My maid--my blue-eyed maid, he bore away,
Due to the toils of many a bloody day.--ILLIAD.
It was necessary, for many reasons, that Angus M’Aulay, so long the kind
protector of Annot Lyle, should be made acquainted with the change in
the fortunes of his late protege; and Montrose, as he had undertaken,
communicated to him these remarkable events. With the careless and
cheerful indifference of his character, he expressed much more joy than
wonder at Annot’s good fortune; had no doubt whatever she would merit
it, and as she had always been bred in loyal principles, would convey
the whole estate of her grim fanatical father to some honest fellow who
loved the king. “I should have no objection that my brother Allan should
try his chance,” added he, “notwithstanding that Sir Duncan Campbell was
the only man who ever charged Darnlinvarach with inhospitality. Annot
Lyle could always charm Allan out of the sullens, and who knows whether
matrimony might not make him more a man of this world?” Montrose
hastened to interrupt the progress of his castle-building, by informing
him that the lady was already wooed and won, and, with her father’s
approbation, was almost immediately to be wedded to his kinsman, the
Earl of Menteith; and that in testimony of the high respect due to
M’Aulay, so long the lady’s protector, he was now to request his
presence at the ceremony. M’Aulay looked very grave at this intimation,
and drew up his person with the air of one who thought that he had been
neglected.
“He contrived,” he said, “that his uniform kind treatment of the young
lady, while so many years under his roof, required something more upon
such an occasion than a bare compliment of ceremony. He might,” he
thought, “without arrogance, have expected to have been consulted. He
wished his kinsman of Menteith well, no man could wish him better;
but he must say he thought he had been hasty in this matter. Allan’s
sentiments towards the young lady had been pretty well understood, and
he, for one, could not see why the superior pretensions which he
had upon her gratitude should have been set aside, without at least
undergoing some previous discussion.”
Montrose, seeing too well where all this pointed, entreated M’Aulay
to be reasonable, and to consider what probability there was that the
Knight of Ardenvohr could be brought to confer the hand of his sole
heiress upon Allan, whose undeniable excellent qualities were mingled
with others, by which they were overclouded in a manner that made all
tremble who approached him.
“My lord,” said Angus M’Aulay, “my brother Allan has, as God made us
all, faults as well as merits; but he is the best and bravest man of
your army, be the other who he may, and therefore ill deserved that his
happiness should have been so little consulted by your Excellency--by
his own near kinsman--and by a young person who owes all to him and to
his family.”
Montrose in vain endeavoured to place the subject in a different view;
this was the point in which Angus was determined to regard it, and he
was a man of that calibre of understanding, who is incapable of being
convinced when he has once adopted a prejudice. Montrose now assumed
a higher tone, and called upon Angus to take care how he nourished
any sentiments which might be prejudicial to his Majesty’s service. He
pointed out to him, that he was peculiarly desirous that Allan’s efforts
should not be interrupted in the course of his present mission; “a
mission,” he said, “highly honourable for himself, and likely to prove
most advantageous to the King’s cause. He expected his brother would
hold no communication with him upon other subjects, nor stir up any
cause of dissension, which might divert his mind from a matter of such
importance.”
Angus answered somewhat sulkily, that “he was no makebate, or stirrer-up
of quarrels; he would rather be a peacemaker. His brother knew as well
as most men how to resent his own quarrels--as for Allan’s mode of
receiving information, it was generally believed he had other sources
than those of ordinary couriers. He should not be surprised if they saw
him sooner than they expected.”
A promise that he would not interfere, was the farthest to which
Montrose could bring this man, thoroughly good-tempered as he was on all
occasions, save when his pride, interest, or prejudices, were interfered
with. And at this point the Marquis was fain to leave the matter for the
present.
A more willing guest at the bridal ceremony, certainly a more willing
attendant at the marriage feast, was to be expected in Sir Dugald
Dalgetty, whom Montrose resolved to invite, as having been a confidant
to the circumstances which preceded it. But even Sir Dugald hesitated,
looked on the elbows of his doublet, and the knees of his leather
breeches, and mumbled out a sort of reluctant acquiescence in the
invitation, providing he should find it possible, after consulting with
the noble bridegroom. Montrose was somewhat surprised, but scorning to
testify displeasure, he left Sir Dugald to pursue his own course.
