If you will be pleased to remember, gentlemen, I already told you,
that previous to the fourteenth century the whole of Strathspey
was subjeck to that great clan or nation the Cumins. It was about
that period, as I informed you, that the Grants, from Glen Urquhart,
were, by royal favour, enabled to possess themselves of Freuchie,--a
place of strength, so called from a certain heathery hillock near to
which it stood. The Cumin's tower was probably part of that original
building which, in the course of generations, has grown up into that
great baronial pile which we now behold yonder. It is natural to
imagine that the Cumins could not possibly regard this alienation of
the property of their clan without its begetting their hatred against
those who benefited by it, though they dared not always to show it
by open deeds of violence. Their submission, however, was by no means
owing to their weakness, for, notwithstanding that the Grants thus got
a footing in this country, so powerful did the Cumins continue for
a while, that many were the strangers that came from other clans to
reside among them for protection, as was not uncommon in that olden
time of trouble; these fugitives changed their own names for that of
the people among whom they had thus found a safe retreat. But they
were never admitted to a full participation in all the rights of the
clan Cuminich, without submitting to undergo a very odd sort of an
irreverential baptism, altogether worthy of the iron age in which it
was practeesed.
Gilbert Cumin, Lord of Glenchearnich, as that country, watered by the
river Dulnan, was denominated, was usually called Gibbon More, from
his enormous size and strength. His chief residence was at Kincherdie,
on the north-western bank of the Spey, on the brink of the river,
just where there is now a ferry across to Gartenmore, the vurra place,
sir, where, as you have recorded in your book of "The Floods," the
worthy Mrs. Cameron made her miraculous voyage upon a brander. The old
chronicler tells us, that the house stood on a green moat, fenced by a
ditch, the vestiges of which are yet to be seen. A current tradition
beareth, that at night a salmon net was cast into the pool below the
wall of the house, and a small rope tied to the net, and brought in
at the window, had a bell hung at it, which rung when a salmon came
in and shook the net, so that the beast was quickly transferred from
the river to the pot. What think ye of that, Mr. Clifford?
Clifford.--Very ingenious! but foul poaching.
Well, whilst Gibbon More Cumin flourished, the ceremony of Cumin-making
was always performed by his own hands. At the door of his castle there
stood a huge stone, which I have often myself seen when I was a boy,
and which, for ought I know, may be still in existence. It was hollowed
out in the middle like an ancient baptismal font, and, indeed, it is
by no means unlikely that it had been originally formed as such. Be
this as it may, however, Gibbon More had it always filled with water
for the refreshment of his fowls. But, besides its uniform devotion
to the truly ignoble purposes of his poultry, it was also employed
by him in the unseemly rites to which I have referred. When any of
the strangers of whom I have spoken had a desire to be metamorphosed
into a Cumin, he was brought incontinently to Kincherdie. There the
gigantic Lord of Glenchearnich, with the observance of very great
and decorous form, lifted him up, and having slowly and solemnly
reversed the natural perpendicular position of the poor sinner,
he held him up by the heels, as Thetis did her infant boy Achilles,
and having dipped his head three times amid the pollutory potation,
as I may call the hen's water that filled the hollow stone, he set
him, gasping and gaunting, upright on his legs again, telling him,
in a stately tone, henceforward to live and do like a Cumin as
he now was. But, notwithstanding this cantrip of Gibbon More's,
there was a marked distinction still preserved between those who
were Cumins by blood and those who were thus manufactured by him by
virtue of the chuckies' water, for these children of adoption and
their descendants had always the degrading addition given to them of
Cuminich clach-nan-cearc, or Cumins of the hen-trough.
It happened, about the time I am speaking of, that young Sir John
Grant, son and heir of Sir Patrick Grant of Stratherrock, now the
Laird of Freuchie, did one evening thus hold converse with a curious
misformed waggish boy, who had no father, and who went by the familiar
name of Archy Abhach, or Archy the Dwarf. Kicked and cuffed as the
youth had been about the castle, Sir John had taken compassion on him,
and had made him his page; and the boy's gratitude and attachment
were consequently great.
"Why look ye so sad, sir?" demanded the boy, gently approaching his
master, as he sat one evening on the battlement of the bartizan,
looking towards the setting sun, with his head resting on the
basket-hilt of his claymore, and his legs swinging about, as if he
cared not whether he should swing himself over the wall or not. "Can
poor Archy do nothing to rid thee of thy melancholy mood?"
"Nay, boy," said the knight, kindly taking his hand, "I doubt thy
powers can scarcely reach my malady."
"As yet thou knowest not the extent of my powers," said the boy
gravely, "nor can I show thee my remedy till thou makest me to know thy
disease. Yet, methinks, my skill is such that I might dare shrewdly
to guess at it. Hast thou not ta'en a heart-wound from a pair of
bright eyes?"
"So far I must needs say, that, judging from this first effort of
thine, thy skill in divining is not to be questioned," said the knight.
"I will adventure further then, and say, that the slanting beams of
yonder declining sun are now gilding the casement of thy lady-love,"
said the boy Archy.
"O Archy, Archy!" cried the knight, giving full way to his feelings, "I
have never enjoyed a moment's peace since I beheld her at Whitsuntide
at the church of Inverallan. She is an angel."
"Granting that she be so," said the boy, "for such they tell me must,
reason or none, be yielded to all lovers--yea though the fair cause
of their madness should be little less than a devil--granting, I say,
that she be an angel, surely that should be no reason why thou shouldst
thus mope and pine, Sir Knight."
"Thou forgettest, boy, that the hatred naturally born between a Cumin
and a Grant forbids all hope on my part," said Sir John despondingly.
"Methinks I could bring thee an instance where this hatred hath been
exchanged for love," said the boy.
"Where? when? with whom?" cried the knight eagerly.
"Here--now--and with Sir John Grant towards Matilda or Bigla Cumin,
as she is called in the country here, daughter and heiress of the
big Lord of Glenchearnich," replied the boy laughing.
"Pshaw!" cried the knight, with a disappointed air.
"Nay, dear master," said the boy; "and if thou hast been able to get
over this natural-born antipathy, why may not Bigla Cumin have been
equally blessed by Heaven?"
"Ah!" cried the knight again, "would it might be so!"
"Wilt thou but give me leave to go to try what may be done?" demanded
the boy. "Be assured I shall be better than most mediciners, for if
I do no good, I shall take especial care to do no harm."
"Kind boy, thou mayest e'en do thy best," said the knight. "I well know
thy zeal for thy master's good; but were thy powers somewhat more equal
to thy zeal, I should count more on the success of thine efforts."
"Such as my poor powers may be, they shall be used to the utmost in
thy service, Sir Knight," said the boy. "Good night, then, so please
thee; and farewell, it may be for some time, for I go on mine errand
by to-morrow's dawn, and the better I prosper, the longer, perchance,
may be mine absence."
"Go, and may the Blessed Virgin guide thee and give thee luck," said
the knight. "But see, boy, that thou bringest thine own person into
no peril."
"Trust me for that," said Archy, as he disappeared from the bartizan.
The sun of next morning had scarcely well risen, and Gibbon More
had just issued from his door to take a look at its face, that he
might judge of the coming weather, when he descried an ill-formed
dwarfish youth approaching, whose countenance, though ill-favoured,
had a certain prepossessing expression in it.
