CHAPTER IV.ANGUS MACKIE."The bud comes back to summer,And the blossom to the tree;But I win back—oh, never!To my ain countrie.I'm leal to the high heaven,Which will be leal to me;And there I'll meet ye a' sune,Frae my ain countrie."Scottish Song.In the beginning of the next month the Highlanders were marched across the Sierra de Gate to the ancient city of Coria, in Estremadura, where they were to remain until they had recovered from their late fatigues, and received recruits, clothing, supplies, and arrears of pay from Lisbon. While on the march across the sierra, Evan's comrade, Angus Mackie, a soldier of whom I have made frequent mention, deserted from the light company, and, singularly enough, was discovered to have gone off in the direction of the enemy,—a circumstance which exasperated the whole regiment against him. But the true reason of poor Mackie's disappearance soon afterwards came to light.On the second day after their arrival at Coria, the mail bags were brought from the rear, and Ronald, who was on guard with twenty Highlanders at one of the four gates of the city, was much annoyed at being unable to inquire if any letters had come for him, and he passed the whole day in a disagreeable state of expectation and excitement. In the evening the guards were relieved, and he hurried to his billet, which was situated in one of the narrow and gloomy streets leading from the market-place towards the cathedral. At the door he was met by Evan, who informed him that "twa letters frae hame were awaiting him in his room. Major Campbell had left them there some time before.""Foolish! Why did you not bring them to the guard-house?""But alake, sir! there isna ane for me," said Evan, without minding the question. "My faither micht hae sent me ae screed, and I houp that naething waur than the broon coo—(as he ay ca'd the yill), or a wee drap ower muckle o' the barley bree, have keepit him fraed.""A light, Evan! a light! this place is very dark," cried Ronald to his retainer, who had followed him up stairs to hear what news the letter contained."Twa candles, sir," said he, as he lighted them. "Twa, nae less. By the alcalde's order, the auld patron body has to furnish ye wi' twa,—which maks ye 'as braw as the Laird o' Grant.' Ye mind the auld saying, I daur say?"Ronald snatched the letters, and beheld with joy and delight that one was from Alice,—the other from his father."Poor Louis!" muttered he aloud; "how much I wish that he was here!" Ronald was absolutely trembling with joy as he opened the letter and prepared to read it.He drew his chair close to the table, and raised the snuffers to trim the candles; when, lo! the lights were both blown out, and the snuffers flew from his hand with a loud report."Gude guide us!" exclaimed Evan, astonished at being so suddenly involved in darkness; but a hearty malediction escaped Ronald, who was chafed and infuriated with the delay this unexpected circumstance caused."Light them again," cried he. "Did you say that Major Campbell had been waiting for me in this room?""Ay, sir, a gay gude while,""Pshaw! this is some trick of his: he has put a pinch of powder in the snuffers. His practical joke has been somewhat mis-timed. Get me fresh lights." Although Ronald laughed heartily at this occurrence afterwards, he was greatly enraged by it at the time, and an age seemed to elapse before Evan brought him the candles again. Love-letters are interesting to those only for whom they are designed, and it is not my intention to give Miss Lisle's letter at length; but the reader, if concerned about the matter, may be assured that its contents were in every way just what Ronald could have wished them,—save in one part. She expressed her joy to hear that Louis was a prisoner, saying that he was "safer in France than fighting in Spain," and that she almost wished that Ronald himself might be captured likewise, to keep him out of harm's way."Evan, Jessie Cavers begs again to be remembered to you," said Ronald to his expectant follower, as he closed the letter."Does she really, noo? The dear lassie!" cried he, snapping his fingers, while his eyes glistened with delight; and he commenced a sort of strathspey round the table. "My ain bonnie blithesome Jessie! Mony a gloaming I have spent wi' her among the sauch-tree woods o' Inchavon, and the haughs o' the Isla. Deil tak the wars and campaigning! How blithely would I gie this unco land o' teuch beef and rotten nuts, hard fechtin and wearysome marching, for auld Scotland, sae brave and sae bonnie, wi' its green grassy glens and high heather hills, its lochs and its woods! Ochone! Oh, Maister Ronald! gin we once mair saw Benmore, and fand the smell o' oor ain peat reek, I dinna think we would be in a hurry to leave hame again. And then Miss Lisle o' the big ha' house would be your ain, and my bonnie doo Jessie mine! I have written to her three times, and deil a scrap o' a letter has she sent me. She writes weil aneugh, thanks to the auld dominie at the schule o' Latheronweel. But what does the laird say? Are a' weil at oor ain ingle-neuck?""All, Heaven be thanked!" replied Ronald, glancing rapidly over the pages of his father's letter; "but leave me just now, Evan, and see who that is knocking in the piazzas below. I will detail the news from the glen afterwards."His father's letter, although it contained many expressions of pride, praise, and exultation for Ronald's conduct at Almarez, was written much in the same style as his others usually were: every thing was looking gloomy at home; the flocks and hirsels were perishing on the mountains, and the tenants in the glen had failed in their rents. "But they are our people," continued the old gentleman, "and I cannot drive them forth from the sheilings where they were born, and from the glen where the purple heather blooms so bonnily above the graves of their fathers. I cannot savagely expatriate, as other proprietors are doing daily, the descendants of those true and loyal vassals, who stood by our ancestors in danger and death during many a soul-stirring time in the years that are gone. No! I have more honour, compassion, and generosity. Poverty is their misfortune, not their crime. Heaven knows how little a space of time remains for me to be over them, as all my affairs are inextricably involved, and in a few months that letter of cautionary, granted in an evil hour to protect that rascal Macquirk, becomes due. God alone knows where I can raise the money. £8,000 will scarcely pay it, and I believe I will have to lay it down every stiver, as Macquirk has retreated to the sanctuary of Holyrood-house for protection from his creditors. Last month I was down in Edinburgh, endeavouring to procure the needful on a bond,—but in vain. Lochisla is too deeply involved already. Curse on the hour in which an honourable Highland gentleman of birth and family has to sue at and succumb to a narrow-hearted and blood-sucking attorney! a wretch that will make a beggar of any man who is simple enough to trust him, or become entangled in the meshes oftheprofession, which, like a true old Highlander, I regard with proper hatred and contempt. D—n them all! I say, heartily; and all tax-gatherers, messengers at arms, and excisemen likewise! Some of the last kind of intruders carried off Alpin Oig's still from Coir nan Taischatrin, and a great noise was made in Perth about it. Three came up the glen with a warrant for his apprehension; but I hid him in the old dungeon under the hall, where I would advise them not to try and look for him, if they wish to keep their bones whole. It was a great insult to seize the still, but I am powerless now, and can only think with a sigh of the time when my father hung two of them on thedule treeat the tower gate,—and no man dared to say, What dost thou? It was the day before he marched for Glenfinnan, and the unfortunate gaugers were left to feed the eagles and corbies of Benmore. Scotland was Scotland then! Dirk and claymore! was the cry when a Highland gentleman was insulted. I saw, by the papers, that young Inchavon has been taken prisoner. Well, I dare say you will not miss him much. His sister's arts have completely failed to entrap the Earl of Hyndford. He took his departure suddenly for Edinburgh last month, leaving Miss Alice to fly her hawks at lesser game."Ronald had scarcely finished the perusal of this disheartening letter, when Evan entered hastily. "Oh, sir," said he, "I have an unco' tale to tell ye aboot my comrade Angus,—puir cheild.""How! has he been robbed by picaros,—slain byguerillas, or what?""O, waur than a' that.""He deserted in the direction of the enemy; I was sorry to hear of it. He was always a favourite of mine and of Seaton's. Did he reach the French lines?""Eh, no, sir! Captain Blacier's riflemen fell in wi' him amang the hills, and there has been an unco' tulzie. But weel do I ken for what puir Angus deserted. It wasna the French he was awa to join; he was off for Almendralejo, sir.""Almendralejo! Stay; I remember a story now. Surely it was not his attachment to some girl there which led him to commit so rash an act?""Just naething else. O Maister Ronald, ye ken weel what an unco' thing love is.""I have seen the girl,—Maria Garcionados.""Ay, sir,—a bonnie lassie, wi' een like slaes, cheeks redder than rowans, and skin like the drifted snaw; but she has been a dooms unlucky jo for Angus. I'll tell ye the haill story. Ye maun ken, sir, that mony months gane past, when we were quartered in Almendralejo, Angus fell over the lugs in love wi' this braw gilpie, whan we were billeted in her ain house. Ye heard frae Mr. Macdonald o' the toosle we had wi' her cuisins, and unco' auld Turk o' a faither. Hech! it was a teugh job, wi' sharp skenes and bayonets, and a' that. Weel, sir; syne the day Angus first tint sicht o' that lassie, he has never been the same rattling, roaring kind o' chield he was; but ay wae and dowie, soughing and sighing till it was gruesome to hear him. Yesterday, or the day before it, when coming ower the hills,—ye mind the bit clachan we stoppit at for a night's rest?""Los Cazas de Don Gomez?""Ay, sir, just sae,—a deevil o' a lang nebbit name! At a wine-house there Angus and I forgathered wi' a muleteer loon frae Almendralejo,—Lazaro Gomez, he ca'd himsel. Ye'll may be mind o' him?""Perfectly; but be quick with your story.""Aweel, sir, the mule-driver gied us a' the news and clashin frae aboot Merida and ither places, and amang ither things tauld Angus that auld Sancho Garcionados,—orel Picaro, as the Spaniards ay ca' a lawyer, was gaun to compel the lassie, whether she wad or no, to marry a rich alcalde. Od, sir! I never saw a face change as puir Mackie's did, while the carrier callant chatted awa wi' us in his broken English, never kennin' the while that ilka word was fa'in' like scaudin' lead into the heart b' puir Angus. He came to me that nicht at tatto beat, and said he could thole this life no anither minute, and that—come weal, come wae, he would gang off for Almendralejo, and save the lassie or dee wi' her. I did a' I could to pacify him, but he minded me nae mair than the wind whistlin' ower the muir. He came to me whan I was on sentry at the toon end. His een were glistening, his face was white, like that o' something no cannie, and his gartered knees were chaffing thegither. I grew eerie to look at him, for the nicht was dark and gloomy, and the wind came soughing doon frae the hills wi' a sound like the moan o' a deid man. Ae starnie was glintin on the hill-tap, and I saw the reflection o'd in the rinnin water,[*] which passes the toon wa's. Angus stretched his hands towards the bit starnie, and said it was shinin' ower Almendralejo then,—and may be, his ain true love was lookin' at it; and that it hung like a lamp in the mirky, lift to guide him to whar she bided.