This carried him instantly to the chamber of the bride-groom, who,
amidst the scanty wardrobe which his camp-equipage afforded, was
seeking for such articles as might appear to the best advantage upon the
approaching occasion. Sir Dugald entered, and paid his compliments, with
a very grave face, upon his approaching happiness, which, he said, “he
was very sorry he was prevented from witnessing.”
“In plain truth,” said he, “I should but disgrace the ceremony, seeing
that I lack a bridal garment. Rents, and open seams, and tatters
at elbows in the apparel of the assistants, might presage a similar
solution of continuity in your matrimonial happiness--and to say truth,
my lord, you yourself must partly have the blame of this disappointment,
in respect you sent me upon a fool’s errand to get a buff-coat out of
the booty taken by the Camerons, whereas you might as well have sent me
to fetch a pound of fresh butter out of a black dog’s throat. I had no
answer, my lord, but brandished dirks and broadswords, and a sort of
growling and jabbering in what they call their language. For my part, I
believe these Highlanders to be no better than absolute pagans, and have
been much scandalized by the manner in which my acquaintance, Ranald
MacEagh, was pleased to beat his final march, a little while since.”
In Menteith’s state of mind, disposed to be pleased with everything,
and everybody, the grave complaint of Sir Dugald furnished additional
amusement. He requested his acceptance of a very handsome buff-dress
which was lying on the floor. “I had intended it,” he said, “for my own
bridal-garment, as being the least formidable of my warlike equipments,
and I have here no peaceful dress.”
Sir Dugald made the necessary apologies--would not by any means
deprive--and so forth, until it happily occurred to him that it was much
more according to military rule that the Earl should be married in his
back and breast pieces, which dress he had seen the bridegroom wear at
the union of Prince Leo of Wittlesbach with the youngest daughter of old
George Frederick, of Saxony, under the auspices of the gallant Gustavus
Adolphus, the Lion of the North, and so forth. The good-natured young
Earl laughed, and acquiesced; and thus having secured at least one merry
face at his bridal, he put on a light and ornamented cuirass, concealed
partly by a velvet coat, and partly by a broad blue silk scarf, which
he wore over his shoulder, agreeably to his rank, and the fashion of the
times.
Everything was now arranged; and it had been settled that, according
to the custom of the country, the bride and bridegroom should not again
meet until they were before the altar. The hour had already struck that
summoned the bridegroom thither, and he only waited in a small anteroom
adjacent to the chapel, for the Marquis, who condescended to act as
bride’s-man upon the occasion. Business relating to the army having
suddenly required the Marquis’s instant attention, Menteith waited his
return, it may be supposed, in some impatience; and when he heard
the door of the apartment open, he said, laughing, “You are late upon
parade.”
“You will find I am too early,” said Allan M’Aulay, who burst into the
apartment. “Draw, Menteith, and defend yourself like a man, or die like
a dog!”
“You are mad, Allan!” answered Menteith, astonished alike at his sudden
appearance, and at the unutterable fury of his demeanour. His cheeks
were livid--his eyes started from their sockets--his lips were covered
with foam, and his gestures were those of a demoniac.
“You lie, traitor!” was his frantic reply--“you lie in that, as you lie
in all you have said to me. Your life is a lie!”
“Did I not speak my thoughts when I called you mad,” said Menteith,
indignantly, “your own life were a brief one. In what do you charge me
with deceiving you?”
“You told me,” answered M’Aulay, “that you would not marry Annot
Lyle!--False traitor!--she now waits you at the altar.”
“It is you who speak false,” retorted Menteith. “I told you the
obscurity of her birth was the only bar to our union--that is now
removed; and whom do you think yourself, that I should yield up my
pretensions in your favour?”
“Draw then,” said M’Aulay; “we understand each other.”
“Not now,” said Menteith, “and not here. Allan, you know me well--wait
till to-morrow, and you shall have fighting enough.”
“This hour--this instant--or never,” answered M’Aulay.
“Your triumph shall not go farther than the hour which is stricken.
