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Meanwhile, the arrangements
for the marriage of a certain lady and gentleman were proceeding in the
most agreeable manner imaginable, and the ceremony was only delayed until
some definite information could be procured concerning the fate of the old
laird and his followers. Even the day was fixed; for three months had
elapsed, and no tidings had been heard from Canada. The Glasgow
manufacturer who had purchased Lochisla established a splendid household
and equipage in Edinburgh. By the marriage of one of his daughters with
some retired naval captain, who, like most naval captains, was not very
particular in his taste, the Macquabester family continued to squeeze
themselves into the assembly-rooms now and then, and to give large routs
at home, where they carried on—as the saying is—'at hack and manger ;'
and, one way and another, the poor man squandered away his hard-earned
thousands, the gains of many a long industrious year, so successfully,
that in a short time he was compelled to betake himself to the loom, while
his property was pounced upon ravenously by his creditors. His affairs
were managed by Messrs. Diddle and Fleece, clerks to the signet, and they
transacted matters so effectually, that Macquabester was soon without a
stiver, and his creditors did not find themselves 'muckle the better'
either. Under its new name of Rosemount, Lochisla was advertised for sale,
at a small upset price, and all applications were to be made to Messrs.
Diddle and Fleece, at their office in Queen Street. Fifty thousand pounds
was the sum required; and Ronald, when he read the advertisement one
morning in the mess-room, resolved to become the purchaser, but knew not
where to raise the money. While revolving the matter in his mind, without
being able to form any definite plan, a servant brought a note from Lord
Lisle, requesting to see him immediately. After a consultation with
Alice's father, Ronald found himself able to treat with Messrs. Diddle and
Fleece, on whom he called in the forenoon at their chambers; and he found
them, there being money in the way, the most smooth-faced, obsequious, and
polite men of the quill that Edinburgh possessed. After a delay of some
weeks, and a mighty deal of fuss, burrowing and searching among the musty
records of the Register House, and after all sorts of doubts,
difficulties, delays, replies and duplies, duplicates and repetitions,
amplifications and expenses had been disinterred or created, brought
forward and demolished, the affair was settled, and Stuart found Lochisla
his own.
One forenoon he sat in the
front drawing-room at Lisle's house, lounging on a very comfortable sofa,
and occupied in detailing some of his Peninsular adventures to a bright
circle of six young ladies, whose fair fingers were plying the needle with
great assiduity, at two large pieces of yellow silk. Several handsome
work-baskets lay on the floor, filled with embroidery, gold fringe, silver
thistles, letters for battle and achievement, and above all a sphinx,
weighty and large enough to please even Campbell, the colonel. The end of
the drawing-room, at which the fair workers sat, was covered with shreds
and patches like the floor of a milliner's shop. Alice and five of her
most intimate companions were busy working a new pair of colours for the
Highlanders; and the rolls of silk, upon which the ladies were
embroidering, spread from the knee of one to another, like some great
piece of ancient tapestry. The ladies were all fair and of noble birth,
and Master Ronald, who lay with so much Spanish nonchalance on the sofa,
had the happiness to act as their director; and as the damsels were all
anxious to attract the attention of the handsome officer, although they
knew him to be engaged to their friend, they were continually asking him
questions, where such a badge, such a motto, or the name of such a battle
should be placed.
A chubby little rogue, with
fair hair and merry hazel eyes, who bore the name of Ronald Lisle, was
clambering at his namesake's back, and twisting his curly black locks with
dimpled little hands, and crowing and laughing aloud to Alice and the
ladies, with whom he was ' an angel, a sweet pet, a dear love,' etc., etc.
He was the very picture of a plump little Cupid ; and the ladies bestowed
so many kisses and caresses upon him, that Ronald became quite envious,
and told the fair givers so. He was just in the middle of a very animated
detail of his adventures with Cifuentes in the wood of La Nava, when the
shrill blast of the well-known war-pipe made him stop so suddenly in his
narrative, that all the girls looked up in surprise, for the pipe may be
heard at all times in every part of Edinburgh. The performer came nearer
and nearer, and the notes of his instrument were making the great square,
the lofty dome and portico of St. George's—even the very sky—ring to the
warlike blast. It was a great Highland pipe of the largest size, and
Ronald's blood came and went in his changing face while he listened.
'That is the "Prince's
Lament!"' said he.—'Surely I have heard that pipe and tune before,' said
Alice, throwing aside the standard and her needle, and going to the
window. She uttered an exclamation of surprise and started back.
"Tis either Donald Iverach
or the devil!' cried Ronald impetuously, as he sprung to her side.—'It is
indeed poor old Iverach!' replied Alice piteously.
