within the last five minutes; all traces of discord had vanished, and
the softest feelings of our nature remained behind.
*CHAPTER IV.*
*THE DEPARTURE.*
"Farewell, farewell, a last adieu!
Adieu, ye hills and dales so sweet;
Adieu, ye gurgling rills, for you
And I again may never meet!
Sweet lovely scene, with charms replete!
Backward my longing eyes I turn,
Leave your stupendous rocks with woe,
To yonder cloud-capped town I go,
Ah! never to return."
_Colin Maclaurin._
Sorrow for the sudden departure of Ronald was the prevailing sentiment
in the tower of Lochisla, which old Janet the housekeeper caused to
re-echo with her ceaseless lamentations, poured forth either in broken
broad Scotch, or in her more poetical and descriptive Gaelic, for the
going forth of the bold boy whom she had watched over and nursed from
childhood with the tenderness of a mother.
His father felt deeply the pang of parting with the only child that
death had left him; but he pent his feelings within his own proud bosom,
and showed them but little. He said nothing more of Alice Lisle,
unwilling to sour the few remaining hours they had to spend together by
harsh injunctions or disagreeable topics, deeming that Ronald in the
busy scenes which were before him in his military career would be taught
to forget the boyish attachment of his early days. It is thus that old
men ever reckon, forgetting that the first impressions which the young
heart receives are ever the strongest and most lasting.
He directed with cool firmness the arrangements for his son's early
departure, and save now and then a quivering of the lip or a deep sigh,
no other emotion was visible. He felt keenly, nor would he ever have
parted with Ronald, notwithstanding the eagerness of the youth to join
the army, but for the entanglement of his private affairs, which
rendered it absolutely necessary that his son should be independent of
his shattered patrimony, and the proud and martial disposition of both
their minds made arms the only profession to be chosen.
It was close upon the time of his departure ere Ronald could make an
arrangement to obtain an interview with Alice Lisle. He despatched by
Evan, the son of Iverach, a note to Alice, requesting her to meet and
bid him adieu, in the lawn in front of Inchavon-house, on the evening of
the second day, referring her to the bearer for a recapitulation of the
events which had taken place.
The young Highlander, who was to accompany Ronald to the regiment as a
servant and follower, was as shrewd and acute as a love-messenger
required to be, and succeeded, after considerable trouble and delay, in
delivering the billet into the fair hands of the young lady herself,
who, although she neither shrieked or fainted, nor expired altogether,
like a heroine of romance, was nevertheless overwhelmed with the
intelligence, which Evan related to her as gently as he could; and after
promising to attend to the note without fail, she retired to her own
chamber, and gave way to the deepest anguish.
At last arrived the important day which was to behold Ronald launched
from his peaceful Highland home into the stormy scenes of a life which
was new to him. Evan Iverach had been sent off in the morning with the
baggage to the hamlet of Strathisla, where the stage-coach for Perth was
to take up his young master.
Sorrowful indeed was the parting between the old piper and his son Evan
Bean, (_i.e._ fair-haired Evan,) and they were but little comforted by
the assurance of the old crone Janet, who desired them to "greet weel,
as their weird was read, and they would never meet mair."
Ronald was seated with his father at breakfast in the hall or
dining-room of the tower. The table was covered with viands of every
kind, exhibiting all the profuseness of a true Scottish breakfast,--tea,
coffee, cold venison, cheese, oaten bannocks, &c., &c., &c., and a large
silver-mouthed bottle, containing most potent usquebaugh, distilled for
the laird's own use by Alpin Oig Stuart in one of the dark and dangerous
chasms on the banks of the Isla, a spot unknown to the exciseman, a
personage much dreaded and abhorred in all Highland districts.
The old cailloch, Janet, was in attendance, weeping and muttering to
herself. Iverach was without the tower, making the yard ring to the
spirit-stirring notes of--
"We'll awa to Shirramuir,
An' haud the whigs in order;"
and he strode to and fro, blowing furiously, as if to keep up the
failing spirit of his tough old heart.
Mr. Stuart said little, but took his morning meal as usual. Now and
then he bit his nether lip, his eye glistened, and his brow was knit, to
disguise the painful emotions that filled his heart.
