THE GAEL AND THE SAXON.
'Hoigh, Mac Innon!' exclaimed Callum Dhu, with a shout of triumph;
'such a feat has not been done since old Glengarry slew the wild stag
in the pass of Glendulochan!'
I lifted Laura (who was faint and almost sick with terror) from her
pony, and placed her on the soft grassy bank, where I besought her to
be calm, as all danger was now past; but, on perceiving that my right
hand and arm were drenched in blood, she uttered a cry, and clasping
my left hand in hers, asked me in the most moving terms whether 'I
was hurt--if I was safe--uninjured--to speak to her, to say whether I
was wounded or not?'
I forget alike her exact words and my answer; for we were both
trembling and confused; but in that moment of excitement each had
revealed to the other, more of mutual regard than any circumstance,
save danger, could have drawn forth. On recovering a little, I
said,--
'For the act of to-day, I trust, Miss Everingham, that you will think
of me kindly when I am gone.'
'_Kindly!_' she exclaimed, while her blooming prettiness became
absolute beauty, as her fine eyes beamed, and her face filled with
ardour, and with an expression of gratitude and joy; 'ah how can you
speak so coldly--kindly?--say gratefully, lovingly, prayerfully. You
will ever have all the gratitude--the esteem, my heart can feel!'
'Thanks, dear Miss Everingham,' I replied, kissing her hand, while my
voice and lips trembled; '_esteem_ is the first element of love.
Without it no passion can endure.'
She grew pale--looked down, and trembled.
'And you go?--'
'Yes.'
'But, when?' she asked, lifting her eyes sadly to mine.
'To-morrow.'
'And you return!--'
'Never.'
'Never?' she reiterated.
'Never--oh never! I go to return no more. It is the doom of our
race, my dear Miss Everingham.'
'Oh say not so--but here comes dearest papa to thank you in better
words than I can command.'
As she spoke, Sir Horace, accompanied by Miss Clavering, the Captain
and Mr. Snobleigh, came down the mountain-path at a furious gallop,
and with high alarm depicted in all their faces; however, a glance at
the dead stag, at Laura seated, smiling on the bank, and her pony
quietly cropping the grass beside her, explained in a moment that she
was in perfect safety. Moreover, from the top of the hill, they had
seen me rush upon the stag, and lay it dead at my feet. My
skene-dhu, dripping with blood, explained all the rest.
'Dearest Laura--and you are safe!' exclaimed Fanny Clavering,
flinging off her broad hat as she sprang from her pony, and hurried
to embrace her friend; 'oh heaven, my dear girl, I wish we were all
safe again in London, or at Elton Hall! We have been little more
than six months in these atrocious Highlands, and yet we have first
had your papa--dear old stupid thing! nearly drowned; then we were
all but burned alive in the shrubbery the other night; and to-day you
on the verge of being torn to pieces by a wild animal!'
'Aw--aw--Miss Everingham--you would be wilful,' yawned Snobleigh,
'and would go--aw into that fwightful jungle, where we lost you--the
wood of--of--'
'Coil-chro.'
'Aw--yes--those devilish 'Ighland names!'
'I know of no better fun than to have a fine man of the Guards
essaying to get his lazy tongue round an Argyleshire, or a Galway
name. And so it was you, my brave fellow, who slew this noble stag?'
asked the impulsive Fanny, blushing, as she laid her hand on the
shoulder of Callum, who was kneeling on the grass, and feeling the
dead animal with his hands.
'I--madam?--No; it was slain by the chief--my master; and it is a
deed that would long be remembered in Glen Ora, were there other
inhabitants now than the red-roes and the moor-fowl.'
'Aw--my dear fellow, get your hands washed, for weally that wed blood
is atwocious, 'pon my soul it is.'
'Stuff, Snobleigh,' said Captain Clavering; 'what the deuce does a
little blood matter? You have done well and nobly, Mac Innon; but
you look a little pale--you are not hurt, I hope?'
'Not in the least.'
'Why don't you speak, Sir Horace?' said Miss Clavering, impetuously;
'have you not a tongue to thank him who saved your daughter's life?'
'I have a tongue, but not words, my dear Miss Clavering,' said the
cold and pompous baronet. 'You have saved my Laura from a terrible
death, sir,' he continued, addressing me with a warmth of manner
somewhat unusual in him; 'stay among us, Mr. Mac Innon, and I shall
leave nothing undone for your welfare--that is, if it is in my power,
of course.'
'Aw--of course,' chorused the languid Snobleigh.
'Do, Mr. Mac Innon,' added Fanny Clavering, bending her bright and
beautiful eyes upon me, while she laid her pretty hand upon my arm;
'do, and all the past shall be forgotten.'
'Your offer comes too late, Sir Horace,' said I, in a broken voice,
'though my heart is rent in two by this separation from my native
country--with that separation every tie is broken. Restore the
people--restore that now ruined hamlet and desolate glen to what it
was a month ago; give me back my poor old mother from her cold grave
on yonder promontory, that grave to which your severity or the
cruelty of your underlings drove her, and _then_ speak of remaining
here; but not till then.'
