Clifford.--Well done, Bigla Cumin! If ever I marry, I am resolved
to have a fearless wife who can gallop across a country. But
hey!--(stretching himself as we arose to proceed)--I protest I am quite
stiff. Confound your green velvety grass! commend me rather to your
velvet cushion of Genoa. Your story was too long, Mr. Macpherson,
and by far too interesting for a breezy hill-side and a dewy bank
like this.
Dominie.--It will grieve me sore, Mr. Clifford, if you should in any
way suffer from my prolixity.
Clifford.--Tut, man, I'd sit in a snow-wreath, or on a glacier, to
listen to you. But, hark ye! what was that you muttered, before you
began your story, about leaving us?
Dominie.--Really I cannot speak it without vurra great pain,
Mr. Clifford; but my path disparts from your road a little way
on here. I have to wend my way through the whole extent of these
wild forests, which you see below us there, stretching across the
intermediate country between us and the misty Cairngorums yonder. I
am journeying to visit a brother of mine, who, as the elegant author
of Douglas hath it,
"Feeds his flocks,
A frugal swain,"
on the slopes of the mountains beyond.
Clifford.--Nay, nay, we cannot part with you so. Had it been a lady,
indeed, that you were going to visit, I should not have said a
word. But for a brother merely.
Dominie (with the tear swelling in his eye).--Pardon me, Mr. Clifford,
pardon me; but I have an affection for my brother which few can
estimate. We were twin bairns. Ewan and I alone remain of all our
family. I make a yearly journey to visit him.
Clifford.--I venerate you for your feelings, and I sympathise with
them from the bottom of my heart. But if I may make a guess at the
geography of the country before us, I should conceive that if we could
persuade you to go with us to Tomantoul to-day, your walk from thence
to your brother's to-morrow would be but short.
Dominie (hesitating).--Hu--um!--that may be, sir. I am sure I am vurra
happy in your company; but, may I ask gentlemen, what your plans are?
Clifford.--We tie ourselves to no plans. For aught we know we may
be in Switzerland or Sweden before this day month. But, at present,
we propose to proceed up the Glen of the Aven to-morrow, on our way
to Loch Aven.
Dominie.--It is a wild place, and the way is not easy to find.
Author.--Wild enough, indeed. I once wandered all round it; but I
never approached it by its own glen.
Dominie.--I would have fain gone with you as your guide, for well do
I know every mountain, moss, rock, and well by the way. But I cannot
mistrust my brother, who is expeckin' me about this time. Albeit,
as I cannot go all the way myself with you, I would fain, before I
quit you, put you into the hands of one who is well acquainted with
all the mountain tracks and passes, that there may be no risk of your
losing yourselves amidst those savage Alpine solitudes.
Clifford.--Ah! that would be kind of you indeed.
Grant.--Had you not better consent to spend this night with us at
Tomantoul, then, Mr. Macpherson.
Dominie.--I was just thinking in my own mind that I behooved so to
do. I can then see you as far up Strathdaun to-morrow as Gaulrig,
where old Willox the Wizard lives, and there----
Clifford.--What! a wizard, said you? You don't mean to put us under the
guidance of Satan, I hope. That would indeed be sending us to the----
Dominie.--No, no, Mr. Clifford; but there is a friend of mine, who
lives near to old Willox, one Archy Stewart, a retired sergeant,
who will be just the man for your purpose, if we can find him at
home. He knows every inch of the mountains, and, moreover, he is as
full of old stories as an egg is full of meat.
Clifford.--The very man for us. But what can you tell us of old Willox
the Wizard? I hope we shall see him.
Author.--I have often heard of him. His name is MacGregor, is it
not? I should like much to see him.
Dominie.--You will be sure to see him if you call at Gaulrig, for,
as he is now above ninety, he is too old to leave home. He is worth
the seeing too; for although, as I need not tell you, gentlemen,
he never possessed any supernatural power, yet his cleverness must
have been great to have enabled him to make the whole country, far and
near, believe, even in these more enlightened days, that he can divine
secrets and work wonders by means of his two charmed instruments--the
mermaid's stone and the enchanted bridal of the water-kelpie.
Clifford.--How the deuce did he get hold of such articles? and what
sort of things are they?
Dominie.--You will easily persuade him to show them to you; and it will
be better for me to leave him to tell his own story about them. But, as
I have now made up my mind to go on with you to Tomantoul, gentlemen,
I can tell you a short anecdote or two of him as we journey on our way,
which will show you that all his fame as a warlock really rested on
his own natural acuteness.