Ronald ate but little and sat totally silent, gazing with swimming eyes,
while his heart swelled almost to bursting, on the lofty hills and dark
pine woods, which, perchance, he might never more behold; and the sad
certainty that slowly passing years would elapse ere he again stood by
his paternal hearth, or beheld his father's face,--if, indeed, he was
ever to behold it again,--raised within him emotions of the deepest
sadness.
"Alas!" thought he, "how many years may roll away before I again look on
all I have loved so long; and what dismal changes may not have taken
place in that time!"
"Hui-uigh! Ochon--ochanari!" cried the old woman, unable to restrain
herself longer, as she sunk upon a settle in the recess of the hall
window. "He is going forth to the far awa land of the stranger, where
the hoodiecraw and fox pyke the banes of the dead brave; but he winna
return to us, as the eagle's brood return to their eyrie among the black
cliffs o' bonnie Craigonan."
"He shall! old woman. What mean you by these disheartening observations
in so sad an hour as this?" said the old gentleman sternly, roused by
that prophetic tone which never falls without effect on the ear of a
Scottish Highlander.
"Dinna speak sae to me, laird. God sain me! I read that in his bonnie
black een which tells me that they shall never again look on mine."
"Hoigh! prutt, trutt," said Iverach, whom her cry had summoned to the
spot, "the auld teevil of a cailloch will pe casting doon Maister
Ronald's heart when it should pe at the stoutest. Huisht, Janet, and no
be bedeviling us with visions and glaumorie just the noo."
"Donald Iverach, I tell you he shall never more behold those whom he
looks on this day: I tell you so, and I never spoke in vain," cried the
old sybil in Gaelic with a shrill voice. "When the brave sons of my
bosom perished with their leader at Corunna, did I not know of their
fall the hour it happened? The secret feeling, which a tongue cannot
describe, informed me that they were no more. Yes; I heard the wild wind
howl their death-song, as it swept down the pass of Craigonan, and I
viewed their shapeless spirits floating in the black mist that clung
round the tower of Lochisla on the night the field of Corunna was
stricken, for many were the men of our race who perished there: the
dead-bell sung to me the live-long night, and our caillochs and maidens
were sighing and sad,--but I alone knew why."
"Peace! bird of ill omen," replied the piper in the same language,
overawed by the force of her words. "_Dhia gledh sinn!_ will you break
the proud spirit of a _duinhe wassal_ of the house of Lochisla, when
about to gird the claymore and leave the roof-tree of his fathers?"
"Come, come; we have had enough of this," said Mr. Stuart. "Retire,
Janet, and do not by your unseemly grief disturb the last hours that my
son and I shall spend together."
"A wreath, and 'tis not for nought, is coming across my auld een," she
replied, pressing her withered hands upon her wrinkled brow. "Sorrow
and woe are before us all. I have seen it in many a dark dream at
midnicht, and heard it in the croak of the nicht-bird, as it screamed
from its eyrie in Coirnan-Taischatrin,[*] where the wee men and women
dance their rings in the bonnie moonlicht. Greet and be woefu', my braw
bairn, for we shall never behold ye mair. Ochon--ochon!" and pressing
Ronald to her breast, this faithful old dependant rushed from the hall.
[*] The cave of the seers.
"Grief has distracted the poor old creature," said Mr. Stuart, making a
strong effort to control the emotions which swelled his own bosom, while
Ronald no longer concealed his, but covering his face with his hands,
wept freely, and the piper began to blubber and sob in company.
"Hoigh! oigh! Got tam! it's joost naething but fairies' spells and
glaumorie that's ever and aye in auld Janet's mouth. She craiks and
croaks like the howlets in the auld chapel-isle, till it's gruesome to
hear her. But dinna mind her, Maister Ronald; I'll blaw up the bags,
and cheer your heart wi' the 'gathering' on the bonnie _piob mhor_."
The piper retired to the yard, where the cotters and many a shepherd
from the adjacent hills were assembled to behold Ronald depart, and bid
him farewell.
Ronald's father, the good old man, although his heart was wrung and
oppressed by the dismal forebodings of his retainer, did all that he
possibly could to raise the drooping spirits of his son, by holding out
hopes of quick promotion and a speedy return home; but Ronald wept like
a youth as he was, and answered only by his tears.
