Author.--See now how innumerable the stumps of the trees are here. They
are peeping up through the moss in every direction. Conceive what a
thick pine wood this must have once been.
Grant.--You were certainly guilty of no great exaggeration when
you said that a deer could hardly have penetrated it whilst it was
standing in all its gloomy grandeur.
Clifford.--It is well for our comfort that we can now pass so easily
over its fallen majesty; and methinks the sooner we escape from so
dreary a scene the better.
Author.--Let us keep more this way, then. A short walk will now bring
us to the southern brow of the hill, whence a new scene will open
on us.
Clifford, who first reaches the point.--Ha! what have we here? A dark
lake,--its waves rolling sluggishly eastward, and breaking gently on
a narrow stripe of yellow gravelly beach,--bare rocky hills without
a tree,--and an island covered with the ruins of a very extensive
castle. What do you call this wild and lonely scene?
Author.--That is Loch-an-Dorbe, with its ruined castle.
Grant.--The remains of the castle seem to be very extensive.
Author.--They are said to occupy a space of not less than an hundred
yards square.
Clifford.--This, then, is the very castle whence your Danish prince
escaped with his lady-love. Let me tell you, that if their grey steed
had not gone with a somewhat freer pace than your verses do, the old
king of the castle would have caught them ere they had covered half
the way to Dulsie.
Grant.--I'll warrant me those huge round towers and massive curtains
have many strange and eventful histories attached to them.
Clifford.--Come, Signore Cicerone, prelect to us about it, if you
please.
Author.--Loch-an-Dorbe was one of the few royal or national fortresses
which Scotland possessed. When Edward the First traversed this
country with his army in 1303, he came to Loch-an-Dorbe in the month
of September, and occupied it for some time; and Edward the Third
considered it as a place of so much importance, that he and Edward
Baliol marched all the way from Perth to its relief in August, 1336,
when Catherine de Beaumont, widow of David de Hastings, Earl of Athol,
and her son were besieged in it by the brave Sir Andrew Moray, then
Governor of Scotland. Sir Andrew would have been overwhelmed by the
superior force of the English monarch, had he not baffled pursuit
by crossing the river Findhorn at the celebrated pass, the Brig of
Randolph, so called, as you know, from Randolph, Earl of Moray, Regent
of Scotland. Another important historical fact is connected with this
castle. It was here that William Bullock was confined. After abandoning
the cause of Baliol, and after having risen to high honours under David
the Second, he was enviously and maliciously accused of treason; and
having been thrown into one of the dungeons within these massive walls,
he was cruelly allowed to perish of cold and hunger. We also know that
the famous Alexander Stewart, son of King Robert the Second, and who,
from his ferocious disposition, was surnamed the Wolf of Badenoch,
possessed and inhabited this castle. It was from hence he is supposed
to have issued when he made his famous descent into the low country
of Moray, and fired the Cathedral of Elgin, reducing that magnificent
structure, that speculum patriæ et decus regni, as it was called,
and many other religious edifices in the town, to a heap of ruins.
Clifford.--Oh, you have told us enough, in all conscience, about that
wild beast; "adesso parliamo d'altro."
Author.--I am at a stand, so far as the history of Loch-an-Dorbe
is concerned, excepting that I may add, that in more recent times
it was possessed by the Earls of Moray, and passed from their hands
into those of the Campbells of Cawdor, and thence to the Grants of
Grant. I have seen at Cawdor Castle a massive iron gate, believed
to have been that of the Castle of Loch-an-Dorbe, which tradition
says was carried off from thence by Sir Donald Campbell of Cawdor,
who bore it on his back all the way across the moors till he set it
down where it is now in use, the distance being not less than some
twelve or fifteen miles. But this is a story much too marvellous for
belief in these matter-of-fact days of ours.
Clifford.--It is incredible enough, to be sure. Yet I have a story,
a well authenticated story too, which I think will almost match it.
Grant.--Out with it then.
Clifford.--No, I promise you you don't get my stories at so very
easy a rate; and for this simple reason, that they are by no means
so plenty as yours. Besides, I have just been thinking that with
this warm breeze, that so gently ripples the surface of the lake,
I could kill a handsome dish of trouts this afternoon, if trouts
there be within its watery world. Why might we not loiter off the
remainder of the day about this lake?
Grant.--I like the idea much. I perceive a nice looking cottage on
the other side, where I dare to say we may find lodging for the night.
Author.--That cottage is a shooting-lodge belonging to the proprietor;
and were he there in person, we should not lack a kind and hospitable
reception. But at present its doors are locked, and its rooms void.
Clifford.--There is a house, then, here on the nearer shore,
immediately below us; why should we not go there?
Author.--'Tis but a smoky uncomfortable place; but it may do well
enough for a shelter for one night, and if you are content to abide
there, so am I.
Clifford.--Pho! as to comfort, I am a soldier, and can rough it. I
have lain out all night to kill the enemies of my country, and would
do no less at any time for a good day's shooting or fishing.
Author, addressing gilly, who was leading a pony with panniers,--Go
down thither, then, and see our quarters made as comfortable as may be.
Clifford.--Aye, that will do. Come along, let us to work without more
hesitation or talk. I am all impatience.
Having sent round to borrow the proprietor's boat, we embarked on the
lake, and were soon intensely occupied in all the exciting anxieties
of the angle. Our success was various and unequal, like that of man
in the great lottery of human life. It was not always when basking in
the sunshine that we were most successful. Sometimes a warm shadow
would cross the lake, and the trouts would rise and hook themselves
three at a time on our lines. The bottom of the boat became alive,
and shone and glittered with the growing numbers of our golden and
silver captives. Anon, every cast we made was in vain; and then, when
the foolish fish began again to bite, our eagerness was such, that we
forgot each other's lines; and the loss of hooks, the destruction of
the finer parts of our tackle, and the fracture of delicate top pieces,
became the result of our numerous and grievous entanglements. Poor
Clifford could not account for a sudden cessation of his luck at the
very time that ours appeared to be doubled, and he went on in no very
good humour, flogging the water unsuccessfully, whilst Grant and I
were catching two and three at each cast; till at last, to his great
chagrin, he found that he had been all the while fishing without flies,
which were uselessly and most provokingly sticking in the rough coat
and around the neck and head of my great Newfoundland dog Bronte, to
the poor brute's great inconvenience. He did not fail to make up very
quickly for this bad luck, however. Our evening was altogether most
delightfully spent; for when we grew tired of the angle, we landed on
the island, and wandered among the extensive ruins which cover it. We
then sat on the mouldering walls of the castle till we saw the sun
sink behind the western hill; after which we returned to the shore,
and sought our place of retreat.