Menteith, I entreat you by our relationship--by our joint conflicts and
labours--draw your sword, and defend your life!” As he spoke, he seized
the Earl’s hand, and wrung it with such frantic earnestness, that his
grasp forced the blood to start under the nails. Menteith threw him off
with violence, exclaiming, “Begone, madman!”
“Then, be the vision accomplished!” said Allan; and, drawing his dirk,
struck with his whole gigantic force at the Earl’s bosom. The temper of
the corslet threw the point of the weapon upwards, but a deep wound
took place between the neck and shoulder; and the force of the blow
prostrated the bridegroom on the floor. Montrose entered at one side of
the anteroom. The bridal company, alarmed at the noise, were in equal
apprehension and surprise; but ere Montrose could almost see what had
happened, Allan M’Aulay had rushed past him, and descended the
castle stairs like lightning. “Guards, shut the gate!” exclaimed
Montrose--“Seize him--kill him, if he resists!--He shall die, if he were
my brother!”
But Allan prostrated, with a second blow of his dagger, a sentinel who
was upon duty---traversed the camp like a mountain-deer, though pursued
by all who caught the alarm--threw himself into the river, and, swimming
to the opposite side, was soon lost among the woods. In the course of
the same evening, his brother Angus and his followers left Montrose’s
camp, and, taking the road homeward, never again rejoined him.
Of Allan himself it is said, that, in a wonderfully short space after
the deed was committed, he burst into a room in the Castle of Inverary,
where Argyle was sitting in council, and flung on the table his bloody
dirk.
“Is it the blood of James Grahame?” said Argyle, a ghastly expression
of hope mixing with the terror which the sudden apparition naturally
excited.
“It is the blood of his minion,” answered M’Aulay--“It is the blood
which I was predestined to shed, though I would rather have spilt my
own.”
Having thus spoken, he turned and left the castle, and from that moment
nothing certain is known of his fate. As the boy Kenneth, with three of
the Children of the Mist, were seen soon afterwards to cross Lochfine,
it is supposed they dogged his course, and that he perished by their
hand in some obscure wilderness. Another opinion maintains, that Allan
M’Aulay went abroad and died a monk of the Carthusian order. But nothing
beyond bare presumption could ever be brought in support of either
opinion.
His vengeance was much less complete than he probably fancied; for
Menteith, though so severely wounded as to remain long in a dangerous
state, was, by having adopted Major Dalgetty’s fortunate recommendation
of a cuirass as a bridal-garment, happily secured from the worst
consequences of the blow. But his services were lost to Montrose; and it
was thought best, that he should be conveyed with his intended
countess, now truly a mourning bride, and should accompany his wounded
father-in-law to the castle of Sir Duncan at Ardenvohr. Dalgetty
followed them to the water’s edge, reminding Menteith of the necessity
of erecting a sconce on Drumsnab to cover his lady’s newly-acquired
inheritance.
They performed their voyage in safety, and Menteith was in a few weeks
so well in health, as to be united to Annot in the castle of her father.
The Highlanders were somewhat puzzled to reconcile Menteith’s recovery
with the visions of the second sight, and the more experienced Seers
were displeased with him for not having died. But others thought the
credit of the vision sufficiently fulfilled, by the wound inflicted by
the hand, and with the weapon, foretold; and all were of opinion, that
the incident of the ring, with the death’s head, related to the death
of the bride’s father, who did not survive her marriage many months.
The incredulous held, that all this was idle dreaming, and that Allan’s
supposed vision was but a consequence of the private suggestions of his
own passion, which, having long seen in Menteith a rival more beloved
than himself, struggled with his better nature, and impressed upon him,
as it were involuntarily, the idea of killing his competitor.
Menteith did not recover sufficiently to join Montrose during his brief
and glorious career; and when that heroic general disbanded his army and
retired from Scotland, Menteith resolved to adopt the life of privacy,
which he led till the Restoration. After that happy event, he occupied
a situation in the land befitting his rank, lived long, happy alike in
public regard and in domestic affection, and died at a good old age.
Our DRAMATIS PERSONAE have been so limited, that, excepting Montrose,
whose exploits and fate are the theme of history, we have only to
mention Sir Dugald Dalgetty. This gentleman continued, with the most
rigorous punctuality, to discharge his duty, and to receive his pay,
until he was made prisoner, among others, upon the field of Philiphaugh.
