Produced by Al Haines.
*THE ROMANCE OF WAR:*
OR,
THE HIGHLANDERS IN SPAIN
BY
JAMES GRANT, ESQ.
_Late 62nd Regiment._
"In the garb of old Gaul, with the fire of old Rome,
From the heath-covered mountains of Scotia we come;
Our loud-sounding pipe breathes the true martial strain,
And our hearts still the old Scottish valour retain."
_Lt.-Gen. Erskine._
IN THREE VOLUMES.
VOL. I.
LONDON:
HENRY COLBURN, PUBLISHER,
GREAT MARLBOROUGH STREET.
1846.
LONDON:
PRINTED BY MAURICE AND CO., HOWFORD BUILDINGS,
FENCHURCH STREET.
*PREFACE.*
Notwithstanding the numerous volumes which have been given to the public
relative to the glorious operations of the British Army, for rescuing
Portugal and Spain from the grasp of the invader, the Author of this
work flatters himself that it will not be found deficient in novelty or
interest. He acknowledges that, according to precedent, scenes and
incidents have been introduced into it which are purely imaginary, and
whether he ought to apologize for these, or to make a merit of them, he
must leave his readers to decide, according to their individual tastes
and predilections.
It will need no great sagacity to discriminate between this portion and
the veritable historical and military details, the result of the
experience of one,[*] who had the honour of serving in that gallant
corps to which these volumes more especially relate, during the whole of
its brilliant course of service in the Peninsula, and who participated
in all the proud feelings which arose when contemplating the triumphant
career of an army, whose deeds and victories are unsurpassed in the
annals of war.
[*] A near relation of the author.
Most of the military operations, and many of the characters, will be
familiar to the survivors of the second division, and brother-officers
will recognise many old associates in the convivialities of the
mess-table, and in the perils of the battle-field. The names of others
belong to history, and with them the political or military reader will
be already acquainted.
It is impossible for a writer to speak of his own productions, without
exposing himself to imputations of either egotism or affected modesty;
the Author therefore will merely add, that he trusts that most readers
may discover something to attract in these volumes, which depict from
the life the stirring events and all the romance of warfare, with the
various lights and shades of military service, the principal characters
being members of one of those brave regiments, which, from their
striking garb, national feelings, romantic sentiments, and _esprit de
corps_, are essentially different from the generality of our troops of
the line.
EDINBURGH,
_Nov._ 1846.
*CONTENTS*
Chapter
I. Introductory
II. Interviews
III. A True Highlander
IV. The Departure
V. Edinburgh Castle
VI. Foreign Service
VII. Merida
VIII. An Adventure
IX. Donna Catalina
X. Flirtation
XI. Alice Lisle.--News from Home
XII. The Conde
XIII. The Duel
XIV. Muleteers
XV. The Banditti
XVI. A Siege
XVII. A Meeting
*THE ROMANCE OF WAR.*
*CHAPTER I.*
*INTRODUCTORY.*
"Still linger in our northern clime
Some remnants of the good old time;
And still within our valleys here
We hold the kindred title dear;
Even though perchance its far-fetched claim,
To Southron ear, sounds empty name;
For course of blood, our proverbs deem,
Is warmer than the mountain stream."
_Marmion_, canto vi.
In the Highlands of Perthshire a deadly feud had existed, from time
immemorial, between the Lisles of Inchavon and the Stuarts of Lochisla.
In the days when the arm of the law was weak, the proprietors had often
headed their kinsmen and followers in encounters with the sword, and for
the last time during the memorable civil war of 1745-6. But between the
heads of the families, towards the latter end of the last century, (the
period when our tale commences,) although the era of feudal ideas and
outrages had passed away, the spirit of transmitted hatred, proud
rivalry and revenge, lurked behind, and a feeling of most cordial enmity
existed between Stuart and Lisle, who were ever engaged in vexatious
law-suits on the most frivolous pretences, and constantly endeavouring
to cross each other's interests and intentions,--quarrelling at public
meetings,--voting on opposite sides,--prosecuting for trespasses, and
opposing each other every where, "as if the world was not wide enough
for them both;" and on one occasion a duel would have ensued but for the
timely interference of the sheriff.
Sir Allan Lisle of Inchavon, a man of a quiet and most benevolent
disposition, was heartily tired of the trouble given him by the petty
jealousy of his neighbour Stuart, a proud and irritable Highlander, who
would never stoop to reconciliation with a family whom his father (a
grim _duinhe-wassal_ of the old school) had ever declared to him were
the hereditary foes of his race. The reader may consider it singular
that such antiquated prejudices should exist so lately as the end of the
last century; but it must be remembered that the march of intellect has
not made such strides in the north country as it has done in the
Lowlands, and many of the inhabitants of Perthshire will recognise a
character well known to them, under the name of Mr. Stuart.
It must also be remembered, that he was the son of a man who had beheld
the standard of the Stuarts unfurled in Glenfinan, and had exercised
despotic power over his own vassals when the feudal system existed in
its full force, before the act of the British parliament abolished the
feudal jurisdictions throughout Scotland, and absolved the unwilling
Highlanders from allegiance to their chiefs.
Sir Allan Lisle (who was M.P. for a neighbouring county) was in every
respect a man of superior attainments to Stuart,--being a scholar, the
master of many modern accomplishments, and having made the grand tour.
To save himself further annoyance, he would gladly have extended the
right hand of fellowship to his stubborn neighbour, but pride forbade
him to make the first advances.