It was a small old-fashioned house, once used as a sort of hunting
lodge. It consisted of two stories, with little else than one ruinous
room in each, the whole being filled with the great smoke that arose
from the kitchen fire. But the exercise we had had, added to our
hunger, prepared us for being pleased with any accommodation; and
after a supper well eked out by a fritto of the delicious trouts we
had taken, we drew our stools around the fire, to enjoy a temperate cup
of pure Highland whisky, diluted with water from a neighbouring spring.
Grant.--Now for your story, Clifford.
Clifford.--'Tis of a famous Highlander, called John Mackay, of
Ross-shire. I got the narrative, with all its nationalities, from an
old Scottish brother officer of mine, a certain major of the name of
Macmillan, who knew the hero of it well.
Grant.--I should have hardly looked for such a story from a Sassenach
like you.
Clifford.--Tut. You know very well that my mother was a Highlandwoman,
and that I have moreover always had a strong feeling for Scotland,
and especially for the Highlands, as well as for everything connected
with these romantic regions, where, let me tell you, I have had some
wanderings as well as you.
Author.--We admit your right to tell your story. So now, come away
with it without further preface.
Clifford.--If I tell you anything, I must very nearly tell you all
honest John's life. Have you patience for so long a narrative?
Grant.--We shall give you the full duration of the burning of these
moss-fir faggots. Will that serve you?
Clifford.--I think my story will have expired before them. And by
that time we shall all be nearly ready for our blankets and heather;
for such, I presume, will be our fate to-night.
LEGEND OF JOHN MACKAY OF ROSS-SHIRE, CALLED IAN MORE ARRACH,
OR BIG JOHN THE RENTER OF THE MILK OF THE COWS.
My old Highland major told me, what perhaps you know better than I do,
I mean, that some half century or more ago, before sheep were quite so
much in fashion in the Highlands as I believe they now are, and when
cattle were the only great staple of the country, the proprietors of
the glens had them always well filled with cows. In those times it
was the custom in Ross-shire to allow one calf only to be reared for
each two cows of the herd. Each calf with its pair of cows was called
a Cauret; and these caurets were let to renters, who, as they might
find it most advisable, took one or more of them in lease, as it were,
according as their circumstances might dictate; and the renter being
obliged to rear one calf for the landlord for each cauret he held,
he was allowed the remainder of the milk for his own share of the
profit. These milk-renters were called arrachs; and John Mackay,
the hero of my story, was called Ian More Arrach, from his lofty
stature, and from his being one of these milk-renters. According to
my informant the major, who personally knew him, Ian well merited
the addition of More; for he declared that he was the most powerful
man he had ever beheld.
It so happened that Ian went down on one occasion into Strath-Connan,
to attend a great market or fair that was held there, probably to
dispose of his cheese; and as he was wandering about after his business
was over, his eye was caught, exactly like those of some of our simple
trouts of the lake here, by the red and tinsel, and silk and wool,
and feather glories of a recruiting sergeant and his party. He had
never seen anything of the kind before, and he stood staring at them
in wonderment as they passed. Nor did his solid and substantial form
fail to fill the sergeant's eye in its turn; but if I am to give you
a simile illustrative of the manner in which it did so, I must say
that it was in the same way that the plump form of a well-fed trout
might fill the greedy eye of a gaunt pike. He resolved to have him as
a recruit. The party was accordingly halted immediately opposite to
the spot where Ian was standing; and after one or two shrill shrieks
of the fife, and a long roll of the drum, the martial orator began an
oration, which lasted a good half-hour, in which he largely expatiated
on the glories of a soldier's life, and the riches and honours it
was certain one day or other to shower on the heads of all those who
embraced it. The greater part of this harangue was lost upon Ian More
Arrach, partly because he but very imperfectly understood English,
and partly because his senses were too much lost in admiration. But
when the grand scarlet-coated gentleman approached him with a smiling
air, and gaily slapping him on the back, exclaimed,--
"Come along with us, my brave fellow, and taste the good beef and
mustard, and other provender, that King George so liberally provides
for us gentlemen of his army, and drink his Majesty's health with us
in his own liquor. Come, and see how jollily we soldiers live!"
His wits returned to him at once, and he quickly understood enough of
what was said to him, to make him grin from ear to ear, till every
tooth in his head was seen to manifest its own particular unmingled
satisfaction, and his morning's walk from his distant mountain
residence having wonderfully sharpened his appetite, he followed the
sergeant into a booth with all manner of alacrity, and quietly took
his seat at a table that groaned beneath an enormous round of beef,
flanked by other eatables, on which the hungry recruits fell pell-mell,
and in demolishing which Ian rendered them his best assistance. The
booth or tent was constructed, as such things usually are, of some
old blankets stitched together, and hung over a cross-stick, that
was tied horizontally to the tops of two poles fixed upright in the
ground. It was the ambulatory tavern of one of those travelling ale
and spirit sellers who journey from one fair or market to another,
for the charitable purpose of vending their victuals and drink to the
hungry and thirsty who can afford to pay for them. The space around the
interior of the worsted walls of this confined place was occupied with
boxes, vessels, and barrels of various kinds; and whilst the landlord,
a knock-kneed cheeseparing of a man, who had once been a tailor,
sat at his ease in one corner reckoning his gains, his wife, a fat,
bustling, red-nosed little woman, was continually running to and fro
to serve the table with liquor. Many were the loyal toasts given,
and they were readily drank by Ian, more, perhaps, from relish of
the good stuff that washed them down, than from any great perception
he had of their intrinsic merit. His head was by no means a weak
one. But the sergeant and his assistants were too well acquainted
with all the tricks of their trade not to take such measures as made
him unwittingly swallow three or four times as much liquor as they did.