Clifford.--I could have guessed as much, methinks, without being any
great conjuror myself. But let us have your anecdotes, if you please.
Dominie.--I had much information about Willox from the Rev. John
Grant, late Minister of Duthel, who was acquainted with him for
many years. For, notwithstanding the warlock's reputation for
the possession of uncanny qualities, he was uniformly consorted
with and treated as a gentleman by all the gentry of this Highland
country. My old and worthy, and kind and benevolent friend, Mr. Grant,
was a man of too much wisdom as well as learning to believe in the
supernatural powers of Willox, or any such pretender. Mr. Grant,
indeed, was a man of vurra enlarged mind and sound judgment, a deep
divine, a classical scholar, such as is seldom to be met with in our
poor country of Scotland, an admirable critic, and an elegant poet;
and although what I may be stating regarding him has little to do
with what I am going to tell you about Willox, yet, as you may have
a chance to hear more of Mr. Grant from my friend Sergeant Archy
Stewart when you come to make his acquaintance, I may be allowed to
complete my sketch of this remarkable man by saying that, whilst he
was pious and regular in his duties, as became a clergyman, he was,
nevertheless, cheerful and convivial, and extremely fond of a bit of
humour; and, moreover, as he was often called upon to give his opinion
pretty strongly in argument, he was equally ready to back it up at
any time by his courage and bodily vigour against the brute force
or the insults of his opponents, in days, now happily gone by, when
even the sacred character of a minister of the gospel did not always
proteck his person from injury. To enable him to defend himself the
more effectually in such chance encounters, nature had given to him
a stout and athletic frame and a nervous arm, in addition to which
he did himself furnish the hand of that arm with a great hazel stick,
which he facetiously called his Ruling Elder, and so armed, no man nor
set of men in the whole country side could make him show his back. He
was a capital preacher; but many doubted whether his sermons or his
cudgel wrought the most reformation in his neighbourhood.
It was observed that Mr. Grant was always peculiarly unfortunate
in losing his cattle. Not a year passed that some of them did not
die of a strange and unaccountable disease which quite baffled the
skill of all the farriers and cow-leeches in the district. But on one
occasion the mortality was so great as seriously to threaten the utter
extermination of his stock. As this calamity seemed to affect none of
his neighbours, and to fall upon him alone, it was not unnatural for
his superstitious servants to say that his cattle were bewitched. In
their opinion nobody but Willox could cure such an evil.
"If you don't send for Willox, sir, you'll lose every nout beast in
your aught," said the minister's hind.
"Saunders," replied the minister, "although I have no faith in any such
wicked and abominable superstitions as would gift Mr. MacGregor with
superhuman powers, I am willing enough to give him credit for more than
ordinary shrewdness and sagacity as a mere man. You may, therefore,
send for him with my compliments, as I believe that he is more likely
than any one to discover the natural cause of these my losses."
Willox came accordingly; and after the usual salutations he took the
parson aside.
"Between you and me, Mr. Grant," said he, "there is no use in my
making any pretence of witchcraft. But you know we may find out the
cause of the death of your cattle for all that. Your losses, I think,
always happen at or about this particular season of the year?"
"They do," replied the parson.
"Come, then, let you and me take a quiet walk together over your farm."
Mr. Grant and Willox patiently perambulated the farm, and especially
the cattle-pastures for some hours together, Willox all the while
throwing his sharp eyes around him in every direction, until they
came to a hollow place where the warlock suddenly stopped.
"Here is the cause of the evil," said Willox, at once pointing
to a certain plant which grew there, and nowhere else in the
neighbourhood. "If you will only take care that your man Saunders
never allows your cattle to get into this hollow until the flower of
that plant is withered and gone, you will find that you will never
again lose a single beast in the same way."
I need not tell you, gentlemen, that Mr. Grant took care that the
warlock's advice was strictly followed; and the result was perfectly
satisfactory.
Clifford.--A most invaluable wizard! I wonder whether one might hold
a consultation with him on the mysteries of fly-fishing.
Grant.--I have no doubt he could advise you well.
Clifford.--Nay, it was not for myself that I was asking. I manage to
do well enough by means of mine own conjuring rod; but to you and
my friend there some little aid of magic might be useful, seeing
you can make so little of it by your own simple skill. But come,
Mr. Macpherson, what more of old Willox?
Dominie.--A great alarm was created at Castle Grant, in consequence of
a strange madness that frequently seized upon the cattle at pasture
in the grounds. At such times they were observed furiously running
in all directions, with the tips of their noses and tails in the
air, and bursting over all the fences. The easiest solution of this
phenomenon was to say that they were bewitched; and all the servants
about the castle, especially those who had the broken fences to mend,
believed that it was the true one. Even Sir James Grant, worthy man,
when brought out to judge for himself, could not deny the grounds
at least of this general opinion. To satisfy those who held it,
he allowed the aid of Willox to be called in.