[*] The Alagona river, which passes Coria."'Hoots, havers!' said I, 'ye'll sune get ower'd; and may be that gomeral mule-driver's story o' auld Sancho's dochter was a' a lee,—every word o't. Gang hame to your bed, my man, and ye'll be better the morn.'"But he just gied an unco' sough, and wrung my loof, gaed doon the brae, and left me. Next morning Serjeant Macrone reported him absent frae parade, and then I kent that he had taen to the hills and was awa'. The black een o' that Spanish lass hae cuisten' a glamourie ower him waur than witchcraft. Amang the hills he fell in wi' Captain Blacier's company o' the 60th, some o' wha spiered the gate he was gaun? Angus couldna or wadna tell, and a fray o' some kind ensued atween him and the German loons: in the middle o't, Angus drew his bayonet on auld Blacier, for which he now lies in airns in ane o' the square toors o' Coria.""O the fool! Attempted to stab Blacier, did he?""Ay, an vera nigh stickit him i' the wame. Puir Angus! he ay hated thae thrawn gebbit Hanoverian dogs, as he ca'd them; for his faither, like yer ain, had been out in the forty-five,—wi' the Prince sae bauld and braw.""The unfortunate madman! he will surely die. It is death, by the articles of war, to draw weapon upon an officer.""So Serjeant Macrone says; but alake! Maister Ronald, I houp it will no come to that. Blacier is only a German, ye ken," said Evan, while his eyes began to glisten. "Surely the Cornel, Captain Seaton, or may be yoursel, will get him ower it. Angus and me hae ever been cronies and brithers syne the first day we met at La Nava, and I would be unco' laith to lose him noo. Ye ken hoo dowie ye were yoursel for mony a lang day after brave Maister Louis fell into the claws o' thae taid-eating loons, and no a' Maister Macdonald's jokes or merriment could rouse ye.""Prepare yourself for the worst, Evan. Your poor friend will certainly die, if this crime is proved against him." * * * *Stuart was one of the members of the general court-martial ordered to try this case, in which desertion was coupled with a flagrant act of insubordination. The court met in the palace of the bishop, as there was not another house in Coria containing an apartment fit for the purpose,—the town being very inconsiderable, having only about fifteen hundred inhabitants, although strongly defended by walls, towers, gates, and a very singular fortress, the ascent to which is by a flight of upwards of a hundred steps. From this strong-hold Mackie was brought before the court which was to decide his doom.The room in which it met, was gloomy and old, and the dim light from four mullioned windows fell uncertainly on the war-worn uniforms and well-bronzed faces of the officers seated around the table, on which lay paper, pens and ink, a bible, and the articles of war. The president, the Hon. Colonel Cadogan of the Highland Light Infantry, sat at the head; the judge-advocate, an officer of cavalry, stood at the foot of the table to read the charges,—the members taking their places according to their rank; the seniors on Cadogan's right, the juniors on his left. After the court had been sworn, by the president holding forth the bible, and every officer laying his hand upon it and swearing "duly to administer justice according to the rules and articles now in force for the better government of his Majesty's forces, without partiality, favour, or affection," the proceedings commenced. Pale, dejected, and apparently cast down to the lowest depths of mental misery, the unfortunate young Highlander stood before the military tribunal. His red coat, threadbare and patched with divers colours, his frittered tartans, and a deep scar on one of his sun-burnt knees, another on his cheek, gained at Corunna,—all bore witness for him of the service he had seen, but which was little cared for there, as all had served alike. Tall and erect he stood before them, glancing from one to another in a firm but respectful manner. One by one the evidences against him were examined, and he found no fault with what any man said of him. Seaton and Serjeant Duncan Macrone stated the time when his absence was first discovered, and the former spoke highly of his general character and conduct, and acquainted the court that his life had been twice saved by the prisoner,—first at the battle of Fuentes de Honore, in May 1811; and again at Arroya del Molino in the November of the same year, when he was encountered by two aides-de-camp of the Prince d'Aremberg during the action. Honest old Blacier, although the most aggrieved party, was unwilling to be the means of depriving the Highlander of existence, and taking his pipe from his mouth, gave his evidence with marked backwardness; he concluded by saying, "Dat he believed dehenckers knechtvas under de influence ob de pig-skins, order teufel, orzauberei, vich means de vitshcraft, and I vould not hab it on my conscience dat I occasioned a young man's being shot and sent toder teufelfor showing a bare blade ven his bloodt vas up; and I hope de coort' vill recommendt him to de tender mercy ob Lord Vellington, so dat he may be shaved.""Your wishes, with those of Captain Seaton, shall have due consideration with the court, Captain Blacier," replied the president; and the rifleman withdrew, puffing vehemently with his long pipe. When called upon to make his defence, the prisoner had little to say. He knew that any attempts to extenuate his double crime would be perfectly unavailing, and his knowledge of the rules of the service led him to anticipate his doom. Yet his keen grey eye never quailed or grew less bright, and his voice never faltered while he addressed the court in the following manner:—"Weel do I ken, sirs, that I have been acting wrang,—unco' wrang. I hae been guilty, in sae far that I abandoned my quarters, and was awa amang the hills; but I deny solemnly, and may I be haulden mansworn, if ever I ettled to desert, or gae ower to the enemy's colours. I was clean wud, and kenned na' at the time whar I was danderin' to. I tell your honours the truth, and I would scorn to affirm it wi' an aith, because I never tauld a lee in a' my days, and hae nae need to fib or flaw noo. But, sirs, I think there isna ane in this room that wadna hae dune as I did that nicht, when I kent that I was on the brink o' losing for ever and ay the winsome lass to whom I had plighted heart and troth; and I will affirm, gentlemen, that neither the danger or disgrace o' haeing it imputed to me that I abandoned my standard, could keep me frae trying to save her frae sic a tyrannical and avaricious auld carle as her faither. It has been said, in the 'crime,' that I was gaun the gate to the enemy's lines. Ablins I was, and ablins I wasna, for I was wading through a sea o' desperation,—I was dumbfounded and gane gyte that nicht, and it was a' after I had bent the bicker a gay gude while, as my comrade Evan Iverach has tauld unto ye."O sirs! I hope that ye will neither flog nor degrade me; but let me dee the death my crime is said to merit. Let me dee noo,—noo that I hae broucht sorrow and wae, sorrow and disgrace to my honest faither's fireside; for though he is but a puir auld cottar body at Braemar, it will bring his bald head to the grave if he hears I hae come to the halberts,[*]—it would be sic an awfu' disgrace! the haill kintra-side wad ring wi't. Let me rather die, sirs: I say again,—a hundred times I hae faced death, and I can easily face him ance mair. But it is whan I think o' my faither and mother at hame amang the heather hills,—struggling wi' eild and wi' poortith,—the ane herdin' sheep in bonnie Glenclunaidh amang the lang yellow broom, and the ither spinnin' hard at the ingle-neuk, whar I hae sae aften toddled at her knee,—'tis whan I think o' them that I am ready to orp and greet, and that my stout heart fails me,—a heart, sirs, that never failed on mony a bluidy day. I hae nae mair to say, your honours, but just that I humbly thank ye for hearing me sae lang, and that I wad as sune dee as live."[*] The triangles: three pikes were used in those days.This address, which was delivered with considerable vehemence and gesture, and spoken in a very northern and provincial dialect, was very little understood by those members of the court who were not Scotsmen; and Ronald Stuart, whose heart yearned with a truly Scottish love towards his countryman, explained to them the substance of what Mackie had said. He was found guilty of the seventh and eleventh articles in the second section of the articles of war; viz. desertion,—aggravated by an intention to join the enemy, and drawing, or offering to draw, upon "a superior officer." He was sent back to the fortress of Coria, and the proceedings and sentence of the court were despatched to head-quarters, with strong recommendations to mercy from Colonel Cadogan, and from Fassifern: but many months elapsed before an answer was returned, and during all that time the poor Highlander pined in the noisome vaults of the castle or fort of Coria. But of him, more anon.In consequence of the approach of the French under General Foy, the first brigade moved from Coria while the sentence of the unfortunate Mackie remained unknown,—every member of a court-martial being sworn to solemn secrecy. The 50th regiment occupied Bejar, so famous for its mineral wells, and some sharp fighting ensued in its neighbourhood; but Foy's troops were completely routed with great loss. The Highlanders occupied the beautiful village of Banos, which lies secluded in a deep and narrow valley between Leon and Estremadura, surrounded on every side by abrupt precipitous mountains, which are covered to their rugged summits by the richest foliage; but amid their caverns, fastnesses, and dingles lurk herds of wolves, the wildness and ferocity of which keep the inhabitants in a continual state of terror and alarm; and so daring had these savage animals become, that it was necessary to keep large fires burning at night around the village, to scare them from the posts of the sentinels.Soon after the regiment arrived at Banos, the sentence of Angus Mackie was ordered to be put in execution, having been approved of by the proper authorities. On the retreat from Burgos some symptoms of insubordination had appeared among the other brigades, when the soldiers became maddened by the miseries they underwent; an officer of "the buffs" had been shot by a soldier of that regiment. In other corps discipline seemed almost set at nought, and it was determined that an example should be made. The private of the 3rd regiment was hanged, and Angus Mackie, who, although far less criminal, had been convicted of desertion and insubordination, was sentenced to be shot to death in presence of his comrades, who among themselves deeply pitied and deplored that so gallant a lad should suffer so severe a sentence for his exaggerated crime. No charge of injustice could be laid to the account of the court which tried him, the "finding" of its members having been regulated by the stern but necessary articles of the Mutiny Act. Many months had passed away since his trial; the first excitement of the affair had died away, and during all that time he had been confined in the dreary fort of Coria,—a sufficient punishment alone for the crime he had committed.This unhappy affair cast a gloom over the whole regiment,—a gloom which was apparent in every face, as the unwilling Highlanders paraded in the valley of Banos to witness his execution.It was in the month of May 1813; the evening was a still and beautiful one. The sun was verging towards the west, and his crimson rays streamed through the deep dark dell, upon the vine-clad cottages and sylvan amphitheatre of Banos. Concentrated in that narrow and gloomy glen, where the immense mountains rose on every side to the height of many hundred feet, and where crags and rocks shot up in cones and fantastic spires, almost excluding the light of day from the little huts at the bottom of the dell, were the seventeen infantry regiments of the second division, together with the cavalry, drawn up on the steep faces of the hills, so that the rear ranks might overlook the front. The paisanos of the secluded village, awe-struck at the unusual scene, and the sight of so many thousand steel weapons glittering amid such dense masses of foreign soldiers, forsook their cottages and clustered together