"Now, my gallant Highlander," exclaimed the sergeant, when he thought
him sufficiently wound up for his purpose, "see how nobly his Majesty
uses us. Starve who may, we never want for plenty. But this is not
all. Hold out your hand, my brave fellow. See, here is a shilling
with King George's glorious countenance upon it. He sends you this
in his own name, as a mark of his especial favour and regard for you."
"Fod, but she wonders tat sae big an' braw a man as ta King wad be
thinkin' on Ian Arrach at a', at a'," said the Highlander, surveying
the shilling as it lay in the palm of his hand; "but troth, she wonders
a hantel mair, tat sin King Shorge was sendin' ony sing till her ava,
she didna send her a guinea fan her hand was in her sporran at ony
rate. But sic as it be, she taks it kind o' ta man," and saying so,
he quietly transferred into his own sporran that which he believed
to have come from the King's.
"That shilling is but an arnest of all the golden guineas he will by
and bye give you," said the sergeant; "not to mention all those bags of
gold, and jewels, and watches which he will give you his gracious leave
to take from his enemies, after you shall have cut their throats."
"Tut, tut, but she no be fond o' cuttin' trotts," replied Ian;
"she no be good at tat trade at a', at a'."
"Ha! no fears but you will learn that trade fast enough," said the
sergeant. "You mountaineers generally do. You are raw yet; but wait
till you have beheld my glorious example--wait till you have seen me
sheer off half a dozen heads or so, as I have often done, of a morning
before breakfast, and you will see that there is nothing more simple."
"Och, och," exclaimed Ian, with a shrug of his shoulders that spoke
volumes.
"Aye, aye," continued the sergeant, "'tis true you cannot expect that
at the very first offer you are to be able to take off your heads quite
so clean at a blow as I can do. Indeed, I am rather considered a rare
one at taking off heads. For example, I remember that I once happened
to take a French grenadier company in flank, when, with the very
first slash of my sword, I cut clean through the necks of the three
first file of men, front rank and rear rank, making no less than six
heads off at the first sweep. And it was well for the company that
they happened only to be formed two deep at the time, for if they
had been three deep, no less than nine heads must have gone."
"Keep us a'!" cried some of the wondering recruits.
"Nay," continued the sergeant; "had it not been for the unlucky
accident that by some mistake the fourth front rank man was a leetle
shorter than the other, so that the sword encountered his chin-bone,
the fourth file would have been beheaded like the rest."
"Och, och!" cried Ian again.
"But," continued the sergeant, "as I said before, though you cannot
expect to take up this matter by nattral instinck, as it were, yet I'll
be bail that a big stout souple fellow like you will not see a month's
sarvice before you will shave off a head as easily as I shave this here
piece of cheese, and----confound it, I have cut my thumb half through."
"Her nanesell wunna be meddlin' wi' ony siccan bluidy wark," said Ian,
shaking his head, and shrugging his shoulders. "She no be wantan'
to be a boutcher. But, noo," added he, lifting up a huge can of ale,
"she be biddin' ye a' gude evenin', shentilmans, and gude hells,
and King Shorge gude hells, an' mony sanks to ye a'; and tell King
Shorge she sall keep her bit shullin' on a string tied round her neck
for a bonny die." And so rising up, Ian put the ale can to his head,
and drained it slowly to the bottom.
"But, my good fellow," said the sergeant, who had been occupied,
whilst Ian's draught lasted, in tying up his thumb in a handkerchief
and giving private signals to his party, "you are joking about bidding
us good evening--we cannot part with you so soon."
"Troth she maun be goin' her ways home," said Ian, "she has a far
gate to traivil."
"Stuff!" cried the sergeant; "surely you cannot have forgotten that
you have taken King George's money, and that you have now the great
privilege of holding the honourable and lucrative situation of a
gentleman private in his Majesty's infantry, having been duly and
volunteerly enlisted before all these here witnesses."
"Ou, na," said Ian gravely and seriously; "she didna list--na, na,
she didna list; troth na. So wussin' ta gude company's gude hells
wanss more, an' King Shorge's hells, she maun just be goin' for she
has a lang gate o' hill afore her."
"Nay, master, we can't exactly part with you so easily," said the
sergeant, rising up. "You are my recruit, and you must go nowhere
without my leave."
"Hoot, toots," replied Ian, making one step towards the door of
the booth; "an' she has her nane leave, troth, she'll no be axan'
ony ither."
"I arrest you in the King's name!" said the sergeant, laying hold of
Ian by the breast.
"Troth, she wudna be wussin' to hort her," said Ian, lifting up the
sergeant like a child before he knew where he was; "but sit her doon
tere, oot o' ta way, till her nanesell redds hersell of ta lave,
and wuns awa'."