"Oh, Ronald, my boy!" groaned the old man; "it is in an hour such as
this that I most feel the loss of her whose fair head has long, long
been under the grassy turf which covers her fair-haired little ones in
the old church-yard yonder. The sun is now shining through the window
of the ruined chapel, and I see the pine which marks their graves
tossing its branches in the light." He looked fixedly across the loch
at the islet, the grassy surface of which was almost covered with grey
tomb-stones, beneath which slept the retainers of his ancestors, who
themselves rested among the Gothic ruins of the little edifice, which
their piety had endowed and founded to St. John, the patron saint of
Perth.
The day sped fast away, and the hour came in which Ronald was compelled
to depart, if he would be in time for the Perth stage, which passed
through Strathisla. His father accompanied him to the gate of the
tower, where he embraced and blessed him. He then turned to depart,
after shaking the hard hand of many an honest mountaineer.
"May Got's plessing and all goot attend ye! Maister Ronald," blubbered
old Iverach, who was with difficulty prevented from piping before him
down the glen; "and dinna forget to befriend puir Evan Bean, that
follows ye for love."
A sorrowful farewell in emphatic Gaelic was muttered through the court
as Ronald, breaking from among them, rushed down the steep descent, as
if anxious to end the painful scene. His father gazed wistfully after,
as if his very soul seemed to follow his steps. Ronald looked back but
once, and then dashed on as fast as his strength could carry him; but
that look he never, never forgot.
The old man had reverently taken off his hat, allowing his silver hair
to stream in the wind, and with eyes upturned to heaven was fervently
ejaculating,--"Oh, God! that nearest me, be a father unto my poor boy,
and protect him in the hour of danger!"
It was the last time that Ronald beheld the face of his father, and
deeply was the memory of its expression impressed upon his heart. Not
daring again to turn his head, he hurried along the mountain path, until
he came to a turn of the glen which would hide the much-loved spot for
ever. Here he turned and looked back: his father was no longer visible,
but there stood the well-known tower rising above the rich copse-land,
with the grey smoke from its huge kitchen chimney curling over the
battlements in the evening wind, which brought to his ear the wail of
Iverach's bagpipe. The smooth surface of the loch shone with purple and
gold in the light of the setting sun, the rays of which fell obliquely
as its flaming orb appeared to rest on the huge dark mountains of the
western Highlands.
"Ah! never shall I behold a scene like this in the land to which I go,"
thought Ronald, as he cast one eager glance over it all; and then,
entering the deep rocky gorge, through which the road wound, hurried
towards the romantic hamlet of Strathisla, the green mossy roofs and
curling smoke of which he saw through the tufts of birch and pine a
short distance before him.
It was dusk before he reached the cluster of primitive cottages, at the
door of one of which, dignified by the name of "the coach-office," stood
Evan with the baggage, impatiently awaiting the appearance of his
master, as the time for the arrival of the coach was close at hand.
Telling him hastily that he would meet the vehicle on the road near
Inchavonpark, he passed forward to keep his promise to Alice. A few
minutes' walk brought him to the boundary wall of Sir Allan's property;
vaulting lightly over, he found himself among the thickets of shrubs
which were planted here and there about the smooth grassy lawn, in the
centre of which appeared Inchavon-house, a handsome modern structure;
the lofty walls and portico of fine Corinthian columns, surmounted by a
small dome, all shone in the light of the summer moon, by which he saw
the glimmer of a white dress advancing hastily towards him.
At that instant the sound of the coach, as it came rattling and rumbling
down a neighbouring hill, struck his ear, and his heart died within him,
as he knew it would be there almost immediately.
"Alice!" he exclaimed, as he threw one arm passionately around her.
"Ronald, O Ronald!" was all the weeping girl could articulate, as she
clung to him tremblingly.
"Remember me when I am gone! Love me as you do now when I shall be far,
far away from you, Alice!"
"Ah, how could I ever forget you!"
At that moment the unwelcome vehicle drew up on the road.
"Stuart--Ronald, my old comrade," cried the frank though faltering voice
of Lewis Lisle, who appeared at that moment; "give me your hand, my boy.
You surely would not go without seeing me?"