on the summit of a steep rock, to behold the fatal event. The troops formed three faces of a hollow square; the rock upon which the peasants were congregated occupied the vacant space. A spot of velvet turf, the village-green, stretched to the foot of it, and there was dug a grave,—a grave for the yet living man; the wet damp earth heaped up on one side of it, the rolls of turf and a rough deal coffin lay on the other. Near these stood the base-drum of the Gordon Highlanders; a bible and a prayer-book lay open upon its head.The Highlanders formed the inner faces of the square.All was solemn silence and expectation; not a whisper was heard through all that dense array; not a sound smote the ear save the rustle of the summer foliage, as the evening wind stirred the tall chesnuts or rich green cork-trees which nodded from the black precipices. The general, the staff and field-officers were all on horseback, but remained motionless. At last it was known that the doomed man was approaching, and the arms of the escort that conducted him were seen flashing in the sunlight, as they descended from the hill tops by the winding pathway which led to the bottom of the valley. Sir Rowland Hill touched his hat to an aide-de-camp, who then passed among the troops at a hand gallop, whispering to each commanding-officer; the words of command to fix bayonets and shoulder arms were immediately given, and before the varying tones of the different colonels died away, the prisoner appeared amid the square surrounded by his escort, under charge of the provost-marshal. His own corps, I have said, was in front, and he moved slowly along the silent ranks with downcast eyes towards the spot where his grave and coffin lay displayed. He drew near the former, and cast a glance into its gloomy depth and, shuddering, turned his back upon it, muttering: "I would just be sax and twenty the morn. Sax and twenty! oh, it's an unco thing to dee sae young. O my faither—my mither!" he groaned aloud; "farewell to you—to auld Scotland, and a' I hae loed sae lang and weel! It will be a sair trial to my kinsfolk in Glenclunaidh, when they see my name on the kirk doors o' Braemar—as ane that has dee'd wi' disgrace on his broo."[*][*] By the military regulations, the names of soldiers who behave meritoriously, or misbehave themselves grossly, are affixed to the church-doors of the parish in which they were born. In Highland regiments the threat of informing friends at home of a soldier's misconduct was sufficient to keep him in order for the time to come.He was clad in his white undress-jacket and kilt, and stood bareheaded, with his bonnet in his hand. He was pale and emaciated with long confinement, but his bearing was firm and as soldier-like as ever. His eyes seemed unusually bright, and at times a red flush crossed his otherwise deadly pale cheek. There were two aged monks from the San Ferdinando convent of Candeleria present, but the Highlander refused to hear or communicate with them. Yet the honest friars were determined not to abandon him in his last hour, and withdrawing to a little distance, they placed a crucifix against a fragment of rock and prayed earnestly, with true catholic fervour, to that all-wise Power above, before which the soul of one they deemed a heretic was so soon to appear.There was no chaplain present with the troops; but the prisoner was attended by the venerable Dugald-Mhor, who walked slowly beside him bare-headed, with his bonnet under his arm. He read portions of the Scripture from an old dog-eared bible, which he produced from hissporran molloch; and the low solemn tones in which he read could be distinctly heard by all, so very still was the place; and as the hand of the village-clock approached the hour at which the soldier was to die, a deeper sadness fell upon the hearts of the beholders, who, although long accustomed to all the heart-harrowing scenes of war, had never before witnessed a death in so solemn and peculiar a manner.Mackie and his attendant sung together the hymn—"The hour of my departure's come," &c.and when it was concluded, the hand of the clock on the alcalde's house wanted but five minutes of the hour. The soldier cast a hasty glance towards it, and, falling upon his knees, covered his face with his hands and burst out into an agony of prayer, from which he was only aroused by the seven strokes of the last hour he would ever hear on earth striking from the dull-toned bell.His last moment was come!When the sound ceased, Cameron of Fassifern and his field-officers dismounted from their horses, which were led away, and the provost-marshal drew up a section of twelve soldiers opposite where the prisoner yet knelt on the turf.Many of his comrades now took their last farewell of him; and Evan Iverach, to whom he had given seven pounds, saved from his pay while prisoner at Coria, to send to his parents at Braemar, retired to his place in the ranks with tearless eyes, because Evan had a mistaken idea, that to have shown signs of deep emotion would have been unmanly. But that night, in his billet, honest Evan wept like a woman for the loss of his comrade and friend. During the bandaging of Mackie's eyes, Fassifern took off his bonnet, and kneeling down, commanded his regiment to do so likewise. As one man the Highlanders bent their bare knees to the sod, joining, as they did so, in the solemn psalm which Dugald and the prisoner had begun to sing. It was a sad and mournful Scottish air, one which every Scotsman present had been accustomed to hear sung in their village kirks or fathers' cottages in boyhood. It softened and subdued their hearts, carrying back their recollections to their childhood, and to years that had passed away into eternity. Many heard it chanted then for the first time since their native hills had faded from their sight, and as the strain died away through the deep and narrow vale of Banos, it found an echo in every breast.Dugald closed his bible, and, placing a handkerchief in the hand of the prisoner, withdrew, and covering his wrinkled face with his bonnet, knelt down also. Now came the duty of the provost-marshal, whose unwilling detachment consisted of twelve picked men, of disorderly character, on whom, as a punishment, fell the lot of slaying their comrade.With his eyes blindfolded, the unfortunate Highlander knelt down between his coffin and his grave, and, without quivering once, dropped his handkerchief."Section!" cried the provost-marshal, "'ready—present—fire!" The words followed each other in rapid succession, and the echoes of the death-shot were reverberated like thunder among the hills around. A shriek burst from the females of the village. Red blood was seen to spout forth from many a wound in the form of the prisoner; he sprung convulsively upwards, and then fell backward dead on the damp gravel, which was so soon to cover him.The hearts of all began to beat more freely; but at that moment the red sun sank behind the darkening hills, and a deeper gloom enveloped Banos, the effect of which was not lost on the minds of the beholders.All was over now! The corse lay stretched on the ground, and the smoke of the musquetry was curling around the grave which yawned beside it. Cameron sprung on his horse, and his voice was the first to break the oppressive silence. The shrill pipes sounded, and the rattling drums beat merrily in the re-echoing vale, as corps after corps marched past the spot where the body of Mackie, though breathless, lay yet bleeding, and moved up the winding pathway towards the pass of Banos, whence by different routes they marched to their cantonments in the villages and camps among the mountains. When all had passed away, the pioneers placed the dead man in his coffin, and covered him hurriedly up; the sods were carefully deposited over and beaten down with the shovel, and the grave of the man who had been living but ten minutes before, presented now the same appearance as the resting-place of one who had been many years entombed. The weeds and the long grass waved over it.The villagepaisanosplaced a rough wooden cross above it, to prevent, as they said, "the heretic from haunting the resting-place of his bones;" and near this rude emblem was placed a vine, which Evan Iverach tended daily—clearing its root of weeds and encumbrances, watching and pruning the stem, and long before the regiment left Banos he had twined it around and hidden the limbs of the cross; and when the Highlanders marched from the valley, as they wound through a deep defile among the mountains Evan's farewell look was cast to the place where the vine-covered cross marked the grave of his comrade.CHAPTER V.AN ADVENTURE. A HIGHLAND LEGEND."And such a phantom, too, 'tis said,With Highland broad-sword, targe and plaid,And fingers red with gore,Is seen in Rothiemurchus glade."Marmion.Before the regiment left Banos to take the field again, Ronald had an unlooked-for adventure with a fierce denizen of the neighbouring mountains, which nearly cost him his life.There was a certain part of the hills, from which the valley of Banos strongly resembled his native place, Strathonan, but on a much smaller scale; and thither Stuart was in the habit of repairing almost daily, to indulge freely in those long reveries so usual to a Highlander, and enjoy the beauty of the prospect which bore so near a resemblance to his home. A slight effort of the imagination made it at once Strathonan, near the source of that celebrated trout-stream, the Isla; but the sound of the guitar and castanets came on the wind instead of the war-pipe of Albyn, and destroyed the illusion. There were neither bucks nor roes bounding over the mountain-slope; and instead of the plaided shepherd or agile huntsman starting from the copsewood, a lazy yet handsome Spanish peasant appeared at times, sauntering slowly along, clad in his short brown jacket tied round the waist by a broad yellow scarf, leather gaiters bound with red thongs, a cigar in his mouth, a staff in his hand, and a stiletto in his girdle. Often did a figure wearing this romantic dress, or enveloped in a huge brown mantle, appear on the solitary pathways of the hills. Far down below, on the village green, instead of the lively strathspey or martial gilliechallium,[*] the graceful fandango or bolero was danced by the athleticpaisanosand olive-cheeked girls of the valley.[*] Sword dance.His patron had often warned him of the danger which he incurred, by wandering so far among mountains so much infested by wolves; but Stuart always considered himself safe enough, as he never went without his sword and dirk. His host acquainted him with many wonderful tales of men having been killed and devoured by them among the wild places; and said that, within his recollection, nearly twenty children had been carried off from the very heart of the village."Senor," said he, on one occasion, "you can know little of the nature of the wolf, as perhaps there are none now in your country; but they have the cunning of the fox, together with the strength and ferocity of the tiger. On entering the village in the evening, he moves about with careful and stealthy paces; and when he seizes on a child, grasps it by the throat so as to prevent it giving a single cry, and bears it away to the recesses among the hills. I have known of a lad of fourteen being carried off thus. A man belonging to the village, a brave guerilla of Mina's band, was attacked one evening in the pass of Banos by a band of wolves. He slew three with his rifle and poniard, but the others tore him to fragments. This brought the attention of senores the alcaldes of the valley[*] to the matter, and they offered a reward of eighty reals, or four duros, for each wolf's head brought to their houses, and forthwith war was proclaimed against these fierce inhabitants of the sierras.