The residence of this intractable Gael was a square tower, overgrown
with masses of ivy, and bearing outwardly, and almost inwardly, the same
appearance as when James the Fifth visited it once when on a hunting
excursion. The walls were enormously thick; the grated windows were
small and irregular; a corbelled battlement surmounted the top, from the
stone bartizan of which the standard of the owner was, on great days,
hoisted with much formality by Donald Iverach, the old piper, or Evan
his son, two important personages in the household of the little tower.
This primitive fortalice was perched upon a projecting craig, which
overhung the loch of Isla, a small but beautiful sheet of water, having
in its centre an islet with the ruins of a chapel. The light-green
birch and black sepulchral pine, flourishing wild and thickly, grew
close to the edge of the loch, and cast their dark shadows upon its
generally unruffled surface. Around, the hills rose lofty, precipitous,
and abrupt from the margin of the lake; some were covered with foliage
to the summit, and others, bare and bleak, covered only with the whin
bush or purple heather, where the red roe and the black cock roved wild
and free; while, dimly seen in the distance, rose the misty crest of
Benmore, (nearly four thousand feet above the level of the sea,) the
highest mountain, save one, in Perthshire.
A little _clachan_, or hamlet, consisting of about twenty green thatched
cottages clustered together, with kail-yards behind, occupied the foot
of the ascent leading to the tower; these were inhabited by the tenants,
farm-servants, and herdsmen of Stuart. The graceful garb of the Gael
was almost uniformly worn by the men; and the old wives, who in fine
weather sat spinning on the turf-seats at the doors, wore the simple
_mutch_ and the varied tartan of their name. The wife of this Highland
castellan had long been dead, as were their children excepting one son,
who was almost the only near kinsman that Stuart had left.
Ronald was a handsome youth, with a proud dark eye, a haughty lip, and a
bold and fearless heart,--possessing all those feelings which render the
Scottish Highlander a being of a more elevated and romantic cast than
his Lowland neighbours. He was well aware of the groundless animosity
which his father nourished against Sir Allan Lisle; but as in the course
of his lonely rambles, fishing, shooting, or hunting, he often when a
boy encountered the younger members of the Inchavon family, and as he
found them agreeable companions and playmates, he was far from sharing
in the feelings of his prejudiced father. He found Sir Allan's son,
Lewis Lisle, an obliging and active youth, a perfect sportsman, who
could wing a bird with a single ball, and who knew every corrie and
chasm through which the wandering Isla flowed, and the deep pools where
the best trout were always to be found.
In Alice Lisle Ronald found a pretty and agreeable playmate in youth,
but a still more agreeable companion for a solitary ramble as they
advanced in years; and he discovered in her splendid dark eyes and
glossy black hair charms which he beheld not at home in his father's
mountain tower.
During childhood, when the days passed swiftly and happily, the brother
and sister, of a milder mood than Ronald Stuart, admired the activity
with which he was wont to climb the highest craigs and trees, swinging
himself, with the dexterity of a squirrel, from branch to branch, or
rock to rock, seeking the nests of the eagle or raven, or flowers that
grew in the clefts of Craigonan, to deck the dark curls of Alice. Still
more were they charmed with the peculiarity of his disposition, which
was deeply tinged with the gloomy and romantic,--a sentiment which
exists in the bosom of every Highlander, imparted by the scenery amidst
which he dwells, the lonely hills and silent shores of his lochs,
pathless and solitary heaths, where cairns and moss-covered stones mark
the tombs of departed warriors, pine-covered hills, frowning rocks, and
solitary defiles,--all fraught with traditions of the past, or tales of
mysterious beings who abide in them. These cause the Gaelic mountaineer
to be a sadder and more thoughtful man than the dwellers in the low
country, who inhabit scenes less grand and majestic.
In the merry laugh and the gentle voice of Alice, Ronald found a charm
to wean him from the tower of Lochisla, and the hours which he spent in
her society, or in watching the windows of her father's house, were
supposed to be spent in search of the black cock and the fleet roes of
Benmore; and many a satirical observation he endured, in consequence of
bringing home an empty game-bag, after a whole day's absence with his
gun.
Ronald enjoyed but little society at the tower. His father, in
consequence of the death of his wife and younger children, and owing to
many severe losses which he had sustained in the course of his long
series of litigations, had become a moody and silent man, spending his
days either in reading, or in solitary rides and rambles. His voice,
which, when he did speak, was authoritative enough and loud, was seldom
heard in the old tower, where the predominant sounds were the grunting
tones of Janet, the aged housekeeper, who quarrelled continually with
Donald Iverach, the piper, whenever the latter could find time, from his
almost constant occupations of piping and drinking, to enjoy a skirmish
with her.
As years crept on, the friendship between the young people strengthened,
and in the breasts of Alice and Ronald Stuart became a deeper and a more
absorbing feeling, binding them "heart to heart and mind to mind," and
each became all the world unto the other. To them there was something
pleasing and even romantic in the strange secrecy they were necessitated
to use; believing that, should their intercourse ever come to the ears
of their parents, effectual means would be taken to put a stop to it.
*CHAPTER II.*
*INTERVIEWS.*
"And must I leave my native isle--
Fair friendship's eye--affection's smile--
The mountain sport--the angler's wile--
The birch and weeping willow, O!