He was condemned to share the fate of his fellow-officers upon that
occasion, who were doomed to death rather by denunciations from the
pulpit, than the sentence either of civil or military tribunal; their
blood being considered as a sort of sin-offering to take away the guilt
of the land, and the fate imposed upon the Canaanites, under a special
dispensation, being impiously and cruelly applied to them.
Several Lowland officers, in the service of the Covenanters, interceded
for Dalgetty on this occasion, representing him as a person whose skill
would be useful in their army, and who would be readily induced to
change his service. But on this point they found Sir Dugald unexpectedly
obstinate. He had engaged with the King for a certain term, and,
till that was expired, his principles would not permit any shadow of
changing. The Covenanters, again, understood no such nice distinction,
and he was in the utmost danger of falling a martyr, not to this or that
political principle, but merely to his own strict ideas of a military
enlistment. Fortunately, his friends discovered, by computation, that
there remained but a fortnight to elapse of the engagement he had
formed, and to which, though certain it was never to be renewed, no
power on earth could make him false. With some difficulty they procured
a reprieve for this short space, after which they found him perfectly
willing to come under any engagements they chose to dictate. He entered
the service of the Estates accordingly, and wrought himself forward to
be Major in Gilbert Ker’s corps, commonly called the Kirk’s Own Regiment
of Horse. Of his farther history we know nothing, until we find him in
possession of his paternal estate of Drumthwacket, which he acquired,
not by the sword, but by a pacific intermarriage with Hannah Strachan,
a matron somewhat stricken in years, the widow of the Aberdeenshire
Covenanter.
Sir Dugald is supposed to have survived the Revolution, as traditions
of no very distant date represent him as cruising about in that country,
very old, very deaf, and very full of interminable stories about the
immortal Gustavus Adolphus, the Lion of the North, and the bulwark of
the Protestant Faith.
*****
READER! THE TALES OF MY LANDLORD ARE NOW FINALLY CLOSED, closed, and
it was my purpose to have addressed thee in the vein of Jedediah
Cleishbotham; but, like Horam the son of Asmar, and all other imaginary
story-tellers, Jedediah has melted into thin air.
Mr. Cleishbotham bore the same resemblance to Ariel, as he at whose
voice he rose doth to the sage Prospero; and yet, so fond are we of the
fictions of our own fancy, that I part with him, and all his imaginary
localities, with idle reluctance. I am aware this is a feeling in which
the reader will little sympathize; but he cannot be more sensible than
I am, that sufficient varieties have now been exhibited of the Scottish
character, to exhaust one individual’s powers of observation, and that
to persist would be useless and tedious. I have the vanity to suppose,
that the popularity of these Novels has shown my countrymen, and their
peculiarities, in lights which were new to the Southern reader; and that
many, hitherto indifferent upon the subject, have been induced to read
Scottish history, from the allusions to it in these works of fiction.
I retire from the field, conscious that there remains behind not only a
large harvest, but labourers capable of gathering it in. More than one
writer has of late displayed talents of this description; and if the
present author, himself a phantom, may be permitted to distinguish a
brother, or perhaps a sister shadow, he would mention, in particular,
the author of the very lively work entitled MARRIAGE.
IV. APPENDIX.
No. I
The scarcity of my late friend’s poem may be an excuse for adding the
spirited conclusion of Clan Alpin’s vow. The Clan Gregor has met in the
ancient church of Balquidder. The head of Drummond-Ernoch is placed on
the altar, covered for a time with the banner of the tribe. The Chief of
the tribe advances to the altar:
And pausing, on the banner gazed;
Then cried in scorn, his finger raised,
“This was the boon of Scotland’s king;”
And, with a quick and angry fling,
Tossing the pageant screen away,
The dead man’s head before him lay.
Unmoved he scann’d the visage o’er,
The clotted locks were dark with gore,
The features with convulsion grim,
The eyes contorted, sunk, and dim.
But unappall’d, in angry mood,
With lowering brow, unmoved he stood.