'My father's piper a beggar
in the streets of Edinburgh!—a mendicant in his old age!' muttered Ronald
through his clenched teeth, striking the floor with his heel till a spur
tore the carpet, while the ladies crowded round him with timidity and
astonishment. 'What cursed misfortune can have brought this about?'—'Dear
Ronald! be composed a little,' said Alice, taking his hands within her
own; 'you must obey me just now, and I will obey you by-and-by. I will
desire Iverach to be looked after.' She rang the bell violently.
The piper was now in front
of the house. He stood at the kerbstone and paused a moment—supposing,
probably, that he should not play long in vain before so splendid a
mansion. He was clad in the royal tartan; having come of a broken clan, he
had always worn the family colours of the house under which his ancestors
had been vassals. His kilt, plaid, and coat were worn to rags, and the
once bright scarlet checks of the tartan were faded and dark; yet the dirk
and claymore were swinging as of old at his nut-brown thigh. He was pale
and wan, and evidently broken down with age, want, and sorrow. His silvery
hairs were almost destitute of covering, and his feet were in the same
condition. The proud expression of his eye was gone; he rarely raised it
from the pavement, and when a coin was thrown from a window or the hand of
a passer-by, his cheek grew red, and he picked up the gift with such
confusion that he forgot to thank the donor.
'Oh, Alice!' groaned
Stuart, 'now indeed I know that my father is no more. Death alone could
separate Iverach from him; but I have long been prepared to expect the
worst. Let some one take care of the old man and bring him here.' While he
was speaking the piper was ushered in, and stood near the door, bowing,
bonnet in hand, to the ladies successively, with that native dignity and
pride, mingled with respect, which a Highlander never, under any
circumstances, loses. He bowed profoundly to Ronald, and his keen eyes
wandered restlessly over his uniform. Then, as if some sudden recollection
flashed upon his mind, the piob mhor fell from his grasp ; he sprang
forward, and, bursting into tears, clasped Stuart round the neck.
'It's my ain pairn! It's
Maister Ronald! Oich! oich! Got tam! I'm creetin' mair like a bit giglet
o' a lassie, than a teuch auld carle that's come through sae muckle! Gude
pe thankit we hae met at last, Maister Ronald! I have been wandering to
meet ye through many a queer place; but sair and sad are the news I hae to
tell ye—sad and sair indeed. So joost prepare yerself for the warst!'
'I suppose you would speak
of my father?' said Ronald, with a quivering lip.—'Aich, ay: ta laird, ta
laird! Aich, ay! Got pless us!' replied the vassal, bursting again into
tears, which he endeavoured in vain to hide by burying his head in the
folds of his tattered plaid ; while Stuart half reclined on Alice's
shoulder, and turned aside, deeply touched with the old man's sorrow—for
grief, like joy, is infectious. 'Ay; I wad speak o' the laird, puir man!
an' prood he would hae peen to see his only son coming home frae the wars
an' devildoms a stoot an' handsome chield, wi' a proon face, and a hand
hardened wi' the hilt o' the proadsword. But, ochone-aree! he's low aneuch
the day, an' mony a pretty man tat followed him far awa' ower the wide and
trackless seas to the stranger's cauld an' meeserable country.'—'Poor dear
old man!' said Alice, while she pressed Ronald's hand to compose him, as
the piper was speaking.
'I have sad news to tell
you, too, Iverach,' said he. 'Poor Evan Bean —Evan with the fair hair—is
no more! I find this to be a sorrowful meeting, Donald ; for I have lost
my father, and you your only son.'
The old man smote himself
on the forehead, and reeled back giddily as if struck by a blow; but he
almost immediately recovered. He stared wildly at the speaker for a
moment, and then said, with strange calmness: 'I never again expeckit to
pehauld him, for auld Shanet tauld me his weird; and Shanet never spoke in
vain, nor tauld an untrue tale. Her father was a taischatr. She said he
wad return nae mair—that he was doomed ! The words were hard to pelieve;
put I mourned for him then as one that was deid and awa'. Oich! I thought
the pang was ower. Put —put, Oh, Maister Ronald! my puir Evan—and whar was
he killed?'
'At Toulouse, Donald—at
Toulouse, where we gained a signal victory over France. He died bravely,
like his comrades, for all were brave alike; I laid him with my own hands
in the churchyard of Muret. But, for pity's sake, Donald, tell me of my
father, and the fate of the Lochisla people, and then I will tell you more
of your son, who, as a token of remembrance, has sent you the clasp which
fastened the green feather of his bonnet. Miss Lisle will give it when you
are more composed. Come; take courage, Donald, and tell us your story.
There are none here but old friends, who have often danced to the sound of
your pipes, and shall yet again—ay, next month, and in the old hall of
Lochisla, too!'