Making two strides with his burden towards a large cask of ale that
stood on end in one corner of the place, he set the gallant hero
down so forcibly on the top of it, that the crazy rotten boards
gave way, and he was crammed backwards, in a doubled up position,
into the yawning mouth of the profound, whilst surges of beer boiled
and frothed up around him. Ian would have charitably relieved the man
from so disagreeable a situation, which was by no means that which he
had intended him to occupy; but, ere he wist, he was assailed by the
whole party like a swarm of bees. The place of strife was sufficiently
narrow, a circumstance much in favour of the light troops who now made
a simultaneous movement on him, with the intention of prostrating him
on the ground, but he stood like a colossus, and nothing could budge
him; whilst, at the same time, he never dealt a single blow as if at
all in anger, but ever and anon, as his hands became so far liberated
as to enable him to seize on one of his assailants, he wrenched him
away from his own person, and tossed him from him, either forth of
the tent door, or as far at least as its bounds would allow, some
falling among the hampers and boxes--some falling like a shower upon
the poor owners of the booth--and some falling upon the unfortunate
sergeant. The red-nosed priestess of this fragile temple of Bacchus
shrieked in sweet harmony with the groans of the knock-kneed and
broken-down tailor, and in the midst of the melee, one unhappy recruit,
who was winging his way through the air from the powerful projectile
force of Ian More, came like a chain-shot against the upright poles
of the tent--the equilibrium of its whole system was destroyed--down
came the cross-beam--the covering blankets collapsed and sank,--and,
in a moment, nothing appeared to the eyes of those without but a mighty
heap, that heaved and groaned underneath like some volcanic mountain in
labour previous to an eruption. And an eruption to be sure there was;
for, to the great astonishment of the whole market people, Ian More
Arrach's head suddenly appeared through a rent that took place in the
rotten blanket, with his face in a red hot state of perspiration, and
his mouth gasping for breath. After panting like a porpoise for a few
seconds, he made a violent effort, reared himself upon his legs, and
thrusting his feet out at the aperture which had served as a door to
the tent, he fled away with all the effect of a fellucca under a press
of sail, buffeting his way through the multitude of people and cattle,
as a vessel would toss aside the opposing billows; and then shooting
like a meteor up the side of the mountain that flanked the strath, he
left his flowing drapery behind him in fragments and shreds adhering
to every bush he passed by, bounded like a stag over its sky line,
and disappeared from the astonished eyes of the beholders.
It were vain to attempt to describe the re-organisation of the
discomfited troops, who, when their strange covering was thus
miraculously removed, arose singly from the ground utterly confounded,
and began to move about limping and cursing amidst the bitter wailings
of the unhappy people whose frail dwelling had so marvellously fled
from them. The attention of the party was first called to their gallant
commander, who, with some difficulty, was extracted from the mouth
of the beer barrel, dripping like a toast from a tankard. His rage
may be conceived better than told. His honour had been tarnished, and
his interest put in jeopardy. He, whose stirring tales of desperate
deeds of arms and fearful carnage had so often extended the jaws of
the Highland rustics whom he had kidnapped, and raised their very
bonnets on the points of their bristling hair with wonder,--who
could devour fire as it issued from the mouth of a cannon,--and
who could contend single-handed against a dozen of foes, to be so
unceremoniously crammed, by the arm of one man, into a beer barrel,
in the presence of those very recruits, and to be afterwards basely
extracted from it before the eyes of the many who had listened to
his boastful harangues. And then, moreover, to be choused out of the
anticipated fruits of his wily hospitality, as well as of a silver
shilling, by the flight of the broad-shouldered Celt, whom he thought
he had secured, and of whom he expected to have made so handsome a
profit. All this was not to be borne, and, accordingly, wide as was
Ross-shire, he determined most indefatigably to search every inch of
it until he should again lay hands on him. From the inquiries made on
the spot, it was considered as certain that Ian More had gone directly
home to his lonely bothy, in a high and solitary valley some dozen
of miles or so from the place where they then were; and as one of
the recruits knew the mountain tracks well enough to act as guide,
he collected the whole of his forces, amounting to nearly double the
number of those who had been engaged in the battle of the booth, and
after having refreshed and fortified them and himself with all manner
of available stimuli, he put himself at their head, and set forward
on his expedition at such an hour of the night as might enable them
to reach the dwelling of Ian More Arrach before he was likely to
leave it in the morning in pursuit of his daily occupation.
Ian More was but little acquainted with the tricks of this world;
and no wonder, for the habitation in which he lived, and from which
he rarely migrated, was situated in one of those desert glens which
are to be found far up in the mountains, where they nurse and perhaps
give birth to the minuter branches of those streams, which, running
together in numbers, and accumulating as they roll onwards through
wider and larger valleys, go on expanding with the opening country
until they unite to water the extended and fertile plains in some
broad and important river. The ascent to the little territory of which
Ian More was the solitary sovereign was by a steep and narrow ravine
among rocks, down which the burn raged against the opposing angles,
like a wayward child that frets and fumes against every little obstacle
that occurs to the indulgence of its wishes. Higher up its course was
cheerful and placid, like the countenance of the same child, perhaps,
when in the best humour and in the full enjoyment for the time being
of all its desires, laughing as it went its way among water-lilies,
ranunculuses, and yellow marigolds, meandering quietly through a deep
and well-swarded soil that arose from either side of it in a gently
curving slope to the base of two precipitous walls of rock, within
the shelter of which the caurets of Ian More had ample pasture for a
stretch of about a quarter of a mile upwards to the spot where the
cliffs, rising in altitude, and apparently unscalable, shut in the
glen in a natural amphitheatre. There the burn issued from a small
circular lochan; and it was on the farther margin of this piece of
water, and immediately at the foot of the crags behind it, that the
small sod hovel of Ian More Arrach was placed, so insignificant a
speck amid the vastness of the surrounding features of nature as to be
hardly distinguished from the rock itself, especially when approached,
as it now was, in the grey light of the morning, until the sergeant
and his party had come very near to it.
The leader of the enterprise felt that no time was to be lost in a
survey, lest, whilst they were hesitating, Ian might perceive them,
and again make his escape. A simultaneous rush, therefore, was made
for the door; but, albeit that Ian generally left it unfastened,
he had somehow or other been led to secure it on this occasion, by
lifting a stone of no ordinary size, which usually served him as a
seat, and placing it as a barricade against it on the inside. Their
first attempt to force it being thus rendered altogether unavailing,--
"John Mackay, otherwise Ian More Arrach, open to us in the name of
King George," cried the sergeant, standing at the full length of his
pike from the door, and poking against it with the point of the weapon.
"Fat wud King Shorge hae wi' Ian More," demanded the Highlander.
