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WEIRD TALES
SCOTTISH
WILLIA M P A TER SON
LONDON AND EDINBURGH


Morrison and Gibb, Edinburgh,
Printers to Her Majesty's Stationery Office.


CONTENTS.
0
PAGE
THE VISION OF CAMPBELL OF INVERAWE, . 5
THE TAPESTRIED CHAMBER; OR, THE LADY
IN THE SACQUE 8l
HIGHLAND SNOWSTORM, .... 103
LEGEND OF THE DROPPING WELL, . . 119
WANDERING WILLIE'S TALE,. . . . 135
THE HAUNTED SHIPS l6l
THE UNKNOWN 184
THE RESCUE, 224
THE WITCH OF LAGGAN, .... 233
ALLAN MACTAVISH'S FISHING, . . . 244





6 Weird Tales.
having been ordered abroad,—of their refusal to go,
—of their having been moved, as if by one impulse
pervading every indignant bosom among them, to
make that most extraordinary and interesting march
of retreat which they effected to Northampton,—of
their having been ultimately brought under subjec-
tion,—and, finally, of their brave conduct in Flanders,
from which country they returned in October 1745.
After their return to Great Britain, the Black
Watch were ordered into Kent, instead of being sent
into Scotland with the other troops under General
Hawley, to act against those who had risen for Prince
Charles. This arrangement probably arose entirely
from great consideration and delicacy on the part of
the Government, who, fully aware of the high honour
of the individuals of the corps, never entertained the
smallest doubt of their loyalty, but who felt the cruelty
of exposing men to the dreadful alternative of fight-
ing against their friends and relatives, many of whom
were necessarily to be found in the ranks of the
insurgents. There were, however, three additional
companies raised in the Highlands, a little time
before the return of the regiment from abroad. These
were kept in Scotland, and however distressing to
their feelings the duty was which they were called
upon to perform, on the side for which they were
enlisted, they did that duty most honourably. One
of these was recruited and commanded by Duncan
Campbell, Laird of Inverawe.
After various services in their own country during
the period that the rest of the corps was abroad for
the second time, these three companies were ordered


Vision of Campbell of Inverawe. 7
to embark, in March 1748, to join the regiment in
Flanders. But the preliminaries of peace having
been soon afterwards signed, the order was counter-
manded, and they were reduced.
During the time that Campbell of Inverawe's
company was occupied in the unpleasant duty to
which I have alluded, he had been on one occasion
compelled to march into the district of Lorn, and to
burn and destroy the houses and effects of a few small
gentlemen, who were of that resolute description that
they would have sacrificed all they had, and even life
itself, rather than yield to what they held to be the
government of an usurper. Having been thus led to
pursue his route, in a certain direction, for many a
mile, he happened, on his return, to be detained
behind his men by some accidental circumstance, and
having lost his way after nightfall, he wandered about
alone for several hours, until he became considerably
oppressed with hunger and fatigue. With the expecta-
tion of gathering some better knowledge of his way,
he left the lower grounds, where the darkness of night
had settled more deeply and decidedly down, and he
climbed the side of a hill with the hope of benefiting,
in some degree, by the half twilight which lingers
longer upon these elevations, continuing to rest upon
them sometimes for hours after it has altogether
deserted their lower regions. With the dogged per-
severance of one who labours on because he has no
other alternative, he blindly pursued his haphazard
course in a diagonal line along the abrupt face, always
rising as he proceeded, until his way became every
moment more and more difficult. The side of the


8 Weird Tales.
tj£'*'i • •>' > >•*:
hilirWeeftme steeper .and steeper at every step, until
.fee began t,o be>atisfied that he had no chance of
reaching its brow, except by retracing his steps, in
order to discover some other means of ascending to
it. To any such alternative as this he could by no
means make up his mind. He cursed his own folly
for allowing his company to march on without him.
He uttered many a wish that he was with them. He
felt sufficiently convinced that he had acted im-
prudently in having thus exposed himself alone, in
the midst of a district which was yet reeking with the
vengeance which his duty had compelled him so
unwillingly to pour out upon it. But his courage was
indomitable, and his way lay onwards, and onwards
he without hesitation resolved to go.
He had not proceeded far, until high cliffs began
to rear themselves over his head, whilst, from his
very feet, perpendicular precipices shot down into
the deep night that prevailed below. The goat or
deer track that he followed became evety moment
more and more blocked up with stony fragments,
until at length it offered one continuous series of
dangerous steps, requiring his utmost care and atten-
tion to preserve him from a slip or fall that might
have been fatal.
Whilst he was thus proceeding, with his whole
attention occupied in self-preservation, he was
suddenly challenged in Gaelic by a rough voice in his
front.
"Who comes there?"
"A friend," replied Inverawe, in the same language
in which he was addressed.


