the Bard of Mantua having
thought proper to make Æneas and Dido cotemporaries; and yet the
former flourished ONLY two hundred years before the building of
Carthage! with which anachronism to compare the Doctor's little
historical lapse, were indeed merely to match
"A mole-hill with Olympus!"
Upon their landing on _terra firma_, Colonel Davidson and Doctor
M'Kenzie put up their quarters at the old Saint Michael Inn; and there
having been refreshed and invigorated by a hearty substantial meal,
which fully and essentially answered every purpose of three or four
breakfasts, dinners, and suppers, they heartily congratulated each other
in a bottle of genuine and veritable Rhenish wine, upon their most
miraculous escape from a watery grave! They subsequently retired at an
early hour to repose, overcome, as they had been, by their sufferings
and fatigue both of body and of mind, to recover, by the renovation of
slumber, "kind Nature's gentle restorer," from the lassitude and horrors
of this eventful day.
The next morning they arose quite, or nearly, recovered from their past
sufferings; however, with the exception of the Reverend Gentleman, who
rather somewhat gravely grumbled at the perils which they had passed.
Nevertheless, with good seeming appetites, both began a tolerable _coup
de main et de fourchette_ upon the breakfast placed before them. Doctor
M'Kenzie observed, while he and the Colonel were sipping some admirable
coffee, assisted by the _agréments_ of excellent Flemish bread and eggs,
and swallowing _con amoré_ some Malines ham, which, accompanied with a
flowing flagon of Louvaine beer, no doubt put the grave and Reverend
Gentleman into the following train of thought: "I feel, my dear Sir,"
said he, "such a decided and unconquerable objection to a sea-voyage, at
least for some time to come, from which, although it may be silly in
sooth to say I have suffered so much, yet for the present I quite forego
my intention of returning to Ireland--I have indeed too much in my
recollection the
'Quæque ipse miserrima vidi,
Et quorum pars magna fui----.'
I therefore purpose to proceed to Aix la Chapelle for the benefit of its
waters. Indeed so great is the decided repugnance which I feel to again
encounter an aquatic expedition, that in the words of our old classical
acquaintance, Ovid, I needs must confess that--
'_Æquora me terrent, et ponti, tristis imago!_'
'The expansive ocean now affrights me,
And sad the mournful aspect of the deep!'
Moreover, gallant Colonel, I must say that I prefer the peaceful scenes
of nature and rural life to the war of elements, and the rage of
battle!"
"Well spoken, my Reverend Sir, like a peaceful gownsman, and quite
becoming the doctrine of that Gospel of which thou art a sacred
minister. But as for me, I like the din of battle, the neighing of the
noble war-horse, and the battle-stirring trumpet's brazen voice, the
groan of death, where contending squadrons commingle in the dreadful
shock, chorused by the cheering shout of victory."
The Colonel had just, in an emphatic tone of voice, twice shouted
"victory!" and had fiercely made another gallant attack upon the Malines
ham, when the door of the apartment was rudely opened, and entered by a
party of Gen d'Armes, who immediately proceeded to arrest them as
prisoners of war, on suspicion of being spies; and after a short
interval they both were led off and escorted to prison, where, attended
by the Colonel's servant, for the present we needs must leave them,
however reluctant, in durance vile.
* * * * *
The above Chapter, unquestionably in unison both with the history and
chronology of our Tale, should indeed occupy a much more remote station
in this our Romance of the days of superstition; but as we felt and
considered it of importance, and besides imping too our flight with some
portion of epic boldness, we have nobly dared and adventured to dash at
once "_in medias res_;" in the pursuance of which truly magnanimous
determination, courteous reader, we shall tell thee fair and softly, yet
in candour, that we shall necessarily be obliged (if thou wilt so
graciously permit us) to make some retrograde motions in the subsequent
chapters.
But, gentle reader, if thou wilt deign to recollect, that once a year
even mighty Sol himself, beneath Cancer, the influential sign of the
summer solstice, becomes retrograde. When thus we plead such high
authority thou wilt not perhaps deny an extension of the same privilege,
albeit to a disk, small and insignificant even as ours, undiscernible by
the eye of a Brinkley or a Herschell![6]
Permit us then, kind and patient reader, to retrace our steps and story
to the early part of this our notable history; then shalt thou learn the
birth of our interesting heroine, and become acquainted with personages,
characters, and events, connected with our Tale, which we trust thou
mayst find to be withal not unpalatable to thy taste; for which favour,
and all retrogressions, and progressions, and egressions, (we hope no
transgressions!) thanks and health to thee, mild and patient reader! We
laud thee for thy gentle forbearance and good humour in having
accompanied us thus far in this our long peregrination; wishing,
courteous reader, that thou couldst bestow on us the "_plaudite_" of old
Plautus, but without his _valete_, as we shall meet anon!
[6] Since the above was written Dr. Herschell has paid the debt of
nature. The other celebrated astronomer lives, and it is hoped
providence will yet grant him many years to preside over the noble
science which his powerful mind so ably illustrates and adorns.