[*] Banos is divided into two districts, each ruled by its own alcalde; the northern part of the village lies in Leon, and the southern in Estremadura."A dozen hides and heads were brought in weekly, and we continued this dangerous sport until the British entered the valley, when firing in the neighbourhood could no longer be continued. Since we acted upon the offensive, the wolves have become more shy and never enter the vale, but it is death to encounter the herds on their own ground; therefore I would pray you, senor, if you value your own safety, never to wander about as you are pleased to do."Ronald thanked the worthy vine-dresser for his advice and good-wishes, but laughed at his fears about the wolves, and told him that while he was armed with his sword, he considered himself secure against any such antagonists; and so continued to ramble about as usual.One evening, while he was surveying the valley from his old post when the sun was setting, he became overpowered with the heat of the atmosphere and the fatigue of a long walk, and fell fast asleep beside a rude wooden cross, erected to mark the spot where the onlyabogadowho ever appeared in Banos had been poniarded by his first client for unfair dealing. How long Stuart slept there he had no idea, but while dreaming that he had that worthy clerk to the royal signet, Mr. Macquirk, among the mountains of Banos, even close to the abogado's cross, and was about to take summary vengeance upon him for the manner in which he had bamboozled and swindled the old gentleman at Lochisla, he was awakened in a very disagreeable manner by something grasping him roughly by the throat. With the rapidity of light all the stories he had heard of the wolves flashed upon his memory. He was fully awake in an instant, and found himself grappling and struggling savagely with one of those terrible animals, by moonlight, on a solitary hillside many miles away from the village, where the watch-fires of the guard-houses could be seen twinkling afar off at the bottom of the deep valley, like red stars. His brass gorget and the massive lace, on the collar of the coat, together with a stout military stock, had saved his neck from the fangs of the gigantic wolf, which, by straining every energy of strength and courage, or rather desperation, he grasped with a ferocity almost equal to its own, and retaining his hold, threw upon the turf beside him. Its struggles were terrible, and his hands, which encircled its tough and brawny throat, were torn by its claws; yet he never relaxed his iron clutch until the breath and strength of his antagonist began to fail, and then putting his right hand to his side for his Highland dirk, he remembered with rage and anguish that it was left behind at his billet. The moment was indeed a critical one. Two other wolves were approaching the spot cautiously, and Stuart, remembering how often he had heard of their overpowering man by numbers, considered himself for ever lost. It was like some horrible dream, and his heart became filled with an agony of horror and alarm which it had never known before."Heaven help me now!" gasped he. "Ah! had I only my dirk, or even askene-dhu, they would be welcome." He cried aloud for aid, but the cries were feeble, as his tongue was swollen and clove to his palate with the keenness of his terror; and ere the echoes of his last shout died away, he was struggling with the others, and was endeavouring to elude their fangs by rolling over and over, and fighting fiercely with hands and feet. Scarcely had the two wolves come to the aid of their half-burked comrade, ere Stuart imagined that other sounds than the echoes of his cry reverberated through the wilderness. It was—what? the halloo of a true Highland huntsman!"Hoigh! Diaoul! what's a' this?" cried Dugald Mhor Cameron, plunging headlong among them, with a long dirk gleaming in his right hand and askene-dhuin his left. One wolf fled, another was pierced thrice to the vitals by Dugald's dirk, and rolled away for several yards, tearing up the earth in rage and agony, until it was finally destroyed by the sharp black knife being drawn across its thick throat by Dugald, who handled it well, being an adroit deer-stalker. The other savage, which had been so gallantly grasped by Ronald, he dispatched by repeated stabs of the dirk, which he drove home to the hilt, sending eighteen inches of cold iron into the body at every stroke. While this passed, poor Stuart, exhausted and overcome, sank backward on the turf, just as Fassifern rode up with his claymore drawn."I trust we have not been too late," he cried earnestly, as he leapt from his horse, which had been snorting and shying aside from the scene of the fray. "I am sure, Dugald, we answered to his first cry. He is one of ours; an officer too,—Stuart, by heavens!""But for Dugald's prompt and gallant succour, all would have been over with me by this time, colonel," said Ronald, as with difficulty he staggered up from the turf, which was plentifully besprinkled with the blood of his enemies."Are you hurt in any way?" was the eager inquiry of both."My hands are torn a little; but my sash and coat are all rent to fritters.""How opportunely Dugald came to save you!""Opportune, indeed! I will never be able to repay him for this night's work.""Ochone! Mr. Stuart," replied the old man, who was cleaning his weapons in his plaid, "dinna say a word about thanks; keep a' them for the kernel there.""I was coming over the mountains from Candeleria," said Fassifern, "where I have been president of a court-martial. Your cries alarmed us within a few yards of this old cross, and my horse began to snort and rear, refusing to advance a step; but trusty Dugald went headlong on, and with his short weapons, I see, has done you right good service. 'Tis well the matter is no worse, and had the wolves not given you so severe a mauling, Stuart," added the colonel with a smile, as he put his foot in his stirrup, "I should have sent Claude for your sword again. You know you should never be without your arms, or forget the order against strolling more than two miles from camp or quarters. By my word, these were no ordinary foes to contend with, these wolves; they are larger than Highland shelties, and their skins will be a prize for thepaisanosin the morning, for Dugald is, of course, too proud to take fee or reward from the alcaldes.""I have escaped their maws by a miracle," said Stuart, yet gasping with the excitement of the fierce struggle."By nae miracle at all, sir," said old Dugald, "by nae miracle; but just by the help o' a teuch auld carle's hand and the bit cauld iron; and I assure your honours, I wad rather face a thoosand rampaugin wolves, than ae kelpie, habgoblin, wraith, spunkie, sheeted ghaist, deadlicht, broonie, or ony ither scrap o' deevildom sae common at name in the Hielands. Hoich, sirs! it was indeed nae sma' matter to cut the weasens o' thae awfu' monsters o' wolves; but," said he, holding aloft his long Highland dagger, which flashed back the rays of the moon, "but that is a blade that has rung on the target o' thelham-dearg; and afterthat, what could a bold hand not do wi' it?""On the target of who?" asked Ronald."Thelham-dearg, sir.""The words are Gaelic; but who is he?""A spirit wi' a bloody hand, that haunts at the mirk hour the wood o' Glenmore, in the Grants' country.""What has this to do with your dirk?" said Stuart, who became interested in every thing which looked like a northern legend."Pooh!" said Cameron; "'tis an old ghost story, and not one of Dugald's prime ones. But he is as prosy with his legends, as Colin Campbell is about Egypt and Ralph Abercrombie.""He doesna believe it noo," muttered Dugald, shaking his white hairs sorrowfully; "but when he was a bairn at hame in Fassifern-house, I hae made his vera lugs tingle wi' fear at the name o' thelham-dearg, and he used to grane and greet for a licht that he micht see to sleep, as he said; and in thae days he wadna hae gane into a dark place, to be made king o' the braw Highlands frae Castle Grant to Lochaber. But noo wars and campaigning hae learned him to scoff at a' thae matters, though his faither, the laird, (gude guide him!) a man as auld as mysel, believes every word o' them. I daursay, he doesna believe noo that deidlichts burn on the piper's grave in the auld kirk-yaird at hame; or that spunkies and fairies bide in the glen o' Auchnacarry, kelpies in Loch-Archaig, or that thedaoine shiehaunt the dark holes, cairns, round rings, and unco' places o' the Corrie-nan-gaul in Knoydart, where I mysel hae seen them dancing tulloch-gorm in the bonnie moonlicht.""Certainly not, Dugald. What I believed when a child, will scarcely pass now for truth; and I believe you never saw any thing unearthly until Ferintosh had swelled your belt to bursting. Come, Dugald, acknowledge this to be true," said Cameron, laughing."May be ye'll no believe in the red-cap, that haunts the auld tower at Archaig; and may be no in the verataisch?" said the old servitor in a voice approaching to a groan at the other's apostasy. "Ochone, may be no! although I mysel saw bluid on his hand, and tauld him o' it the day before the shot struck him there at the battle of Arroya del Molino.""Dugald," said the colonel, "I will not argue with you about the second sight, because I know you have some pretensions to the character of ataischatr. You certainly have me at vantage there, and your prediction about the shot at Arroya came true; and exactly twenty-four hours after you said my hand dropped blood, a musquet-shot passed through it. A very singular coincidence indeed.""It was nane," replied the old Gael firmly, "it was nane; and I saw the shot before it came, because there was a wreath before my een, and a' the power o' thetaischwas in me.""Well, Stuart, what think you of the second sight?"Ronald was loath to express his disbelief in this superstition, which found a disciple in the colonel, and so hesitated to reply."I see you are too true a Highlander to disbelieve in its existence, and yet you are reluctant to acknowledge the truth," said Fassifern laughing, while he mistook the other's meaning. "But let us reach Banos, and over some of the bottled sherry which I lately got from Lisbon we will discuss these matters, and hear Dugald's story of the spirit of Glenmore, which if you are at all superstitious might have too much effect if related by him in Gaelic by moonlight, and on a lonely hill-side."This proposal was at once accepted, and they began to descend the narrow and winding pathway which led from the rugged summits of the sierra towards the village. Dugald advanced in front, leading the horse of Cameron, who followed behind with Stuart. The latter thanked his stars for escaping from his late encounter so easily, having only sustained a few severe scratches and bruises. While enjoying some of the colonel's pure bottled sherry, a rarity in Spain, where the wine is ever kept in greasy hog-skins, Ronald soon forgot his disagreeable adventure at the abogado's cross. Dugald who, in consideration of his venerable age and relationship to Fassifern (being a fortieth cousin or so), was seated at the table, partook of the wine, and to wile away the time related in Gaelic the Highland legend he had referred to. Many readers may consider it a foolish, perhaps an intrusive tale altogether; but had they heard it far away from home, in a hut at Banos, related in expressive and poetical Gaelic by such a reverend and warrior-looking old man as Dugald Cameron, it would have had a very different effect from what it can ever produce when related in plain and unvarnished English, stripped of all the Ossianic description and style in which Ronald Stuart first heard it.
CHAPTER IV.
ANGUS MACKIE.
"The bud comes back to summer,And the blossom to the tree;But I win back—oh, never!To my ain countrie.I'm leal to the high heaven,Which will be leal to me;And there I'll meet ye a' sune,Frae my ain countrie."Scottish Song.
"The bud comes back to summer,And the blossom to the tree;But I win back—oh, never!To my ain countrie.I'm leal to the high heaven,Which will be leal to me;And there I'll meet ye a' sune,Frae my ain countrie."Scottish Song.
"The bud comes back to summer,
And the blossom to the tree;
And the blossom to the tree;
But I win back—oh, never!
To my ain countrie.
To my ain countrie.