"Whence comest thou, little man?" demanded the Lord of Glenchearnich.
"I come from the east," said the boy readily; "my name is Archy--other
name have I none--and I would fain be a Cumin."
"Ha! ha! ha!--a Cumin, wouldst thou?" said Gibbon laughing. "By
St. Mary, but our clan will be invincible when it shall be strengthened
by such a powerful graff as thou! Tell me, what wouldst thou be good
for, boy?"
"I could draw a bow at a pinch," said the boy. "But I must needs
confess that I were better for the service of some gentle lady's
bower. I'd willingly be thy fair daughter the Lady Matilda's page;
and I'd serve her right faithfully."
"If Bigla should fancy thy ugly face, I care not if she should have
thee," said Gibbon More, "for though thy countenance be homely,
it would seem to be honest."
"Make me a Cumin, and the lady shall have no cause to complain of me,"
replied the boy.
"Thou shalt have thy wish then, boy, without further delay," said
Gibbon More; and he straightway lifted up the youth, and, with more
than ordinary gentleness, he performed the ceremony of the threefold
ablution on him.
Archy Abhach, now converted into Archy Cumin, was speedily installed
in his new office as page to the Lady Bigla, and, in his very first
interview, he contrived to establish himself very firmly in the good
graces of his fair mistress. But what might have been considered
more wonderful, he made a no less favourable impression upon her
handmaiden, a matter which jealousy might have rendered more difficult
with any attendant of a less amiable disposition than the attached
Agnes possessed.
"There is something more than usually interesting about that poor
friendless boy," said the lady to Agnes, after her new page had been
dismissed from her presence for a short time.
"A most interesting youth, notwithstanding the niggardly way in
which dame Nature seems to have treated him," said Agnes archly;
"but as to his being friendless, I shrewdly suspect that he is a
rogue for making that pretence."
"What mean you, Agnes?" demanded Bigla.
"I mean that the varlet had no need to have come to Kincherdie to
look for protection, seeing that he hath long been the favourite of
one of the bravest young knights in all the country round," said Agnes.
"Of whom do you speak?" demanded Bigla.
"Of a certain Sir John Grant, son and heir of old Sir Patrick Grant of
Freuchie," replied Agnes, with an air of mock gravity; "but, perhaps,
you have never seen nor heard of the man."
"O Agnes!" cried Bigla, energetically clasping her hands, and throwing
down her eyes and blushing deeply.
"You have heard of him, then, lady?" said Agnes.
"A truce to your raillery," said Bigla seriously, "and tell me quickly
all you know or guess of this matter."
"Why, all I know of the matter is simply this," said Agnes, in the
same tone, "last Whitsuntide the Lady Bigla Cumin saw, for the first
time, the handsome young knight, Sir John Grant of Freuchie, at the
church of Inverallan. The knight, with becoming gallantry, stepped
gracefully forward and lifted the lady to her saddle, sighing deeply
as he resigned the precious load to her prancing palfrey. The lady's
bower damsel, the quick-sighted Agnes Cumin, soon perceived that the
said knight and lady had made a mutual impression on each other. With
her wonted acuteness and ingenuity, the said damsel soon extracted the
truth from the said lady; and seeing that a misformed imp of a page,
then in attendance on the said knight, hath now, without any apparent
cause, left so good a master in order to undergo the ceremony of being
baptized as a Cumin in the nauseous hen-trough, the said acute damsel
ventures readily to pronounce that the flame burns as brightly and
warmly at Freuchie as it does in my lady's bower at Kincherdie--that
is all."
"But what can Sir John Grant mean by all this?" demanded Bigla,
blushing more deeply than ever.
"To seek and secure an interview to be sure," replied Agnes; "but I
shall soon know what he would be at," continued she. "I shall soon
be at the bottom of it all."
Without giving the Lady Bigla time to reply, the prompt and decided
Agnes hurried away to hold converse with the page. Meeting, as they
did, like two sharp flints, they were not long in striking fire
enough to throw light upon the matter. Having mutually made one
another fully aware of the position of affairs on both sides, they,
without further hesitation, proceeded, like two able plenipotentiaries,
to arrange plans for the future; and it was finally agreed between
them, without further ceremony, that the high contracting parties
should meet in person, on the ensuing evening, in the bourtree bower,
at the lower end of the garden, beyond the rampart, and the page was
forthwith despatched on a secret mission to the knight to inform him
immediately of this so happy an arrangement.
"Blessed Virgin, what hast thou done, Agnes!" cried Bigla Cumin,
ere she had well heard her maid to an end; and hiding her crimsoned
face with both her hands, "What will Sir John Grant think of me?"
"He will call you an angel, as Archy tells me he has already done,"
said Agnes coolly.
"Nay, nay, but this must not be!" said Bigla, starting from her
chair. "Run, Agnes, and stop the boy from going on this most foolish
and imprudent errand."
"Stop him," said Agnes. "You might as well ask me to stop Black
Peter's arrow after it has left his bowstring. The boy is half way
to Freuchie by this time. He knows too well how warmly his news will
be received to allow the grass to grow at his heels."
"What will my father say to this strange arrangement, if it should
come to his knowledge?" cried Bigla, "to meet as a lover the son of the
head of the very house with which we have ever held so great enmity."
"In the first place, your father, good man, must know nothing about
this meeting," said Agnes. "It concerns him not; secondly, if there
hath been ill blood for so long between the two clans, the sooner
peace and friendship is re-established the better, especially after
two of the principal persons have met together in a Christian church,
as you and Sir John have done."
"Agnes, Agnes!" cried the lady, with emotions of vexation not
altogether unmingled, it must be confessed, with certain tinglings
of a more agreeable nature, "Agnes, Agnes! thy precipitation in this
matter hath brought me into a most distressing state of perplexity. I
know not what to do."
But before the morning's sun had well risen, the page appeared in the
lady's presence, with a perfumed billet, sealed with a flame-coloured
silk ribbon, and filled with such professions of love on the part of
Sir John Grant, as brought tenfold blushes into the lovely face of
Bigla; and so touched her young heart as to leave her without a chance
of withstanding the powerful arguments of her handmaiden Agnes, backed
up as they were by the warm descriptions of his master's sufferings,
and the earnest solicitations for her compassion on him, which were so
eloquently urged by the clever page. The result was, that, attended by
Agnes, she did go tremblingly to the trysting place at the appointed
hour--listened with a pleasure she had never felt before to all the
knight's fervent vows; and both were made so happy by their mutual
confessions, that the prudential suggestions of Agnes and Archy were
repeatedly required ere the tender separation could be effected. So
well, however, was that and several other interviews of a similar
nature planned and brought about by the two able auxiliaries, that
for a long time the easy Gibbon More had no suspicion that anything
of the sort was going on. But at length it did happen, that as Sir
John Grant was returning from one of these meeting, he was rather
unluckily encountered, not far from the house of Kincherdie, by Hector,
the confidential servant of Gibbon More. The man's suspicions were
so awakened by the circumstance of the knight being on foot, that
he scrupled not to follow him at a distance, until he saw him join
an attendant who held a couple of horses in a grove about a mile
off. Full of his discovery, Hector went directly to Gibbon More;
and there is no saying what the consequences might have been had
not the Lord of Glenchearnich been a person of a temperament almost
miraculously apathetical. So wonderful was his disposition in this
respect, indeed, that it was only after his patience had been assailed
and battered, as it were, by repeated and most provoking attacks,
that he ever could be excited at all. But then, indeed, when he was
once roused, he became on the sudden like a raging lion, and his
enormous strength and fearless courage being brought tremendously
into action by his fury, the effects were quite terrific.
