[Contents]CHAPTER XXIV.Savage-looking Visitors—Night in the Highland Hostelry—Wolf-Dogs.As they sat socially at their meal, they were suddenly interrupted by the door being burst open, when two gigantic and very savage-looking men entered, in most uncouth and wild drapery. They were clothed in woollen plaids of various colours and of enormous amplitude, and these were wrapt round their bodies and kept tight by a belt of raw leather with the hair on it, leaving the skirts to hang half-way down their naked thighs, while the upper part above the belt was thrown loosely over the shoulder, so as to give their muscular arms and hairy knees the full freedom of nakedness. Their heads also were bare, except that they had the copious covering which Nature had provided for them, the one having strong curly black hair, and the other red of similar roughness, hanging in matted locks over their features and about their ears. The forests which Nature had planted on their faces, chins, and necks too, had been allowed to grow, untamed by shears; their legs were covered half-way to the knee by strips of raw skin twisted round them, and their feet were defended by a kind of shoes made of untanned hides. Each had a dirk in his girdle, and a pouch of skin suspended before, while across their backs were slung bows and bunches of arrows. In their hands they brandished long lances, and several recently-taken wolves’ skins were thrown over their shoulders, but rather for carriage than covering. Five or six large wiry-haired wolf-dogs entered along with them.MacErchar instantly started up when they appeared, and began speaking loudly and hastily to them in their own tongue, waving them from time to time to retire, and at length opened the door, and showed them the way to the other apartment.“Who may be these two savage-looking men?” demanded Hepborne of his host as he entered.“Troth, she no kens them, Sir Patrick,” replied MacErchar, “she never saw them afore; but they tells her that they be’s hunters from the north side of this mountains here.”“Live they in the way that I must needs wend to-morrow towards Moray Land?” asked Hepborne.[181]“Uch, ay,” replied MacErchar; “but mind not that, Sir Patrick, for hersel will go wi’ her the morn.”“Nay,” said Hepborne, “that may not be, that is, if these men are to return whence they came, and that their road and mine run nearly in the same direction. Perdie, I cannot in that case suffer thee to yede so far with me unnecessarily, when their guidance might suffice. Thou shalt give them knowledge of the point I wish to reach, together with all necessary directions touching the places where we may best halt, and spend the night; and they shall receive a handsome guerdon from me when they shall have brought me and mine in safety to the Castle of Lochyndorbe, whither I am first bound.”“Uch-huch! of a truth she would like to go with her,” said MacErchar; “but troth, after all, she must confess that she kens but little o’ the way beyond her ain hills there. Weel would it be her part to wend wi’ her; but if yon loons ken the gate into Moray Land (as doubtless they have been there mony a time, and she does not mistake them) they will be better guides, after all. But what an she should ask some questions at them?”“Thou hadst better do so,” said Hepborne; “best ask them whence they come, and what parts of the country they know, before thou dost teach them the object of thy questions.”“Troth, and she’s right there,” said Duncan MacErchar; “this salvage loons are not just to lippen till; weel does she ken them; and, uve, uve! she maun tak special care to look sharp after them gin she should yede wi’ them; they are but little chancy, in troth. But she’ll call them in now, and see what the loons will say.”The two uncouth-looking men were accordingly brought in. They made no obeisance, but stood like a couple of huge rocks, immovable, with all their thickets and woods upon them. They even beetled over the tall and sturdy form of Duncan MacErchar, who, though above the middle size, might have passed as a little man when placed beside those gigantic figures. Duncan put several questions to them in their own language, which they answered, but always before doing so, they seemed to consult each other’s countenances, and then both answered in the same breath. They eyed the knight and his page from time to time, as the inhabitants of all secluded and wild regions are naturally apt to stare at strangers. After a good deal of colloquy had passed, MacErchar turned to Hepborne—“Sir Patrick,” said he, “these men ken every inch of the country from here to the Firth of Moray. Shall she now ask[182]them if they be willing to guide her honour to Lochyndorbe?”“Do so, I beseech thee,” said Hepborne, “and tell them I will give them gold when they bring me thither.”MacErchar again addressed them in their own language. The men seemed to nod assent to the proposals he made them; and after a few more words had passed between them—“Uch, Sir Patrick,” said he, “they be very willing for the job. They’ll bring her there in two days. They say that she must be off by sunrise in the morning.”This Sir Patrick readily undertook; and Duncan MacErchar having wet the treaty with a draught of the spirits from his stoup, of which he poured out liberally to each, the men retired. Sir Patrick Hepborne then signified a wish to go to his repose. Two heather-beds, of inviting firmness and elasticity, were already prepared at the two extremities of the chamber where they were; and the knight having occupied