The Highland glen--the healthy gale--
The gloaming glee--the evening tale--
And must I leave my native vale,
And brave the boisterous billow, O!"
_Hogg's Forest Minstrel._
"Alice! my own fair Alice! my hard destiny ordains that I must leave
you," was the sorrowful exclamation of Ronald one evening, as he joined
Alice at their usual place of meeting, a solitary spot on the banks of
the Isla, where the willow and alder bush, overhanging the steep rocks,
swept the dark surface of the stream.
"Leave me! O Ronald, what can you mean?" was the trembling reply of the
fair girl, as she put her arm through his, and gazed anxiously on the
troubled countenance of her lover.
"That I must go--far from you and the bonnie banks of the Isla. Yes,
Alice; but it is only for a short time, I trust. Of the embarrassed
state of my father's affairs, by his long law-suits and other matters, I
have acquainted you already, and it has now become necessary for me to
choose some profession. My choice has been the army: what other could
one, possessing the true spirit of a Highland gentleman, follow?"
"O Ronald! I ever feared our happiness was too great to last long. Ah!
you must not leave me."
"Alice," replied the young Highlander, his cheek flushing while he
spoke, "our best and bravest men are going forth in thousands to meet
the enemies of our country, drenching in their blood the fatal
Peninsula; and can I remain behind, when so many of my name and kindred
have fallen in the service of the king? Never has the honour of
Scotland been tarnished by the few who have returned, nor lost by those
who have fallen, in every clime, where the British standard has been
unfurled against an enemy. An ensigncy has been promised me--and in a
Highland regiment, wearing the garb, inheriting the spirit of the Gael,
and commanded by a grandson of the great Lochiel; and I cannot shrink
when my father bids me go, although my heart should almost burst at
leaving you behind, my own--own Alice!" and he pressed to his bosom the
agitated girl, who seemed startled at the vehemence with which he had
spoken.
"But hold, Alice," he added, on perceiving tears trembling on her dark
eyelashes; "you must not give way thus. I will return, and all will yet
be well. Only imagine what happiness will then be ours, should the
families be on good terms, and I, perhaps, Sir Ronald Stewart, and
knight of I know not how many orders?"
"Ah, Ronald! but think of how many have left their happy homes with
hearts beating high with hope and pride, and left them never to return.
Did not the three sons of your cousin of Strathonan leave their bones on
the red sands of Egypt? and many more can I name. Ah! how I tremble to
think of the scenes that poor soldiers must behold,--scenes of which I
cannot form even the slightest conception."
"These are sad forebodings," replied the young man, smiling tenderly,
"and from the lips of one less young and less beautiful than yourself,
might have been considered as omens of mischance. I trust, however,
that I, who have so often shot the swiftest red roes in Strathisla,
slept whole nights on the frozen heather, and know so well the use of
the target and claymore, (thanks to old Iverach,) shall make no bad
soldier or campaigner, and endure the hardships incident to a military
life infinitely better than the fine gentlemen of the Lowland cities.
The proud Cameron who is to command me will, I am sure, be my friend; he
will not forget that his grandsire's life was saved by mine at Culloden,
and he will regard me with the love of the olden time, for the sake of
those that are dead and gone. Oh, Alice! I could view the bright
prospect which is before me with tumultuous joy, but for the sorrow of
leaving you, my white-haired father, and the bonnie braes and deep
corries of Isla. But if with Heaven's aid I escape, promise, Alice,
that when I return you will be mine,--mine by a dearer title than ever I
could call you heretofore."
"Ronald--dearest Ronald! I will love you as I have ever done," she said
in a soft yet energetic tone; "and I feel a secret voice within me which
tells that the happy anticipations of the past will--will yet be
accomplished." The girl laid her blushing cheek on the shoulder of the
young man, and her dark thick curls, becoming free from the little cap
or bonnet which had confined them, fell over his breast in disorder.
At that exciting moment of passion and mental tumult, Ronald's eye met a
human countenance observing them sternly from among the leaves of the
trees that flourished near them. The foliage was suddenly pushed aside,
and Sir Allan Lisle appeared, scanning the young offenders with a stern
glance of displeasure and surprise. He was a tall thin man, in the
prime of life, with a fine countenance expressive of mildness and
benevolence. He wore his hair thickly powdered, and tied in a queue
behind. He carried a heavy hunting-whip in his hand, which he grasped
ominously as he turned his keen eye alternately from the young man to
his trembling daughter, who, leaning against a tree, covered her face
with her handkerchief and sobbed hysterically. Ronald Stuart stood
erect, and returned Sir Allan's glance as firmly and as proudly as he
could, but he felt some trouble in maintaining his self-possession. His
smart blue bonnet had fallen off, fully revealing his strongly-marked
and handsome features, where Sir Allan read at once that he was a bold
youth, with whom proud looks and hard words would little avail.
"How now, sir!" said he at length. "What am I to understand by all
this? Speak, young gentleman," he added, perceiving that Ronald was
puzzled, "answer me truly: as the father of this imprudent girl, I am
entitled to a reply."
Ronald was about to stammer forth something.
"You are, I believe, the son of Stuart of Lochisla?" interrupted Sir
Allan sternly, "who is far from being a friend to me or mine. How long
is it since you have known my daughter? and what am I to understand from
the scene you have acted here?"