Alice blushed, and her
companions smiled. The old man's eyes flashed a red light through their
tears. He looked from one fair face to another, red, as he read nothing
but innocence and happiness in them all, he smiled, and appeared to become
happy too. After being comforted with a few mouthfuls of mountain-dew,
filled from a decanter into an ancient quaigh that he carried, and from
which he drank everything, he became quite composed, and commenced his
story. After leaving the Clyde, the vessel containing the emigrants
encountered a continuance of adverse winds, and was driven from her course
far to the northward of the Canadas, upon the coast of Newfoundland—the
most barbarous and desolate of all the British colonies. Having lost their
rudder, and had their compass washed overboard in a gale, the vessel was,
while surrounded by a dense fog, carried into Baboul Bay, or, as it is
commonly called, the Bay of Bulls, by the strong current which there runs
in-shore. Finding that the brig was drifting among the breakers, and that
she was quite unmanageable, the master ordered out the boats to tow her
off, but the order was given too late. The boats were swamped among the
surf, and a few moments afterwards the vessel grounded on a reef, where
the boiling sea made clean breaches over her every instant. She heeled
over on her beam-ends, and the foremast went away by the board, carrying
with it the main top mast and all the rigging above the top. The vessel
thus became a total wreck in five minutes.
'At the time the ship
struck,' continued the piper, 'the laird was lying sick in the cabin, unco
unwell in mind and body, for he had lang been pining awa' wi' dule and
sorrow for leaving you, and the heathery hills o' Albyn, and to find
himsel sae far awa' frae his tower and glen, and the graves o' his kindred
and forbears. When I found that a' was ower, I determined to save him, or
to dee wi' him. Drawing our dirks, and vowing we would slay to the death
ony man that opposed us, Alpin Oig and mysel' rushed into the cabin, and
bore him therefra in our arms upon the deck, and frae there into a boat,
the last ane that was left. The sailors tried to crowd in, but our bare
blades keepit them off. Nae man, woman, or bairn frae Lochisla, though
death was starin' them in the face, wad hae thocht their ain lives worth
savin' if the laird's was lost; and sae a' helpit us into the boat, where
we solemnly swore, on the blades of our dirks, to return and take as many
frae the wreck as we could, and a line was thrown us to make fast to the
shore. The laird lay as if he was dead at the bottom of the boat, wi'
naething on but his dressing-gown, and the saut sea pouring like rain ower
him. Ochone! it was an awsome time for me! Puir gentleman! he was helpless
as a wean in our hands.'
Owing to the denseness of
the fog, there was no shore to be seen, but the beach, or what they
supposed to be the beach, could be discerned through the unnatural mid-day
gloom by the white foam of the breakers, towards which the two brave and
determined Celts, who had never been on rougher water than the loch of the
Isla, urged their frail bark with all the strength of bending oars and
muscular arms. They soon lost sight of the water-logged wreck, which the
fog enveloped like a shroud ; but the shrieks and prayers of those on
board were heard ringing above the roar of the wrathful breakers, which
hurl their crested heads with such tremendous fury on the desert beach of
Baboul Bay.
When within a few feet of
the shore, their attention was arrested by a loud splitting sound, a crash
as if a mighty oak was rending asunder; and a tremendous cry rose from the
face of the waters to Heaven. They looked back in dismay. The sea was
covered with pieces of the floating wreck, and human heads and hands
appeared at times above the white surf, beneath which they were all
engulfed in succession. At the same moment nearly that the ship went to
pieces, a wave like a mountain rolled against the stern of the boat, with
a shock like that of an earthquake. Iverach was stunned by its weight and
fury; the light seemed to go out from his eyes, and he heard a horrible
hissing in his ears, as he sank into the abyss,—the trough of the sea.
Darkness was around him, and agony was in his heart, as he groped about in
the sinking boat. He was grasped convulsively in the strong arms of his
terrified companion, and down they went together,—down, down, he knew not
how deep, for he became senseless, and could feel no more.
When life returned, he
found himself lying upon the beach, drenched with the bitter surf, and
covered with shells and sea-weed. It was evening, and the sun, setting
behind the hills, cast a long line of radiance across the glassy sea. All
traces of the brig, save those that lay scattered on the shore, had
disappeared. Corpses were strewn upon the sand,— the cold and wet remains
of men, women, and children, once the poor but happy cottiers of Lochisla.
Night was closing around
him ; he was alone, upon the desert shore of a strange country, and the
heart of the aged and superstitious Highlander died away as he looked
around him. In front lay the hateful sea, which had destroyed his
companions, and behind was a homeless, howling wilderness, a savage
solitude, which he shuddered to look upon. He saw everywhere rocks,
mountains, bogs, and thickets of stunted firs, which grew to the very edge
of the cliffs, and overhung the water ; but there were no signs of any
human habitation, and he strained his eyes until they grew stiff in the
sockets watching the vast wilderness to the westward,—yet no wreath of
smoke rose from it. Save the whistle and whir of the plover and curlew, or
the splash of the seals that were sporting and floating among the
shattered ruins of an iceberg, no signs of life manifested themselves
around him.