"So you think, Hector, that the young Stratherrock stripling has been
here to look after Bigla," said Gibbon, after hearing his man's story
to an end. "Hum,--ha! I did perceive that the maiden caught his eye
at the church of Inverallan on Whitsuntide. Ha, ha, ha!--to think of
a Grant being mated with her is too ridiculous. But, for all that,
I cannot blame the boy for bowing before the shrine of my daughter's
beauty. I'll warrant the young goose came over here to try to get
another peep, were it only of her robe as it might chance to sweep by
her casement. Wiser folks than he have done as foolish things; I've
done as much myself in my youth. But Bigla can know nought of this,
so there is no harm done."
Whether Hector's renewed cautions did or did not succeed in making
his master think something more of this matter than he was thus at
first disposed to do, I cannot say; but certain it is, that the Lord
of Glenchearnich was somewhat suddenly seized with the resolution of
going some weeks earlier than he was wont, to spend the summer months
on his hill-grazing property of Delnahaitnich, near the source of
the river Dulnan. This was a most untoward event for the lovers, not
only because the distance between them was thus immensely increased,
but because Gibbon More's residence there was a small cottage,
which might be called little better than a mere shealing, [5] in or
about which it would be next to impossible for them to meet without
observation. And accordingly after this move was made, some weeks
were vainly expended in fruitless attempts on the part of Archy Abhach
to procure for his master Sir John, even the gratification of such a
distant view of the Lady Bigla's robe as her father described in his
conversation with Hector. Yet Sir John often hovered about the place,
and lay for many a night wrapped up in his plaid among the heather
of the neighbouring forest with no other shelter but a projecting
rock and the thick foliage of the firs that grew over it. Archy
Abhach was almost as much disappointed as Sir John himself at being
so baulked. His ingenuity was put to the very rack, but all without
effect; because it somehow or other happened that Gibbon More never
went from home, and so his daughter was never left for one moment
out of his sight. The knight had thus no comfort but in the frequent
letters and messages which Archy contrived to carry between the lovers,
and which they were fain to employ for want of those more interesting
interviews, of which they were now altogether deprived.
It happened that Archy Abhach was one night sent with one of those
letters towards the place where his master Sir John Grant was lying
hid in the upper part of the forest of Dulnan, which then spread much
higher over the hills than it now does. The moon was not yet risen,
and the dense foliage overhead very much increased the darkness and
the difficulty of his way. As he was scrambling along past the narrow
mouth of a small ravine that opened on the course of the stream he
was following, he came suddenly upon two men who were seated beside
the dying embers of a fire which they seemed to have used for some
purpose of rude and hasty cookery. Curiosity led him involuntarily
to stop for a moment to observe them; but becoming instantly aware of
his imprudence in doing so, he moved quickly away, and began to run as
hard as he could. But the consequences which he dreaded were already
incurred, and he had not gone many paces when he heard footsteps
hurrying after him. He fled as fast as his legs could carry him,
but the darkness was such that he tripped and fell, and his neck was
instantly in the grasp of a powerful hand.
"I have him fast," said a rough voice in Gaelic; "it is but a very
small boy after all. Shall I whittle his craig with my skian-dhu?"
"Not for thy life," replied another voice in the same language. "Bring
him along with thee, that we may see what he is. Why wouldst thou
hurt the creature till we know something more about him?"
The man who had seized Archy now threw him over his shoulder as he
would have done a dead hare, and groped his way back with him to the
ravine, where a blaze being produced by a dry bush of heather, the boy
was set down between them for examination. Archy on his part was not
slow in using his eyes also, and in a much less time than I can tell
it to you, he ran them over the bulky rough figure of the individual
who had seized him, and then as hastily surveyed the compact well
put-together active-looking person, and intelligent countenance of the
other, who seemed in every respect to be the superior. This last was
by no means strange to him, and, to the surprise of the man himself,
he immediately addressed him by his name.
"Corrie MacDonald!" said he, "sure I am that thou wilt never hurt
any man belonging to Sir Patrick Grant of Stratherrock."
But I must now tell you that this same Corrie MacDonald was a certain
hero who flourished in those days in Lochaber, and who made himself
dreaded all through Moray-land and its neighbouring districts by the
periodical visits of plunder which he paid to them. Amongst other
tracts of country, Strathspey and its tributary valleys were wont
to be a prominent object of his attention. He had always a large
band of followers at his command, who were equally expert in driving
away herds of cattle, and brave in beating off the owners when they
pursued with the hope of recovering them. Corrie was a reaver of
no ordinary character; for, robber though he was, he had a natural
fund of liberality and generosity about him; and he had so great
a stock of native humour in him, that he was ever ready to indulge
his waggish disposition at any expense; and no predatory expedition
had ever half so great a relish for him, as that in which he could
contrive to mix up a bit of a frolic. Many a cow and ox had Corrie
MacDonald carried away from the extensive possessions of the Lord of
Glenchearnich. But these trifling depredations never disturbed the
good temper or overcame the patience of that most extraordinary man,
the effect of whose unparalleled forbearance was to awaken in the
inquiring mind of Corrie MacDonald a certain philosophic curiosity
to ascertain by experiment to what extent it was capable of being
stretched; and he had long panted for a favourable opportunity of
bringing this investigation to a fair trial.
"Corrie MacDonald," cried Archy Abhach, in a whining tone, "sure I
am that thou who hast never had quarrel with Sir Patrick Grant of
Stratherrock wilt never hurt any man belonging to him."
"Thou art right," replied Corrie. "Not only shall I respect the
safety of every man belonging to Sir Patrick Grant, but I will even
respect thee, who art but a mannikin, if thou canst prove thyself to
be his. I have had peaceable passage to and fro through his grounds
on Loch Ness side for too many years to do otherwise."
"Then look ye here," said Archy, plucking from his bosom the letter
of which he was the bearer, and straightway showing the address,
which was--To the honourable and gallant knight. Sir John Grant of
Freuchie, these, with speed.
"That is all well," said Corrie. "But methinks, mannikin, that
this is anything but the road to Freuchie, if I know aught of this
country side."
"My master is up in the forest, a little bit above this, waiting for
my tidings," said Archy.
"Aha!" cried Corrie, relaxing his features into a smile, "some love
adventure, I warrant me. Awell! I am the last man to put hindrance
in the way of any such matter, especially where Sir John Grant is
concerned. Nay, I would willingly go a good way out of my road to
help him on."
"Sayest thou so, Corrie MacDonald!" cried the urchin. "Then could I
tell thee how thou mightest lend my master thy most effectual aid,
and yet keep thine own road still, and that to thine own most abundant
profit."
"How may that be, my small man?" demanded Corrie. "If thou canst make
thy plans clear to my conviction, thou shalt find me ready, zealous,
prompt, and decisive."
"Thou knowest Gibbon More Cumin, lord of these broad lands of
Glenchearnich," said Archy.