"That I love Miss Lisle with the utmost tenderness that one being is
capable of entertaining for another," replied Ronald, his face suffusing
with a crimson glow at the earnest confession. "Sir Allan, if you have
seen what passed just now, you will perceive that I treat her with that
respect and delicacy which the beauties of her mind and person deserve."
"This is indeed all very fine, sir! and very romantic too; but rather
unexpected--upon my honour rather so," replied the baronet
sarcastically, as he drew the arm of the weeping Alice through his. "But
pray, Master Stuart, how long has this clandestine matter been carried
on? how long have you been acquainted?"
"From our earliest childhood, sir,--indeed I tell you truly,--from the
days in which we used to gather wild flowers and berries together as
little children. We have been ever together; a day has scarcely elapsed
without our seeing each other, and there is not a dingle of the woods, a
dark corrie of the Isla, or a spot on the braes of Strathonan, where we
have not wandered hand in hand, since the days when Alice was a laughing
little girl with flaxen curls until now, when she is become tall,
beautiful, and almost a woman, with ringlets as black as the wing of the
muircock. But your son Lewis will tell all these things better than I
can, as I am rather confused just now, Sir Allan."
"'Tis very odd this matter has been concealed from me so long," said the
other, softened by the earnest tone of the young man, who felt how much
depended upon the issue of the present unlooked-for interview; "and if
my ears have not deceived me, I think I heard you offer marriage to my
foolish daughter on your return from somewhere?"
"It is very true, sir," replied the young man modestly.
"And pray, young sir! what are your pretensions to the hand of Miss
Lisle?"
"Sir!" ejaculated Ronald, his cheek flushing and his eye sparkling at
the angry inquiry of the other.
"I ask you, Mr Stuart, what are they? Your father I know to be an
almost ruined man, whose estates are deeply dipped and overwhelmed by
bonds, mortgages, and what not. He has moreover been a deadly enemy to
me, and has most unwarrantably----"
"Oh, pray, papa! dear papa!" urged the young lady imploringly.
"Sir Allan Lisle," cried Ronald with a stern tone, while his heart beat
tumultuously, "Lowland lawyers and unlooked-for misfortunes are, I know,
completing our ruin, and the pen and parchment have made more inroads
upon us than ever your ancestors could have done with all Perthshire at
their back; but, truly, it ill becomes a gentleman of birth and breeding
to speak thus slightingly of an old and honourable Highland family. If
my father, inheriting as he does ancient prejudices, has been hostile to
your interests, I, Sir Allan, never have been so; and the time was once,
when a Lisle dared not have spoken thus tauntingly to a Stuart of the
house of Lochisla."
Sir Allan admired the proud and indignant air with which the youth
spoke; but he wished to humble him if possible, and deemed that irony
was a better weapon than anger to meet the fiery young Highlander with.
He gave a sort of tragi-comic start, and was about to make some
sarcastic reply, when his foot caught the root of a tree; he reeled
backward, and fell over the rocky bank into the Isla, which formed a
deep, dark, and noiseless pool below.
A loud and startling cry burst from Alice, as her father suddenly
disappeared from her side.
"Save him, save him, Ronald! Oh, Ronald! if you love me, save my
father!" she cried in accents at once soul-stirring and imploring, while
she threw herself upon her knees, and, not daring to look upon the
stream, covered her eyes with her hands, calling alternately upon Heaven
and her lover, in tones which defy the power of language to describe, to
save her father.
"Dearest Alice, calm yourself; be pacified,--he shall not perish," cried
Ronald, whose presence of mind had never once forsaken him, as he cast
aside his bonnet and short sporting coat, and gazed over the bank upon
the rapid river running between two abrupt walls of rock, against the
dark sides of which the spray and foam raised by Sir Allan's struggles
was dashed. The latter was beating the water fruitlessly in the centre
of the pool, where it was deep and the current strong; yet he made no
outcry, as if unwilling to add to the distress which he knew his
daughter already experienced.
He bestowed one look of terror and agony on Ronald, who instantly sprang
off the precipitous rock, and swimming round him, strongly and
vigorously in wide circles, caught him warily by the hair, and holding
his head above the surface of the stream, swam down the current to a
spot where the bank was less steep, and with some exertion landed him
safely on the green turf, where he lay long speechless; while Alice
wrung her hands, and wept in an ecstasy of terror, embracing her father
and his preserver by turns. The latter, who was nothing the worse for
his ducking, put on his bonnet and upper garment with perfect _sang
froid_; but it was some time before Sir Allan recovered himself so far
as to be able to thank his preserver, who poured down his throat as he
lay prostrate the contents of a metal hunting-flask, which he generally
carried about with him filled with the best brandy, procured, by means
unknown, duty free at Lochisla.
Shortly and emphatically did Sir Allan thank Ronald for the aid he had
rendered, as he must inevitably have perished, being unable to swim, and
having to contend with a strong current, which would soon have carried
him over the high cascade of Corrie-avon. Ronald inwardly blessed the
accident which had rendered Sir Allan so much his debtor, and wrought
such a happy change of sentiment in his favour. He accompanied Alice
and her father to one of the gate-lodges of Inchavon, and there
resisting an earnest invitation to the house, he returned with all speed
home, not ill pleased with the issue of the day's adventures.
*CHAPTER III.*
*A TRUE HIGHLANDER.*
"Not much his new ally he loved,
Yet when he saw what hap had proved,
He greeted him right heartilie;
He would not waken old debate,
For he was void of rancorous hate,
Though rude, and scant of courtesy."