Vision of Campbell of Inverawe. 9
"I am not sure of that," said the same voice
hoarsely and bitterly. "Is he alone'?"
"He is alone," said a voice a little way behind
Inverawe; "we are quite safe."
"Come on then, sir," said the voice in front, "you
have nothing to fear."
"Fear!" cried Inverawe, in a tone which implied
that any such feeling had ever been a stranger to him;
"I fear nothing."
"I know you to be a brave man, Inverawe !" said
the man who now appeared in front of him. "Come
on then without apprehension. You need not put
your hand into the guard of your claymore, for no
one here will harm you. But what strange chance
has brought you here?"
"The loss of my way," replied Inverawe. "But
how do you come to know me so well?"
"It is no matter how I know you," replied the
other. "It is sufficient that I do know you, and
know you to be a brave man, to whom, as such, I am
prepared to do what kindness I can. What are your
wants then, and what can I do for you?"
"My wants are, simply to find my lost way, and
then to procure some food, of which I stand much in
need," replied Inverawe.
"Be at ease then, for I shall help you to both,"
replied the person with whom he was conversing;
"but methinks your last want requires to be first
attended to, as the most urgent; so follow me, and
look sharply to your footing." Then, speaking in a
louder tone to some individuals, who, though unseen,
were posted somewhere in the obscurity to the rear of


io Weird Tales.
Inverawe, he said, "Look well to your post, lads, I
shall be with you by and by." And then again
turning to Inverawe, he added—" Come on, sir; you
must climb up this way; the ascent is steep, and you
will require to use hands as well as feet. Goats were
wont to be the only travellers here, and even they
must have been hardy ones. But troublous times will
often people the desert cliffs themselves with human
beings, and scare the very eagle from her aerie, that
she may yield her lodging to weary man.
Inverawe now began to clamber after his guide up
a steep, tortuous, and dangerous ascent, where in
some places they were compelled to pull up their
bodies by the strength of their hands and arms. It
lasted for some time; and he of the Black Watch,
albeit well accustomed to such work, was beginning
to be very weary of it, when at length they landed on
a tolerably wide natural ledge, where Inverawe per-
ceived that the cliffs that arose from the inner angle
of it so overhung their base as to render it self-evident
that all farther ascent in this direction was cut off by
them. Rounding a huge fallen mass of rock, which
lay poised on the very edge of the precipice, they
came suddenly on a ravine, or rift, in the face of the
cliff above, on climbing a few paces up which, they
discovered the low, arched mouth of a cave, whence
issued a faint gleam of light, and an odour of smoke.
His guide stooped under the projection of the cliff
that hung over it, and let himself down through the
narrow entrance. Inverawe followed his example
without fear, and found himself in a cavern of an
irregular form, from ten to twenty feet in diameter.


Vision of Campbell of Inverawe. I r
This he discovered partly by the light of a fire of peats
that smouldered near the entrance, and partially filled
the place with smoke, but more perfectly by a torch
of bog-fir which his guide immediately lighted. But
he felt no curiosity about this, in comparison with
that which he experienced in regard to the figure
and features of his guide, with which he was in-
tensely anxious to make himself acquainted.
He was a tall and remarkably fine looking man,
considerably below middle age. He was dressed in a
gray plaid and kilt, betokening disguise, but with the
full complement of Highland armour about him. His
hair hung in long black curls around his head. His
face was very handsome, his nose aquiline, his mouth
small and well formed, having its upper lip graced by
a dark and well-trimmed moustache. His eyes, and
his whole general expression, were extremely be-
nignant. After scanning his face with great attention,
Inverawe was satisfied that he never had seen him
before, and he had ample opportunity of ascertaining
the reverse, if it had been otherwise, for the man
stood with the bog-fir torch blazing in his hand, as if
he wished to give his guest the fullest advantage of it
in his scrutiny of him, and then, as if guessing the
conclusion to which that scrutiny had brought him,
he at last began to speak.
"Ay," said he calmly, "you are right, Inverawe.
Your eyes have never beheld me until this moment.
But I have seen you to my cost. I was looking on
all the while that you and your men were burning and
destroying my house, goods, and gear, this blessed
morning, and / can never forget you."


12 Weird Tales.
"I know you not, that is certain," replied Inver-
awe; "and the cruel duty we were on to-day was so
extensive in its operation, that I cannot even guess
whom you are."
"You shall never know it from me, Inverawe,"
replied the other.
"And why not?" demanded Inverawe.
"From no fear for myself," replied the stranger;
"but because I would not add to that remorse, which
you must feel, from being compelled to execute deeds
which are as unworthy of you, as I know they are
contrary to your generous and kindly nature. I have
suffered from you deeply—deeply indeed have I
suffered. But I look upon you but as an involuntary
minister of the vengeance of a cruel Government, and
perhaps as an agent in the hand of a just God, who
would punish me for those sins and frailties which are
inherent in my human nature. I blame not you, and
I can have no feeling of anger against you, far less of
revenge. Give me, then, the right hand of fellowship."
"Willingly, most willingly!" said Inverawe,
cordially shaking hands with him. "You are a noble,
high-minded man; for certainly I can imagine what
your feelings might have very naturally been against
me, and I know that I am now in your power."
"All I ask, Inverawe, is this," continued the
stranger; "that as I have been, and will continue to
be, honourable towards you, you will be the same to
me; and in asking that, I know that I am asking
what is sure to be granted. The confidence in your
honour which I have shown by bringing you here,
will not be betrayed."