the one, and the page the other, both were very soon sound asleep.About the middle of the night Sir Patrick was awakened by a noise. He raised himself suddenly, and, looking towards the door, whence it seemed to have proceeded, he saw that it was open. One or two of the great rough wolf-dogs came slowly in, looking over their shoulders, as if expecting some one to follow them—and, making a turn or two round the expiring fire, and smelling about them for a little while, walked out again. Hepborne arose and shut the door, and then threw himself again within his blankets. He lay for some time awake, to see whether the wolf-dogs would repeat their unpleasant intrusion; and finding that there was no appearance of their doing so, he again resigned himself to the sweets of oblivion.He had lain some time in this state when he was a second time awakened, he knew not how, but he heard as if there were footsteps in the place. The fire had now fallen so low that he could see nothing by its light, but by a glimmering moonbeam that made its way in he saw that the door was again open. As he looked towards it, he thought he perceived something like a dog glide outwards. He started up, as he had done before, and, going to the door, he again shut it; and, that the wolf-dogs might no more torment him, he piled up the rustic table he had supped on, and some of the stools and settles against it. The precautions he thus took were effectual, for the dogs were no more troublesome to him all night; and the first interruption his slumbers experienced was from the overthrow of the whole materials of his barricado, and the exclamation of “Uve! uve!” that burst from Duncan MacErchar, who came for the purpose[183]of rousing him to prosecute his journey. Hepborne explained the cause of his having so fortified the door.“Uch ay,” said MacErchar, “they be’s powersome brutes—powersome brutes, in troth, and plaguy cunning. I’se warrant they smelt the smell of the rosten deer’s flesh, and that brought them in. But they got little for their pains, the ragged rascals—not but they are bonny tykes, poor beasts! and troth, ’tis better to have ane o’ them in the house than the wolves themselves, that we’re sometimes plagued with.”The host approached the side of Hepborne’s couch, with his everlasting stoup in his right hand, and the wooden cup in his left, and poured him out of the spirits it contained. The knight sipped a little, and then MacErchar retired to see that his morning’s meal was properly provided. It was no less copiously and comfortably supplied, according to his means, than the supper of the previous evening had been.At length Mortimer Sang came to receive his master’s orders; and when Hepborne asked him how he and his people had fared, he learned that they had been treated with every thing the good host could procure for them. Oats were not to be had for the horses; but, in addition to the grass that was cut for them, Master MacErchar had himself carried a large sack of meal to the stables and out-houses of turf, where the animals had with some difficulty been forced in, and he had most liberally supplied them with his own hands. He went round all the men of Hepborne’s party, and gave each his morning’s cup of spirits. In short, he seemed to think that it was impossible he could do enough from his small means, for the knight and every person and animal belonging to him.When the horses were brought out, Hepborne called MacErchar to him, and offered him, from his purse, ten times as much money as the value of his night’s entertainment and lodging would have cost.“Uve! uve!” said Duncan, sore hurt, and half offended; “uve! uve! Sir Patrick! Hoot no. What! take money from the son of Sir Patrick Hepborne, the son o’ the noble brave knight that she has followed mony a days!—take money from his son for a bit paltry piece and a drink!—Na! na!—Uve! uve!—Ou fye! ou fye!—na, na!—Troth, she’s no just so poor or so pitiful as that comes to yet. Uve! uve! Surely!”Hepborne at once saw the mischief he had done. He would have rather put his hand in the fire than have hurt feelings that were so honourable to Duncan MacErchar; and he almost began to wish that his purse had been there, ere it had been the means[184]of giving pain to so noble a heart. He did all he could, therefore, to remedy the evil; for, putting his purse sheepishly into his pocket, he called for the stoup of spirits, and, filling the cup up to the brim, drank it off, to the health, happiness, and prosperity of Master Duncan MacErchar; then shaking the mountaineer heartily by the hand—“May we meet again, my worthy friend,” said he; “and wherever it may be, let me not pass by thee unnoticed. Meanwhile, farewell, and may the blessing of St. Andrew be about thee!”This courteous and kind behaviour completely salved the wound Hepborne had so unwittingly inflicted. Duncan was overjoyed with it, and gratified beyond measure. He tried to express his joy.“Och, oich! God’s blessing and the Virgin’s blessing be about her. Och, och! Sir Patrick! uu-uch! God’s blessing and the Virgin’s blessing—and uch-uch!—and, Sir Patrick—Sure, sure! ou ay—uu—u!”His English failed him entirely, and he resorted to that language in which he was most fluent. Hepborne mounted his horse, and, waving him another farewell, rode on to overtake his guides, who were standing on a distant eminence waiting for him; and as he receded from the humble mansion of Master Duncan MacErchar, he for several minutes distinguished his voice vociferating in pleased but unintelligible accents.
