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By James Hogg, the "Ettrick
Shepherd."
This tale, which may be
depended on as in every part true, is singular, from the circumstance of
its being insolvable, either from the facts that have been discovered
relating to it, or by reason ; for though events sometimes occur among
mankind, which at the time seem inexplicable, yet there being always some
individuals acquainted with the primary causes of these events, they
seldom fail of being brought to light before all the actors in them, or
their confidants, are removed from this state of existence. But the causes
which produced the events here related have never been accounted for in
this world; even conjecture is left to wander in a labyrinth, unable to
get hold of the thread that leads to the catastrophe.
Mr Bell was a gentleman of
Annandale, in Dumfriesshire, in the south of Scotland, and proprietor of a
considerable estate in that district, part of which he occupied himself.
He lost his father when he was an infant, and his mother dying when he was
about 20 years of age, left him the sole proprietor of the estate, besides
a large sum of money at interest, for which he was indebted, in a great
measure, to his mother's parsimony during his minority. His person was
tall, comely, and athletic, and his whole delight was in warlike and
violent exercises. He was the best horseman and marksman in the county,
and valued himself particularly upon his skill in the broad sword. Of this
he often boasted aloud, and regretted that there was not one in the county
whose skill was in some degree equal to his own.
In the autumn of 1745,
after being for several days busily and silently employed in preparing for
his journey, he left his own house, and went to Edinburgh, giving at the
same time such directions to his servants as indicated his intention of
being absent for some time.
A few days after he had
left his home, one morning, while his housekeeper was putting the house in
order for the day, her master, as she thought, entered by the kitchen
door, the other being bolted, and passed her in the middle of the floor.
He was buttoned in his greatcoat, which was the same he had on when he
went from home; he likewise had the same hat on his head, and the same
whip in his hand which he took with him. At sight of him she uttered a
shriek, but recovering her surprise, instantly said to him, "You have not
stayed so long from us, Sir." He made no reply, but went sullenly into his
own room, without throwing off his greatcoat. After a pause of about five
minutes, she followed him into the room. He was standing at his desk with
his back towards her. She asked him if he wished to have a fire kindled,
and afterwards if he was well enough; but he still made no reply to any of
these questions. She was astonished, and returned into the kitchen. After
tarrying about other five minutes, he went out at the front door, it being
then open, and walked deliberately towards the bank of the river Kinnel,
which was deep and wooded, and in that he vanished from her sight. The
woman ran out in the utmost consternation to acquaint the men who were
servants belonging to the house; and coming to one of the ploughmen, she
told him that their master was come home, and had certainly lost his
reason, for that he was wandering about the house and would not speak. The
man loosed his horses from the plough and came home, listened to the
woman's relation, made her repeat it again and again, and then assured her
that she was raving, for their master's horse was not in the stable, and
of course he could not be come home. However, as she persisted in her
asseveration with every appearance of sincerity, he went into the linn to
see what was become of his mysterious master. He was neither to be seen
nor heard of in all the country. It was then concluded that the
housekeeper had seen an apparition, and that something had befallen their
master; but on consulting with some old people, skilled in those matters,
they learned that when a "wraith," or apparition of a living person,
appeared while the sun was up, instead of being a prelude of instant
death, it prognosticated very long life; and, moreover, that it could not
possibly be a ghost that she had seen, for they always chose the night
season for making their visits. In short, though it was the general topic
of conversation among the servants and the people in the vicinity, no
reasonable conclusion could be formed on the subject.
The most probable
conjecture was, that as Mr Bell was known to be so fond of arms, and had
left his home on the very day that Prince Charles Stuart and his
Highlanders defeated General Hawley on Falkirk Muir, he had gone either
with him or the Duke of Cumberland to the north. It was, however,
afterwards ascertained, that he had never joined any of the armies. Week
passed after week, and month after month, but no word of Mr Bell. A female
cousin was his nearest living relation; her husband took the management of
his affairs; and concluding that he had either joined the army, or drowned
himself in the Kinnel, when he was seen go into the linn, made no more
inquiries after him.