Vision of Campbell of Inverawe. 15
glady pastures, which were seen to spread their
verdant surface to the sun, along the course of the
river Awe. Behind the gray towers of the building,
broken rocks arose here and there, in bare masses, in
the direction of the mountain; whilst the blue expanse
of Loch Etive stretched away from the eye towards
the north-east, as well as to the west. To the south-
west, the groves, and grassy slopes, were abruptly
broken off by the perpendicular crags of the romantic
ravine through which the river makes its way, to pour
itself across the open haughs of Bunawe, and into
Loch Etive. To sketch out the remainder of the
neighbourhood, so that you may be fully aware of the
nature of the country, which was the scene, where
one of the most important circumstances of my tale
took place, I may add, that about a mile above the
ravine, the river has its origin from a long narrow
arm of Loch Awe, which presents one of the most
romantic ranges of scenery in Scotland. The lake in
the bottom is there everywhere about eighty or an
hundred yards wide only; and whilst a bare, rocky
mountain front, furrowed by many a misty cataract,
rises sheer up out of the water on its western side,
the steep, lofty, and rugged face of Cruachan shuts it
in on the eastern side, forming the grand and wild
pass of Brandera. Here the mountain exhibits every
variety of picturesque form,—of prominent crag, and
half-concealed hollow, among which the gray mists
are continually playing and producing magical effects;
together with deep torrent beds, and innumerable
waterfalls, thundering downwards unseen, save in
glimpses, amid the thick copse which, generation


16 Weird Tales.
after generation, has sprung from the stools of those
giant oaks, which were once permitted to rear their
spreading heads, and to throw their bold arms freely
abroad, athwart the rocky steeps that rear'themselves
so high up above, as to be softened by distance and
air, till they almost melt from human vision.
Having thus put you in possession of the scenery,
I shall now proceed to tell you, that Campbell of
Inverawe, after his long absence from home on
military duty, felt all the luxury of enjoyment which
these his own quiet scenes could bestow. And his
mind expanding to all his old friendships, he largely
exercised all the hospitalities of life. Frequently did
he fill the hall of his fathers with gay and merry
feasters, and his own hilarious disposition always
made him the very soul of the mirth that prevailed
among them.
One one occasion, it happened that he had congre-
gated a large party together. The wine circulated
freely. The fire bickered on the hearth, and threw a
cheerful blaze over the walls of the hall, reddening
the very roof, and gleaming on the warlike weapons
that hung around. The wine was good, the jests
were merry, and the conversation sparkling, so that
the guests were as loath to depart as their kind host
was unwilling to let them go. His lady had retired
to her chamber, but still they sat on, making the old
building ring again with their jocund laughter. But
all things must have an end. The parting cup, to
their host's roof-tree, was proposed by a certain young
man called George Campbell, and it was filled to the
brim. But as all were on their legs to drain it, with


Vision of Campbell of Inverawe. 17
heart and good will, to the bottom, a rattling peal of
thunder rolled directly over their heads. There was
not a man of them that did not feel that the omen was
appalling. Some hardy ones tried to laugh it off, as
a salvo from heaven in homologation of their good
wishes to the house of Inverawe. But the pleasantry
went ill down with the rest. Servants were called
for, horses were ordered, and out poured their
owners to mount them,—when they were all surprised
to see the heavens quite serene and tranquil. But not
a word of remark was ventured by any one on this so
very strange a circumstance. Their hospitable enter-
tainer saw every man of them take his stirrup-cup;
and they galloped away, one after the other.
After they were all gone, Inverawe paced about in
the courtyard for some time, in sombre thought which
stole involuntarily upon him. He then sought his
way up-stairs, and, lifting an oaken chair towards the
great hearth, where the billets had by this time begun
to burn tfd and without flame, he sat down in it for
a while, listlessly to ponder over the events of the
evening. The weary servants had gladly stolen away
to bed, and the whole castle was soon as silent as the
grave. Not a sound was to be heard within the walls,
but the dull, drowsy buzzing of a large fly, which the
flickering light of a solitary lamp, left on the table,
had prevented from retiring to some cranny of repose.
The master of the mansion smiled for a moment, as
the whimsical idea crossed him, that this tiny insect
was perhaps the only thing of life which, at that
time, kept watch with him within the castle.
Inverawe's thoughts reverted to the last toast which


18 Weird Tales.
had been given by his young friend Campbell, and the
strange circumstances by which it had been accom-
panied. He had an only son, called Donald, a
promising young man, who was the prop of his house,
and to whose future career in life he looked forward
with all a father's anxiety. He had been long
accustomed to weave a silken tissue of anticipated
happiness, and honours, for the young man, and to
view him, in his mind's eye, as the father of many
generations to come. The youth was at that time
from home; and this was the very first moment of his
life that the notion of there being any chance of his
being one day left childless, had ever occurred to him.
He tried to shake off these gloomy presentiments,
but still they returned, and clung to him, with a force
and pertinacity that no reason could conquer. He
would fain have risen to go to his chamber, but he
felt as if some powerful, though unseen hand, had
held him down to his chair; and he continued to sit
on, absorbed in contemplative musings on these
gloomy and painful dreams, till the billets on the
hearth had consumed themselves to their red embers.
Suddenly all such thoughts were put to flight from
his mind. He distinctly heard the great outer door
of the castle creak upon its hinges. He remembered,
that although he had not locked it, he had shut it
behind him when he came in. It now banged against
its doorway, and sent a hollow sound echoing up the
long turnpike stair. Faint, quick, and stealthy foot-
steps were then heard ascending. One or two other
doors were moved in succession. The footsteps
approached with cautious expedition. And as Inver-