"Come, open the door and surrender peaceably," cried the sergeant;
"you are the King's lawful recruit. You have been guilty of mutiny
and desartion; but if you will surrender at discretion, and come
quietly along with us, it is not unlikely that, in consideration of
your being as yet untaught, and still half a savage, you may not be
exactly shot this bout, though it is but little marcy you desarve,
considering how confoundedly my back aches with the rough treatment I
had from you. Keep close to the door, my lads," continued he, sinking
his voice, "and be ready to spring on him the moment he comes out."
Whilst the sergeant yet spoke, the whole hovel began to heave like some
vast animal agonised with internal throes. The men of the party stood
aghast for one moment, and in the next the back wall of the sod edifice
was hurled outwards, and the roof, losing its support, fell inwards,
raising a cloud of dust so dense as utterly to conceal for a time
the individual who was the cause and instrument of its destruction.
"Ha! look sharp, my lads!" cried the sergeant; "be on your mettle!"
The words were scarcely out of his mouth when the herculean form
of Ian More arose before his eyes from amidst the debris and dust,
as did the figure of the Genii from the jar before those of the
fisherman in the Eastern fable.
"There he is, by Jupiter!" cried the sergeant, involuntarily retreating
a step or two. "On him--on him, and seize him, my brave boys!"
The nature of the spot seemed to forbid all hope of escape. The party
blocked up the space in front of the bothy, and the narrow stripe of
ground that stretched along between the lake on the one hand, and the
cliffs on the other, grew more and more confined as it ran backwards,
until it disappeared altogether at a point about an hundred yards
distant, where the crags rose sheer up out of the water. In this
direction Ian More moved slowly off, after throwing on the throng of
his assailants a grim smile, which, however, had more of pity than of
anger in it. Before he had taken a dozen steps the most forward of
the party were at his skirts. He turned smartly round, and suddenly
catching up the first man in his arms, he sent him spinning through
the air into the lake as if he had been a puppy dog. The next in
succession was seized with astonishment, but before he could shake
himself free of it, he was seized by something more formidable,
I mean by the iron hands of Ian More, who flung him also far amid
the waters after his fellow. A whole knot of those who followed them
sprang upon him at once, but he patted them off, one after another,
as if they had been so many flies, and that he had been afraid to
hurt them; but, as it was impossible for him to accommodate his hits
with mathematical precision to the gentleness of his intentions,
some of the individuals who received them bore the marks of them for
many a day afterwards. The ardour of the attack became infinitely
cooled down. But still there were certain fiery spirits who coveted
glory. These, as they came boldly up, successively shared the fate of
those who had gone before them. Some were stretched out, as chance
threw them, to measure their dimensions on the terra firma, whilst
others were hurled hissing hot into the lake, where they were left
at leisure to form some estimate of their own specific gravity in
a depth of water which was just shallow enough to save them from
drowning. Meanwhile, the object of their attack continued to stalk
slowly onwards at intervals, smiling on them from time to time, as he
turned to survey the shattered remains of the attacking army that now
followed him at a respectful distance, and halted every time he faced
them. The sergeant, like an able general, kept poking them on in the
rear with his pike, and upbraiding them for their cowardice. Meanwhile
Ian gradually gained ground on them, and having produced an interval
of some twenty or thirty yards between himself and them, just as
they thought that he had arrived at a point where farther retreat
was impossible, he suddenly disappeared into a crack in the face
of the cliff, hitherto unobserved, and on reaching the place they
found that the fearless mountaineer had made his slippery way up the
chimney-like cleft, amidst the white foam of a descending rill that
was one of the main feeders of the lochan, into which it poured.
"The feller has vanished into the clouds," said the sergeant,
shuddering with horror as he looked up the perilous rocky funnel,
and, at the same time, secretly congratulating himself that Ian had
not stood to bay. "He has vanished into the clouds, just out of our
very hands, as I may say. Who was to think of there being any such
ape's ladder as this here?"
The party returned, sullen and discomfited, to the strath, and their
leader now gave up all hopes of capturing Ian More Arrach either by
stratagem or force. But his thirst for the large sum which he expected
to realise by producing such a man at headquarters rendered him quite
restless and unremitting in his inquiries, the result of which was,
that he found out that Lord Seaforth, then, I believe, Lord Lieutenant
of the County, might do something towards apprehending the runaway. He
accordingly waited on his lordship to request his interference for
procuring the seizure of John Mackay, surnamed Ian More Arrach, a
deserter from His Majesty's service. Lord Seaforth inquired into the
case, and believing that the man had been fairly enlisted, he procured
his immediate appearance at Brahan Castle, by going the right way to
work with him. There, it so happened, that Lord Rae was at that time
a visitor, and Lord Seaforth called in his aid to work upon Ian More,
who bowed to the ground in submission to the wishes of his chief.
"This is an unlucky business, Ian More," said Lord Rae, "it seems that
you have deserted from the King's service, after having accepted his
money, and that, moreover, you have twice deforced the officer and
party. Your case, I fear, is a bad one. Depend upon it, they will have
you if it should cost them the sending of a whole regiment after you;
and then, if you give them so much trouble, no one can say what may
be the consequence. Take my advice and give yourself up quietly. I
shall write to your commanding officer in such terms as will save
you from any very bad consequences; and with the recommendations
which you shall have, there is no saying but you may be an officer
ere long. All the Mackays are brave fellows; and if all I have heard
be true, it appears that you are no disgrace to the name."
Ian was too proud of the interest taken in him by his noble chief, to
dispute his advice or wishes for one moment. He would have sacrificed
his life for him. And accordingly, abandoning his mountain-glen and
his caurets, he surrendered himself to the sergeant, who implicitly
obeyed the instructions he received from Lord Rae to treat him kindly,
particularly as they were backed up with a handsome douceur; and Ian
was soon afterwards embarked to join his regiment, then quartered
in Guernsey.