[Contents]CHAPTER XXIV.Savage-looking Visitors—Night in the Highland Hostelry—Wolf-Dogs.As they sat socially at their meal, they were suddenly interrupted by the door being burst open, when two gigantic and very savage-looking men entered, in most uncouth and wild drapery. They were clothed in woollen plaids of various colours and of enormous amplitude, and these were wrapt round their bodies and kept tight by a belt of raw leather with the hair on it, leaving the skirts to hang half-way down their naked thighs, while the upper part above the belt was thrown loosely over the shoulder, so as to give their muscular arms and hairy knees the full freedom of nakedness. Their heads also were bare, except that they had the copious covering which Nature had provided for them, the one having strong curly black hair, and the other red of similar roughness, hanging in matted locks over their features and about their ears. The forests which Nature had planted on their faces, chins, and necks too, had been allowed to grow, untamed by shears; their legs were covered half-way to the knee by strips of raw skin twisted round them, and their feet were defended by a kind of shoes made of untanned hides. Each had a dirk in his girdle, and a pouch of skin suspended before, while across their backs were slung bows and bunches of arrows. In their hands they brandished long lances, and several recently-taken wolves’ skins were thrown over their shoulders, but rather for carriage than covering. Five or six large wiry-haired wolf-dogs entered along with them.MacErchar instantly started up when they appeared, and began speaking loudly and hastily to them in their own tongue, waving them from time to time to retire, and at length opened the door, and showed them the way to the other apartment.“Who may be these two savage-looking men?” demanded Hepborne of his host as he entered.“Troth, she no kens them, Sir Patrick,” replied MacErchar, “she never saw them afore; but they tells her that they be’s hunters from the north side of this mountains here.”“Live they in the way that I must needs wend to-morrow towards Moray Land?” asked Hepborne.[181]“Uch, ay,” replied MacErchar; “but mind not that, Sir Patrick, for hersel will go wi’ her the morn.”“Nay,” said Hepborne, “that may not be, that is, if these men are to return whence they came, and that their road and mine run nearly in the same direction. Perdie, I cannot in that case suffer thee to yede so far with me unnecessarily, when their guidance might suffice. Thou shalt give them knowledge of the point I wish to reach, together with all necessary directions touching the places where we may best halt, and spend the night; and they shall receive a handsome guerdon from me when they shall have brought me and mine in safety to the Castle of Lochyndorbe, whither I am first bound.”“Uch-huch! of a truth she would like to go with her,” said MacErchar; “but troth, after all, she must confess that she kens but little o’ the way beyond her ain hills there. Weel would it be her part to wend wi’ her; but if yon loons ken the gate into Moray Land (as doubtless they have been there mony a time, and she does not mistake them) they will be better guides, after all. But what an she should ask some questions at them?”“Thou hadst better do so,” said Hepborne; “best ask them whence they come, and what parts of the country they know, before thou dost teach them the object of thy questions.”“Troth, and she’s right there,” said Duncan MacErchar; “this salvage loons are not just to lippen till; weel does she ken them; and, uve, uve! she maun tak special care to look sharp after them gin she should yede wi’ them; they are but little chancy, in troth. But she’ll call them in now, and see what the loons will say.”The two uncouth-looking men were accordingly brought in. They made no obeisance, but stood like a couple of huge rocks, immovable, with all their thickets and woods upon them. They even beetled over the tall and sturdy form of Duncan MacErchar, who, though above the middle size, might have passed as a little man when placed beside those gigantic figures. Duncan put several questions to them in their own language, which they answered, but always before doing so, they seemed to consult each other’s countenances, and then both answered in the same breath. They eyed the knight and his page from time to time, as the inhabitants of all secluded and wild regions are naturally apt to stare at strangers. After a good deal of colloquy had passed, MacErchar turned to Hepborne—“Sir Patrick,” said he, “these men ken every inch of the country from here to the Firth of Moray. Shall she now ask[182]them if they be willing to guide her honour to Lochyndorbe?”“Do so, I beseech thee,” said Hepborne, “and tell them I will give them gold when they bring me thither.”MacErchar again addressed them in their own language. The men seemed to nod assent to the proposals he made them; and after a few more words had passed between them—“Uch, Sir Patrick,” said he, “they be very willing for the job. They’ll bring her there in two days. They say that she must be off by sunrise in the morning.”This Sir Patrick readily undertook; and Duncan MacErchar having wet the treaty with a draught of the spirits from his stoup, of which he poured out liberally to each, the men retired. Sir Patrick Hepborne then signified a wish to go to his repose. Two heather-beds, of inviting firmness and elasticity, were already prepared at the two extremities of the chamber where they were; and the knight having occupied