Donald gazed at the
last-named animals with awe, not unmingled with fear, when they rose from
the water and looked steadily at him with their great black eyes. The
Highlanders used to consider these animals enchanted beings, and some old
and troublesome legends of the Ebudae came thronging upon Donald's mind as
he watched their movements among the ice. Beside him lay the unconscious
remains of his leader ; but he was joyful rather than grieved to find that
he was dead, for he knew that he was now in a better place, and that all
his troubles were at an end. To have lived would only have been a
continuance of misery, and Donald upbraided the sea for having spared
himself. He sat on the point of a rock, at the foot of which rolled the
surf, and he watched its advance and retreat, careless of whether he died
or lived, until night descended on the sea and land, and then his northern
superstitions began to prove more terrible enemies than any he had yet
encountered. At last it became quite dark, and he knelt down by the corse
of the laird to pray; but when, by the light of the stars, he beheld the
bleached and ghastly face of the dead man, a sudden and unaccountable
terror seized him, and he fled from the sea-shore into the wilderness,
where he could no longer hear the dull boom of the ocean, as its eternal
waves came rolling on in monotonous succession on the lonely beach.
At sunrise he again sought
the shore, and, digging a grave with his weapon, gently placed the body of
Mr. Stuart in the earth, rolling it first in his plaid and a piece of old
sail-cloth. He covered the grave with the greenest sods he could find, and
toiled the whole day, carrying stones from the shore to pile a cairn above
it. and on its summit he placed a rough wooden crucifix, for old Iverach
had more of the Catholic than the Protestant in his creed, and he looked
upon the cross with reverence and awe. Having performed this last sad duty
to the man whom, since they were boys, he had revered and loved with all
the devotion of a Highland vassal, he sat down by the grave, and,
regardless of his fate, heeded not a ship which was rounding a point of
land; and hove in sight about four miles off. But the appearance of other
things roused him from this state of apathy. His eye fell upon a gold
signet-ring which had fallen from the hand of Mr. Stuart, and lay on the
turf beside a splendidly-jewelled dirk, which he was wont to wear on the
19th of August, [The raising of Prince Charles's standard, etc., etc.] and
other days which are considered gay anniversaries in the Highlands. There
was likewise an antique iron casket, containing family relics, bracelets,
rings, lockets, and brooches : and the piper resolved that he would return
to his own country, if God spared and protected him, that he might place
these trinkets in the hands of Ronald Stuart or Miss Lisle, with whom he
knew they would be in safe keeping.
With this intention he
quitted the beach, ascended a promontory, and made signals to the ship ;
but they were unseen, and he toiled along the shore from one headland to
another, clambering ocean-cliffs, tearing asunder thicket and jungle, till
his strength began to fail, and darkness again descended, and he could see
the ship no longer. As a last resort, by means of the hard flinty stones
with which the island abounds, being the only crop it ever produces, he
struck a light, and raised a beacon-fire on a rocky peak. Piling
drift-wood, fallen trees, and turpentine branches upon it, he raised a
giant flame, which lighted the sea and land for miles around, revealing
the caverns in the far-off capes and headlands, the barren hills and
rocks, the rippling ocean, and the distant sail, which glimmered white and
wavering. This scheme succeeded. A boat was despatched to ascertain the
meaning of this strange illumination, and the vessel, which proved to be a
Quebec ship bound for Saint John's, the capital of the island, took
Iverach on board. He was treated with the utmost kindness by the crew, and
was carried to the town of Saint John's, whence he procured a passage in a
Greenock ship,—disposing of his brooch, pistols, and some other
appointments with which the Highlanders are so fond of adorning their
garb, to defray his expenses.
After his return he visited
Lochisla, and then traversed the west country for some time, till a
recruiting-sergeant of the Gordon Highlanders informed him that the
regiment had returned to Scotland; upon which he set out on his way to
meet them, and having that morning entered Edinburgh, he had screwed up
his pipes in Charlotte Square to play for a breakfast, for he had tasted
nothing that day.
As he concluded his
narrative, he unstrapped a leather dorlach, which he carried on his back,
and taking from it the iron casket, the signet-ring, and the jewelled
poniard, placed them in Ronald's hand, glad to be rid of them, after
having brought them so far and preserved them as sacred relics, even when
compelled by poverty to seek shelter in the haunts of infamy and crime,
where he had preserved them untouched, though nearly perishing of want. He
had often been totally without food for four or five days, while at the
same time he carried about him jewels worth four hundred pounds.
'But they werna my ain,'
said he; 'and what could I do, though hunger is hard to thole? But a's
past noo, and oich! I'll be happy yet, even in my auld and childish days ;
and I will end them beneath the roof-tree o' the auld tower when the time
comes, and come it must,— some day sune,—oich! oich!' |