Vision of Campbell of Inverawe. 19
awe listened with breathless attention, the door of the
hall was thrust open, a human countenance appeared
for an instant in the dusky aperture, and then a man,
with a naked dirk in his hand, his clothes dripping
wet, his long hair hanging streaming over his
shoulders and half-veiling his glaring eyes and pale
and haggard countenance, rushed in, and made
straight up to him.
Inverawe started to his feet, drew his dirk, and
prepared to defend himself from this unlooked-for
attempt at assassination. But ere he had well plucked
it forth from its sheath, the intruder assumed the
attitude of a suppliant.
"For mercy's sake pardon my unceremonious
entrance, Inverawe!" said the stranger, in a hollow,
husky, and exhausted voice. "And be not alarmed,
for I come with no hostile intention against you or
yours. I am an unfortunate wretch, who, in a sudden
quarrel, have shed the blood of a fellow-creature.
He was a man of Lorn. I have been hotly pursued
by his friends, and though I have thrown those who
are after me considerably out, during the long chase
they have kept up, yet they are still pressing like
blood - hounds on my track. To baffle them, if
possible, I threw myself into the river, and swam
across it; and I now claim that protection, and that
hospitality, which no one ever failed to find within
the house of Inverawe."
"By Cruachan!" cried Inverawe, sheathing his
dirk, and slapping it smartly with the open palm of
his hand. "By Cruachan, I swear that you shall
have both!"


20 Weird Tales.
Now, I must tell you, that this was considered as
the most solemn pledge that a Campbell of Inverawe
could give. Their war-cry was, "Coar-a-Cruachan"
that is, "Helpfrom Cruachan." And this expression
had a double meaning, inasmuch as the word Cruachan
had reference both to the mountain of that name, and
to the hip where the dirk hung. To swear by
Cruachan, therefore, and to strengthen the oath by
slapping the dirk with the open palm, was to utter an
oath, which must, under all circumstances, be for ever
held inviolable.
"But tell me," said Inverawe, "how happened
this unlucky affair?"
"We were all met to make merry at a wedding,"
replied the stranger, "when, as I was dancing with
But hold !—I hear voices! They approach
the castle! I am lost if you do not hide me imme-
diately."
"This way," said Inverawe, leading him to a
certain obscure part of the hall. "Aid me to lift this
trap. Now, down with ye and crouch there. They
come."
Inverawe had barely time to drop the trap-door into
its place, to resume his seat at the fire, and to affect
to be in a deep sleep, when the voices and the sound
of human footsteps were heard ascending the stairs.
Three men entered the hall in reeking haste—clay-
mores in hand. They rushed towards the fire-place,
where he was sitting. Inverawe started up as if just
awaked by the noise they made, and drew his dirk, as
if to defend himself from their meditated attack.
"Hal" cried he, with well - feigned surprise.


Vision of Campbell of Inverawe. 21
"Assassins! Then must I sell my life as dearly as
I can."
"Not assassins!" cried they. "We are not
assassins, Inverawe. We crave your pardon for this
apparently rude intrusion, but we are in pursuit of an
assassin. We come to look for a man who has
murdered another. Have we your permission to
search for him?"
"Certainly," said Inverawe, "wherever you
please."
"He cannot be here," said one of the men. "I
told you that he could not be here. Don't you see
plainly that he could not have come in here without
awaking Inverawe. We lose time here. We had
better on after our friends."
"Depend on't he has run up Loch Etive side,"
said another of them.
"What are all these wet footsteps on the floor?"
said the first of them that spoke. "He might have
been here without Inverawe's knowledge."
"Don't you see that Inverawe has had a feast, and
that wine, and water, and whisky too, have been
flowing in gallons in all directions?" said the second
man. "See, there is a large pool of lost liquor.
I verily believe that some of these footsteps are my
own, made this moment, by walking accidentally
through it. I tell you he never could have come
here."
"It is true that I have had a feast," said Inverawe
carelessly, "as you may see from the wrecks of it
that still remain on the table."
"I told you so," said the second man. "We only