'Arms are the natural profession of a Highlander,' said Captain
Clavering, putting a hand on my shoulder in his frank English way;
'could you, Sir Horace, not do something for him at the Horse
Guards?--Devilish sorry that I have no interest in that quarter
myself.'
'It would afford me the utmost gratification to do so,' replied the
stiff and pompous baronet, in his coldest manner; '_but_ really, the
fact is, I do not feel myself at liberty to ask a favour from any of
the present administration.'
'The deuce you don't?'
'Aw--of course,' hummed Snobleigh.
And there was an end of it; though I would have died rather than
accepted the smallest favour at his hands. To be patronized by
_him_! The idea was enough to call my mother's fiery spirit back to
earth.
As a huntsman, Callum was now, by mere force of habit, proceeding to
gralloch the stag with his sharpened skene; and as this work
progressed, unfortunately for the legends of our glensmen, he found
it to be--not two hundred years old--but a fine _warrantable stag_ of
at least six summers.
'Well, my friend, the fox-hunter,' said Clavering; 'could you not
stay among us--I'll take the odds on it, Sir Horace could do
something for you.'
'Likely enough,' said the baronet, mounting; 'you would make a
first-rate gamekeeper.'
'Many thanks, sir,' replied Callum, touching his bonnet with a fierce
and covert irony gleaming in his dark eyes; 'but the time has gone
past, Englishman, for that too; we go, we go to return no more! You
purchased this land, true; any other depopulating game speculator
might have done so; but he who sold it to you--was it _his_ to sell?
It belonged to the people and not to him. The land was God's gift to
the Gael; it is theirs, and all the produce thereof is theirs.'
'This is a thief's maxim,' said Sir Horace, sharply.
'To you it may seem so; but we have a saying among us--_Breac na
linne, slàt na coille, s'fiadh na fireach meirladh nach do gabh duine
riamh nair as_.
'What the devil is all that in English? it sounds like the croaking
of frogs in a Dutch canal.'
'It means, that a fish from the stream, a stag from the mountain, or
a tree from the forest are no thefts, but the right of he who wants
them.'
'Why sirrah, this is poaching or trespassing, as Snaggs would tell
you, had he not disappeared so unaccountably. I must teach these
Highland fellows, Clavering, to respect the sacred laws of property!
I have as much right to the wood and water, and game, as to anything
else. "If the sun goes down on my property," says the _Man made of
Money_, "I have a clear title to that sunset; if the clouds, over my
land, are remarkably fine, they are my clouds." A noble maxim! Then
does not the same rule apply to the pheasants, plover, curlew, deer,
and foxes--eh?'
'You are a stranger here,' retorted Callum, 'and consequently know no
better. God--blessed be his name!--never sent a little mouth into
the world without providing food for it. There was a time when, in
these glens, we had food enough to spare; but, a chial! for the devil
came in breeks and took it away from us.'
'This bores me,' said Sir Horace: 'Clavering, assist Laura and your
sister to mount; we'll send some one for the stag. Many thanks, good
fellow, for your cutting and carving it thus--but please to let it
alone. Ah--a good evening and a safe voyage to you, Mr. Mac Innon,'
and with a brief nod, Sir Horace walked his shooting pony leisurely
up the slope.
Laura and Miss Clavering reluctantly followed him; but both bade me
kindly--the former silently--adieu. I knew that in the twilight she
was weeping behind her veil, and my heart was deeply moved, for I
might never behold her again. Snobleigh--the empty, vacant and
insipid Snobleigh--bowed and cantered after them; but Clavering
lingered still, and said,
'I feel sincere regret, Mac Innon, to see a bold young fellow like
you, flung upon this cold and faithless world--can I do anything for
you?'
'I thank you, sir--but know of nothing.'
'We are now at war with Russia--you have thus before you a noble
field for action.'
'And after the treatment I have experienced in my own country, I
should justly seek it in the Russian ranks. You are right, Captain
Clavering--I thank you; war is the natural resource of the desperate
and poor; but alas! I have neither interest nor money to enter the
service.'
'Deuced awkward--and we have no volunteering in this war. But think
over all I have said, for it is a devil of a thing to take to felling
of trees and draining swamps in the Far West, leaving civilization
far behind you, and having the Pacific and the Red men in your front,
while your nearest chum dwells three hundred miles off--and there you
will fight with the Indians, the earth and the elements, to feed a
little herd of snivelling Yankees, who will grow up in hatred of the
land their fathers came from. It won't do, my dear fellow--think
over it, and if I can do anything for you, drop me a line at Glen Ora
House, or at the Western Club, Glasgow, where I shall be in a day or
so, about the happiest piece of business in the world. Adieu!'
With these words we separated, and Callum and I were left on the dark
hill-side; the last glow of sunset had faded away, and the mysterious
white stag of Loch Ora was lying at our feet dead, motionless, and
still as a drift of snow.