I'm leal to the high heaven,
Which will be leal to me;
Which will be leal to me;
And there I'll meet ye a' sune,
Frae my ain countrie."Scottish Song.
Frae my ain countrie."
Scottish Song.
Scottish Song.
In the beginning of the next month the Highlanders were marched across the Sierra de Gate to the ancient city of Coria, in Estremadura, where they were to remain until they had recovered from their late fatigues, and received recruits, clothing, supplies, and arrears of pay from Lisbon. While on the march across the sierra, Evan's comrade, Angus Mackie, a soldier of whom I have made frequent mention, deserted from the light company, and, singularly enough, was discovered to have gone off in the direction of the enemy,—a circumstance which exasperated the whole regiment against him. But the true reason of poor Mackie's disappearance soon afterwards came to light.
On the second day after their arrival at Coria, the mail bags were brought from the rear, and Ronald, who was on guard with twenty Highlanders at one of the four gates of the city, was much annoyed at being unable to inquire if any letters had come for him, and he passed the whole day in a disagreeable state of expectation and excitement. In the evening the guards were relieved, and he hurried to his billet, which was situated in one of the narrow and gloomy streets leading from the market-place towards the cathedral. At the door he was met by Evan, who informed him that "twa letters frae hame were awaiting him in his room. Major Campbell had left them there some time before."
"Foolish! Why did you not bring them to the guard-house?"
"But alake, sir! there isna ane for me," said Evan, without minding the question. "My faither micht hae sent me ae screed, and I houp that naething waur than the broon coo—(as he ay ca'd the yill), or a wee drap ower muckle o' the barley bree, have keepit him fraed."
"A light, Evan! a light! this place is very dark," cried Ronald to his retainer, who had followed him up stairs to hear what news the letter contained.
"Twa candles, sir," said he, as he lighted them. "Twa, nae less. By the alcalde's order, the auld patron body has to furnish ye wi' twa,—which maks ye 'as braw as the Laird o' Grant.' Ye mind the auld saying, I daur say?"
Ronald snatched the letters, and beheld with joy and delight that one was from Alice,—the other from his father.
"Poor Louis!" muttered he aloud; "how much I wish that he was here!" Ronald was absolutely trembling with joy as he opened the letter and prepared to read it.
He drew his chair close to the table, and raised the snuffers to trim the candles; when, lo! the lights were both blown out, and the snuffers flew from his hand with a loud report.
"Gude guide us!" exclaimed Evan, astonished at being so suddenly involved in darkness; but a hearty malediction escaped Ronald, who was chafed and infuriated with the delay this unexpected circumstance caused.
"Light them again," cried he. "Did you say that Major Campbell had been waiting for me in this room?"
"Ay, sir, a gay gude while,"
"Pshaw! this is some trick of his: he has put a pinch of powder in the snuffers. His practical joke has been somewhat mis-timed. Get me fresh lights." Although Ronald laughed heartily at this occurrence afterwards, he was greatly enraged by it at the time, and an age seemed to elapse before Evan brought him the candles again. Love-letters are interesting to those only for whom they are designed, and it is not my intention to give Miss Lisle's letter at length; but the reader, if concerned about the matter, may be assured that its contents were in every way just what Ronald could have wished them,—save in one part. She expressed her joy to hear that Louis was a prisoner, saying that he was "safer in France than fighting in Spain," and that she almost wished that Ronald himself might be captured likewise, to keep him out of harm's way.
"Evan, Jessie Cavers begs again to be remembered to you," said Ronald to his expectant follower, as he closed the letter.
"Does she really, noo? The dear lassie!" cried he, snapping his fingers, while his eyes glistened with delight; and he commenced a sort of strathspey round the table. "My ain bonnie blithesome Jessie! Mony a gloaming I have spent wi' her among the sauch-tree woods o' Inchavon, and the haughs o' the Isla. Deil tak the wars and campaigning! How blithely would I gie this unco land o' teuch beef and rotten nuts, hard fechtin and wearysome marching, for auld Scotland, sae brave and sae bonnie, wi' its green grassy glens and high heather hills, its lochs and its woods! Ochone! Oh, Maister Ronald! gin we once mair saw Benmore, and fand the smell o' oor ain peat reek, I dinna think we would be in a hurry to leave hame again. And then Miss Lisle o' the big ha' house would be your ain, and my bonnie doo Jessie mine! I have written to her three times, and deil a scrap o' a letter has she sent me. She writes weil aneugh, thanks to the auld dominie at the schule o' Latheronweel. But what does the laird say? Are a' weil at oor ain ingle-neuck?"
"All, Heaven be thanked!" replied Ronald, glancing rapidly over the pages of his father's letter; "but leave me just now, Evan, and see who that is knocking in the piazzas below. I will detail the news from the glen afterwards."
His father's letter, although it contained many expressions of pride, praise, and exultation for Ronald's conduct at Almarez, was written much in the same style as his others usually were: every thing was looking gloomy at home; the flocks and hirsels were perishing on the mountains, and the tenants in the glen had failed in their rents. "But they are our people," continued the old gentleman, "and I cannot drive them forth from the sheilings where they were born, and from the glen where the purple heather blooms so bonnily above the graves of their fathers. I cannot savagely expatriate, as other proprietors are doing daily, the descendants of those true and loyal vassals, who stood by our ancestors in danger and death during many a soul-stirring time in the years that are gone. No! I have more honour, compassion, and generosity. Poverty is their misfortune, not their crime. Heaven knows how little a space of time remains for me to be over them, as all my affairs are inextricably involved, and in a few months that letter of cautionary, granted in an evil hour to protect that rascal Macquirk, becomes due. God alone knows where I can raise the money. £8,000 will scarcely pay it, and I believe I will have to lay it down every stiver, as Macquirk has retreated to the sanctuary of Holyrood-house for protection from his creditors. Last month I was down in Edinburgh, endeavouring to procure the needful on a bond,—but in vain. Lochisla is too deeply involved already. Curse on the hour in which an honourable Highland gentleman of birth and family has to sue at and succumb to a narrow-hearted and blood-sucking attorney! a wretch that will make a beggar of any man who is simple enough to trust him, or become entangled in the meshes oftheprofession, which, like a true old Highlander, I regard with proper hatred and contempt. D—n them all! I say, heartily; and all tax-gatherers, messengers at arms, and excisemen likewise! Some of the last kind of intruders carried off Alpin Oig's still from Coir nan Taischatrin, and a great noise was made in Perth about it. Three came up the glen with a warrant for his apprehension; but I hid him in the old dungeon under the hall, where I would advise them not to try and look for him, if they wish to keep their bones whole. It was a great insult to seize the still, but I am powerless now, and can only think with a sigh of the time when my father hung two of them on thedule treeat the tower gate,—and no man dared to say, What dost thou? It was the day before he marched for Glenfinnan, and the unfortunate gaugers were left to feed the eagles and corbies of Benmore. Scotland was Scotland then! Dirk and claymore! was the cry when a Highland gentleman was insulted. I saw, by the papers, that young Inchavon has been taken prisoner. Well, I dare say you will not miss him much. His sister's arts have completely failed to entrap the Earl of Hyndford. He took his departure suddenly for Edinburgh last month, leaving Miss Alice to fly her hawks at lesser game."
Ronald had scarcely finished the perusal of this disheartening letter, when Evan entered hastily. "Oh, sir," said he, "I have an unco' tale to tell ye aboot my comrade Angus,—puir cheild."
"How! has he been robbed by picaros,—slain byguerillas, or what?"
"O, waur than a' that."
"He deserted in the direction of the enemy; I was sorry to hear of it. He was always a favourite of mine and of Seaton's. Did he reach the French lines?"
"Eh, no, sir! Captain Blacier's riflemen fell in wi' him amang the hills, and there has been an unco' tulzie. But weel do I ken for what puir Angus deserted. It wasna the French he was awa to join; he was off for Almendralejo, sir."
"Almendralejo! Stay; I remember a story now. Surely it was not his attachment to some girl there which led him to commit so rash an act?"
"Just naething else. O Maister Ronald, ye ken weel what an unco' thing love is."
"I have seen the girl,—Maria Garcionados."
"Ay, sir,—a bonnie lassie, wi' een like slaes, cheeks redder than rowans, and skin like the drifted snaw; but she has been a dooms unlucky jo for Angus. I'll tell ye the haill story. Ye maun ken, sir, that mony months gane past, when we were quartered in Almendralejo, Angus fell over the lugs in love wi' this braw gilpie, whan we were billeted in her ain house. Ye heard frae Mr. Macdonald o' the toosle we had wi' her cuisins, and unco' auld Turk o' a faither. Hech! it was a teugh job, wi' sharp skenes and bayonets, and a' that. Weel, sir; syne the day Angus first tint sicht o' that lassie, he has never been the same rattling, roaring kind o' chield he was; but ay wae and dowie, soughing and sighing till it was gruesome to hear him. Yesterday, or the day before it, when coming ower the hills,—ye mind the bit clachan we stoppit at for a night's rest?"
"Los Cazas de Don Gomez?"
"Ay, sir, just sae,—a deevil o' a lang nebbit name! At a wine-house there Angus and I forgathered wi' a muleteer loon frae Almendralejo,—Lazaro Gomez, he ca'd himsel. Ye'll may be mind o' him?"
"Perfectly; but be quick with your story."
"Aweel, sir, the mule-driver gied us a' the news and clashin frae aboot Merida and ither places, and amang ither things tauld Angus that auld Sancho Garcionados,—orel Picaro, as the Spaniards ay ca' a lawyer, was gaun to compel the lassie, whether she wad or no, to marry a rich alcalde. Od, sir! I never saw a face change as puir Mackie's did, while the carrier callant chatted awa wi' us in his broken English, never kennin' the while that ilka word was fa'in' like scaudin' lead into the heart b' puir Angus. He came to me that nicht at tatto beat, and said he could thole this life no anither minute, and that—come weal, come wae, he would gang off for Almendralejo, and save the lassie or dee wi' her. I did a' I could to pacify him, but he minded me nae mair than the wind whistlin' ower the muir. He came to me whan I was on sentry at the toon end. His een were glistening, his face was white, like that o' something no cannie, and his gartered knees were chaffing thegither. I grew eerie to look at him, for the nicht was dark and gloomy, and the wind came soughing doon frae the hills wi' a sound like the moan o' a deid man. Ae starnie was glintin on the hill-tap, and I saw the reflection o'd in the rinnin water,[*] which passes the toon wa's. Angus stretched his hands towards the bit starnie, and said it was shinin' ower Almendralejo then,—and may be, his ain true love was lookin' at it; and that it hung like a lamp in the mirky, lift to guide him to whar she bided.