the one, and the page the other, both were very soon sound asleep.About the middle of the night Sir Patrick was awakened by a noise. He raised himself suddenly, and, looking towards the door, whence it seemed to have proceeded, he saw that it was open. One or two of the great rough wolf-dogs came slowly in, looking over their shoulders, as if expecting some one to follow them—and, making a turn or two round the expiring fire, and smelling about them for a little while, walked out again. Hepborne arose and shut the door, and then threw himself again within his blankets. He lay for some time awake, to see whether the wolf-dogs would repeat their unpleasant intrusion; and finding that there was no appearance of their doing so, he again resigned himself to the sweets of oblivion.He had lain some time in this state when he was a second time awakened, he knew not how, but he heard as if there were footsteps in the place. The fire had now fallen so low that he could see nothing by its light, but by a glimmering moonbeam that made its way in he saw that the door was again open. As he looked towards it, he thought he perceived something like a dog glide outwards. He started up, as he had done before, and, going to the door, he again shut it; and, that the wolf-dogs might no more torment him, he piled up the rustic table he had supped on, and some of the stools and settles against it. The precautions he thus took were effectual, for the dogs were no more troublesome to him all night; and the first interruption his slumbers experienced was from the overthrow of the whole materials of his barricado, and the exclamation of “Uve! uve!” that burst from Duncan MacErchar, who came for the purpose[183]of rousing him to prosecute his journey. Hepborne explained the cause of his having so fortified the door.“Uch ay,” said MacErchar, “they be’s powersome brutes—powersome brutes, in troth, and plaguy cunning. I’se warrant they smelt the smell of the rosten deer’s flesh, and that brought them in. But they got little for their pains, the ragged rascals—not but they are bonny tykes, poor beasts! and troth, ’tis better to have ane o’ them in the house than the wolves themselves, that we’re sometimes plagued with.”The host approached the side of Hepborne’s couch, with his everlasting stoup in his right hand, and the wooden cup in his left, and poured him out of the spirits it contained. The knight sipped a little, and then MacErchar retired to see that his morning’s meal was properly provided. It was no less copiously and comfortably supplied, according to his means, than the supper of the previous evening had been.At length Mortimer Sang came to receive his master’s orders; and when Hepborne asked him how he and his people had fared, he learned that they had been treated with every thing the good host could procure for them. Oats were not to be had for the horses; but, in addition to the grass that was cut for them, Master MacErchar had himself carried a large sack of meal to the stables and out-houses of turf, where the animals had with some difficulty been forced in, and he had most liberally supplied them with his own hands. He went round all the men of Hepborne’s party, and gave each his morning’s cup of spirits. In short, he seemed to think that it was impossible he could do enough from his small means, for the knight and every person and animal belonging to him.When the horses were brought out, Hepborne called MacErchar to him, and offered him, from his purse, ten times as much money as the value of his night’s entertainment and lodging would have cost.“Uve! uve!” said Duncan, sore hurt, and half offended; “uve! uve! Sir Patrick! Hoot no. What! take money from the son of Sir Patrick Hepborne, the son o’ the noble brave knight that she has followed mony a days!—take money from his son for a bit paltry piece and a drink!—Na! na!—Uve! uve!—Ou fye! ou fye!—na, na!—Troth, she’s no just so poor or so pitiful as that comes to yet. Uve! uve! Surely!”Hepborne at once saw the mischief he had done. He would have rather put his hand in the fire than have hurt feelings that were so honourable to Duncan MacErchar; and he almost began to wish that his purse had been there, ere it had been the means[184]of giving pain to so noble a heart. He did all he could, therefore, to remedy the evil; for, putting his purse sheepishly into his pocket, he called for the stoup of spirits, and, filling the cup up to the brim, drank it off, to the health, happiness, and prosperity of Master Duncan MacErchar; then shaking the mountaineer heartily by the hand—“May we meet again, my worthy friend,” said he; “and wherever it may be, let me not pass by thee unnoticed. Meanwhile, farewell, and may the blessing of St. Andrew be about thee!”This courteous and kind behaviour completely salved the wound Hepborne had so unwittingly inflicted. Duncan was overjoyed with it, and gratified beyond measure. He tried to express his joy.“Och, oich! God’s blessing and the Virgin’s blessing be about her. Och, och! Sir Patrick! uu-uch! God’s blessing and the Virgin’s blessing—and uch-uch!—and, Sir Patrick—Sure, sure! ou ay—uu—u!”His English failed him entirely, and he resorted to that language in which he was most fluent. Hepborne mounted his horse, and, waving him another farewell, rode on to overtake his guides, who were standing on a distant eminence waiting for him; and as he receded from the humble mansion of Master Duncan MacErchar, he for several minutes distinguished his voice vociferating in pleased but unintelligible accents.