Upon the head his bared right hand
He laid, the other grasp’d his brand:
Then kneeling, cried, “To Heaven I swear
This deed of death I own, and share;
As truly, fully mine, as though
This my right hand had dealt the blow:
Come then, our foeman, one, come all;
If to revenge this caitiffs fall
One blade is bared, one bow is drawn,
Mine everlasting peace I pawn,
To claim from them, or claim from him,
In retribution, limb for limb.
In sudden fray, or open strife,
This steel shall render life for life.”
He ceased; and at his beckoning nod,
The clansmen to the altar trod;
And not a whisper breathed around,
And nought was heard of mortal sound,
Save from the clanking arms they bore,
That rattled on the marble floor;
And each, as he approach’d in haste,
Upon the scalp his right hand placed;
With livid lip, and gather’d brow,
Each uttered, in his turn, the vow.
Fierce Malcolm watch’d the passing scene,
And search’d them through with glances keen;
Then dash’d a tear-drop from his eye;
Unhid it came--he knew not why.
Exulting high, he towering stood:
“Kinsmen,” he cried, “of Alpin’s blood,
And worthy of Clan Alpin’s name,
Unstain’d by cowardice and shame,
E’en do, spare nocht, in time of ill
Shall be Clan Alpin’s legend still!”
No. II.
It has been disputed whether the Children of the Mist were actual
MacGregors, or whether they were not outlaws named MacDonald, belonging
to Ardnamurchan. The following act of the Privy Council seems to decide
the question:--
“Edinburgh, 4th February, 1589.
“The same day, the Lords of Secret Council being crediblie informed of
ye cruel and mischievous proceeding of ye wicked Clangrigor, so lang
continueing in blood, slaughters, herships, manifest reifts, and stouths
committed upon his Hieness’ peaceable and good subjects; inhabiting ye
countries ewest ye brays of ye Highlands, thir money years bybgone;
but specially heir after ye cruel murder of umqll Jo. Drummond of
Drummoneyryuch, his Majesties proper tennant and ane of his fosters of
Glenartney, committed upon ye day of last bypast, be certain of ye said
clan, be ye council and determination of ye haill, avow and to defend ye
authors yrof qoever wald persew for revenge of ye same, qll ye said Jo.
was occupied in seeking of venison to his Hieness, at command of
Pat. Lord Drummond, stewart of Stratharne, and principal forrester of
Clenartney; the Queen, his Majesties dearest spouse, being yn shortlie
looked for to arrive in this realm. Likeas, after ye murder committed,
ye authors yrof cutted off ye said umqll Jo. Drummond’s head, and
carried the same to the Laird of M’Grigor, who, and the haill surname of
M’Grigors, purposely conveined upon the Sunday yrafter, at the Kirk of
Buchquhidder; qr they caused ye said umqll John’s head to be pnted to
ym, and yr avowing ye sd murder to have been committed by yr communion,
council, and determination, laid yr hands upon the pow, and in eithnik,
and barbarous manner, swear to defend ye authors of ye sd murder, in
maist proud contempt of our sovrn Lord and his authoritie, and in
evil example to others wicked limmaris to do ye like, give ys sall be
suffered to remain unpunished.”
Then follows a commission to the Earls of Huntly, Argyle, Athole,
Montrose, Pat. Lord Drummond, Ja. Commendator of Incheffray, And.
Campbel of Lochinnel, Duncan Campbel of Ardkinglas, Lauchlane M’Intosh
of Dunnauchtane, Sir Jo. Murray of Tullibarden, knt., Geo. Buchanan of
that Ilk, and And. M’Farlane of Ariquocher, to search for and apprehend
Alaster M’Grigor of Glenstre (and a number of others nominatim), “and
all others of the said Clangrigor, or ye assistars, culpable of the said
odious murther, or of thift, reset of thift, herships, and sornings,
qrever they may be apprehended. And if they refuse to be taken, or flees
to strengths and houses, to pursue and assege them with fire and sword;
and this commission to endure for the space of three years.”
Such was the system of police in 1589; and such the state of Scotland
nearly thirty years after the Reformation.
V. NOTES.
Note I.--FIDES ET FIDUCIA SUNT RELATIVA.
The military men of the times agreed upon dependencies of honour, as
they called them, with all the metaphysical argumentation of civilians,
or school divines.