The regiment that Ian More was attached to was almost entirely
a new levy, and the recruits were speedily put on garrison duty,
frivolous perhaps in itself, but probably given to them more as a
lesson, in order that they might become familiar with it, than from
any absolute necessity for it. It so happened, that the first guard
that Ian mounted, he was planted as a night sentinel on the Queen's
Battery. The instructions given to his particular post were to take
especial care that no injury should happen to a certain six-pounder,
which there rested on its carriage; and when the corporal of the guard
marched Ian up as a relief, he laughed heartily to hear the earnest
assurances which he gave, in answer to the instructions he received
from the man he was relieving, "Tat not a bonn o' ta body o' ta wee
gunnie sould be hurt, at a', at a', while he had ta care o' her."
And Ian kept his word; for he watched over the beautiful little piece
of ordnance with the greatest solicitude. It so happened, however,
that whilst he was walking his lonely round, a heavy shower of rain
began to fall, and a bitter freezing blast soon converted every
particle of it into a separate cake of ice, which cut against his
nose and eyes, and nearly scarified his face, so that much as he had
been accustomed to the snarling climate of the higher regions of the
interior of Scotland, he felt as if he would lose his eyesight from
the inclemency of the weather; and then he began to reason that if
he should lose his eyesight, how could he take care of the gun? His
anxiety for the safety of his charge, united to a certain desire for
his own comfort, induced him gravely to consider what was best to be
done. He surveyed the gun, and as he did so, he began to think that
it was extremely absurd that he should be standing by its side for
two long hours, whilst he might so easily provide for its security in
some place of shelter; and accordingly he quickly removed it from its
carriage, and poising it very adroitly on his shoulder, he carried
it deliberately away.
Strong as Ian was, the position and the weight of the six-pounder,
considerably more than half a ton, compelled him to walk with a stiff
mien and a solemn, measured, and heavy tread. He had to pass by two or
three sentinels. These were all raw unformed recruits like himself,
and full of Highland superstitions. Each of them challenged him in
succession as his footstep approached; but Ian was too much intent on
keeping his burden properly balanced to be able to reply. He moved
on steadily and silently therefore, with his eyeballs protruded and
fixed, from the exertion he was making, and with his whole countenance
wearing a strange and portentous expression of anxiety, which was
heightened by a certain pale blue light that fell upon it from one
part of the stormy sky. Instead of attempting to oppose or to arrest
such a phantom, which came upon them in the midst of the tempest like
some unearthly being which had been busied in the very creation of it,
each sentry fled before it, and the whole rampart was speedily cleared.
It was not many minutes after this that the visiting sergeant went
his rounds. To his great surprise, he was not challenged by the
sentry upon Ian More's post; and to his still greater astonishment,
he was permitted to advance with impunity till he discovered that
Ian More was not there. But what was yet most wonderful of all the
gun of which he was the especial guardian was gone.
"Lord ha' mercy on us!" exclaimed the corporal, "I see'd the man
planted here myself alongside the piece of ordnance; what can have
become of them both?"
"Tis mortal strange," said the sergeant. "Do you stand fast here,
corporal, till we go down the rampart a bit, to see if we can see
anything."
"Nay, with your leave, sergeant," said the corporal, "I see no use
in leaving me here to face the devil. Had we not better go and report
this strange matter to the officer of the guard?"
"Nonsense,--obey my orders; and if you do see the devil, be sure you
make him give you the countersign," said the sergeant, who had had
all such fears rubbed off by a long life of hard service.
On walked the sergeant along the rampart. The other sentries were
gone also. One man only he at last found, and him he dragged forth
from under a gun-carriage.
"Why have you deserted your post, you trembling wretch?" demanded
the sergeant.
"Did you not see it, then?" said the man, with a terrified look.
"See what?" asked the sergeant.
"The devil, in the shape of Ian More Arrach, with his face like a
flaming furnace, shouldering a four-and-twenty pounder," replied the
man; "och, it was a terrible sight."
"By jingo, my boy, your back will be made a worse spectacle of before
long, if I don't mistake," said the sergeant.
By this time a buzz of voices was heard. The guard had been alarmed
by the fugitive sentries, whose fright had carried them with ghastly
looks to the guard-room. The guard had alarmed the garrison, and the
whole place was thrown into confusion. Soldiers, non-commissioned
officers, and officers, were seen running and heard vociferating
in all directions, lanterns and flambeaux were everywhere flitting
about like fire-flies, and soldiers' wives and children were heard
screaming and crying. The cause of the tumult was reported in a
thousand different ways. Some of the least rational of the women and
juveniles even believed and asserted that an enemy had landed on the
island; whilst those who really were aware that the true cause of
the uproar was Ian More's mysterious disappearance, were employed in
searching everywhere for him and the six-pounder; but he was nowhere
to be found, and wonder and astonishment multiplied at every step.
At length the tumult rose to such a height that the commanding
officer was roused, and hurrying on his clothes, he came running
to the Queen's Battery to know what all the hubbub was about. The
place was filled with a crowd of all ranks, each individual of which
was ready to hazard his own conjecture in explanation of this most
unaccountable event. All gave way at the colonel's approach. After
hearing what had happened, he inquired into the circumstances so
far as they were known; he listened calmly and attentively to the
various accounts of those who had been making ineffectual search,
and having heard all of them patiently to an end--
"This is very strange," said he; "but well as you have searched, it
appears to me that none of you seem to have ever thought of looking
for him in his barrack-room. Let us go there."
Off went the colonel accordingly to the barrack-room, followed by as
many curious officers and soldiers as could well crowd after him; and
there, to be sure, snug in bed, and sound asleep, lay Ian More Arrach,
with the piece of artillery in his arms, and his cheek close to the
muzzle of it, which was sticking out from under the blanket that
covered both of them. The spectacle was too ridiculous even for the
colonel's gravity. He and all around him gave way to uncontrollable
bursts of laughter, that speedily awaked Ian from the deep sleep in
which he was plunged. He stared around him with astonishment.
"What made you leave your post, you rascal?" demanded the sergeant
of the guard, so much provoked as to forget himself before his
commanding officer.