[*] The Alagona river, which passes Coria.
"'Hoots, havers!' said I, 'ye'll sune get ower'd; and may be that gomeral mule-driver's story o' auld Sancho's dochter was a' a lee,—every word o't. Gang hame to your bed, my man, and ye'll be better the morn.'
"But he just gied an unco' sough, and wrung my loof, gaed doon the brae, and left me. Next morning Serjeant Macrone reported him absent frae parade, and then I kent that he had taen to the hills and was awa'. The black een o' that Spanish lass hae cuisten' a glamourie ower him waur than witchcraft. Amang the hills he fell in wi' Captain Blacier's company o' the 60th, some o' wha spiered the gate he was gaun? Angus couldna or wadna tell, and a fray o' some kind ensued atween him and the German loons: in the middle o't, Angus drew his bayonet on auld Blacier, for which he now lies in airns in ane o' the square toors o' Coria."
"O the fool! Attempted to stab Blacier, did he?"
"Ay, an vera nigh stickit him i' the wame. Puir Angus! he ay hated thae thrawn gebbit Hanoverian dogs, as he ca'd them; for his faither, like yer ain, had been out in the forty-five,—wi' the Prince sae bauld and braw."
"The unfortunate madman! he will surely die. It is death, by the articles of war, to draw weapon upon an officer."
"So Serjeant Macrone says; but alake! Maister Ronald, I houp it will no come to that. Blacier is only a German, ye ken," said Evan, while his eyes began to glisten. "Surely the Cornel, Captain Seaton, or may be yoursel, will get him ower it. Angus and me hae ever been cronies and brithers syne the first day we met at La Nava, and I would be unco' laith to lose him noo. Ye ken hoo dowie ye were yoursel for mony a lang day after brave Maister Louis fell into the claws o' thae taid-eating loons, and no a' Maister Macdonald's jokes or merriment could rouse ye."
"Prepare yourself for the worst, Evan. Your poor friend will certainly die, if this crime is proved against him." * * * *
Stuart was one of the members of the general court-martial ordered to try this case, in which desertion was coupled with a flagrant act of insubordination. The court met in the palace of the bishop, as there was not another house in Coria containing an apartment fit for the purpose,—the town being very inconsiderable, having only about fifteen hundred inhabitants, although strongly defended by walls, towers, gates, and a very singular fortress, the ascent to which is by a flight of upwards of a hundred steps. From this strong-hold Mackie was brought before the court which was to decide his doom.
The room in which it met, was gloomy and old, and the dim light from four mullioned windows fell uncertainly on the war-worn uniforms and well-bronzed faces of the officers seated around the table, on which lay paper, pens and ink, a bible, and the articles of war. The president, the Hon. Colonel Cadogan of the Highland Light Infantry, sat at the head; the judge-advocate, an officer of cavalry, stood at the foot of the table to read the charges,—the members taking their places according to their rank; the seniors on Cadogan's right, the juniors on his left. After the court had been sworn, by the president holding forth the bible, and every officer laying his hand upon it and swearing "duly to administer justice according to the rules and articles now in force for the better government of his Majesty's forces, without partiality, favour, or affection," the proceedings commenced. Pale, dejected, and apparently cast down to the lowest depths of mental misery, the unfortunate young Highlander stood before the military tribunal. His red coat, threadbare and patched with divers colours, his frittered tartans, and a deep scar on one of his sun-burnt knees, another on his cheek, gained at Corunna,—all bore witness for him of the service he had seen, but which was little cared for there, as all had served alike. Tall and erect he stood before them, glancing from one to another in a firm but respectful manner. One by one the evidences against him were examined, and he found no fault with what any man said of him. Seaton and Serjeant Duncan Macrone stated the time when his absence was first discovered, and the former spoke highly of his general character and conduct, and acquainted the court that his life had been twice saved by the prisoner,—first at the battle of Fuentes de Honore, in May 1811; and again at Arroya del Molino in the November of the same year, when he was encountered by two aides-de-camp of the Prince d'Aremberg during the action. Honest old Blacier, although the most aggrieved party, was unwilling to be the means of depriving the Highlander of existence, and taking his pipe from his mouth, gave his evidence with marked backwardness; he concluded by saying, "Dat he believed dehenckers knechtvas under de influence ob de pig-skins, order teufel, orzauberei, vich means de vitshcraft, and I vould not hab it on my conscience dat I occasioned a young man's being shot and sent toder teufelfor showing a bare blade ven his bloodt vas up; and I hope de coort' vill recommendt him to de tender mercy ob Lord Vellington, so dat he may be shaved."
"Your wishes, with those of Captain Seaton, shall have due consideration with the court, Captain Blacier," replied the president; and the rifleman withdrew, puffing vehemently with his long pipe. When called upon to make his defence, the prisoner had little to say. He knew that any attempts to extenuate his double crime would be perfectly unavailing, and his knowledge of the rules of the service led him to anticipate his doom. Yet his keen grey eye never quailed or grew less bright, and his voice never faltered while he addressed the court in the following manner:—
"Weel do I ken, sirs, that I have been acting wrang,—unco' wrang. I hae been guilty, in sae far that I abandoned my quarters, and was awa amang the hills; but I deny solemnly, and may I be haulden mansworn, if ever I ettled to desert, or gae ower to the enemy's colours. I was clean wud, and kenned na' at the time whar I was danderin' to. I tell your honours the truth, and I would scorn to affirm it wi' an aith, because I never tauld a lee in a' my days, and hae nae need to fib or flaw noo. But, sirs, I think there isna ane in this room that wadna hae dune as I did that nicht, when I kent that I was on the brink o' losing for ever and ay the winsome lass to whom I had plighted heart and troth; and I will affirm, gentlemen, that neither the danger or disgrace o' haeing it imputed to me that I abandoned my standard, could keep me frae trying to save her frae sic a tyrannical and avaricious auld carle as her faither. It has been said, in the 'crime,' that I was gaun the gate to the enemy's lines. Ablins I was, and ablins I wasna, for I was wading through a sea o' desperation,—I was dumbfounded and gane gyte that nicht, and it was a' after I had bent the bicker a gay gude while, as my comrade Evan Iverach has tauld unto ye.
"O sirs! I hope that ye will neither flog nor degrade me; but let me dee the death my crime is said to merit. Let me dee noo,—noo that I hae broucht sorrow and wae, sorrow and disgrace to my honest faither's fireside; for though he is but a puir auld cottar body at Braemar, it will bring his bald head to the grave if he hears I hae come to the halberts,[*]—it would be sic an awfu' disgrace! the haill kintra-side wad ring wi't. Let me rather die, sirs: I say again,—a hundred times I hae faced death, and I can easily face him ance mair. But it is whan I think o' my faither and mother at hame amang the heather hills,—struggling wi' eild and wi' poortith,—the ane herdin' sheep in bonnie Glenclunaidh amang the lang yellow broom, and the ither spinnin' hard at the ingle-neuk, whar I hae sae aften toddled at her knee,—'tis whan I think o' them that I am ready to orp and greet, and that my stout heart fails me,—a heart, sirs, that never failed on mony a bluidy day. I hae nae mair to say, your honours, but just that I humbly thank ye for hearing me sae lang, and that I wad as sune dee as live."
[*] The triangles: three pikes were used in those days.
This address, which was delivered with considerable vehemence and gesture, and spoken in a very northern and provincial dialect, was very little understood by those members of the court who were not Scotsmen; and Ronald Stuart, whose heart yearned with a truly Scottish love towards his countryman, explained to them the substance of what Mackie had said. He was found guilty of the seventh and eleventh articles in the second section of the articles of war; viz. desertion,—aggravated by an intention to join the enemy, and drawing, or offering to draw, upon "a superior officer." He was sent back to the fortress of Coria, and the proceedings and sentence of the court were despatched to head-quarters, with strong recommendations to mercy from Colonel Cadogan, and from Fassifern: but many months elapsed before an answer was returned, and during all that time the poor Highlander pined in the noisome vaults of the castle or fort of Coria. But of him, more anon.
In consequence of the approach of the French under General Foy, the first brigade moved from Coria while the sentence of the unfortunate Mackie remained unknown,—every member of a court-martial being sworn to solemn secrecy. The 50th regiment occupied Bejar, so famous for its mineral wells, and some sharp fighting ensued in its neighbourhood; but Foy's troops were completely routed with great loss. The Highlanders occupied the beautiful village of Banos, which lies secluded in a deep and narrow valley between Leon and Estremadura, surrounded on every side by abrupt precipitous mountains, which are covered to their rugged summits by the richest foliage; but amid their caverns, fastnesses, and dingles lurk herds of wolves, the wildness and ferocity of which keep the inhabitants in a continual state of terror and alarm; and so daring had these savage animals become, that it was necessary to keep large fires burning at night around the village, to scare them from the posts of the sentinels.
Soon after the regiment arrived at Banos, the sentence of Angus Mackie was ordered to be put in execution, having been approved of by the proper authorities. On the retreat from Burgos some symptoms of insubordination had appeared among the other brigades, when the soldiers became maddened by the miseries they underwent; an officer of "the buffs" had been shot by a soldier of that regiment. In other corps discipline seemed almost set at nought, and it was determined that an example should be made. The private of the 3rd regiment was hanged, and Angus Mackie, who, although far less criminal, had been convicted of desertion and insubordination, was sentenced to be shot to death in presence of his comrades, who among themselves deeply pitied and deplored that so gallant a lad should suffer so severe a sentence for his exaggerated crime. No charge of injustice could be laid to the account of the court which tried him, the "finding" of its members having been regulated by the stern but necessary articles of the Mutiny Act. Many months had passed away since his trial; the first excitement of the affair had died away, and during all that time he had been confined in the dreary fort of Coria,—a sufficient punishment alone for the crime he had committed.
This unhappy affair cast a gloom over the whole regiment,—a gloom which was apparent in every face, as the unwilling Highlanders paraded in the valley of Banos to witness his execution.