22 Weird Tales.
lose time here. If you had only been guided by my
counsel, we might have been hard at his heels by this
time, as well as the rest."
"Haste, then, let us go!" said the first man.
"Away! away! cried his companions ; and, without
waiting for further parley, they rushed out of the hall,
and Inverawe heard, with some satisfaction, their foot-
steps hurrying down-stairs, and the shouts which they
yelled forth after their companions growing fainter
and fainter, until they were altogether lost in the
direction of Loch Etive.
Inverawe was no sooner certain that they were
fairly gone, without all risk of returning, than he
proceeded, in the first place, to secure the outer door
of the castle, and then returning to the hall, he went
to the trap-door, and calling softly to the man con-
cealed below, he desired him to aid him in raising it,
by applying his strength to force it upwards, and thus
their united strength enabled them speedily to open it,
and to lift it up.
"Come forth now, unfortunate man," said Inver-
awe; "your pursuers are gone."
"I come," said the stranger, in his husky, hoarse
voice, and as he raised himself from the trap-door, his
haggard countenance, and his blood-shot eyes, that
glared with the horror of his situation, half seen as
they were through his long moist locks, chilled Inver-
awe's very heart as he looked upon him.
"Now, sir," said Inverawe, "you are safe for the
present, your pursuers have passed on."
"Thanks! thanks!" replied the man; "I know
not how sufficiently to thank you."


Vision of Campbell of Inverawe. 25
sky. In addition to this, the great elevation of the
position added to the security of the place, and the
ravine-seamed front of the perpendicular mountain
of rock that guarded the western side of the pass,
immediately opposite to the face of Cruachan, pre-
cluded all chance of observation from that quarter.
"This is not exactly the place where Campbell ot
Inverawe would wish to exercise his hospitality to
any one who deigns to ask for his protection," said
the Laird, whilst he was engaged in striking a light;
"but in your circumstances it is the best retreat in
which I can extend it towards you. Here is a lamp;
and I will leave this tinder-box, and this flask of oil
with you. The cave is dry enough, and there is
abundance of heather to be had around you. Use
your lamp only when you may find it absolutely
necessary so to do; for its light might betray you;
and take care to show yourself as little as possible
during the daylight of to-morrow. I have promised
you protection by Cruachan, and by Cruachan you
shall have it. You must be contented with this my
assurance for the present, for your safety demands
that I shall not see you again, until I can do so
without observation, under the veil of to-morrow-
night's darkness. Till then, you must e'en do with
such provisions as this basket contains, and you may
reckon on my bringing a fresh supply with me when
I return. Farewell, for I must hurry back, so as to
escape discovery."
"Thanks ! thanks! kind Inverawe!" said the man,
in a state of extreme agitation and excitement,—" a
thousand thanks! But, must you—must you leave


Vision of Campbell of Inverawe. 27
might my absence and all be discovered. It cannot,
as yet, as I suppose, be much after midnight; but
even that is late enough for me. I must borrow the
swiftness of the roebuck to carry me back. So again
I say farewell till to-morrow night."
Inverawe tarried not for an answer, but, darting off
through the wood, he rapidly descended among the
rocks, and then bounded over all the obstacles in his
way, with a swiftness almost rivalling that of the
animal he had alluded to; and so he reached his own
door, in a space of time so short, as to be almost
incredible. The fire in the hall had now sunk into
white ashes. The lamp, which he had left burning,
was now flickering in its last expiring efforts. He
swallowed a single draught of wine to restore his ex-
hausted strength, and then he stole to his chamber, and
crept into bed, happy in the conviction that his lady,
who was in a deep sleep, had never discovered that he
had been absent.
The sleep that immediately fell upon Inverawe
himself, was that of the most perfect unconsciousness
of existence. He knew not, of course, how long it
had lasted, nor was he in the least degree sensible of
the cause or manner of its interruption. But he did
awake, somehow or other; and then it was that he
discovered, to his great wonder and astonishment,
that the chamber which, on going to bed, he had left
as dark as the most impenetrable night could make
it, was now illuminated with a lambent light, of a
bluish cast, which shone through the very curtains of
his bed. A certain feeling of awe crept chillingly
over him; for he was at once convinced that the light


28 Weird Tales.
was something very different from the dawn of morn-
ing. It became gradually more and more intense,
till, through the thick drapery that surrounded him,
he distinctly beheld the shadow of a human figure
approaching his bed. He was a brave man; but he
felt that every nerve and muscle of his frame was
paralyzed, he knew not how. He watched the slow
advance of the figure with motionless awe. The
shadowy arm was extended, and the curtain was
slowly and silently raised. The bluish light that so
miraculously pervaded the chamber, then suddenly
arose to a degree of splendour that was dazzling to
his sight, and clearly defined the appalling object
that now presented itself to his eyes. The face and
figure were those of the very man who had formerly
entertained him in the hole in the cliff on the moun-
tain-side, in Lorn. He was wrapped in the same
gray plaid, too. But those handsome features, which
had made so deep an impression on the recollection
of Inverawe, were now pale and fixed, as if all the
pulses of life had ceased; and the raven locks, which
hung curling around them, and the moustaches which
once gave so much expression to his upper lip, now
only served to increase the ghastliness of the hue of
death that overspread his countenance, as well as
that of the glaze of those immoveable eyes, which had
then exhibited so much generous intelligence. Inver-
awe lay petrified, his expanded orbs devouring the
spectacle before them. With noiseless action, the
figure dropped one corner of the shadowy plaid in
which it was enveloped, and displayed a gaping
wound in its bosom, which appeared to pour out