"Know him?" said Corrie with a grin. "Well do I that."
"He is living here hard by at Delnahaitnich," continued the page. "He
keeps home so close, that no one can even have a sight of his daughter,
far less have speech of her. Couldst thou not carry away his cattle
from the forest here, so as to furnish him with a reasonably rational
object for travelling for a season?"
"By Saint Comb, but thou hast a wit larger than the tiny proportions
of thy body might teach one to look for!" said Corrie. "The notion
is excellent. I have long wished to work that lump of dough into a
ferment. And, by Saint Mary, as the creach will be carried off from
under his very nose, I shall stir up his temper now, if it is to be
stirred up at all by mortal man. So speed to thy master, and keep
him advised to watch his time; and if I don't by and by clear the
way for him, by giving Gibbon More and his people a chase of a day
or two through the hills after me and my men, I shall wonder of it."
"Master, master," cried Gibbon More's man Hector, as he came running
in to him next morning quite out of breath, "Corrie MacDonald has
been in the forest last night, and he has carried away every stot he
could find on this part of your lands."
"Has the rascal taken the cows too?" demanded Gibbon coolly.
"No--sure enough--he has not taken a single cow," replied Hector,
"I counted the cow-beasts myself, and they are all safe."
"There was some civility in that, however," said Gibbon laughing. "The
fellow is a thief of some consideration; for if he hath left us the
cows, thou knowest, Hector, that we shall have plenty of stot beasts
by and by."
"Ou aye, surely, sir," said Hector as he retired, very much
disappointed by the manner in which his intelligence had been received.
Corrie was not without his spies; and the oxen were hardly well so far
over the hill, on their way to Lochaber, as to be fairly considered
beyond all reach of recovery, when he returned with some of his people
to prowl about Delnahaitnich. There he soon learned from Archy Abhach
the manner and speech with which Gibbon More had received the news
of his loss.
"I'll try him again," said Corrie. "The fellow must be the dullest
stirk that ever was calved."
"The cows are all gone now, master!" cried the same ill-omened
messenger, as he entered Gibbon More's apartment next morning before
he was out of bed.
"A plague upon the plundering thief," cried Gibbon More, "has he
taken the young beasts too?"
"No!" said the man, who was much disappointed to find that this,
his second piece of bad news, was just as unsuccessful in rousing
his master's ire as his first had been. "He has not ta'en a single
young beast, but, on my conscience, I'm thinking he has ta'en enough."
"The villain robs by rule, I see," said Gibbon; "but since the young
beasts are safe, Hector, we shall have plenty of both cows and stots
again, anon, you know."
Corrie MacDonald, who was curious to find out how this second loss was
to affect Gibbon, was absolutely piqued beyond endurance when he heard
of the quiet manner in which he had taken it. Withdrawing a handful
of his people from the large body of them who were then in charge of
the second prey he had taken, he lay in ambush for a third night.
"We're altogether harried now then!" cried Hector, as he appeared
the third morning with a face like a ghost. "Every young beast upon
the place is gone."
"What!" cried Gibbon More, starting up to hurry on his clothes in
a state of the fiercest excitement, "does the caitiff make a butt
of me? I can bear to lose my bestial, but to be played on thus by a
thieving scoundrel is more than man's patience can suffer. I'll teach
these ruffians to crack their jokes upon me! Where is my two-handed
sword?"
"Father, father! dear father, where are ye running to?" cried his
daughter Bigla, as she met him raging out at the door like a roaring
lion. "Where are you running without your bonnet?"
"I have no time to speak now," replied the infuriated Gibbon. "I'll
tell you all about it when I come back."
"I fear he has gone on some rash and dangerous enterprise," said Bigla,
"run, run, Hector, and gather the people, and be after him with help
as fast as you may."
Hector was not slow; but he must have been active indeed, if he could
have caught Gibbon More at the pace he was going. He rushed up the
steep hill in front of his dwelling, and was soon out of sight.
Gibbon had no sooner reached the summit, than, throwing his eyes
abroad, he espied his young cattle feeding on the south side of the
hill called the Geal-charn, or the Hoary Hill; and from the smoke which
he observed curling up from a ravine at a short distance from the spot
where the animals were scattered about, he at once conjectured that
the robbers had chosen that concealment as a fit place for cooking
their morning meal. He was right in this supposition; for, judging
from his former apathy, Corrie MacDonald had not quite calculated
that this third act of depredation would lead to so speedy a pursuit.
"What a pity it is that Gibbon More Cumin has no more beasts left in
Delnahaitnich," said Corrie MacDonald to his people, with an ironical
laugh, as they sat in a circle round the fire, devouring one of the
young beasts they had killed.
"We need not come back here for a while, till he sends up some more
stock from Kincherdie," said one of his men.
"We have done not that much amiss in these three turns," said
another. "I'm thinking we may be content to free him of blackmail
for a season."
"By the beard of St. Barnabas, but we'll come back again and again,
until we drive away every beast the cowardly loon has between this
and Spey," said Corrie. "What should we do with such a lump of butter,
but keep melting at it as long as it will run."
"Surely, surely," replied several of them.
"It will make our broth all the fatter," said Corrie, laughing again.
"Villains, do ye dare to laugh at me at the very moment when you
are feeding at my cost?" cried Gibbon More, rushing suddenly and
unexpectedly among them, like a raging wolf into a flock of penned
sheep. "I'll teach you to make a fool of me."
The immense blade of his two-handed sword gleamed like a meteor in
the air, flashed in the sun, and shed lightnings into their terrified
eyes. Each of them tried to scramble to his feet as he best could;
and one or two were shorn of their heads ere they could rise from the
ground. Bonnets with heads in them fell to right and left, as I have
seen ripe apples scattered from their parent bough by a violent gust
of wind, or by the inroad of some thieving schoolboy. No one thought
of anything else but flight; and the actions of all were as quick
as their thoughts. But Gibbon More's enormous double-edged weapon
was quicker in the repetition of its sweeping cuts than even thought
itself. On he went, slashing right and left after them as they fled,
till he had strewed the ravine and the hill-side with about a dozen of
their carcases, and then, breathless and overcome with rage, haste,
and toil, he sat himself down to rest on the heather. The remainder
of the robbers were thus allowed to escape; and as he did not know
the boasting Corrie MacDonald personally, that hero contrived to get
safe away among the rest, and went home to Lochaber, somewhat less
disposed to try experiments on the temper of Gibbon More Cumin, than
he had declared himself to be before this his terrible and unlooked
for onslaught.
Gibbon More's people, with Hector at their head, arrived too late to
share with him in the glory of his victory. But they were useful in
burying the slain. A few tumuli, which are still to be seen raising
their green heads among the heather on the southern declivity of the
Geal-charn, were thrown up by them over the dead bodies; and they then
had the satisfaction of driving home their master's young cattle in
safety to their native pasture, where the animals afterwards grew to
be cows and oxen, entirely free from any further alarm from Corrie
MacDonald.