It was in the month of May 1813; the evening was a still and beautiful one. The sun was verging towards the west, and his crimson rays streamed through the deep dark dell, upon the vine-clad cottages and sylvan amphitheatre of Banos. Concentrated in that narrow and gloomy glen, where the immense mountains rose on every side to the height of many hundred feet, and where crags and rocks shot up in cones and fantastic spires, almost excluding the light of day from the little huts at the bottom of the dell, were the seventeen infantry regiments of the second division, together with the cavalry, drawn up on the steep faces of the hills, so that the rear ranks might overlook the front. The paisanos of the secluded village, awe-struck at the unusual scene, and the sight of so many thousand steel weapons glittering amid such dense masses of foreign soldiers, forsook their cottages and clustered together on the summit of a steep rock, to behold the fatal event. The troops formed three faces of a hollow square; the rock upon which the peasants were congregated occupied the vacant space. A spot of velvet turf, the village-green, stretched to the foot of it, and there was dug a grave,—a grave for the yet living man; the wet damp earth heaped up on one side of it, the rolls of turf and a rough deal coffin lay on the other. Near these stood the base-drum of the Gordon Highlanders; a bible and a prayer-book lay open upon its head.
The Highlanders formed the inner faces of the square.
All was solemn silence and expectation; not a whisper was heard through all that dense array; not a sound smote the ear save the rustle of the summer foliage, as the evening wind stirred the tall chesnuts or rich green cork-trees which nodded from the black precipices. The general, the staff and field-officers were all on horseback, but remained motionless. At last it was known that the doomed man was approaching, and the arms of the escort that conducted him were seen flashing in the sunlight, as they descended from the hill tops by the winding pathway which led to the bottom of the valley. Sir Rowland Hill touched his hat to an aide-de-camp, who then passed among the troops at a hand gallop, whispering to each commanding-officer; the words of command to fix bayonets and shoulder arms were immediately given, and before the varying tones of the different colonels died away, the prisoner appeared amid the square surrounded by his escort, under charge of the provost-marshal. His own corps, I have said, was in front, and he moved slowly along the silent ranks with downcast eyes towards the spot where his grave and coffin lay displayed. He drew near the former, and cast a glance into its gloomy depth and, shuddering, turned his back upon it, muttering: "I would just be sax and twenty the morn. Sax and twenty! oh, it's an unco thing to dee sae young. O my faither—my mither!" he groaned aloud; "farewell to you—to auld Scotland, and a' I hae loed sae lang and weel! It will be a sair trial to my kinsfolk in Glenclunaidh, when they see my name on the kirk doors o' Braemar—as ane that has dee'd wi' disgrace on his broo."[*]
[*] By the military regulations, the names of soldiers who behave meritoriously, or misbehave themselves grossly, are affixed to the church-doors of the parish in which they were born. In Highland regiments the threat of informing friends at home of a soldier's misconduct was sufficient to keep him in order for the time to come.
He was clad in his white undress-jacket and kilt, and stood bareheaded, with his bonnet in his hand. He was pale and emaciated with long confinement, but his bearing was firm and as soldier-like as ever. His eyes seemed unusually bright, and at times a red flush crossed his otherwise deadly pale cheek. There were two aged monks from the San Ferdinando convent of Candeleria present, but the Highlander refused to hear or communicate with them. Yet the honest friars were determined not to abandon him in his last hour, and withdrawing to a little distance, they placed a crucifix against a fragment of rock and prayed earnestly, with true catholic fervour, to that all-wise Power above, before which the soul of one they deemed a heretic was so soon to appear.
There was no chaplain present with the troops; but the prisoner was attended by the venerable Dugald-Mhor, who walked slowly beside him bare-headed, with his bonnet under his arm. He read portions of the Scripture from an old dog-eared bible, which he produced from hissporran molloch; and the low solemn tones in which he read could be distinctly heard by all, so very still was the place; and as the hand of the village-clock approached the hour at which the soldier was to die, a deeper sadness fell upon the hearts of the beholders, who, although long accustomed to all the heart-harrowing scenes of war, had never before witnessed a death in so solemn and peculiar a manner.
Mackie and his attendant sung together the hymn—
"The hour of my departure's come," &c.
"The hour of my departure's come," &c.
"The hour of my departure's come," &c.
and when it was concluded, the hand of the clock on the alcalde's house wanted but five minutes of the hour. The soldier cast a hasty glance towards it, and, falling upon his knees, covered his face with his hands and burst out into an agony of prayer, from which he was only aroused by the seven strokes of the last hour he would ever hear on earth striking from the dull-toned bell.
His last moment was come!
When the sound ceased, Cameron of Fassifern and his field-officers dismounted from their horses, which were led away, and the provost-marshal drew up a section of twelve soldiers opposite where the prisoner yet knelt on the turf.
Many of his comrades now took their last farewell of him; and Evan Iverach, to whom he had given seven pounds, saved from his pay while prisoner at Coria, to send to his parents at Braemar, retired to his place in the ranks with tearless eyes, because Evan had a mistaken idea, that to have shown signs of deep emotion would have been unmanly. But that night, in his billet, honest Evan wept like a woman for the loss of his comrade and friend. During the bandaging of Mackie's eyes, Fassifern took off his bonnet, and kneeling down, commanded his regiment to do so likewise. As one man the Highlanders bent their bare knees to the sod, joining, as they did so, in the solemn psalm which Dugald and the prisoner had begun to sing. It was a sad and mournful Scottish air, one which every Scotsman present had been accustomed to hear sung in their village kirks or fathers' cottages in boyhood. It softened and subdued their hearts, carrying back their recollections to their childhood, and to years that had passed away into eternity. Many heard it chanted then for the first time since their native hills had faded from their sight, and as the strain died away through the deep and narrow vale of Banos, it found an echo in every breast.
Dugald closed his bible, and, placing a handkerchief in the hand of the prisoner, withdrew, and covering his wrinkled face with his bonnet, knelt down also. Now came the duty of the provost-marshal, whose unwilling detachment consisted of twelve picked men, of disorderly character, on whom, as a punishment, fell the lot of slaying their comrade.
With his eyes blindfolded, the unfortunate Highlander knelt down between his coffin and his grave, and, without quivering once, dropped his handkerchief.
"Section!" cried the provost-marshal, "'ready—present—fire!" The words followed each other in rapid succession, and the echoes of the death-shot were reverberated like thunder among the hills around. A shriek burst from the females of the village. Red blood was seen to spout forth from many a wound in the form of the prisoner; he sprung convulsively upwards, and then fell backward dead on the damp gravel, which was so soon to cover him.
The hearts of all began to beat more freely; but at that moment the red sun sank behind the darkening hills, and a deeper gloom enveloped Banos, the effect of which was not lost on the minds of the beholders.
All was over now! The corse lay stretched on the ground, and the smoke of the musquetry was curling around the grave which yawned beside it. Cameron sprung on his horse, and his voice was the first to break the oppressive silence. The shrill pipes sounded, and the rattling drums beat merrily in the re-echoing vale, as corps after corps marched past the spot where the body of Mackie, though breathless, lay yet bleeding, and moved up the winding pathway towards the pass of Banos, whence by different routes they marched to their cantonments in the villages and camps among the mountains. When all had passed away, the pioneers placed the dead man in his coffin, and covered him hurriedly up; the sods were carefully deposited over and beaten down with the shovel, and the grave of the man who had been living but ten minutes before, presented now the same appearance as the resting-place of one who had been many years entombed. The weeds and the long grass waved over it.
The villagepaisanosplaced a rough wooden cross above it, to prevent, as they said, "the heretic from haunting the resting-place of his bones;" and near this rude emblem was placed a vine, which Evan Iverach tended daily—clearing its root of weeds and encumbrances, watching and pruning the stem, and long before the regiment left Banos he had twined it around and hidden the limbs of the cross; and when the Highlanders marched from the valley, as they wound through a deep defile among the mountains Evan's farewell look was cast to the place where the vine-covered cross marked the grave of his comrade.
CHAPTER V.
AN ADVENTURE. A HIGHLAND LEGEND.
"And such a phantom, too, 'tis said,With Highland broad-sword, targe and plaid,And fingers red with gore,Is seen in Rothiemurchus glade."Marmion.
"And such a phantom, too, 'tis said,With Highland broad-sword, targe and plaid,And fingers red with gore,Is seen in Rothiemurchus glade."Marmion.
"And such a phantom, too, 'tis said,
With Highland broad-sword, targe and plaid,
And fingers red with gore,
And fingers red with gore,
Is seen in Rothiemurchus glade."
Marmion.
Marmion.
Marmion.
Before the regiment left Banos to take the field again, Ronald had an unlooked-for adventure with a fierce denizen of the neighbouring mountains, which nearly cost him his life.
There was a certain part of the hills, from which the valley of Banos strongly resembled his native place, Strathonan, but on a much smaller scale; and thither Stuart was in the habit of repairing almost daily, to indulge freely in those long reveries so usual to a Highlander, and enjoy the beauty of the prospect which bore so near a resemblance to his home. A slight effort of the imagination made it at once Strathonan, near the source of that celebrated trout-stream, the Isla; but the sound of the guitar and castanets came on the wind instead of the war-pipe of Albyn, and destroyed the illusion. There were neither bucks nor roes bounding over the mountain-slope; and instead of the plaided shepherd or agile huntsman starting from the copsewood, a lazy yet handsome Spanish peasant appeared at times, sauntering slowly along, clad in his short brown jacket tied round the waist by a broad yellow scarf, leather gaiters bound with red thongs, a cigar in his mouth, a staff in his hand, and a stiletto in his girdle. Often did a figure wearing this romantic dress, or enveloped in a huge brown mantle, appear on the solitary pathways of the hills. Far down below, on the village green, instead of the lively strathspey or martial gilliechallium,[*] the graceful fandango or bolero was danced by the athleticpaisanosand olive-cheeked girls of the valley.
[*] Sword dance.
His patron had often warned him of the danger which he incurred, by wandering so far among mountains so much infested by wolves; but Stuart always considered himself safe enough, as he never went without his sword and dirk. His host acquainted him with many wonderful tales of men having been killed and devoured by them among the wild places; and said that, within his recollection, nearly twenty children had been carried off from the very heart of the village.
"Senor," said he, on one occasion, "you can know little of the nature of the wolf, as perhaps there are none now in your country; but they have the cunning of the fox, together with the strength and ferocity of the tiger. On entering the village in the evening, he moves about with careful and stealthy paces; and when he seizes on a child, grasps it by the throat so as to prevent it giving a single cry, and bears it away to the recesses among the hills. I have known of a lad of fourteen being carried off thus. A man belonging to the village, a brave guerilla of Mina's band, was attacked one evening in the pass of Banos by a band of wolves. He slew three with his rifle and poniard, but the others tore him to fragments. This brought the attention of senores the alcaldes of the valley[*] to the matter, and they offered a reward of eighty reals, or four duros, for each wolf's head brought to their houses, and forthwith war was proclaimed against these fierce inhabitants of the sierras.