_The Last Minstrel_, canto v.
One fine forenoon, a few days after the occurrences related in the last
chapter, a horseman appeared riding along the narrow uneven road leading
by the banks of Lochisla towards the tower. It was Sir Allan Lisle, who
came along at a slow trot, managing his nag with the ease and grace of a
perfect rider, never making use of either whip or spur, but often
drawing in his rein to indulge the pleasure and curiosity with which he
beheld (though accustomed to the splendid scenery of Perthshire) this
secluded spot, which he had never seen before,--the black and solitary
tower, the dark blue waveless loch, and the wild scenery by which it was
surrounded.
As he advanced up the ascent towards the tower, his horse began to
snort, shake its mane, and grow restive, as its ears were saluted by a
noise to which they were unaccustomed.
Donald Iverach, the old piper of the family, (which office his ancestors
had held since the days of Robert the Second, according to his own
account,) was pacing with a stately air to and fro before the door of
the fortalice, with the expanded bag of the piob mhor under his arm,
blowing from its long chaunter and three huge drones "a tempest of
dissonance;" while he measured with regular strides the length of the
barbican or court, at one end of which stood a large stoup of whisky,
(placed on the end of a cask,) to which he applied himself at every turn
of his promenade to wet his whistle.
The piper, though of low stature, was of a powerful, athletic, and
sinewy form, and although nearly sixty, was as fresh as when only
sixteen; his face was rough and purple, from drinking and exposure to
the weather; his huge red whiskers curled round beneath his chin and
grew up to his eyes, which twinkled and glittered beneath their shaggy
brows; a smart blue bonnet set jauntily, very much over the right eye,
gave him a knowing look, and his knees, "which had never known covering
from the day of his birth," where exposed by the kilt were hairy and
rough as the hide of the roe-buck; his plaid waved behind, and a richly
mounted dirk, eighteen inches long, hanging on his right side, completed
his attire.
Great was the surprise of the Celt when, on turning in his march, he
suddenly beheld Sir Allan Lisle, whom he had not seen since the last
year, when by the laird's orders he had endeavoured, by the overwhelming
noise of his pipe, to drown a speech which the baronet was addressing to
the electors of the county. But what earthly errand, thought Donald,
could bring a Lisle up Strathisla, where one of the race had not been
seen since the father of the present Sir Allan had beleagured the tower
in 1746 with a party of the Scottish Fusileers. The chaunter fell from
the hand of the astonished piper, and the wind in the bag of his
instrument escaped with an appalling groan.
"My good friend, I am glad you have ceased at last," said Sir Allan; "I
expected every moment that my horse would have thrown me. This fortress
of yours will be secure against cavalry while you are in it, I dare
swear."
"I dinna ken, sir," replied the piper, touching his bonnet haughtily;
"but when pare-leggit gillies and red coats tried it in the troublesome
times, they aye gat the tead man's share o' the deep loch below."
"Is your master--is Lochisla at home?"
"His honour the laird is within," replied Iverach, as Sir Allan
dismounted and desired him to hold his horse.
"Lochisla's piper will hold nae man's bridle-rein, his honour's
excepted," said the indignant Highlander; "put a common gillie may do
tat. Holloa! Alpin Oig Stuart! Dugald! Evan! come an' hold ta
shentleman's praw sheltie," shouted he, making the old barbican ring.
"One will do, I dare say," said Sir Allan, smiling as he resigned his
nag to Evan, Iverach's son, a powerful young mountaineer, who appeared
at his father's shout.
Preceded by Donald, Sir Allan ascended the winding staircase of the
tower, and was ushered into the hall, or principal apartment it
contained, the roof of which was a stone arch. At one side yawned a
large fire-place, on the mouldered lintel of which appeared the crest
and badge-flower of the Stuarts,--a thistle, and underneath was the
family motto, "_Omne solum forti patria_." At each end of the chamber
was a window of moderate size, with a stone mullion in the form of a
cross; one commanded a view of the loch and neighbouring forests of
birch and pine, and the other the distant outline of the high Benmore.
The walls were adorned with apparatus for hunting, fishing, shooting,
and sylvan trophies, intermixed with targets, claymores, Lochaber axes,
old muskets, matchlocks, &c.
The furniture was of oak, or old and black mahogany, massive and much
dilapidated, presenting a very different appearance to that in the
splendid modern drawing-room at Inchavon. A few old portraits hung on
the blackened walls, and one in particular, that of a stern old
Highlander, whose white beard flowed over his belted plaid, seemed to
scowl on Sir Allan, who felt considerably embarrassed when he
unexpectedly found himself in the habitation of one, whom he could not
consider otherwise than as his foe.
While awaiting the appearance of the proprietor, whom the piper was gone
to inform of the visit, Sir Allan's eye often wandered to the portrait
above the fire-place, and he remembered that it was the likeness of the
father of the present Stuart, who at the battle of Falkirk had unhorsed,
by a stroke of his broadsword, his (Sir Allan's) father, then an officer
in the army of General Hawley. While Sir Allan mused over the tales he
had heard of the grim Ian Mhor of Lochisla, the door opened, and Mr.
Stuart entered.
Erect in person, stately in step, and graceful in deportment, strong and
athletic of form, he appeared in every respect the genuine Highland
gentleman. He was upwards of sixty, but his eye was clear, keen, and
bright, and his weather-beaten cheek and expansive forehead were
naturally tinged with a ruddy tint, which was increased to a flush by
the excitement caused at this unlooked-for visit.