Ronald pressed the hand of Lewis, who threw over his neck a chain, at
which hung a miniature of his sister.
"Alas!" muttered Ronald, "I have nothing to give as a keepsake in
return! Ay, this ring,--'tis a very old one, but it was my mother's;
wear it for my sake, Alice." To kiss her pale cheek, place her in the
arms of Lewis, to cross the park and leap the wall, were to the young
Highlander the work of a moment,--and he vanished from their side.
"Come alang, sir! We canna be keepit here the haill nicht," bawled the
driver crossly as Ronald appeared upon the road, where the white steam
was curling from the four panting horses in the moonlight, which
revealed Evan, seated with the goods and chattels of himself and master
among the muffled-up passengers who loaded the coach-top.
"Inside, sir?" said the guard from behind the shawl which muffled his
weather-beaten face as he held open the door. Ronald, scarcely knowing
what he did, stepped in, and the door closed with a bang which made the
driver rock on his seat. "A' richt, Jamie; drive on!" cried the guard,
vaulting into the dickey; and in a few minutes more the noise of wheels
and hoofs had died away from the ears of poor Alice and her brother, who
listened with beating hearts to the retiring sound.
*CHAPTER V.*
*EDINBURGH CASTLE.*
"But tender thoughts maun now be hushed,
When danger calls I must obey;
The transport waits us on the coast,
And the morn I will be far away."
_Tannahill_.
The young Highlander, who had never beheld a larger city than Perth, was
greatly struck with the splendid and picturesque appearance of
Edinburgh. The long lines of densely crowded streets, the antique and
lofty houses, the spires, the towers, the enormous bridges spanning deep
ravines, the long dark alleys, crooks, nooks, and corners of the old
town, with its commanding castle; and then the new, with its innumerable
and splendid shops, filled with rich and costly stuffs, the smoke,
noise, and confusion of the great thoroughfares and promenades
contrasted with the sombre and gloomy grandeur of the Canongate and
Holyrood, were all strange sights to one who from infancy had been
accustomed to "the eagle and the rock, the mountain and the cataract,
the blue-bell, the heather, and the long yellow broom, the Highland
pipe, the hill-climbing warrior, and the humbler shepherd in the garb of
old Gaul."
From the castle he viewed with surprise and delight the vast
amphitheatre which surrounds the city. To the westward Corstorphine,
covered to the summit with the richest foliage, Craiglockart, Blackford,
the ridges of Braid and Pentland, the Calton, the craigs of Salisbury
and Arthur's seat, encircling the city on all sides except the north,
where the noble Frith of Forth--the Bodoria of the Romans,--the most
beautiful stream in Scotland, perhaps in Britain, wound along the yellow
sands.
Far beyond were seen the Lomonds of Fife, the capes of Crail and Elie,
the broad bays and indentures of the German Ocean, and the islets of the
Forth, the banks of which are studded with villages, castles, churches,
and rich woodland. As he entered the fortress he was particularly
struck with the gloomy and aged appearance of its embattled buildings
and lofty frowning batteries, where the black cannon peeped grimly
through antique embrasures. It was a place particularly interesting to
Ronald, (as it is to every true Scotsman,) who thought of the prominent
part it bore in the annals of his country,--of the many sieges it had
sustained, and the many celebrated persons who had lived and died within
the walls, which held the crown and insignia of a race whose name and
power had passed away from the land they had ruled and loved so long.
Kilted sentinels, wearing the plumed bonnet, tasselled _sporan_ or
purse, and the dark tartan, striped with yellow, of the Gordon
Highlanders, appeared at the different bastions as he passed the
drawbridge, entered through many a strong gate studded with iron, and
the black old arch where the two portcullises of massive metal hang
suspended.
Ronald, for the first time since he left home, found himself confounded
and abashed when he was received by the haughty staff-officer in the
cold and stiff manner which these gentlemen assume to regimental
officers. Here he _reported_ himself, as the phrase is, and presented
the letters of the adjutant-general. It was in a gloomy apartment of
the old palace, and the very place in which the once beautiful Mary of
Guise breathed her last. Its furniture consisted of two chairs and a
hardwood table covered with books, army lists, papers and dockets of
letters: boards of general orders, a couple of swords, and forage-caps
hung upon the wall. A drum stood in one corner, and an unseemly
cast-iron coal-box bearing the mystic letters "B.O." stood in another.