CHAPTER XXIV.Savage-looking Visitors—Night in the Highland Hostelry—Wolf-Dogs.
Savage-looking Visitors—Night in the Highland Hostelry—Wolf-Dogs.
Savage-looking Visitors—Night in the Highland Hostelry—Wolf-Dogs.
As they sat socially at their meal, they were suddenly interrupted by the door being burst open, when two gigantic and very savage-looking men entered, in most uncouth and wild drapery. They were clothed in woollen plaids of various colours and of enormous amplitude, and these were wrapt round their bodies and kept tight by a belt of raw leather with the hair on it, leaving the skirts to hang half-way down their naked thighs, while the upper part above the belt was thrown loosely over the shoulder, so as to give their muscular arms and hairy knees the full freedom of nakedness. Their heads also were bare, except that they had the copious covering which Nature had provided for them, the one having strong curly black hair, and the other red of similar roughness, hanging in matted locks over their features and about their ears. The forests which Nature had planted on their faces, chins, and necks too, had been allowed to grow, untamed by shears; their legs were covered half-way to the knee by strips of raw skin twisted round them, and their feet were defended by a kind of shoes made of untanned hides. Each had a dirk in his girdle, and a pouch of skin suspended before, while across their backs were slung bows and bunches of arrows. In their hands they brandished long lances, and several recently-taken wolves’ skins were thrown over their shoulders, but rather for carriage than covering. Five or six large wiry-haired wolf-dogs entered along with them.MacErchar instantly started up when they appeared, and began speaking loudly and hastily to them in their own tongue, waving them from time to time to retire, and at length opened the door, and showed them the way to the other apartment.“Who may be these two savage-looking men?” demanded Hepborne of his host as he entered.“Troth, she no kens them, Sir Patrick,” replied MacErchar, “she never saw them afore; but they tells her that they be’s hunters from the north side of this mountains here.”“Live they in the way that I must needs wend to-morrow towards Moray Land?” asked Hepborne.[181]“Uch, ay,” replied MacErchar; “but mind not that, Sir Patrick, for hersel will go wi’ her the morn.”“Nay,” said Hepborne, “that may not be, that is, if these men are to return whence they came, and that their road and mine run nearly in the same direction. Perdie, I cannot in that case suffer thee to yede so far with me unnecessarily, when their guidance might suffice. Thou shalt give them knowledge of the point I wish to reach, together with all necessary directions touching the places where we may best halt, and spend the night; and they shall receive a handsome guerdon from me when they shall have brought me and mine in safety to the Castle of Lochyndorbe, whither I am first bound.”“Uch-huch! of a truth she would like to go with her,” said MacErchar; “but troth, after all, she must confess that she kens but little o’ the way beyond her ain hills there. Weel would it be her part to wend wi’ her; but if yon loons ken the gate into Moray Land (as doubtless they have been there mony a time, and she does not mistake them) they will be better guides, after all. But what an she should ask some questions at them?”“Thou hadst better do so,” said Hepborne; “best ask them whence they come, and what parts of the country they know, before thou dost teach them the object of thy questions.”“Troth, and she’s right there,” said Duncan MacErchar; “this salvage loons are not just to lippen till; weel does she ken them; and, uve, uve! she maun tak special care to look sharp after them gin she should yede wi’ them; they are but little chancy, in troth. But she’ll call them in now, and see what the loons will say.”The two uncouth-looking men were accordingly brought in. They made no obeisance, but stood like a couple of huge rocks, immovable, with all their thickets and woods upon them. They even beetled over the tall and sturdy form of Duncan MacErchar, who, though above the middle size, might have passed as a little man when placed beside those gigantic figures. Duncan put several questions to them in their own language, which they answered, but always before doing so, they seemed to consult each other’s countenances, and then both answered in the same breath. They eyed the knight and his page from time to time, as the inhabitants of all secluded and wild regions are naturally apt to stare at strangers. After a good deal of colloquy had passed, MacErchar turned to Hepborne—“Sir Patrick,” said he, “these men ken every inch of the country from here to the Firth of Moray. Shall she now ask[182]them if they be willing to guide her honour to Lochyndorbe?”