Unlike his servants, who wore the red tartan of their race, he was
attired in the usual dress of a country gentleman, and wore his silver
locks thickly and unnecessarily powdered, and clubbed in a thick queue
behind.
The natural politeness and hospitable feeling of a Highlander had
banished every trace of displeasure from his bold and unwrinkled brow,
and he grasped Sir Allan's hand with a frankness at which the latter was
surprised, as was old Janet the housekeeper, who saw through the keyhole
what passed, though she was unable, in consequence of her deafness, to
hear what was said.
"Be seated, Sir Allan," said Mr. Stuart, bowing politely, though he felt
his stiffness and hauteur rising within him, and endeavoured to smother
it. "To what am I indebted for the honour of this visit? which, I must
have the candour to acknowledge, is most unexpected."
"Lochisla," replied the other, addressing him in the Scottish manner by
the name of his property, "to the gallantry of your brave boy, Ronald,
but for whose exertions I should at this moment have been sleeping at
the bottom of the Linn at Corrie-avon. I have deemed it incumbent upon
me to visit Lochisla, to return my earnest thanks personally for the
signal service he has rendered to me, and I regret that the terms on
which you--on which we have lived, render, in your estimation, my visit
rather an honour than a pleasure."
A shade crossed the brow of the Highlander, but on hearing the
particulars he congratulated Sir Allan on his escape in a distant and
polite manner, while the twinkle of his bright eyes showed how much
satisfaction he enjoyed at the brave conduct of his son. While Sir
Allan was relating the story, Mr. Stuart placed near him a large silver
liqueur frame, containing six cut-glass bottles, the variously coloured
contents of which sparkled behind their silver labels.
"Come, Sir Allan, fill your glass, and drink to my boy's health: one
does not experience so narrow an escape often, now-a-days at least.
Come, sir, fill your glass,--there is sherry, brandy, port, and the
purer dew of the hills; choose which you please."
"You Stuarts of Lochisla have long borne a name for hospitality, but it
is rather early to taste strong waters,--'tis not meridian yet."
"Our hospitality was greater in the olden time than it is now; but it is
not often that this old hall has within it one of the Lisles of the
Inch, and you must positively drink with me," answered his host,
compelling him to fill his glass from the decanter of purple port.
"Our visits have been fewer, and less friendly, than I trust they will
be for the future. Your health Lochisla," he added, sipping his wine.
"'Tis sixty years and more, I think, since my father came up the Strath
with his followers, when--"
"We will not talk of these matters, Sir Allan," exclaimed Stuart, on
whose features was gathering a stern expression which Sir Allan saw not,
as he sat with his face to a window and looked through his glass with
one eye closed, watching a crumb of the bee's wing floating on the
bright liquor. "They are the last I would wish to think of when you are
my guest."
"Pardon me, I had no wish to offend; we have ever been as strangers to
each other, although our acres march. I have had every desire to live
on amicable terms with you, Mr. Stuart; but you have ever been
prejudiced against me, and truly without a cause."
"I am one of the few who inherit the feelings of a bygone age. But, Sir
Allan Lisle, let us not, I intreat you, refer to the past," coldly
replied the old Highlander, to whom two parts of his guest's last speech
were displeasing. The recurrence to the past terms on which they had
lived, brought to his mind more than one case of litigation in which Sir
Allan had come off victorious; the other was being addressed as _Mr.
Stuart_, a title by which he was never known among his own people. The
polite and affable manner of his visitor had tended to diminish his
prejudices during the last five minutes, but Sir Allan's blundering
observations recalled to the mind of the old _duinhe-wassal_ the bitter
feelings which he inherited from his father, and his high forehead
became flushed and contracted.
"It appears very unaccountable," said he, after the uncomfortable pause
which had ensued, "that my son has never, during the past days,
mentioned the circumstance of the happy manner in which he drew you from
the Corrie-avon."
"To that," replied the other laughing, "a story is appended, a very
romantic one indeed, part of which I suppressed in my relation; nothing
less, in fact, than a love-affair, to which, as I have conceived a
friendship for the brave boy to whom I owe a life, I drink every
success," (draining his glass); "but this must be treated of more
gravely at a future interview."
"Sir Allan, I understand you not; but if Ronald has formed any
attachment in this neighbourhood, he must learn to forget it, as he will
soon leave Lochisla. Some cottage girl, I suppose: these attachments
are common enough among the mountains."
"You mistake me: the young lady is one every way his equal, and they
have known each other from their childhood. But I will leave the hero
to tell his own tale, which will sound better from the lips of a
handsome Highland youth, than those of a plain grey-haired old fellow,
like myself."
"I like your frankness," said Stuart, softened by the praise bestowed on
his son by his old adversary, whose hand he shook, "and will requite it,
Sir Allan. When Ronald comes down the glen, I will talk with him over
this matter, which I confess troubles me a little at heart, as I never
supposed he would have kept an attachment of his secret from me, his
only parent now, and one that has loved him so dearly as I have done.
But I must be gentle with him, as he is about to leave me soon, poor
boy."
"Ah! for the army,--so I have heard: our boys will follow nothing else
now-a-days. I fear my own springald, Lewis, is casting wistful thoughts
that way. But should you wish it, I may do much in Ronald's favour: I
have some little interest with those in power in London, and----"
"I thank you, but it needs not to be so. Huntly has promised me that
Ronald shall not be forgotten when a vacancy occurs in the "Gordon
Highlanders," a regiment raised among his own people and kindred; and
the Marquis, whose interest is great with the Duke of York, will not
forget his word--his pledged word to a Highland gentleman."