About this very time, a
respectable farmer, whose surname was M'Millan, and who resided in the
neighbourhood of Musselburgh, happened to be in Edinburgh about some
business. In the evening he called upon a friend who lived near Holyrood-house;
and being seized with an indisposition, they persuaded him to tarry with
them all night. About the middle of the night he grew exceedingly ill, and
not being able to find any rest or ease in his bed, imagined he would be
the better of a walk. He put on his clothes, and, that he might not
disturb the family, slipped quietly out at the back door, and walked in St
Anthony's garden behind the house. The moon shone so bright, that it was
almost as light as noonday, and he had scarcely taken a single turn, when
he saw a tall man enter from the other side, buttoned in a drab-coloured
greatcoat. It so happened, that at that time M'Millan stood in the shadow
of the wall, and perceiving that the stranger did not observe him, a
thought struck him that it would not be amiss to keep himself concealed,
that he might see what the man was going to be about. He walked backwards
and forwards for some time in apparent impatience, looking at his watch
every minute, until at length another man came in by the same way,
buttoned likewise in a greatcoat, and having a bonnet on his head. He was
remarkably stout made, but considerably lower in stature than the other.
They exchanged only a single word ; then turning both about, they threw
off their coals, drew their swords, and began a most desperate and
well-contested combat.
The tall gentleman appeared
to have the advantage. He constantly gained ground on the other, and drove
him half round the division of the garden in which they fought. Each of
them strove to fight with his back towards the moon, so that it might
shine full in the face of his opponent; and many rapid wheels were made
for the purpose of gaining this position. The engagement was long and
obstinate, and by the desperate thrusts that were frequently aimed on both
sides, it was evident that they meant one another's destruction. They came
at length within a few yards of the place where M'Millan still stood
concealed. They were both out of breath, and at that instant a small cloud
chancing to overshadow the moon, one of them called out, "Hold, we cannot
see." They uncovered their heads, wiped their faces, and as soon as the
moon emerged from the cloud, each resumed his guard. Surely that was an
awful pause! And short, indeed, was the stage between it and eternity with
the one! The tall gentleman made a lounge at the other, who parried and
returned it; and as the former sprung back to avoid the thrust, his foot
slipped, and he stumbled forward towards his antagonist, who dexterously
met his breast in the fall with the point of his sword, and ran him
through the body. He made only one feeble convulsive struggle, as if
attempting to rise, and expired almost instantaneously.
M'Millan was petrified with
horror; but conceiving himself to be in a perilous situation, having
stolen out of the house at that dead hour of the night, he had so much
presence of mind as to hold his peace, and to keep from interfering in the
smallest degree.
The surviving combatant
wiped his sword with great composure;—put on his bonnet, covered the body
with one of the greatcoats, took up the other, and departed. M'Millan
returned quietly to his chamber without awakening any of the family. His
pains were gone, but his mind was shocked and exceedingly perturbed; and
after deliberating until morning, he determined to say nothing of the
matter, and to make no living creature acquainted with what he had seen,
thinking that suspicion would infallibly rest on him.
Accordingly, he kept his
bed next morning, until his friend brought him the tidings that a
gentleman had been murdered at the back of the house during the night. He
then arose and examined the body, which was that of a young man, seemingly
from the country, having brown hair, and fine manly features. He had
neither letter, book, nor signature of any kind about him that could in
the least lead to a discovery of who he was; only a common silver watch
was found in his pocket, and an elegant sword was clasped in his cold
bloody hand, which had an A. and B. engraved on the hilt. The sword had
entered at his breast, and gone out at his back a little below the left
shoulder. He had likewise received a slight wound on the sword arm.
The body was carried to the
dead-room, where it lay for eight days, and though great numbers inspected
it, yet none knew who or whence the deceased was, and he was at length
buried among the strangers in Gray-friars churchyard.
Sixteen years elapsed
before M'Millan mentioned to any person the circumstance of his having
seen the duel, but at that period, being in Annandak receiving some sheep
that he had bought. and chancing to hear of the astonishing circumstances
of Bell's disappearance, he divulged the whole. The lime, the description
of his person, his clothes, and above all, the sword with the initials of
his name engraved upon it, confirmed the fact beyond the smallest shadow
of doubt that it was Mr Bell whom he had seen killed in the duel behind
the Abbey. But who the person was that slew him, how the quarrel
commenced, or who it was that appeared to his housekeeper, remains to this
day a profound secret, and is likely to remain so, until that day when
every deed of darkness shall be brought to light. Some have even ventured
to blame M'Millan for the whole, on account of his long concealment of
facts, and likewise in consideration of his uncommon bodily strength and
daring disposition, he being one of the boldest and most enterprising men
of the age in which he lived; but all who knew him despised such
insinuations, and declared them to be entirely inconsistent with his
character, which was most honourable and disinterested; and besides, his
tale has every appearance of truth. "Pluris est oculatus testis unus quam
auriti decern." |