[*] Banos is divided into two districts, each ruled by its own alcalde; the northern part of the village lies in Leon, and the southern in Estremadura.
"A dozen hides and heads were brought in weekly, and we continued this dangerous sport until the British entered the valley, when firing in the neighbourhood could no longer be continued. Since we acted upon the offensive, the wolves have become more shy and never enter the vale, but it is death to encounter the herds on their own ground; therefore I would pray you, senor, if you value your own safety, never to wander about as you are pleased to do."
Ronald thanked the worthy vine-dresser for his advice and good-wishes, but laughed at his fears about the wolves, and told him that while he was armed with his sword, he considered himself secure against any such antagonists; and so continued to ramble about as usual.
One evening, while he was surveying the valley from his old post when the sun was setting, he became overpowered with the heat of the atmosphere and the fatigue of a long walk, and fell fast asleep beside a rude wooden cross, erected to mark the spot where the onlyabogadowho ever appeared in Banos had been poniarded by his first client for unfair dealing. How long Stuart slept there he had no idea, but while dreaming that he had that worthy clerk to the royal signet, Mr. Macquirk, among the mountains of Banos, even close to the abogado's cross, and was about to take summary vengeance upon him for the manner in which he had bamboozled and swindled the old gentleman at Lochisla, he was awakened in a very disagreeable manner by something grasping him roughly by the throat. With the rapidity of light all the stories he had heard of the wolves flashed upon his memory. He was fully awake in an instant, and found himself grappling and struggling savagely with one of those terrible animals, by moonlight, on a solitary hillside many miles away from the village, where the watch-fires of the guard-houses could be seen twinkling afar off at the bottom of the deep valley, like red stars. His brass gorget and the massive lace, on the collar of the coat, together with a stout military stock, had saved his neck from the fangs of the gigantic wolf, which, by straining every energy of strength and courage, or rather desperation, he grasped with a ferocity almost equal to its own, and retaining his hold, threw upon the turf beside him. Its struggles were terrible, and his hands, which encircled its tough and brawny throat, were torn by its claws; yet he never relaxed his iron clutch until the breath and strength of his antagonist began to fail, and then putting his right hand to his side for his Highland dirk, he remembered with rage and anguish that it was left behind at his billet. The moment was indeed a critical one. Two other wolves were approaching the spot cautiously, and Stuart, remembering how often he had heard of their overpowering man by numbers, considered himself for ever lost. It was like some horrible dream, and his heart became filled with an agony of horror and alarm which it had never known before.
"Heaven help me now!" gasped he. "Ah! had I only my dirk, or even askene-dhu, they would be welcome." He cried aloud for aid, but the cries were feeble, as his tongue was swollen and clove to his palate with the keenness of his terror; and ere the echoes of his last shout died away, he was struggling with the others, and was endeavouring to elude their fangs by rolling over and over, and fighting fiercely with hands and feet. Scarcely had the two wolves come to the aid of their half-burked comrade, ere Stuart imagined that other sounds than the echoes of his cry reverberated through the wilderness. It was—what? the halloo of a true Highland huntsman!
"Hoigh! Diaoul! what's a' this?" cried Dugald Mhor Cameron, plunging headlong among them, with a long dirk gleaming in his right hand and askene-dhuin his left. One wolf fled, another was pierced thrice to the vitals by Dugald's dirk, and rolled away for several yards, tearing up the earth in rage and agony, until it was finally destroyed by the sharp black knife being drawn across its thick throat by Dugald, who handled it well, being an adroit deer-stalker. The other savage, which had been so gallantly grasped by Ronald, he dispatched by repeated stabs of the dirk, which he drove home to the hilt, sending eighteen inches of cold iron into the body at every stroke. While this passed, poor Stuart, exhausted and overcome, sank backward on the turf, just as Fassifern rode up with his claymore drawn.
"I trust we have not been too late," he cried earnestly, as he leapt from his horse, which had been snorting and shying aside from the scene of the fray. "I am sure, Dugald, we answered to his first cry. He is one of ours; an officer too,—Stuart, by heavens!"
"But for Dugald's prompt and gallant succour, all would have been over with me by this time, colonel," said Ronald, as with difficulty he staggered up from the turf, which was plentifully besprinkled with the blood of his enemies.
"Are you hurt in any way?" was the eager inquiry of both.
"My hands are torn a little; but my sash and coat are all rent to fritters."
"How opportunely Dugald came to save you!"
"Opportune, indeed! I will never be able to repay him for this night's work."
"Ochone! Mr. Stuart," replied the old man, who was cleaning his weapons in his plaid, "dinna say a word about thanks; keep a' them for the kernel there."
"I was coming over the mountains from Candeleria," said Fassifern, "where I have been president of a court-martial. Your cries alarmed us within a few yards of this old cross, and my horse began to snort and rear, refusing to advance a step; but trusty Dugald went headlong on, and with his short weapons, I see, has done you right good service. 'Tis well the matter is no worse, and had the wolves not given you so severe a mauling, Stuart," added the colonel with a smile, as he put his foot in his stirrup, "I should have sent Claude for your sword again. You know you should never be without your arms, or forget the order against strolling more than two miles from camp or quarters. By my word, these were no ordinary foes to contend with, these wolves; they are larger than Highland shelties, and their skins will be a prize for thepaisanosin the morning, for Dugald is, of course, too proud to take fee or reward from the alcaldes."
"I have escaped their maws by a miracle," said Stuart, yet gasping with the excitement of the fierce struggle.
"By nae miracle at all, sir," said old Dugald, "by nae miracle; but just by the help o' a teuch auld carle's hand and the bit cauld iron; and I assure your honours, I wad rather face a thoosand rampaugin wolves, than ae kelpie, habgoblin, wraith, spunkie, sheeted ghaist, deadlicht, broonie, or ony ither scrap o' deevildom sae common at name in the Hielands. Hoich, sirs! it was indeed nae sma' matter to cut the weasens o' thae awfu' monsters o' wolves; but," said he, holding aloft his long Highland dagger, which flashed back the rays of the moon, "but that is a blade that has rung on the target o' thelham-dearg; and afterthat, what could a bold hand not do wi' it?"
"On the target of who?" asked Ronald.
"Thelham-dearg, sir."
"The words are Gaelic; but who is he?"
"A spirit wi' a bloody hand, that haunts at the mirk hour the wood o' Glenmore, in the Grants' country."
"What has this to do with your dirk?" said Stuart, who became interested in every thing which looked like a northern legend.
"Pooh!" said Cameron; "'tis an old ghost story, and not one of Dugald's prime ones. But he is as prosy with his legends, as Colin Campbell is about Egypt and Ralph Abercrombie."
"He doesna believe it noo," muttered Dugald, shaking his white hairs sorrowfully; "but when he was a bairn at hame in Fassifern-house, I hae made his vera lugs tingle wi' fear at the name o' thelham-dearg, and he used to grane and greet for a licht that he micht see to sleep, as he said; and in thae days he wadna hae gane into a dark place, to be made king o' the braw Highlands frae Castle Grant to Lochaber. But noo wars and campaigning hae learned him to scoff at a' thae matters, though his faither, the laird, (gude guide him!) a man as auld as mysel, believes every word o' them. I daursay, he doesna believe noo that deidlichts burn on the piper's grave in the auld kirk-yaird at hame; or that spunkies and fairies bide in the glen o' Auchnacarry, kelpies in Loch-Archaig, or that thedaoine shiehaunt the dark holes, cairns, round rings, and unco' places o' the Corrie-nan-gaul in Knoydart, where I mysel hae seen them dancing tulloch-gorm in the bonnie moonlicht."
"Certainly not, Dugald. What I believed when a child, will scarcely pass now for truth; and I believe you never saw any thing unearthly until Ferintosh had swelled your belt to bursting. Come, Dugald, acknowledge this to be true," said Cameron, laughing.
"May be ye'll no believe in the red-cap, that haunts the auld tower at Archaig; and may be no in the verataisch?" said the old servitor in a voice approaching to a groan at the other's apostasy. "Ochone, may be no! although I mysel saw bluid on his hand, and tauld him o' it the day before the shot struck him there at the battle of Arroya del Molino."
"Dugald," said the colonel, "I will not argue with you about the second sight, because I know you have some pretensions to the character of ataischatr. You certainly have me at vantage there, and your prediction about the shot at Arroya came true; and exactly twenty-four hours after you said my hand dropped blood, a musquet-shot passed through it. A very singular coincidence indeed."
"It was nane," replied the old Gael firmly, "it was nane; and I saw the shot before it came, because there was a wreath before my een, and a' the power o' thetaischwas in me."
"Well, Stuart, what think you of the second sight?"
Ronald was loath to express his disbelief in this superstition, which found a disciple in the colonel, and so hesitated to reply.
"I see you are too true a Highlander to disbelieve in its existence, and yet you are reluctant to acknowledge the truth," said Fassifern laughing, while he mistook the other's meaning. "But let us reach Banos, and over some of the bottled sherry which I lately got from Lisbon we will discuss these matters, and hear Dugald's story of the spirit of Glenmore, which if you are at all superstitious might have too much effect if related by him in Gaelic by moonlight, and on a lonely hill-side."
This proposal was at once accepted, and they began to descend the narrow and winding pathway which led from the rugged summits of the sierra towards the village. Dugald advanced in front, leading the horse of Cameron, who followed behind with Stuart. The latter thanked his stars for escaping from his late encounter so easily, having only sustained a few severe scratches and bruises. While enjoying some of the colonel's pure bottled sherry, a rarity in Spain, where the wine is ever kept in greasy hog-skins, Ronald soon forgot his disagreeable adventure at the abogado's cross. Dugald who, in consideration of his venerable age and relationship to Fassifern (being a fortieth cousin or so), was seated at the table, partook of the wine, and to wile away the time related in Gaelic the Highland legend he had referred to. Many readers may consider it a foolish, perhaps an intrusive tale altogether; but had they heard it far away from home, in a hut at Banos, related in expressive and poetical Gaelic by such a reverend and warrior-looking old man as Dugald Cameron, it would have had a very different effect from what it can ever produce when related in plain and unvarnished English, stripped of all the Ossianic description and style in which Ronald Stuart first heard it.