On Sir Allan's departure, Stuart, from one of the hall windows, watched
his retiring figure as he rode rapidly down the glen, and disappeared
among the birchen foliage which overhung and shrouded the winding
pathway. A sour smile curled his lip; he felt old prejudices rising
strongly in his breast, and he turned his eye on the faded portrait of
his father, and thought of the time when he had sat as a little child
upon his knee, and heard the family of Lisle mentioned with all the
bitterness of Highland rancour, and been told a thousand times of the
days when Colonel Lisle had carried fire and sword through all Lochisla,
besieging the little tower for days, until its inmates were perishing
for want. In the tide of feeling which these reflections called forth,
the late amiable interview was forgotten; and he only remembered Sir
Allan as the foe of his race, and the victor in many a keenly contested
case in the Parliament house, the place where the Court of Session sit
at Edinburgh.
A bustle in the narrow staircase recalled him to himself: the door was
thrown open, and Ronald entered, gun in hand, from the hill, flushed and
excited with the nature of the sport. Two tall Highlanders strode
behind, bearing on their shoulders a stout pole, from which was
suspended by the heels a gigantic deer, whose branching antlers trailed
on the floor, which was sprinkled with spots of blood falling from its
dilated nostrils and a death-wound in its neck, which had been gashed
across by the skene-dhu of a Highlander. A number of red-eyed dogs
accompanied them, displaying in their forms the long and muscular limbs,
voluminous chest, and rough wiry coat of the old Scottish hound,--a
noble animal, once common in the Lowlands, but now to be found only in
the north, where the deer wander free over immense stretches of waste
moorland or forest, as they did of old.
"A brave beast he is," said Ronald exultingly, as he cast aside his
bonnet and gun. "At the head of the loch I fired, and wounded him here
in the neck: we traced him by the blood for two miles down the Isla,
where he flew through thicket and brake with the speed of an arrow; but
the gallant dogs Odin and Carril fastened upon him, and drew him down
when about to take the water, near the march-stone of the Lisles. 'Twas
luckily done: had he once gained the grounds of Inchavon, our prize
would have been lost."
"Ronald," replied his father coldly, "we will hear all this matter
afterwards." Then turning to the gillies, "Dugald Stuart, and you Alpin
Oig," said he, "carry away this quarry to the housekeeper, and desire
her to fill your queghs for you. I have had a visit from Sir Allan
Lisle," resumed Stuart, when the Highlanders had obeyed his order and
retired. "Hah! you change countenance already: this has been a
mysterious matter. He has been here to return thanks for your pulling
him out of Isla, where he was nearly drowned, poor man, a day or two
since,--a circumstance which you seem to have thought too worthless to
mention to me. But there is another matter, on which I might at least
have been consulted," he added, watching steadily the changes in the
countenance of the young man, whose heart fluttered with excitement.
"You have formed an attachment to some girl in the neighbourhood, which
has reached the ears of this Allan Lisle although it never came to mine,
and the intercourse has continued for years although I have been
ignorant of it. Ronald, my boy, who is the girl? As your father, I
have at least a right to inquire her name and family."
"Do pray excuse me," faltered the other, playing nervously with his
bonnet; "I am too much embarrassed at present to reply,--some other
time. Ah! your anger would but increase, I fear, were you to know."
"It does increase! Surely she is not a daughter of that grim churl
Corrieoich up the glen yonder? I have seen his tawdry kimmers at the
county ball. I can scarcely think this flame of yours is a child of his.
You remember the squabble I had with him about firing on his people, who
were dragging the loch with nets under the very tower windows. By
Heaven! is she a daughter of his?" cried his father in the loud and
imperative tone so natural to a Highlander. "Answer me, I command you,
Ronald Stuart!"
"She is not, I pledge you my word," replied the young man gently.
"Ronald!" exclaimed the old gentleman, a dark flush gathering on his
cheek, "she must be some mean and contemptible object, otherwise you
would not shrink from the mention of her name, was it gentle and noble,
in this coward way."
"Coward I never was," replied Ronald bitterly. "I may shrink before my
own father, when I would scorn to quail before the angry eye of any
other man who lives and breathes. Nor do I blush to own the name of--of
this lady. She is Alice, the daughter of Sir Allan Lisle, of Inchavon.
Ah, sir! I fear I have applied a match to a mine; but I must await the
explosion."
Ronald had indeed lighted a mine. A terrible expression flashed in the
eyes of the old Highlander, and gathered upon his formidable brow.
"Ronald! Ronald! for this duplicity I was unprepared," he exclaimed in
emphatic Gaelic, with a tone of the bitterest reproach. "Have you dared
to address yourself to a daughter of that man? Look up, degenerate
boy!" he added, grasping Ronald's arm with fierce energy, while he spoke
with stern distinctness. "Look upon the portrait of old Ian Mhor, your
brave grand sire, and imagine what he would have thought of this. The
Lisles of Inchavon! _Dhia gledh sinn_! I have not forgotten their last
hostile attempt sixty-five years since, in 1746, when Colonel Lisle, the
father of this Sir Allan, besieged our tower with his whole battalion.