I need not say that the sharp-witted page took good care that his
master should profit by the temporary absence of Gibbon More. Sir John
Grant was at the cottage immediately after the Lord of Glenchearnich
had left it. But the knight had little advantage after all from an
adventure which had cost Corrie MacDonald so dear. He had indeed
the satisfaction of again beholding and conversing with Bigla;
but, filled as she was at the time with alarm and anxiety about
her father's safety, she could talk about or listen to no other
subject. The time of the Lord of Glenchearnich's absence fled like
a short dream. His anticipated travel of a few days had, by his own
extraordinary activity and courage, been reduced to a few short hours,
and the wary and watchful page had barely time to warn his master away,
ere Gibbon More's voice was heard calling to his people, as he returned
to the house begrimed with the blood and soil of his recent conflict.
But Sir John's more frequent opportunities of meeting with Bigla were
soon afterwards again happily renewed by the return of Gibbon More to
Kincherdie; and, by the ingenuity of the page, these stolen interviews
passed over undiscovered even by the lynx-eyed Hector, whose energies
were by this time somewhat diverted from their wonted watchfulness,
by a certain newborn affection which had recently possessed his bosom
for the fair maid Agnes.
It happened on one occasion that Gibbon More chanced to go to a fair
or market at Inverness. The streets were crowded with people, as well
as with horses, cows, and oxen of all sorts. There might have been
observed the eagle-winged bonnet of the chief, followed by his tail of
clansmen and dependants; and chieftains were seen promiscuously mingled
with cattle-boys, gillies, and serfs of every degree and denomination,
thronging the public way. Many were the friendly salutations, and
many the flashes of hostile defiance that passed among the various
personages who, coming from distant parts of the country, chanced on
that day to meet each other. Often was the authority of the provost,
the bailies, the sheriff, and other officials called into operation
to quell embryo quarrels, and sometimes it was all that the united
forces of these public functionaries could do to keep the restless
and bloodthirsty dirks and claymores in their sheaths. Rarely
did the mantled and well-wimpled damsels venture forth amidst the
complication of dangers that were to be encountered at every step
from the prevalence of those quarrels, as well as from the horns of
the cattle and the heels of the horses. They contented themselves
with saluting their friends from their open lattices; and many were
the warm though distant acknowledgments that took place between the
young and the fair ladies, who, whilst they were ostensibly occupied
in gazing at the marvels in the street,--at the jesters and mummers
who jingled their bells, or grinned with their painted faces, and
trolled their rude and threadbare rhymes to ditties as unpolished, the
pretty creatures were in reality altogether overlooking these vulgar
absurdities, and were holding interesting conversations by signals,
only known to themselves, with their handsome Highland lovers in
the street.
Bigla Cumin was an heiress of consequence, but she was moreover very
beautiful, so that many were the eyes that sought her as she sat at
a lofty balcony in the house of a burgher friend of her father's,
and not a few were those who endeavoured, and endeavoured in vain,
to obtain one glance of recognition from her. I do not mean to say,
however, that the lass was haughty, but she bore herself with the
modesty befitting her years and her sex. There was but one on whom she
did vouchsafe to look with an eye of yespecial favour, and that was
Sir John Grant. Her heart beat in double time when he and his father,
Sir Patrick the Lord of Stratherrock, passed by in their gay red and
green tartan, which, except in its broad blue lysts and in its want
of those pure white sprainges which enliven that of the Cumin, had so
general a resemblance to it, that at a little distance they might have
been easily mistaken for each other. When the rays from her bright
eyes shot across the street in a condescending smile in return for
the more than merely courteous reverence which he made to her, their
sunshine was concentrated, if I may so express myself, as if it had
been met by the burning glasses of that most wonderful man Archimedes,
and it was returned to her in one melting focus of adoration.
"Angel that she is!" said Sir John to his father.
"She is an angel, indeed, boy!" replied the elder knight; "and,
moreover, there be angels enow in her father's coffers, not to mention
those broad acres of his which would give to the Grants so pretty
a little principality in Strathspey. Stick to her, boy! She is well
worth the winning."
"Would I could but have an interview with her, freed from all chance of
interruption from her old father!" said Sir John in a tone of vexation.
"Trust to me, dear master," said Archy Abhach in a whisper, as at
that moment he plucked the knight's sleeve. "Watch well thy time! I
have seen some one in the town here to-day who will be right willing
to lend thee a helping hand."
Gibbon More was not wont to go without the following of a chieftain
on such occasions as this; and he generally bore his portly person
over the crown of the causeway with a dignity which, when at home, he
laid aside with his best bonnet, doublet, and plaid. The recognition
between him and his new neighbour, as he called him, was remarkably
warm and friendly on the part of Sir Patrick Grant, and very stately
and condescending on his own side. His eyes were offended at the sight
of the two Grants and their followers, and he sought relief from them
in looking at a beautiful black palfrey which a West Highland gilly
was leading down the street. The prancing, the caracoling, and the
menage of the animal showed that it had been bred of the gentlest
Arabian blood in some far away English pasture.
"Ho!" cried Gibbon, stopping the man. "Who is the owner of that
beautiful creature?"
"I am the owner, sir," replied a sharp-eyed little man, right well
accoutred both as to his arms and garb, but having no remarkable
signs of any great rank about him.
"Are you for parting with the pretty creature?" inquired Gibbon More.
"I should not care much to part with him to a good customer," replied
the other.
"Is he young, gentle, sound, and sure-footed?" demanded Gibbon.
"I'll answer all your questions by and by," replied the West
Highlander, "if you will only do me the favour to satisfy me as to
one point."
"What is that?" asked Gibbon More.
"Will you tell me what part of the country you come from?"
"From Strathspey, to be sure," replied Gibbon.
"I guessed as much," said the other. "I see, moreover, from the set
of your tartan that you are a Cumin, and by your attire, bearing,
and following, I can guess that you are a gentleman of some note. Do
you happen to know Gibbon More Cumin of your country?"
"Know Gibbon More Cumin!" cried he, laughing good humouredly; "if
I know anyone, I should know him, seeing that he always lives in
the house with me, and that we never eat a meal asunder. I love him
better than a brother. But not to keep you any longer in doubt--I am
Gibbon More Cumin!"
"I am truly glad to see you," said the West Highlander, seizing his
hand and shaking it heartily. "You are the man, of all others alive,
to whom I am most obliged."
"Ha, friend!" replied Gibbon, looking hard and seriously at him,
"I cannot say that I recollect having ever seen you before; how then
have I happened so to have obliged you?"
"Well!" said the other, "if you cannot remember that you ever saw me
before, the greater was your kindness to me--unsight unseen, as we
say. It is not every man that keeps such an easy reckoning as you do
of the benefits for which his friends are indebted to him."
"But what benefit have you had from me?" demanded Gibbon.
"I'll tell you that," said the West Highlander. "I'll tell you that
in a moment. You see, I have no less than three strapping lasses of
daughters. I have married all the three, and to each one of them I
gave a tocher which you provided."
"Tut!" cried Gibbon laughing, "the man is demented. When did I ever
give a tocher to daughter of yours? By St. Mungo, I have a strapping
lass of a daughter of my own to portion. I have little ado therefore
to portion those of other people."
"What I say is nevertheless true," replied the other. "And so sensible
am I of the obligations I owe to you, that by way of a small return,
and to show my gratitude, I must ask of you, as a favour, to accept
of this horse of mine as a present for your daughter; and if you will
go to the inn with me, I shall be happy to give you a pint of French
Claret, if such be to be had in the town, to drink good luck to the
young lady and her new palfrey."