“Do so, I beseech thee,” said Hepborne, “and tell them I will give them gold when they bring me thither.”MacErchar again addressed them in their own language. The men seemed to nod assent to the proposals he made them; and after a few more words had passed between them—“Uch, Sir Patrick,” said he, “they be very willing for the job. They’ll bring her there in two days. They say that she must be off by sunrise in the morning.”This Sir Patrick readily undertook; and Duncan MacErchar having wet the treaty with a draught of the spirits from his stoup, of which he poured out liberally to each, the men retired. Sir Patrick Hepborne then signified a wish to go to his repose. Two heather-beds, of inviting firmness and elasticity, were already prepared at the two extremities of the chamber where they were; and the knight having occupied the one, and the page the other, both were very soon sound asleep.About the middle of the night Sir Patrick was awakened by a noise. He raised himself suddenly, and, looking towards the door, whence it seemed to have proceeded, he saw that it was open. One or two of the great rough wolf-dogs came slowly in, looking over their shoulders, as if expecting some one to follow them—and, making a turn or two round the expiring fire, and smelling about them for a little while, walked out again. Hepborne arose and shut the door, and then threw himself again within his blankets. He lay for some time awake, to see whether the wolf-dogs would repeat their unpleasant intrusion; and finding that there was no appearance of their doing so, he again resigned himself to the sweets of oblivion.He had lain some time in this state when he was a second time awakened, he knew not how, but he heard as if there were footsteps in the place. The fire had now fallen so low that he could see nothing by its light, but by a glimmering moonbeam that made its way in he saw that the door was again open. As he looked towards it, he thought he perceived something like a dog glide outwards. He started up, as he had done before, and, going to the door, he again shut it; and, that the wolf-dogs might no more torment him, he piled up the rustic table he had supped on, and some of the stools and settles against it. The precautions he thus took were effectual, for the dogs were no more troublesome to him all night; and the first interruption his slumbers experienced was from the overthrow of the whole materials of his barricado, and the exclamation of “Uve! uve!” that burst from Duncan MacErchar, who came for the purpose[183]of rousing him to prosecute his journey. Hepborne explained the cause of his having so fortified the door.“Uch ay,” said MacErchar, “they be’s powersome brutes—powersome brutes, in troth, and plaguy cunning. I’se warrant they smelt the smell of the rosten deer’s flesh, and that brought them in. But they got little for their pains, the ragged rascals—not but they are bonny tykes, poor beasts! and troth, ’tis better to have ane o’ them in the house than the wolves themselves, that we’re sometimes plagued with.”The host approached the side of Hepborne’s couch, with his everlasting stoup in his right hand, and the wooden cup in his left, and poured him out of the spirits it contained. The knight sipped a little, and then MacErchar retired to see that his morning’s meal was properly provided. It was no less copiously and comfortably supplied, according to his means, than the supper of the previous evening had been.At length Mortimer Sang came to receive his master’s orders; and when Hepborne asked him how he and his people had fared, he learned that they had been treated with every thing the good host could procure for them. Oats were not to be had for the horses; but, in addition to the grass that was cut for them, Master MacErchar had himself carried a large sack of meal to the stables and out-houses of turf, where the animals had with some difficulty been forced in, and he had most liberally supplied them with his own hands. He went round all the men of Hepborne’s party, and gave each his morning’s cup of spirits. In short, he seemed to think that it was impossible he could do enough from his small means, for the knight and every person and animal belonging to him.When the horses were brought out, Hepborne called MacErchar to him, and offered him, from his purse, ten times as much money as the value of his night’s entertainment and lodging would have cost.“Uve! uve!” said Duncan, sore hurt, and half offended; “uve! uve! Sir Patrick! Hoot no. What! take money from the son of Sir Patrick Hepborne, the son o’ the noble brave knight that she has followed mony a days!—take money from his son for a bit paltry piece and a drink!—Na! na!—Uve! uve!—Ou fye! ou fye!—na, na!—Troth, she’s no just so poor or so pitiful as that comes to yet. Uve! uve! Surely!”Hepborne at once saw the mischief he had done. He would have rather put his hand in the fire than have hurt feelings that were so honourable to Duncan MacErchar; and he almost began to wish that his purse had been there, ere it had been the means[184]of giving pain to so noble a heart. He did all he could, therefore, to remedy the evil; for, putting his purse sheepishly into his pocket, he called for the stoup of spirits, and, filling the cup up to the brim, drank it off, to the health, happiness, and prosperity of Master Duncan MacErchar; then shaking the mountaineer heartily by the hand—“May we meet again, my worthy friend,” said he; “and wherever it may be, let me not pass by thee unnoticed. Meanwhile, farewell, and may the blessing of St. Andrew be about thee!”This courteous and kind behaviour completely salved the wound Hepborne had so unwittingly inflicted. Duncan was overjoyed with it, and gratified beyond measure. He tried to express his joy.“Och, oich! God’s blessing and the Virgin’s blessing be about her. Och, och! Sir Patrick! uu-uch! God’s blessing and the Virgin’s blessing—and uch-uch!—and, Sir Patrick—Sure, sure! ou ay—uu—u!”His English failed him entirely, and he resorted to that language in which he was most fluent. Hepborne mounted his horse, and, waving him another farewell, rode on to overtake his guides, who were standing on a distant eminence waiting for him; and as he receded from the humble mansion of Master Duncan MacErchar, he for several minutes distinguished his voice vociferating in pleased but unintelligible accents.