I was a mere infant then; but I well remember how the muskets of the
fusileers flashed daily and nightly from rock and copse-wood, and from
the dark loopholes of the tower, where the brave retainers of Lochisla
defended my father's stronghold with the desperate courage of outlawed
and ruined men,--ruined and outlawed in a noble cause! These days of
death and siege I have not forgotten, nor the pale cheek of the mother
at whose breast I hung seeking nourishment, while she was perishing for
want of food. Nor have I forgotten the gallows-tree--God be gracious
unto me!--raised by the insolent soldiery on the brae-head to hang our
people when they surrendered; and, had they ever yielded, they would
have swung every man of them, and have been food for the raven and
hoodiecraw. And this paternal tower would have been now ruined and
roofless, forming a lair for the fox and the owl, but for the friendship
of our kinsman Seafield, who wrung a respite and reprieve from the
unwilling hand of the merciless German duke.
"Oh, Ronald Stuart! remember these things, and recall some traces of the
spirit of Ian Mhor, whose name and blood you inherit. He was a stern
old man, and a proud one, possessing the spirit of the days that are
gone,--days when the bold son of the hills redressed his wrongs with his
own right hand, and held his lands, not by possession of a sheepskin,
but by the broad blade of his good claymore."
He paused a moment, passed his hand across his glowing brow, and thus
continued in a tone of sterner import, and more high-flown Gaelic.
"Listen to me, O Ronald! Hearken to a father who has loved, and
watched, and tended you as never father did a son. Think no more of
Inchavon's daughter! Promise me to spurn her from your remembrance, or
never more shall you find a home in the dwelling-place of our fathers:
you shall be as a stranger to my heart, and your name be known in
Lochisla no more. I will cast you off as a withered branch, and leave
our ancient patrimony to the hereditary chieftain of our race. Pledge
me your word, or, Ronald, I pronounce you for ever lost!"
During this long and energetic harangue, which was delivered in the
sonorous voice which Mr. Stuart always assumed with his Gaelic, various
had been the contending emotions in the bosom of Ronald. Love and pride,
indignation and filial respect, agitated him by turns; and when his
father ceased, he took up his bonnet with an air of pride and grief.
"Sir--sir--O my father!" said he, while his pale lip quivered, and a
tear glittered in his dark eye, "you will be spared any further trouble
on my account. I will go; leave Lochisla to the Stuarts of Appin, or
whom you may please. I will seek my fortune elsewhere, and show you
truly that 'a brave man makes every soil his country.'"
As he turned to leave the apartment, the stern aspect of his father's
features relaxed, and he surveyed him with a wistful look.
"Stay, Ronald," he exclaimed; "I have been hasty. You would not desert
me thus in my old age, and leave me with anger on your brow? Let not
our pride overcome our natural affection. I will speak of this matter
again, and----"
Here he was interrupted by Donald Iverach, who entered respectfully,
bonnet in hand, bearing two long official-looking letters, which he
handed to Mr. Stuart, who started on perceiving "_On his Majesty's
service_" (an unusual notice to him) printed on the upper corner of
each.
"Hoigh!" said the piper, "your honour's clory disna get twa sic muckle
letters ilka day. The auld doited cailloch tat keeps the post-house
down at the clachan of Strathfillan, sent a gilly trotting up the
water-side wi' them, as fast as his houghs could pring him."
Their contents became speedily known. The first was a letter from the
Horse Guards, informing Mr. Stuart that his son was appointed to an
ensigncy in the 92nd regiment, or Gordon Highlanders, commanded by the
Marquis of Huntly. The second was to Ronald himself, signed by the
adjutant-general, directing him with all speed to join a detachment,
which was shortly to leave the depot in the Castle of Edinburgh for the
seat of war.
Pride and pleasure at the new and varied prospect before him were the
first emotions of Ronald's mind; sorrow and regret at thoughts of
parting so suddenly, perhaps for ever, from all that was dear to him,
succeeded them.
"Hoigh! hui-uigh!" cried old Iverach, capering with Highland agility on
hearing the letters read. "Hui-uigh!" he exclaimed, making the weapons
clatter on the wall with his wild and startling shout, while he tossed
his bonnet up to the vaulted roof; "and so braw Maister Ronald is going
to the clorious wars, to shoot the French loons like the muircocks o'
Strathisla, or the bonnie red roes o' Benmore! Hoigh! Got tam! auld
Iverach's son sall gang too, and follow the laird's, as my ain faither
and mony a braw shentleman did auld Sir Ian Mhor to the muster o'
Glenfinan. And when promotion is in the way, braw Maister Ronald will
no forget puir Evan Iverach, the son of his faither's piper, that
follows him for love to the far-awa' land. And when the pipers blaw the
onset, neither o' them will forget the bonnie banks of Lochisla, and the
true hearts they have left behind them there. And when the onset is
nigh, let them shout the war-cry of their race: my prave prothers cried
it on the ramparts of Ticonderago,[*] where the auld plack watch were
mown doon like grass, in a land far peyond the isles, where the sun sets
in the west."
[*] In that sanguinary affair the 42nd Highlanders, or old Black-Watch,
lost 43 officers, commissioned and non-commissioned, and had 603
privates killed and wounded; and "to many a heart and home in the
Highlands did this disastrous though glorious intelligence bring
desolation and mourning."
As this enthusiastic retainer left the apartment to communicate the news
to the rest of the household, old Mr. Stuart turned to gaze on his son.