Vision of Campbell of Inverawe. 29
rivers of blood. Its lips moved not; yet it spoke—
slowly, and in a hollow and sepulchral tone,—
"Inverawe!—blood must flow for blood! Shield
not the murderer!"
Slowly did the spectre drop the curtain; and its
shadow, seen through it, gradually faded away in the
waning light, ere Inverawe could well gather together
his routed faculties to his aid. He rubbed his eyes,
started up in bed, leaned on his pillow, and brushed
the curtain hastily aside. All was again dark and
silent. Again he rubbed his eyes, and looked; but
again he looked into impenetrable night.
"It was a dream," thought, rather than said,
Inverawe; "a horrible dream—but nevertheless it
was a dream, curious in its coincidences, but not
unnatural. Nay, it was most natural, that the
strangest adventure of my past life should be re-
called by the yet stranger occurrences of this night,
and that both should thus link themselves confusedly
and irrationally together during sleep. Pshaw! It is
absurd for a rational man to think of this illusion
more. I'll to sleep again."
But sleep is one of those blessed conditions of
human nature which cannot be controlled or com-
manded by the mere will. On the contrary, the very
resolution to command it, is almost certain to put it
to flight. The vision, or whatever else it might have
been, haunted his imagination, and kept his thoughts
so busily occupied, that he could not sleep. When
his lady awaked in the morning, she found him lying
fevered, restless, and unrefreshed. Her inquiries were
anxious and affectionate; but, by carelessly attribut-


3O Weird Tales.
ing his indisposition to the prolonged revelry of the
previous evening, he at last succeeded in ridding him-
self of further question, and springing from his couch,
he tried to banish all thought of the unpleasant
dilemma into which he had been brought, by occupy-
ing himself actively in the business of the day.
He was so far successful for a time; but as night
approached, his uncomfortable reflections and anti-
cipations began again to crowd into his mind. He
must fulfil his promise of visiting his guest of the cave,
a guest whom he now could not help looking upon
with horror as a foul murderer; and yet, if he dis-
believed the reality of the previous night's visitation,
there was no reason that he should so regard him
more now, than he had done before. The difficulty
of contriving the means of managing his visit, so that
it should escape observation or suspicion on the part
of his lady, or his domestics, was very consider-
able. His lady was that evening more than ordinarily
solicitous about him, from the conviction that pressed
upon her that he had had little or no sleep the
previous night, and remarking his jaded appearance,
she eagerly urged him to retire to bed at an early
hour.
"My dearest," said he affectionately, "I shall:
but before I can do so, I have some otter-traps to set.
Perhaps I had better go and finish that business now,
while there is yet some twilight- Go you to your
chamber, and retire to rest. I shall sleep all the
sounder by and by, after breathing the fresh air of
this balmy evening for an hour or so."
The lady yielded to his persuasion, and she had no


Vision of Campbell of Inverawe. 31
sooner left him, than he took an opportunity of filling
his basket with such provisions as he could appro-
priate for the stranger with the least possible chance
of detection ; and putting a few of his otter-traps over
all, by way of a blind, he sallied forth in the direc-
tion of the river. There he first most conscientiously
made good his word, by planting his traps, and then,
as it was by that time dark, he turned his steps up the
side of Ben Cruachan, and made the best of his way
towards the cliffs where the cave was situated. As
he drew near to its mouth, he was in some degree
alarmed by observing a light proceeding from it.
He approached it with caution, and, on entering it,
he beheld the stranger sitting in the farthest corner of
it on the bed of heather, with his figure drawn up
and compressed together, and his features painfully
distorted, whilst his eyes were intently fixed on
vacancy. For a moment Inverawe doubted whether
some fit had not seized upon him; but he started
at the noise made by the entrance of his protector,
and sprang up to meet him.
"Oh, Inverawe," said he, "what a relief it is to
behold you! Oh, what a wretched weary time I have
passed since you left me!"
"I have brought you something to comfort you,"
said Inverawe, so shocked with his haggard appear-
ance and conscience-worn countenance, as almost to
recoil from him. • "You know that I could not come
sooner. You seem to be exhausted with watching.
You had better take some of this wine."
"Oh, yes, yes, give me wine—a large cup of
wine!" cried the stranger, wildly seizing the vessel


32 Weird Tales.
which Inverawe had filled, and swallowing its con-
tents with avidity. "Oh, such a time as I have
spent!"
"This place is quite secure," said Inverawe.
"You have no cause for such anxiety, if you will
only be prudent. But why do you keep this light
burning? Did I not tell you it was most dangerous
to do so. Some wandering or belated shepherd or
huntsman might be guided hither by it, and if your
retreat should be once discovered, your certain
destruction must follow."
"I could not remain in darkness," replied the
stranger, with a cold shudder; "it was agonizing to
do so! Horrid shapes continually haunted me,—
horrid, horrid shapes? Even the shutting of my
eyes could not exclude them. Oh, such a night as
last! Never have I before endured anything so
horrible."
"You must take your own way, then," said Inver-
awe, as he spread out the contents of the basket before
him. "I am sorry that I can do nothing better for
you, but this is the best fare I could provide for you,
without exciting suspicion in my own house. Stay—
here is a blanket, to help to make your bed somewhat
more comfortable. And now, I must hurry away.
Yet, before I go, let me once more caution you
about the light. Perhaps I had better make all
secure, by taking the lamp with me."
"Oh no! no! no! no!" cried the stranger, his
eyes glaring like those of a maniac, while he rushed
towards the lamp and seized it up, and clasped it
within his arms. "No, nothing shall rend it from