The English officer, to whom Sir James Turner was prisoner after the
rout at Uttoxeter, demanded his parole of honour not to go beyond the
wall of Hull without liberty. “He brought me the message himself,--I
told him I was ready to do so, provided he removed his guards from
me, for FIDES ET FIDUCIA SUNT RELATIVA; and, if he took my word for my
fidelity, he was obliged to trust it, otherwise, it was needless for him
to seek it, either to give trust to my word, which I would not break, or
his own guards, who I supposed would not deceive him. In this manner I
dealt with him, because I knew him to be a scholar.”--TURNER’S MEMOIRS,
p. 80. The English officer allowed the strength of the reasoning; but
that concise reasoner, Cromwell, soon put an end to the dilemma: “Sir
James Turner must give his parole, or be laid in irons.”
Note II.--WRAITHS.
A species of apparition, similar to what the Germans call a
Double-Ganger, was believed in by the Celtic tribes, and is still
considered as an emblem of misfortune or death. Mr. Kirke (See Note to
ROB ROY,), the minister of Aberfoil, who will no doubt be able to tell
us more of the matter should he ever come back from Fairy-land, gives us
the following:--
“Some men of that exalted sight, either by art or nature, have told me
they have seen at these meetings a double man, or the shape of some man
in two places, that is, a superterranean and a subterranean
inhabitant perfectly resembling one another in all points, whom he,
notwithstanding, could easily distinguish one fro another by some secret
tokens and operations, and so go speak to the man his neighbour and
familiar, passing by the apparition or resemblance of him. They avouch
that every element and different state of being have animals resembling
those of another element, as there be fishes at sea resembling Monks of
late order in all their hoods and dresses, so as the Roman invention
of good and bad daemons and guardian angels particularly assigned, is
called by them ane ignorant mistake, springing only from this originall.
They call this reflex man a Co-Walker, every way like the man, as a
twin-brother and companion haunting him as his shadow, as is that seen
and known among men resembling the originall, both before and after the
originall is dead, and was also often seen of old to enter a hous, by
which the people knew that the person of that liknes was to visit them
within a few days. This copy, echo, or living picture, goes at last to
his own herd. It accompanied that person so long and frequently for ends
best known to its selve, whether to guard him from the secret assaults
of some of its own folks, or only as an sportfull ape to counterfeit all
his actions.”--KIRKE’S SECRET COMMOMWEALTH, p. 3.
The two following apparitions, resembling the vision of Allan M’Aulay in
the text, occur in Theophilus Insulanus (Rev. Mr. Fraser’s Treatise on
the Second Sight, Relations x. and xvii.):--
“Barbara Macpherson, relict of the deceased Mr. Alexander MacLeod, late
minister of St. Kilda, informed me the natives of that island had a
particular kind of second sight, which is always a forerunner of their
approaching end. Some months before they sicken, they are haunted with
an apparition, resembling themselves in all respects as to their person,
features, or clothing. This image, seemingly animated, walks with them
in the field in broad daylight; and if they are employed in delving,
harrowing, seed-sowing, or any other occupation, they are at the same
time mimicked by this ghostly visitant. My informer added further that
having visited a sick person of the inhabitants, she had the curiosity
to enquire of him, if at any time he had seen any resemblance of himself
as above described; he answered in the affirmative, and told her, that
to make farther trial, as he was going out of his house of a morning, he
put on straw-rope garters instead of those he formerly used, and
having gone to the fields, his other self appeared in such garters. The
conclusion was, the sick man died of that ailment, and she no longer
questioned the truth of those remarkable presages.”
“Margaret MacLeod, an honest woman advanced in years, informed me, that
when she was a young woman in the family of Grishornish, a dairy-maid,
who daily used to herd the calves in a park close to the house,
observed, at different times, a woman resembling herself in shape and
attire, walking solitarily at no great distance from her, and being
surprised at the apparition, to make further trial, she put the back
part of her upper garment foremost, and anon the phantom was dressed
in the same manner, which made her uneasy, believing it portended some
fatal consequence to herself. In a short time thereafter she was seized
with a fever, which brought her to her end, and before her sickness and
on her deathbed, declared the second sight to several.”
End of Project Gutenberg’s A Legend of Montrose, by Sir Walter Scott