A decanter of port and a wine-glass, which appeared on the mantel shelf,
showed that the occupant of the office knew the secret of making himself
comfortable.
Considerably damped in spirit, by the dry and unsoldierlike reception he
had experienced, Ronald next sought the quarters of the officer who
commanded the detachment of his own regiment. On quitting the citadel,
he passed the place where the French prisoners of war were confined. It
was a small piece of ground, enclosed by a strong palisado, over which
the poor fellows displayed for sale those ornaments and toys which the
ingenuity of their nation enabled them to make. Little ships,
toothpicks, bodkins, dominoes, boxes, &c. were manufactured by them from
the bones of their scanty allowance of ration meat, and offered for sale
to the soldiers of the garrison, or visitors from the city who chanced
to pass the place of their confinement.
They appeared to be generally very merry, and were dressed in the
peculiar uniform of the prison; but here and there might be observed an
officer, who, having broken his parole of honour, was now degraded by
being placed among the rank and file. Ronald was but a young soldier,
and consequently pitied them; he thought of what his own feelings would
be were he a prisoner in a foreign land, with the bayonets of guards
glittering at every turn; but there seemed to be none there who yearned
for home or hearts they had left behind them, save one, and of him we
will speak hereafter. The reception Ronald met with from the officers
of his own corps, tended much to revive his drooping spirits, which
were, for some time, sadly depressed by the remembrance of Lochisla, and
the affectionate friends he had left behind him there.
Among the officers were young men who, like himself, had recently left
their homes in the distant north, and a unison of feeling existed in
their minds; but, generally, they were merry thoughtless fellows, and
the vivacity of their conversation, the frolics in which they were ever
engaged, and the bustle of the garrison, were capital antidotes against
care. But the tear often started to the eye of Stuart as he beheld the
far-off peak of Ben Lomond, fifty miles distant from the window of his
room,--his rank as a subaltern entitling him only to one, and he thought
of the romantic hills of Perthshire, or of the lonely hearth where his
grey-haired sire mourned for his absence. But little time was allowed
him to muse thus. Parades in the castle, the promenades, theatres, the
gay blaze of ball-rooms in the city, crowded with beautiful and
fashionable girls and glittering uniforms, left him little time for
reflection; and the day of embarkation for the Peninsula, the seat of
war, to which all men's thoughts--and women's too, were turned,
insensibly drew nigh.
Evan Iverach had been enlisted in his master's company, and under the
hands of a regimental tailor, and the tuition of the drill sergeant, was
rapidly becoming a smart soldier, while he still remained an attached
servant to his master.
The latter, soon after his arrival in the capital, had visited his
father's agent, Mr. AEneas Macquirk, a writer to the signet, who had
long transacted the business and fleeced the pocket of the old laird in
the most approved legal manner. This worthy, having lately procured the
old gentleman's signature to a document which was ultimately to be his
ruin, was therefore disposed to treat Ronald drily enough, having made
the most of his father; and he would never have been invited to the snug
front-door-house, with the carpeted staircase, comfortable dining and
airy drawing-room in the new town, but for the vanity of Mrs. and the
Misses Macquirk, who thought that the rich uniform of the young officer
as a visitor gave their house a gay and fashionable air.
Quite the reverse of the good old "clerks to the signet" who once dwelt
in the dark closes of the old city, Macquirk was one of the many
contemptible fellows whose only talent is chicanery, and who fatten and
thrive on that unfortunate love of litigation which possesses the people
of Scotland. Mean and servile to the rich, he was equally purse-proud
and overbearing to the poor, to whom he was a savage and remorseless
creditor. Many were the unfortunate citizens who cursed the hour in
which they first knew this man, who feathered his nest by the law,
better than ever his father had done by the honester trade of mending
shoes in the West Bow.
Mrs. Macquirk was a vulgar-looking woman, most unbecomingly fat; her
money had procured her a husband, and she was as proud as could be
expected, considering that she had first seen the light in the low
purlieus of the Kraimes, and now found herself mistress of one of the
handsomest houses in Edinburgh.