Vision of Campbell of Inverawe. 33
me! I will sacrifice my life to preserve it. What!
would you leave me to another long, long, and
dreadful night? Would you leave me to utter
darkness and despair?"
"Leave you I must," replied Inverawe; "and if
you will keep the lamp, you must do so at your own
risk. But your thoughts must be dreadful thoughts
indeed, so to disturb you. If conscious guilt be the
cause of them, I can only advise you to confess your-
self humbly to your Creator, and to pray for his
forgiveness."
Without waiting for a reply, Inverawe left the cave,
and made the best of his way home. On reaching his
apartment, he found his lady awake.
"You have been a long time absent, Inverawe,"
said she anxiously.
"I have, my love," replied he carelessly; "the
delicious air of this night induced me to stay out
longer than I had intended; but I hope I shall sleep
all the better for it."
Exhausted as he was by fatigue of body and mind,
as well as worn out by want of rest, Inverawe did fall
asleep immediately, and his sleep was sound and deep.
For aught he knew, it might have lasted for some
hours, when again, as on the previous night, he was
awaked, he could not tell how. The curtains of his
bed were drawn close, but the same uncouth blue
light which pervaded the apartment on the former
night, now again rendered them quite transparent.
To convince himself that he was awake, Inverawe
looked round upon his wife. Even at this early
stage, the light was sufficiently bright to enable him
t c


34 Weird Tales.
distinctly to see his lady's features as her head lay in
calm repose on the pillow beside him. He turned
again towards the side of the bed, and his eyes were
dazzled by the sudden increase of light, produced by
the curtain being raised, as before, by the extended
hand of the spectre. The same well-remembered
features were there, pale, fixed, and corpse-like; but
the expression of the brow, and bloodless lips, was
more stern than it was on the previous night. Again
the spectre dropped the fold of the filmy plaid that
covered the bosom, and displayed the yawning gash,
which continued to pour out rivers of blood. The
spectacle was horrible, and Inverawe's very arteries
were frozen up. Again it spoke in a deep, hollow
tone, whilst its lips moved not.
'' Inverawe! My first visit has been fruitless !—
Once more I come to warn you that blood must flow
for blood. No longer shield the murderer! Force me
not to appear again, when all warning will be vain!"
Inverawe made an effort to question it. His
parched mouth, and dried and stiffened tongue,
refused to do their office. The curtain fell, and the
light in the room, as well as the shadow of the figure,
began to wane away. He struggled to spring out of
bed, but his nerves and muscles refused to obey his
will, until it was gone, and all was again darkness.
The moment that his powers returned to him, he
dashed back the curtain, threw himself from the bed,
and searched through the room, with outstretched
arms; yet, bold and desperate as he was, he almost
feared that they might embrace the cold and bloody
figure which he had beheld. His search, however,


36 Weird Tales.
the lady promised what he desired, and then Inver-
awe communicated to her every circumstance that
had occurred to him. She was struck dumb and
petrified by the narration; but she had no sooner
gathered sufficient nerve to speak, than she earnestly
entreated him to have nothing to do in concealing the
guilty stranger.
"Let not this awful warning, now given you for
the second time, be neglected," said she. "Send for
the officers of justice without delay, and give up the
murderer to be tried by the offended laws of his
country. You know not what curse may fall upon
you, for thus trying to arrest Heaven's judgment on
the guilty man. Oh, Inverawe, it is dreadful to
think of it!"
"All this earnestness on your part, my love, is
natural," said Inverawe calmly. "But think of the
solemn oath I have sworn;—you would not have
Inverawe,—you would not have your husband,—
break a pledge so solemnly given? Whatever may
befall me hefe, I cannot so dishonour myself. Be-
sides," added he, "whilst, on the one hand, I know
that he to whom I am so pledged is like myself, a
man of flesh and blood, who, for anything I know to
the contrary, may, after all, be really less guilty than
unfortunate; I cannot even yet say with certainty,
that I have not been the sport of dreams, naturally
enough arising out of the strange circumstances to
which i have been exposed. But were it otherwise,
and that, contrary to all our accustomed rational
belief, I have indeed been visited by a spirit, what
proof have I that it is a spirit of health? What proof