As they sat socially at their meal, they were suddenly interrupted by the door being burst open, when two gigantic and very savage-looking men entered, in most uncouth and wild drapery. They were clothed in woollen plaids of various colours and of enormous amplitude, and these were wrapt round their bodies and kept tight by a belt of raw leather with the hair on it, leaving the skirts to hang half-way down their naked thighs, while the upper part above the belt was thrown loosely over the shoulder, so as to give their muscular arms and hairy knees the full freedom of nakedness. Their heads also were bare, except that they had the copious covering which Nature had provided for them, the one having strong curly black hair, and the other red of similar roughness, hanging in matted locks over their features and about their ears. The forests which Nature had planted on their faces, chins, and necks too, had been allowed to grow, untamed by shears; their legs were covered half-way to the knee by strips of raw skin twisted round them, and their feet were defended by a kind of shoes made of untanned hides. Each had a dirk in his girdle, and a pouch of skin suspended before, while across their backs were slung bows and bunches of arrows. In their hands they brandished long lances, and several recently-taken wolves’ skins were thrown over their shoulders, but rather for carriage than covering. Five or six large wiry-haired wolf-dogs entered along with them.
MacErchar instantly started up when they appeared, and began speaking loudly and hastily to them in their own tongue, waving them from time to time to retire, and at length opened the door, and showed them the way to the other apartment.
“Who may be these two savage-looking men?” demanded Hepborne of his host as he entered.
“Troth, she no kens them, Sir Patrick,” replied MacErchar, “she never saw them afore; but they tells her that they be’s hunters from the north side of this mountains here.”
“Live they in the way that I must needs wend to-morrow towards Moray Land?” asked Hepborne.[181]
“Uch, ay,” replied MacErchar; “but mind not that, Sir Patrick, for hersel will go wi’ her the morn.”
“Nay,” said Hepborne, “that may not be, that is, if these men are to return whence they came, and that their road and mine run nearly in the same direction. Perdie, I cannot in that case suffer thee to yede so far with me unnecessarily, when their guidance might suffice. Thou shalt give them knowledge of the point I wish to reach, together with all necessary directions touching the places where we may best halt, and spend the night; and they shall receive a handsome guerdon from me when they shall have brought me and mine in safety to the Castle of Lochyndorbe, whither I am first bound.”
“Uch-huch! of a truth she would like to go with her,” said MacErchar; “but troth, after all, she must confess that she kens but little o’ the way beyond her ain hills there. Weel would it be her part to wend wi’ her; but if yon loons ken the gate into Moray Land (as doubtless they have been there mony a time, and she does not mistake them) they will be better guides, after all. But what an she should ask some questions at them?”
“Thou hadst better do so,” said Hepborne; “best ask them whence they come, and what parts of the country they know, before thou dost teach them the object of thy questions.”
“Troth, and she’s right there,” said Duncan MacErchar; “this salvage loons are not just to lippen till; weel does she ken them; and, uve, uve! she maun tak special care to look sharp after them gin she should yede wi’ them; they are but little chancy, in troth. But she’ll call them in now, and see what the loons will say.”
The two uncouth-looking men were accordingly brought in. They made no obeisance, but stood like a couple of huge rocks, immovable, with all their thickets and woods upon them. They even beetled over the tall and sturdy form of Duncan MacErchar, who, though above the middle size, might have passed as a little man when placed beside those gigantic figures. Duncan put several questions to them in their own language, which they answered, but always before doing so, they seemed to consult each other’s countenances, and then both answered in the same breath. They eyed the knight and his page from time to time, as the inhabitants of all secluded and wild regions are naturally apt to stare at strangers. After a good deal of colloquy had passed, MacErchar turned to Hepborne—
“Sir Patrick,” said he, “these men ken every inch of the country from here to the Firth of Moray. Shall she now ask[182]them if they be willing to guide her honour to Lochyndorbe?”
“Do so, I beseech thee,” said Hepborne, “and tell them I will give them gold when they bring me thither.”
MacErchar again addressed them in their own language. The men seemed to nod assent to the proposals he made them; and after a few more words had passed between them—
“Uch, Sir Patrick,” said he, “they be very willing for the job. They’ll bring her there in two days. They say that she must be off by sunrise in the morning.”
This Sir Patrick readily undertook; and Duncan MacErchar having wet the treaty with a draught of the spirits from his stoup, of which he poured out liberally to each, the men retired. Sir Patrick Hepborne then signified a wish to go to his repose. Two heather-beds, of inviting firmness and elasticity, were already prepared at the two extremities of the chamber where they were; and the knight having occupied the one, and the page the other, both were very soon sound asleep.