"Some trick has been played here," said the warlock, after inquiring
into all the particulars, and minutely examining those parts of
the pastures where the animals were in the habit of lying most
frequently. "Some wicked person has thrown some disagreeable odour
among the beasts."
The probability of this was doubted by every one present. Nay, every
one declared that such a thing was impossible.
"Well," said Willox, "I know that what I say is true; and I'll soon
convince you all that it is possible. Drive the cattle into the fold."
The cattle were folded accordingly, and Willox walked into the very
midst of them. There he took certain ingredients from his pocket,
and putting them on a small bundle of tow, he prepared to strike fire
with a flint and steel.
"Now, gentlemen," said he, "I advise all of you who have any regard
for your own safety to look sharp to it."
The fire was struck, the tow was kindled, a most offensive stench
arose, and no sooner had the cattle winded the fumes of it, than they
darted off in twenty different directions, as if the burning tow had
been the fuse that discharged them from some vast bomb-shell. The
poles and other barriers of the fold were shivered and levelled in
a moment as if such an inclosure had never existed. Down went the
astonished spectators one by one in detail, as they chanced to come
into the diverging lines of flight of the scattering herd. Smack,
crash, and rumble went the nearer fences, as the several flying
animals went through or over them, like cannon-shot; and by the time
the poor wounded, maimed, and crippled people had gathered themselves
to their legs, such of them, I mean, as had legs left to stand upon,
they beheld, to their utter dismay, the cattle scouring the distant
country in all directions.
I need hardly add, that a little further investigation enabled Willox,
without the aid of witchcraft, not only to satisfy every one that
his first suspicions had been well founded, but also to prove that
they had been so by discovering the offender.
Grant.--Depend upon it, this warlock must be no ordinary man.
Dominie.--I have another anecdote of him. A certain farmhouse in
Strathspey was said to be haunted. Stones and dust and rubbish were
thrown into the middle of the family apartment, and no one could
discover whence or from what hand they came. Mr. John Grant, the
minister of the parish, was sent for to lay the ghost; and to the
great comfort of those to whom the house belonged, he came accompanied
by Willox.
"While I am engaged in going through the evening family worship,"
said the parson to Willox, "do you keep your eyes on the alert,
and try to ascertain whence the missiles appear to come."
The minister began the duties of the evening. A psalm was sung. During
the time the people present were singing it, the volleys were
discontinued; but the moment the psalm was ended, the discharges
again commenced.
"We had better sing another psalm," whispered Willox to the
parson. Mr. Grant immediately gave out some verses accordingly. The
disturbance ceased as before; but they were no sooner concluded,
than it began again with redoubled fury. The sharp eyes of Willox shot
like lightning into every part of the chamber. In an instant they were
arrested by one of those great clumsy wooden partitions so common in
our Highland farmers' humble dwellings, which, being boarded on both
sides, rise up a certain height only towards the bare rafters above,
leaving the vast vacuity below the roof undivided from end to end of
the building. Willox gave a preconcerted sign to the parson.
"My friends," said Mr. Grant, "I insist that the boxing of that
partition be immediately opened up."
His orders were obeyed, and no sooner were the boards removed than
the ghost was discovered. A little black Highland herd lassie sat
cowering within, her face filled with dread of the punishment that
awaited her. The creature had managed from time to time to creep in
there by lifting up a loose plank, and from that concealment she had
contrived to throw her missiles over the open top of the partition
into the apartment, all which she had done to revenge herself against
the family for having been whipped for some piece of negligence of
which she had been guilty. The parson had no sooner learned these
particulars, than he pounced upon the trembling culprit, like a great
mastiff on a mouse, and dragging her forth, he, without the least
delay or ceremony, gave her, to use his own phrase, a good skegging.
Clifford.--Had Mr. Grant and Willox been sent for, the celebrated
ghost of Cock Lane would have had but a short reign of it.
Dominie.--I have but one story more of Willox to plague you
with. William Stuart, a farmer in Brae Moray, was led, by his
father's persuasion, and very much against his own inclination,
to marry a woman whom he could not like, all because she possessed
a certain tocher. He went to his marriage like a condemned thief
to the gallows, and from the very first moment he treated his wife
as an alien. A certain worthy lady in the neighbourhood, who felt
interested in Mrs. Stuart, firmly believed that her husband's dislike
to her was occasioned by witchcraft. She accordingly sent for Willox,
and entreated him to exercise his skill in the poor woman's behalf,
and the warlock undertook to do all in his power for her.