"Nay, nay," said the colonel, who already knew something of Ian,
from the letter which he had received from his chief, "you cannot say
that he has left his post; for you see he has taken his post along
with him."
"Is na ta wee bit gunnie as weil aside her nanesell here?" said Ian,
with an innocent smile. "Is she na mockell better here aside her
nanesell, nor wi' her nanesell stannin' cauld an' weet aside her
yonder on ta Pattry?"
"Well, well," said the colonel, after a hearty laugh. "But how did
you manage to bring the gun here?"
"Ou troth her nanesell carried her," replied Ian.
"Come, then," said the colonel, "if you will instantly carry it back
again to the place whence you took it, nothing more shall be said
about it."
"Toots! but she'll soon do tat," said Ian, starting out of bed,
and immediately raising the gun to his shoulder, he set out with it,
followed by the colonel and every one within reach; and, to the great
astonishment of all of them, he marched slowly and steadily towards
the battery with it, and replaced it on its carriage, amidst the loud
cheers of all who beheld him.
As Ian was naturally a quiet, sober, peaceable, and well-behaved
man, a thorough knowledge of his duty soon converted him into a most
invaluable soldier; and nature having made him a perfect model, both as
to mould and symmetry of form, the colonel, who took a peculiar fancy
to him, soon saw that he was altogether too tall and fine looking a
man to be kept in the ranks. Accordingly he had him struck off from
the ordinary routine of domestic duty, and drilled as a fugleman,
in which distinguished situation Ian continued to figure until his
services were terminated by an unlucky accident.
It happened one evening that the colonel of an English regiment dined
at the mess of the Highland corps. In the course of conversation
this gentleman offered a bet that he had a man who would beat any
individual who could be picked from among the Highlanders. One of the
Highland officers immediately took him up, and engaged to produce
a man to meet the English champion next morning. By break of day,
therefore, he sent for Ian More Arrach, and told him what had occurred,
and then added--"You are to be my man, Ian; and I think it will be
no hard thing for you who shouldered the six-pounder to pound this
boasting pock-pudding."
"Troth na," said Ian, shaking his head, "ta pock-pudden no done her nae
ill,--fat for wad she be fighten her? Troth her honour may e'en fight
ta man hersell, for her nanesell wull no be doin' nae siccan a thing."
"Tut! nonsense, man," said the officer, "you must fight him, aye and
lick him too; and you shall not only carry off the honour, but you
shall have a handsome purse of money for doing so."
"Na, na," said Ian, "ta man no dune her nae ill ava, an she'll no be
fighten for ony bodey's siller but King Shorge's."
"Surely you're not afraid of him," said the officer, trying to rouse
his pride.
"Hout na!" replied Ian More, with a calm good humoured smile; "she
no be feart for no man livin'."
"So you won't fight," said the officer.
"Troth na," said Ian, "she canna be fighten wissout nae raison."
"Surely your own honour, the honour of the regiment, the honour of
Scotland, the purse of gold, and my wishes thus earnestly expressed,
ought to be reasons enough with you. But since you refuse, I must go
to Alister Mackay; he will have no such scruples, I'll warrant me."
This last observation was a master-stroke of policy on the part of
the officer. Alister Mackay was a stout athletic young man; but he
was by no means a match for the English prize-fighter. Nor did the
officer mean that he should be opposed to him; for he only named him,
knowing that he was a cousin of Ian More's, and one for whom he had the
affection of a brother; and he was quite sure that his apprehension
for Alister's safety would be too great to allow him to be absent
from the field, if it did not induce him to take his place in the
combat. And it turned out as he had anticipated. Ian came, eagerly
pressing forward into the throng; and no sooner did he appear than
the officer pointed him out to the Englishman as the man that was to
be pitted against him; and as the Highlanders naturally took it for
granted that the big fugleman was to be their man, they quickly made
a ring for him amidst loud cheering.
"Come away, Goliah! come on!" cried the Englishman, tossing his hat
into the air, and his coat to one side. Ian minded him not. But the
growing and intolerable insolence of the bully did the rest; for,
presuming on Ian's apparent backwardness, he strode up to him with
his arms akimbo, and spat in his face.
"Fat is she do tat for?" asked Ian simply of those around him.
"He has done it to make people believe that you are a coward, and
afraid to fight him," said the Highland officer who backed him.
"Tell her no to do tat again," said Ian seriously.
"There!" said the boxer, repeating the insult.
Without showing the smallest loss of temper, Ian made an effort to lay
hold of his opponent, but the Englishman squared at him, and hit him
several smart blows in succession, not one of which the unpractised
Highlander had the least idea of guarding.
"Ha!" exclaimed the Highland officer, "I fear you will be beaten, Ian."
"Foo!" cried Ian coolly, "she be strikin' her to be sure, but she be
na hurtin' her. But an she disna gie ower an her nanesell gets one
stroak at her, she'll swarrants she'll no seek nae mair."
The Englishman gave him two or three more hard hits that went against
his breast as if they had gone against an oaken door; but at last
Ian raised his arm, and swept it round horizontally with a force that
broke through all his antagonist's guards; and the blow striking his
left cheek as if it had come from a sledge hammer, it actually drove
the bones of the jaw on that side quite through the opposite skin,
and, at the same time, smashed the whole skull to fragments. The man
fell like a log, dead on the spot, and horror and astonishment seized
the spectators.
"Och hone! och hone!" cried Ian More, running to lift him from the
ground, in an agony of distress, "She's dootin' she kilt ta poor man."
Ian was thrown into a fit of the deepest despair and sorrow by this
sad catastrophe, sufficiently proving to every one around him that his
heart was made of the most generous stuff; and, indeed, the effect
of the horrible spectacle they had witnessed was such as to throw a
gloom on all who were present, and especially on those who were more
immediately concerned with the wager. The case was decidedly considered
as one of justifiable homicide. It was hushed up by general consent,
and a pass was granted to Ian to return to Scotland.