About the middle of the night Sir Patrick was awakened by a noise. He raised himself suddenly, and, looking towards the door, whence it seemed to have proceeded, he saw that it was open. One or two of the great rough wolf-dogs came slowly in, looking over their shoulders, as if expecting some one to follow them—and, making a turn or two round the expiring fire, and smelling about them for a little while, walked out again. Hepborne arose and shut the door, and then threw himself again within his blankets. He lay for some time awake, to see whether the wolf-dogs would repeat their unpleasant intrusion; and finding that there was no appearance of their doing so, he again resigned himself to the sweets of oblivion.
He had lain some time in this state when he was a second time awakened, he knew not how, but he heard as if there were footsteps in the place. The fire had now fallen so low that he could see nothing by its light, but by a glimmering moonbeam that made its way in he saw that the door was again open. As he looked towards it, he thought he perceived something like a dog glide outwards. He started up, as he had done before, and, going to the door, he again shut it; and, that the wolf-dogs might no more torment him, he piled up the rustic table he had supped on, and some of the stools and settles against it. The precautions he thus took were effectual, for the dogs were no more troublesome to him all night; and the first interruption his slumbers experienced was from the overthrow of the whole materials of his barricado, and the exclamation of “Uve! uve!” that burst from Duncan MacErchar, who came for the purpose[183]of rousing him to prosecute his journey. Hepborne explained the cause of his having so fortified the door.
“Uch ay,” said MacErchar, “they be’s powersome brutes—powersome brutes, in troth, and plaguy cunning. I’se warrant they smelt the smell of the rosten deer’s flesh, and that brought them in. But they got little for their pains, the ragged rascals—not but they are bonny tykes, poor beasts! and troth, ’tis better to have ane o’ them in the house than the wolves themselves, that we’re sometimes plagued with.”
The host approached the side of Hepborne’s couch, with his everlasting stoup in his right hand, and the wooden cup in his left, and poured him out of the spirits it contained. The knight sipped a little, and then MacErchar retired to see that his morning’s meal was properly provided. It was no less copiously and comfortably supplied, according to his means, than the supper of the previous evening had been.
At length Mortimer Sang came to receive his master’s orders; and when Hepborne asked him how he and his people had fared, he learned that they had been treated with every thing the good host could procure for them. Oats were not to be had for the horses; but, in addition to the grass that was cut for them, Master MacErchar had himself carried a large sack of meal to the stables and out-houses of turf, where the animals had with some difficulty been forced in, and he had most liberally supplied them with his own hands. He went round all the men of Hepborne’s party, and gave each his morning’s cup of spirits. In short, he seemed to think that it was impossible he could do enough from his small means, for the knight and every person and animal belonging to him.
When the horses were brought out, Hepborne called MacErchar to him, and offered him, from his purse, ten times as much money as the value of his night’s entertainment and lodging would have cost.
“Uve! uve!” said Duncan, sore hurt, and half offended; “uve! uve! Sir Patrick! Hoot no. What! take money from the son of Sir Patrick Hepborne, the son o’ the noble brave knight that she has followed mony a days!—take money from his son for a bit paltry piece and a drink!—Na! na!—Uve! uve!—Ou fye! ou fye!—na, na!—Troth, she’s no just so poor or so pitiful as that comes to yet. Uve! uve! Surely!”
Hepborne at once saw the mischief he had done. He would have rather put his hand in the fire than have hurt feelings that were so honourable to Duncan MacErchar; and he almost began to wish that his purse had been there, ere it had been the means[184]of giving pain to so noble a heart. He did all he could, therefore, to remedy the evil; for, putting his purse sheepishly into his pocket, he called for the stoup of spirits, and, filling the cup up to the brim, drank it off, to the health, happiness, and prosperity of Master Duncan MacErchar; then shaking the mountaineer heartily by the hand—
“May we meet again, my worthy friend,” said he; “and wherever it may be, let me not pass by thee unnoticed. Meanwhile, farewell, and may the blessing of St. Andrew be about thee!”
This courteous and kind behaviour completely salved the wound Hepborne had so unwittingly inflicted. Duncan was overjoyed with it, and gratified beyond measure. He tried to express his joy.
“Och, oich! God’s blessing and the Virgin’s blessing be about her. Och, och! Sir Patrick! uu-uch! God’s blessing and the Virgin’s blessing—and uch-uch!—and, Sir Patrick—Sure, sure! ou ay—uu—u!”
His English failed him entirely, and he resorted to that language in which he was most fluent. Hepborne mounted his horse, and, waving him another farewell, rode on to overtake his guides, who were standing on a distant eminence waiting for him; and as he receded from the humble mansion of Master Duncan MacErchar, he for several minutes distinguished his voice vociferating in pleased but unintelligible accents.