"As I am a Cumin you are an honest fellow!" cried Gibbon More,
shaking him again heartily by the hand. "But I prythee explain--I
cannot accept either your present or your wine till you tell me who
you are, and until you expound your riddle to me."
"I am not sure how far I am safe to do that," said the other archly,
"especially here, on the High Street of Inverness; and you standing
there with so many pretty men at your back."
"If I have done you kindnesses heretofore," said Gibbon, "what fear can
you have of me now, stand where I will, or let me be backed as I may?"
"Why, then, you see," said the other, with a certain degree of
comical hesitation, "I must confess that I did, on one occasion,
presume somewhat too far on your liberality, and in your anger you
gave me such a fright, that I am not sure that I have just altogether
got the better of it yet."
"Ha! ha! ha! why, you give me more riddles every time you open your
mouth," replied Gibbon. "When did I ever give you a fright?"
"Ou! troth sudden and terrible was the fright you gave me!" said the
man, "and surely after tochering of three daughters, each of them
with twelve beautiful milch cows and a bull, all of which came from
your pastures, I should have been contented. But I'm thinking that if
I was a small thing over greedy, the fright I got from Gibbon More's
two-handed sword, as it flashed behind me on the Geal Charn, was enough
to put all greed out of my head, so far at least as he was concerned."
"Hoo!" exclaimed Gibbon with a long whistle, "ha! ha! ha! Corrie
MacDonald! as I am a Cumin, you are a most merry conditioned rogue
as ever I met with! Your hand again! I accept your handsome present,
and I will go drink your pot of wine with you, with all my heart,
to my daughter's health, and to a better acquaintance between you and
me. Ha! ha! ha! By St. Mary, but I am sorry now that I killed your men
and so grievously frightened yourself. But, though the poor fellows
are past all hope of recovery now, I am resolved that your dread of
me shall be drowned in your own flagon. Lead on then, my brave fellow,
to your hostel."
Gibbon More had too much enjoyment in this unexpected meeting and
merry-making to allow it to terminate very soon; but Bigla Cumin was
in some degree recompensed for the tedious time she had to tarry for
her father by the long interview which she enjoyed with Sir John
Grant, as well as by the sight of the beautiful prancing palfrey,
which was led out for her to ride home upon.
It was not very long after this occurrence that poor Gibbon More Cumin
was seized with a sudden malady, of which he died after a few days'
illness, and he was carried by his friends and dependants to be laid
to sleep in the tomb of his fathers. Jealous of the Grants even in
his dying moments, he left Bigla, his orphan daughter and heiress,
under the guardianship of some of the chieftains of his own clan,
with earnest injunctions above all things to "keep her out of the
fremyt [6] hands of Freuchie."
There was no one more anxious to fulfil this dying order of Gibbon's
than one of the Cumins, who at that time possessed Logie, which, in
later times, became the patrimonial property of that more recent branch
whence proceeded the worthy family which is now so designated. This
gentleman had been for some time one of Bigla's suitors; and his
pretensions had been always favourably looked upon by her father. The
days of mourning for the old man were not yet expired, when Logie came
to Kincherdie, gaily apparelled, and well appointed and attended,
and urging the authority of a father's dying wish, he signified to
Bigla his desire of taking her with him on the ensuing day to his
residence on the banks of the river Findhorn, where, as his guest,
and under the protection of his aged mother, she should find a safe
and comfortable asylum. Though satisfied that there was more of the
warmth of the lover in the language in which this invitation was
conveyed, than altogether befitted the character of a guardian, yet
the young maiden, in her present lonely state, could not well find
any reasonable excuse for refusal, and accordingly she was compelled,
however unwillingly, to accept his offer, and she issued orders to
her people to prepare for the journey.
The prospect of so soon leaving that home where she had spent her whole
life under the fostering care of her doting father, filled her heart
with a double portion of sorrow; and after artlessly communicating her
feelings to Logie and his friends, she craved their pardon, entreated
them to entertain one another, and to make themselves at home, and
then she sought the retirement of her chamber, where she spent the
remainder of the day, and the greater part of the evening, in giving
way to that affliction which had more than one exciting cause.
"My dear mistress," said her faithful maid Agnes Cumin, breaking
in upon her as she sat in silent abstraction, with her moist cheek
resting upon her hand, "why should you cry your eyes out thus? The
night is soft and balmy, a little fresh air would do you good. Do let
me throw this plaid over you, and be persuaded to step out a little,
were it only as far beyond the walls as the bourtree bower at the
lower end of the garden."
"I cannot, my good Aggy," replied Bigla, with a fresh flood of tears;
"in sooth I have no heart."
"Come! be persuaded to try the air," said Agnes. "Who knows what sighs
and tears may be at this moment idly fanning the leaves and watering
the rosebuds of your own bonny bower."
"What say you?" cried Bigla, starting up with a suddenly acquired
energy. "What say you, Aggy? is he in the arbour?"
"Hush, my lady!" said the cautious girl, "he is there; and from his
tears and sighs I should judge that his heart is well attuned to
thine at this moment."
"Let me fly to him!" exclaimed Bigla, "the moments are most precious;"
and throwing her plaid hastily around her, she stole out beyond the
barbican; and, having reached the garden, she ran on tiptoe to the
simple elder-bush bower at the farther end of it, leaving Archy Abhach
to keep watch against intrusion.
The scene between Bigla and her lover was tender and melting. For a
time they did little else than weep and sigh together.
"Aggy tells me that you go with Logie to-morrow," said Sir John at
last. "How could you suffer yourself to be persuaded to agree to any
such arrangement?"
"It was with no good will that I did so," replied Bigla; "but as
Logie was armed with my dear departed father's delegated authority,
and as his proposal was backed by a parent's dying wish, I could not
withstand his request."
"Holy Mother, then art thou lost to me for ever!" cried Sir John
passionately. "Canst thou thus coolly resolve, even for such a cause,
to throw thyself into the very jaws of those from whom I can never
hope to reclaim thee but by force of arms!"
"Force of arms!" said Bigla. "I question much whether any force
of arms from the Grants could prevail against the men of my clan,
who will have the keeping of me. But fear not, for the time is not
far distant when the law will give me guidance of mine own affairs;
then mayest thou reclaim me from myself with full assurance of a
ready compliance on my part."
"But what if these clansmen of thine should basely coerce thee to
a hated union with one of themselves?--with Logie, for instance,
who is old enough to be thy father!"
"I have no such fears," replied Bigla.
"By the rood, but I have!" cried Sir John hurriedly. "You forget the
old saying,--Whilst there are leaves in the forest there--a--a--a"----
"Nay," said Bigla playfully, "do finish your proverb, Sir
Knight. Whilst there are leaves in the forest there will be guile in
a Cumin. Did your worship mean that as a compliment to me, or do you
forget that I, too, am a Cumin?"
"Nay, nay, nay! my dearest Bigla, you are truth itself," replied Sir
John eagerly. "Pardon me, my love, for quoting this old saw; but,
seriously, you are too valuable, too tempting a prize to be risked
in any hands but--but--but"----
"But yours, as I presume thou wouldst say, good Sir Knight," replied
Bigla, interrupting him in the same playful tone.