As he was slowly journeying homeward, Ian happened to spend a night
at Stonehaven, and, as he was inquiring of his landlord as to the
way he was to take in the morning, the man told him that he might
save some distance by taking a short cut through the park of Ury,
the residence of Mr. Barclay of Ury, who, as you probably know,
was even more remarkable for feats of bodily strength than his son,
Captain Barclay, the celebrated pedestrian.
"Ye may try the fut-road through the park," said Ian's host; "but
oddsake, man, tak' care an' no meet the laird, for he's an awfu'
chiel, though he be a Quaker, and gif ye do meet him I rauken that
ye'll just hae to come yere ways back again."
"Fat for she do tat?" demanded Ian.
"Ou, he's a terrible man the laird," continued the landlord. "What
think ye? there was ae night that a poor tinker body had putten his
bit pauney into ane of the laird's inclosures, that it might get a
sly rug o' the grass. Aweel, the laird comes oot in the mornin', and
the moment he spied the beast, he ga'ed tilt like anither Samson, and
he lifted it up in his airms and flang it clean oot ower the dyke. As
sure as ought, gif he meets you, an' he disna throw you owre the dyke,
he'll gar ye gang ilka fit o' the road back again."
"Tuts! she'll try," replied Ian.
Soon after sunrise, Ian took the forbidden path, and he had pursued
it without molestation for a considerable way, when he heard some one
hallooing after him; and turning his head to look back, he beheld a
gentleman, whom he at once guessed to be the laird, hurrying up to him.
"Soldier!" cried Mr. Barclay, "I allow no one to go this way, so thou
must turn thee back."
"She be sorry tat she has anghered her honour," said Ian bowing
submissively, "but troth it be ower far a gate to gang back noo."
"Far gate or short gate, friend, back thou must go," said Mr. Barclay.
"Hoot na! she canna gang back," said Ian.
"But thou must go back, friend," said the laird.
"Troth, she wunna gang back," replied Ian.
"But thou must go back, I tell thee," said the laird, "and if thou
wilt not go back peaceably, I'll turn thee back whether with thy will
or not."
"Hoot, toot, she no be fit to turn her back," said Ian with one of
his broad good-humoured grins.
"I'll try," said the laird, laying his hands on Ian's shoulders to
carry his threat into immediate execution.
"An she be for tat," said Ian, "let her lay doon her wallet, an'
she'll see whuther she can gar her turn or no."
"By all means, good friend," said the laird, who enjoyed a thing of
the kind beyond all measure. "Off with thy wallet, then. Far be it
from me to take any unseemly advantage of thee."
The wallet being quietly deposited on the ground, to it they went;
but ere they had well buckled together, Ian put down the laird beside
the wallet with the same ease that he had put down the wallet itself.
"Ha!" cried the laird, as much overcome with surprise at a defeat which
he had never before experienced, as he had been by the strength that
had produced it. "Thou didst take me too much o' the sudden, friend,
but give me fair play. Let me up and I will essay to wrestle with
thee again."
"Weel, weel," said Ian coolly, "she may tak' her ain laizier to rise,
for her nanesell has plenty o' sun afore her or night."
"Come on then," said Mr. Barclay, grappling again with his antagonist
and putting forth all his strength, which Ian allowed him full time
to exert against him, whilst in defiance of it all he stood firm and
unshaken as a rock.
"Noo! doon she goes again!" said Ian, deliberately prostrating the
laird a second time, "an' gif tat be na eneugh, she'll put her toon
ta tird time, sae tat she'll no need nae mair puttens toon."
"No, no," said the laird panting, and, notwithstanding his defeat,
much delighted not only with the exercise he had had, but that he had
at last discovered so potent an antagonist. "No, no, friend! enough
for this bout. I own that thou art the better man. This is the first
time that my back was ever laid on the grass. Come away with me,
good fellow, thou shalt go home with me."
Ian's journey was not of so pressing a nature as to compel him to
refuse the laird's hospitable offer, and he spent no less than fourteen
days living on the fat of the land at Ury, and Mr. Barclay afterwards
sent a man and horses with him to forward him a few stages on his way.
On his return to Strath-Connan, Ian was welcomed by many an old friend,
and he speedily felt himself again rooted in his native soil. He soon
re-edified his bothy; but he did so after that much improved and much
more comfortable style of architecture which his large experience of
civilised life had now taught him to consider as essential. He again
took readily to his caurets, and to the simple occupations attendant
on the care and management of them, which he forthwith increased to
a considerable extent by increasing their numbers; and every day he
grew wealthier and wealthier by means of them. The taste which he
had now had of society, led him more frequently to visit the gayer
and livelier scenes of the more thickly inhabited straths; and it
was seldom that a market, a marriage, or a merry-making of any kind
occurred, where Ian's sinewy limb and well turned ankles were not
seen executing the Highland fling to a degree of perfection rarely
to be matched. These innocent practices he continued long after he
was a husband and a father, yea, until he was far advanced in life.
If Ian had a spark of pride at all, it was in the circumstance that
the calves of his legs were so well rounded, that however much his
limbs might be exercised, they always kept up his hose without the
aid of a garter, an appendage to his dress which he always scorned to
wear. One night a large party of friends were assembled in his house
to witness the baptism of a recently born grandson. After the ceremony
and the feast were both over, the young people got up to dance, and,
old as he was, Ian More Arrach was among the foremost of them. To
it he went, and danced the Highland fling with his usual spirit and
alacrity, snapping his fingers and shouting with the best of them. But
alas! when the dance was over, he suddenly discovered that his hose had
fallen three inches from their original position, betraying the sad
fact that his limbs had lost somewhat of their original muscle. This
was to him a sad sinking in the barometer of human life. He surveyed
his limbs for some time in silence with a melancholy expression;
and then, with something like a feeling of bitterness, which no one
had ever seen take possession of him before, he exclaimed,--
"Tamm her nanesell's teeths! She may weel gie ower ta fling, noo tat
her teeths wunna haud up her hose!"