Having contrived to pay a visit at Stuart's house, when he knew that
he should find him at home, he accepted his invitation to stay to
dine with him, and after they had had a cheerful glass together,
Willox ventured to begin his attempt by drinking Mrs. Stuart's health.
"You are the only man, Stuart, that does not admire your wife,"
said Willox, in a half jocular tone.
"May be so," said Stuart dryly.
"If you were not bewitched, as my skill tells me that you are,
you would find more happiness at your own fireside than you do,"
continued Willox.
"Maybe I am bewitched," said Stuart, from the mere desire of being
civil.
"I tell you I know you are," said Willox, "and if you will allow me
I shall soon show you the people who have bewitched you."
"Ha! ha! I should like to see them," said Stuart with a forced laugh;
"but if you do show them to me, you are even a greater conjuror than
I take you to be."
Willox, with great solemnity, now took forth the mermaid's stone from
his pocket. It was semi-transparent, circular, and convex, like an
ordinary lens, and it filled the palm of his hand. Placing the back
of his hand on the table, and keeping the stone in the hollow of it,
he solemnly addressed Stuart.
"If you would know those who bewitch you," said he, "look downwards
through the mermaid's stone."
"I see nothing," said Stuart, following his direction.
"Do you see nothing now?" demanded Willox.
"Yes," replied Stuart, "I see something like a red spot."
"Look again, do you see nothing more now?" demanded Willox.
"Yes," said Stuart again, "I see something like a black spot, a little
way from the red spot."
"Listen, then!" said Willox. "These are the heads of a red-haired
lass and a black-haired lass, and it is they who bewitch you from
your lawful wife."
"If you are not a great warlock, you are at least a great rascal,"
cried Stuart, losing all temper; "but by the great oath, I'll soon
know which you are." And saying so, he suddenly seized on the wizard's
hand before he was aware, and turning it up, he extracted two pins
from between the fingers, the head of one of which had been dipped
in red wax, and the head of the other in black wax.
"You scoundrel," said Stuart, preparing to assault him, "you have
been unjustifiably prying into my secrets, but I'll teach you to use
greater discretion in future."
"Approach me at your peril!" cried Willox, stepping back towards
the door, and brandishing a dagger which he drew from his bosom. "I
have done or said nothing but what is friendly to you, and if you
have the folly to attempt anything of a different nature towards me,
you must take the consequences," and so saying he immediately took
himself off. So ended the Dominie.
Our walk to-day had little beauty in it, except in its distant
prospects, which, when we looked over the vast extent of fir forests
towards the Cairngorum group of mountains, were always grand. The
scenery of the Aven indeed, and especially at the spot where we crossed
it, delighted us all. The fragment of the ruined bridge of Campdale
still stood, a sad monument of the ravages of the fearful flood of
August, 1829; but the stream now sparkled away along its customary
channel like liquid crystal.
Clifford (stopping mechanically to put his fishing-rod together).--It
is certainly the clearest stream I ever beheld. Yet shall I try my
skill to extract some trouts from it for dinner.
Grant (as we ascended the path that led us up from the deep glen
of the Aven where we left Clifford fishing).--Anything to be seen
at Tomantoul?
Author.--Nothing that I have ever been able to discover. The sight is
one of the dreariest I know,--a high, wide, bare, and uninteresting
moor, quite raised, as you see, above all the beauties of the river,
which are buried from it in the profound of the neighbouring valley;
nor has the village itself any very great redeeming charm about it.
Grant.--How comes it that all the cottages and walls are built of
sandstone in the very heart of this primitive country?
Author.--You may well be surprised, but you will perhaps be still more
astonished to learn that the place stands on a great detached isolated
field of the floetz strata, four miles in length by one in breadth,
which has been raised up on the very bosom of the primitive granite.
Grant.--A curious geological fact.
Author.--It is a fact which I learned when I was here formerly from
a very intelligent gentleman who is the clergyman here, to whom I
was also indebted for much valuable information during my inquiries
about the great flood. I shall be happy to introduce you to him.
Grant.--I believe similar instances occur elsewhere in this part
of Scotland.
Author.--Yes, at Kildrummie Castle, in the Glen of Dollas, and also
near the borders of the primitive in the vale of Pluscardine.
Dominie.--To what strange changes has this earth of ours been
subjeckit!
Grant.--Tell me, I pray you, what nice looking house is this?