"Thou hast said it, angel of my life!" exclaimed Sir John, rapturously
kissing her hand. "I can and will resign thee to no one! Thou art my
pledged, mine affianced bride!"
"I am, I am, indeed I am," said Bigla tenderly.
"Then why shouldst thou put our mutual happiness to peril?" cried
Sir John. "Why not secure it by flying with me this moment? My horses
and people are within a whistle of where we now are, and in half an
hour's riding or so we shall be safe within the walls of Castle Grant."
"No, no, no!" replied she, "a stolen marriage would neither be for
the credit of Sir John Grant nor for that of Bigla Cumin. Besides,
I should be but a poor offering at Castle Grant were my broad lands
not well buckled to my back."
"I care not for thy lands," said Sir John, "'tis thyself I would
wed, and not thine estates. And if that be all, let us to horse
forthwith. Better for me to secure thy precious self, though with
the chance of losing thy lands, than lose thee in trying to save
thy lands."
"'Tis gallantly resolved of thee, Sir John," said Bigla; "but I cannot
allow thy chivalrous ardour to do us both so serious an injury. All
I ask of thee, then, is to trust everything to my discretion and
resolution, and, depend upon it, thou hast nothing to fear."
The parting between the two lovers was tender and prolonged, and it
was only at length finally effected by the interference of Agnes
and the page, who came running to tell them that the revellers in
the hall were breaking up. And what he told them was true, for Bigla
found that she required the exertion of some degree of ingenuity to
effect her retreat to her chamber unnoticed.
An early hour of the next day beheld the cavalcade, formed by the
united trains of Bigla Cumin and her kinsman the Laird of Logie,
winding away from her paternal mansion, amidst the mingled lamentations
and benedictions of her people. Bigla was mounted on her favourite
palfrey, the beautiful and fleet courser of Arabian blood which was
presented to her by Corrie MacDonald. Her maid Agnes rode by her
side on an animal of mettle little short of that which carried her
mistress. Logie and his friends, all well armed, surrounded both in
a sort of irregular phalanx, which Bigla could not help thinking had
more the appearance of a guard to prevent the escape of a prisoner,
than that which might do her honour or give her protection. Her own
followers were but few, and they were mixed up with those of the
Laird of Logie. In the midst of them was the faithful page Archy, to
whose care was committed the charge of a small iron-bound oaken chest,
which contained her family charters and other important documents. This
Logie had especially insisted that she should carry with her, in order
to secure its safety. The strange misformed urchin sat like an ape,
mounted on a very remarkable milk-white steed, of noble courage and
beautiful proportions, and whose action was in no degree inferior to
his beauty. As this fine animal had been accustomed to carry Gibbon
More himself for some years before his death, it was not wonderful
that Bigla should have ridden up to caress him ere the march began,
and whilst she did so she contrived to give some secret orders to
the rider, which did not appear to have been poured into a deaf ear.
The sun was nearly in the meridian before the party reached that
point on the edge of the high plain, immediately over the double
valley of the rivers Findhorn and Divie. There, as you know, a grand
and extensive view of these romantic twin glens is to be enjoyed,
together with the broad, rich, and beautiful vale that is formed by
their union, with the majestic combined stream winding away through it,
between its rocky, irregular, and wooded banks, till it is lost amidst
the vast extent of forest stretching widely along both sides of it,
as it proceeds on its course towards the fertile plains of the low
country of Moray, and its distant firth, the whole being bounded
by the blue mountains of the north. Bigla had seen this glorious
prospect more than once before, but she was an enthusiastic lover
of nature, and, consequently, she was not sorry when she heard the
Laird of Logie propose that they should alight for a few moments to
rest themselves, and that they might enjoy it, at greater leisure,
and with more ease to themselves. Logie did not make this proposal
without private reasons of his own. Having contrived to seat himself
apart with Bigla, he began to urge his passion with an energy which he
had never ventured to employ before, and after using every argument
that he thought might be most likely to prevail on her to yield to
his suit, he seated her again on her palfrey, and as he rode down
the wooded steeps by her side, he continued to press her eagerly
on the same subject, without taking the trouble to use the delicacy
of speaking in a tone which might have rendered their conversation
private from those with whom they travelled.
"If you will only consent to be mine, fair Bigla," said he, "I will
make you mistress of as much of the bonny land of Moray as your bright
eyes can reach over."
"I knew not that thy patrimony had been so ample," said Bigla coldly.
"Put your fate and mine upon the peril of this condition then,"
said Logie eagerly.
"I trow I might safely do so, were I to bar all trick," replied Bigla.
"Nay, then, thou art pledged to stand to the bargain," said Logie.
"I am pledged to nothing," replied Bigla haughtily.
"Ha, look there now, gentlemen!" cried Logie. "My fair ward and
kinswoman Bigla Cumin here hath pledged her own pretty person to me, on
condition that I shall make her mistress of as much of bonny Moray-land
as her beauteous eyes can reach over. Now, how say you? Let her
cast her eyes forward, and you will all bear me witness, my friends,
that she can now see nothing of which I am not the undoubted owner."
By this time, you must know the cavalcade had descended from the
high grounds through the winding hollows of the steep wooded braes,
till all the distant and more extended part of the landscape was
lost by the rise of the opposite high grounds, and certainly from
the umbrageous recess where they now stood, nothing was to be seen
before them but the lands of Logie.
"The joke is very well," said Bigla, not a little piqued, and reddening
considerably at the liberty which had been thus taken with her before
the men-at-arms who followed them; "but though Moray-land was all
thine own from Ness to Spey, I would not have thee if thou wouldst
lay it all at my feet."
"Talk not so proudly, mistress!" said Logie, very much nettled. "There
are many maidens more than thy marrows, who would be happy to mate
with me, though I had nothing but this good claymore for my portion."
"I doubt it not," replied Bigla; "but as I am not one of these,
it may be as well perhaps that we talk not again on any such subject."
"A little less haughtiness would have better become thee," said
Logie. "You forget that you are not now on Dulnan side; and, moreover,
you forget that I am your guardian."
"Nay, it is you who forget that you are my guardian," replied
Bigla. "I do feel, indeed, that I can never forget that thou art so;
and, moreover, that there is a cruel difference between an unfeeling
guardian and a fond father."
"I am armed with thy father's authority," said Logie hastily; "and
I will exert it."
"By basely taking advantage of it to proffer thine own vile suit,"
said Bigla.
"To see, at least, that Freuchie's son proffers no more suit to
thee," replied Logie. "If he took leave of thee last night beyond
the barbican, I trow it shall be his last leave-taking of thee."
"Last night!" said Bigla with surprise.
"Aye, last night," said Logie bitterly. "Dost think I have not found
out your secret meeting? Had I caught the caitiff his blood should
have paid for his impudence."
"'Tis well to boast now, fair sir!" said Bigla, "now that thou hast no
chance of any such encounter. Oh, would I were on my bonny Dulnan side
again! but I trust that my foot shall soon be on its flowery turf."
"That shall be when thou hast my permission," said Logie, allowing
his passion to get the better of him.
"What! am I so in restraint then?" said Bigla taking a scarf from her
neck, and waving it behind her head in such a way, that it was hardly
perceived to be a signal by any one but Archy Abhach. He no sooner
observed it, however, than he began to rein his steed backwards,
until he fell behind the line of march.
"Aye, bold girl, thou shalt obey me ere long as thy husband as well
as thy guardian!" continued Logie.
"Sayest thou so?" said Bigla, putting on her Arabian to a gentle
canter over the meadow towards the ford of the Divie, whither they
were then going, so as to rid herself in some degree of the throng
by which she had been surrounded. Then turning in her saddle, she
shouted aloud--"Ride, Archy, for thy life, man! Ride! ride! Men of
Glenchearnich, follow your mistress. Come, Aggy, spur with me, and
may Saint Mary be our guide!"
And with these words she and her maid boldly dashed their steeds,
breast deep, into the ford, and quickly stemmed the stream of the
Divie, whilst the well-tutored Archy Abhach wheeled his horse suddenly
round at her word, and, drawing his dirk, he pricked his milk-white
sides till the red blood spurted from them, and the noble animal
darted off, with his flea-bite of a burden, towards those wooded
braes, down which they had so recently come. The Laird of Logie and
his followers stood for some moments astounded on the mead, before they
could determine what to do. On the one hand fled the lady; and on the
other hand the charters of her lands, her bonds, and her wadsets were
already winging their way upwards through the woods; and the question
was, which of the two objects of pursuit was the most important. Even
after he had gathered his scattered recollection, Logie stood in doubt
for a time. At length, seeing that Bigla Cumin had taken the direction
of the house of Logie, so that he was still left, as he reckoned,
between her and her own country, he quickly made his selection.
"After that miscreated devil on the white horse!" cried he. "Take
the caitiff and the kist he carries!--take him dead or alive!--but,
at all hazards take the kist!"
Off went the laird and his people helter-skelter after Archy Abhach,
whilst the followers of Bigla Cumin were left at liberty to become her
followers indeed. The waters of the Divie frothed and foamed again
as they dashed through after her. I need not tell you, gentlemen,
who know the carte de pays so well, that although Bigla rode off at
first in the very direction in which the laird had wished her to go,
I mean towards his own house, she had no sooner forced her way up
the steep narrow path leading from the ford, than she found herself
in a position where she had it in her power to choose between two
ways--one stretching straight onwards towards the house of Logie,
and the other leading directly back over the hills to the eastward of
the Divie towards her own country, by a route different from that which
she had travelled in the morning. There she stood for some moments on a
conspicuous point overlooking the valley. But you may easily guess that
she stopped not from any doubt that possessed her as to which of the
two ways she should take--she only waited till her panting followers
had clustered around her; for they had no sooner gathered than she
waved her scarf again, and, amidst the shouts of her men-at-arms,
she turned her horse's head to the hill, and began to breast it most
vigorously. Logie beheld her manoeuvre, and it shook his purpose for
an instant. He gave hurried and contradictory orders, which only had
the effect of slackening the pursuit after the urchin page, and Bigla
had the satisfaction of seeing that faithful creature shooting far up
among the bowery braes ere any final decision had been taken by the
laird. At length, a small plump of horsemen were sent off towards the
ford to pursue Bigla, whilst the remainder, with Logie at their head,
renewed their chase after Archy Abhach and his precious casket.
"Who is he, think you, that rides hither with so much haste from the
pass of Craig-Bey?" demanded Sir John Grant of the man-at-arms on
watch, as he stalked along the bartizan of his castle to take a look
over the country, about the time that the sun was hastening downwards
to hide himself below the western horizon.
"If mortal man it be who looks so like a speck on the saddle, he either
rides with hot news to spur him on, or he has some enemy after him,"
replied the man.
"By'r lady, but you have guessed right well," said Sir John; "for
see! there comes a straggling line of some dozen of horsemen rattling
like thunder through the pass."
"Methinks that the elf who flies bears some strange burden behind him,"
said the man-at-arms.
"He doth so, indeed," said Sir John.
"Some common thief, I'll warrant me, who hath carried away a booty
from some usurious burgher of Forres," said the man-at-arms.
"Be he what he may, his white horse is no carrion," said Sir John. "How
the noble animal devours the ground!"
"He is as like old Gibbon More's favourite horse as one egg is to
another," said the man-at-arms as he drew nearer.
"Gibbon More's, saidst thou?" exclaimed Sir John; "and, by all that
is good, he that rides is like my faithful page; but see, he turns
this way. Let's to the barbican," and, taking three steps down the
narrow stair at each stride, he was at the barbican in a few moments.
"What, ho!" cried Sir John, as the horse came galloping up to the
gate. "What, ho! Archy Abhach, is it you? What news of thy mistress?"
"I have neither time nor breath to speak of her at present," cried
Archy, leaping from his horse, and hastily unbuckling the little
charter-chest from behind the saddle of his reeking horse; "but
here--catch!--there you have her charters and titles, being that
which I reckon some of the people who are after me would think the
best part of herself. There, catch, I say!" and with that, he threw
the precious box clean over the top of the wall.
"Soh!" continued Archy, taking a long breath--"I have done my lady's
bidding like a true Cumin, and now I must draw to defend mine own head,
like a true Grant, for the knaves will be upon me."
"Thou shalt not long lack help, my brave little fellow!" cried Sir
John, and in a moment, a party of armed Grants came crowding out
from the gate at the heels of their young chief. And, as Archy's
pursuers came up one by one, they collected into a knot on the top
of the heathery hillock, and then filed off without ever daring to
come within bowshot of the walls.
"Now, tell me what has befallen the Lady Bigla?" cried Sir John Grant,
impatiently addressing the page.
The faithful Archy Abhach gave him a brief outline of all he knew.
"To horse! to horse!" cried Sir John, hardly waiting till he had
finished. "Holy St. Mary! she may be lost if we tarry."
A very few minutes only were expended ere Sir John and his troop were
mounted and away. They galloped after the retiring Cumins, but they
could see nothing of them anywhere. He had got to the side of the
hill of Craig-Bey, and was stretching his eyes in all directions,
when the distant clash of conflict came up through the woods that
sloped away into the glen to the right. Sir John gave the spur to
his horse, and dashed down through the thicket, calling to his men
to follow him. In a grassy holm, by the side of a small stream,
he found Bigla Cumin surrounded by her faithful but small band of
followers, who were bravely defending her against a superior body of
assailants. His sudden appearance immediately dispersed her enemies,
and, overpowered by the fatigue occasioned by her long wearisome
and rapid flight, as well as by the alarm which she had endured, she
slipped from her palfrey, and sank exhausted on the ground. Sir John
Grant was soon on his knees beside her, to support her weakness, and
to calm her agitation. She had owed her escape, in the first place,
to the swiftness and endurance of her favourite Arabian blooded
palfrey, together with her own wonderful hardihood as a horsewoman,
which, much surpassing that of the Lady Juliana Berners herself,
had carried her over mountain and moss, through bog and stream, in
a manner altogether inconceivable; and, secondly, to the appearance
of Sir John Grant, just as she had been attacked by a quickly formed
ambush of the retreating Cumins, whose onset had given time to those
who pursued her to come up, by which means she and her people being
hemmed in on all sides would have been speedily overcome.
Ere the evening closed in, Bigla Cumin found herself safely housed
within the walls of Castle Grant; and the very next day the priest's
blessing gave to Sir John Grant her fair hand, and with it her fair
lands too.