Author.--It is the residence of the clergyman; perhaps you would
like to call on him now, while our friend here goes on to the inn
with our man to secure beds and entertainment for us all.
Grant assented, and, entering the manse accordingly, we remained
talking very agreeably there, until the whistling of Clifford, as he
marched up the street with his rod in his hand, and his fishing pannier
on his back, made us suddenly terminate our interesting colloquy,
in order to run after him. As we got into the inn we found him in
the act of admiring his trouts, which filled a large trencher.
Clifford.--See what noble fellows! There is one of three pounds and
a half if he is an ounce. I hooked him in the pool above the broken
bridge, and I called to you as you were going up the hill to come
back and witness the sport he yielded; but you were too intent on
your own conversation to hear me, and so you lost it all. What were
you talking about?
Grant.--Geology.
Clifford.--Geology!--fiddlesticks. By all that is good, you deserve
to dine upon fossil fishes.
Author (to the landlady).--Well, ma'am, I hope you can give us
something good for dinner.
Landlady.--We shall see, sir; we'll do the best we can.
Author.--You will at least be able to give us an omelet, after the
instructions I gave you when I was last in your house.
Landlady.--That I can; I made one for the Duke when he was up here
at the fowling, and he said that it was just famous.
Clifford.--Can you give us any soup?
Landlady.--Na, sir; I'm dootin' that I hae na time for that.
Clifford.--Pooh! If you will give me a large smooth white pebble,
such as is called by my geological friends here quartz, but which you
know better, I believe, by the name of a chucky-stane, I'll make some
capital soup out of it in a very few minutes.
Landlady.--Odd, sir, I'm thinkin' ye'll be clever an ye can do that.
Clifford.--Be quick, then, and fetch me such a stone as I have
described. Remember it must be quite clean, and large enough to make
soup for four gentlemen,--and recollect that we are very hungry.
Landlady (entering with a stone in one hand).--There it is. It's
quite clean, for I washed it wi' my ain hands.
Clifford.--So, that is all right. Now, fetch me a pan with clean
water in it. Oh, you have it there, I see. Well, put in the stone,
and put the pan on the fire. Now, you see, my good woman, I am a pupil
of old Willox the Warlock, therefore you need not be astonished at
anything I do. Go get me a spoon to taste the soup with. (Whilst her
back is turned, slyly dropping a cake or two of portable soup into
the pot.) Aye, now, let me see; taste it yourself. It already begins
to have some flavour.
Landlady (astonished).--Have a care o' huz a', so it has!
Clifford (stirring it).--But, stay a moment; taste it now!
Landlady (taking a spoonful of it).--Keep me, that is just awthegither
maygics indeed!
Clifford (tasting it).--Oh, it will do now. Bring me an iron spoon
to take out the stone with. Now, here take it away, dry it well,
and lock it carefully up in your larder; for, you perceive, that
it is but very little wasted, and, consequently, it will make some
good tureens of soup yet; and though such stones are plenty enough,
yet you know it is always good housewifery to be economical.
Landlady (taking away the stone).--That's true, indeed, sir.
Grant (after we had dined).--Well, thanks to Clifford's chucky-stone
soup, his delicious fritto of trout, our landlady's excellent
mutton-chops, and your omelet, we have dined like princes.
Clifford.--I am now hungry for nothing but a narrative. Come,
Mr. Macpherson, as we are to lose you to-morrow, I must remind you
that you are still in my book for some story about Old Stachcan,
the man with the pistol, I mean, whose portrait we saw at Castle
Grant. Pray do not hesitate to clear off your score.
Dominie.--I need not say, Mr. Clifford, that since you and your
friends here are so good as to accept of such poor coin as my bit
stories, in return for all the kindness and condescension which I have
received from you, it is well my part to pay it readily, and without
a grudge. But what I had to tell you about Old Stachcan was more an
account of the man than any very parteeklar story about him. Now,
as you will pass by the very bit where he lay concealed, I would
rather leave it to my friend Sergeant Archy Stewart, who knows more
about him than I do, to give you his history on the spot.
Grant.--Well, since that is the case, Mr. Macpherson, I shall undertake
to tell a story for you. And instead of that which you were to tell
us about one Grant, I shall give you a legend which I have heard of
two lairds of that name.
Clifford.--Provided you do not on that account make your story twice
as long as Mr. Macpherson's would have been, I for one am contented.
Grant.--If I should do so, you have your resource, Clifford, you
may go to sleep, you know; and if you do, I shall perhaps have the
pleasure of singing, in the words of Scott's Water Sprite,--
"Good luck to your fishing."
Clifford.--No more of that, an thou lovest me, Hal.