Vision of Campbell oflnverawe. 37
have I that it may not be a spirit wickedly com-
missioned by the Father of lies to take this form, in
order to seduce me into that breach of my pledge,
which would for ever blacken the high name of
Campbell of Inverawe, and doom myself to ceaseless
remorse during the rest of my days? No, no, lady!
—I must keep my solemn vow, whatever may befall
me."
The lady was silenced by these words from her
husband, but her anxiety was not thereby allayed. It
increased as night approached; and especially when
Inverawe told her that he rriust again visit the man in
the cave. During that day various rumours had
reached him of people being afoot in search of a
murderer, who was supposed to have found a place
of concealment somewhere in that neighbourhood;
and it was with some difficulty that he could suppress
a hope that unconsciously arose within him, that he
might be relieved from his pledge, and from his
present most distressing and embarrassing position,
by the accidental capture of him for whom they were
searching. The duty of visiting the wretched man
had now become oppressively painful to Inverawe,—
and the painfulness of it was not decreased by the
additional risk which he now ran of being detected.
But Inverawe was not a man to abandon any duty for
any such reasons. Having again privately made up
his basket of provisions, therefore, and put his otter-
traps over its contents, as formerly, he left the castle
as twilight came on, and making his circuit by the
riverside with yet more care and caution than before,
he climbed along the side of Cruachan, and in due


Vision of Campbell of Inverawe. 39
man than anything else—" I must have light—I
should go distracted if I had not light. Darkness
would drive me to self-destruction! I tell you it is
filled with horrible shapes. Even when I shut my
eyes, the horrible spectre appears. Have pity !—have
mercy on me, and stay with me but this one single
night ?—for even the light of the lamp itself cannot
always banish the terrific spectre from before me!"
"Spectre!" cried Inverawe, shuddering with
horror,—" what spectre?"
"Ay, the horrible spectre," replied the man.
And then suddenly starting back, with his hands
stretched forth, as if to keep off some terrific shape
that had instantaneously risen before him, and with
his eyeballs glaring towards the dark opening of the
cave, he shrieked out—" Hell and torments I 'tis
there again,—there—there—see there!"
"I see nothing," said Inverawe, with some diffi-
culty retaining a proper command of himself. "But
this is madness—absolute insanity. See, here is your
food; I must leave you immediately."
"Oh, do not go!" said the stranger, following
Inverawe for a few steps towards the mouth of the
cave, and entreating him in a subdued and abject
tone. And then, just as his protector was about to
make his exit, he again started back, and stood as if
he had been transfixed, whilst, with his hands
stretched out before him, and his eyes fearfully staring
on the vacancy of the darkness that was beyond the
cavern's mouth, he again yelled out—"There ! there!
—see there!"
It must be honestly confessed that it was with no


40 Weird Tales.
very imperturbed state of nerves, that Inverawe com-
mitted himself to the obscurity of that night, to hurry
homewards; and though no spectre appeared before
his visual orbs, yet the harrowing spectacle which the
guilty man had exhibited, and the allusion which he
had made to the supposed spectre which he had seen
in his imagination, kept that which he had himself
beheld constantly floating before his mind's eye,
during the whole of his way home; and he was not
sorry, when he reached his own hall, to find his lady
sitting by the fire waiting for his return. She was
lonely and cheerless, and full of anxious thoughts
regarding him; but her eye brightened up at his
entrance, and she filled him a goblet of wine.
Inverawe swallowed it greedily down,—gave her a
brief and bare account of his evening's expedition,—
and then they retired to their chamber.
On this occasion Inverawe silently took the pre-
caution of bolting the door of the apartment; and, on
going to bed, the lady, with great resolution of mind,
determined within herself to keep off sleep, and to
watch, so that she too might behold whatever appari-
tion might appear; hoping that if the spectre which
had so disturbed Inverawe should, after all, prove to
be nothing but a dream, she might be able, from her
own observation, to disabuse him of his fantasy.
But it so happened that, notwithstanding all her
precautions, and all her mental exertions to prevent
it, she fell immediately into a most unaccountably
deep sleep; and Inverawe himself, in spite of all his
harassing and distressing thoughts, was speedily
plunged into a similar state of utter unconsciousness.


Vision of Campbell of Inverawe. 41
Again, for this the third night, he was awaked by
the same light streaming through the apartment, and
rendering the curtain of his bed transparent by its
wonderful illumination. Again he looked round on
his wife, and beheld every feature of her face clearly
displayed by its influence. She lay in the soundest
and sweetest repose. His first impulse was to awake
her, but he instantly checked himself, and felt grateful
that she was thus to be saved from the contemplation
of the terrific spectral appearance, the shadow of
which he now observed gliding slowly towards the
bed. The curtain was again raised. The same well-
remembered figure and face appeared under the usual
increased intensity of light. Again the filmy plaid
was partially dropped, and the fearful gash in the
bosom was exposed, as before, pouring out blood.
Again the deep, hollow voice came from the motion-
less lips, but it was accompanied by a yet sterner
expression of the eyes, and of the pale counten-
ance.
"Inverawe! My warnings have been vain. The
time is now past. Yet blood must flow for blood!
The blood of the murderer might have been offered
up—now your blood must flow for his! We meet
once more at Ticonderoga!"
This last visitation of the apparition, accompanied
as it was by a denunciation so terrible, had a yet
more overwhelming effect upon Inverawe than either
of those that preceded it. Bereft of all power over
himself, he lay, conscious of existence it is true, but
utterly incapable of commanding thought, much less
of exercising action. Ere he could rally his intellect,


42 Weird Tales.
or his nervous energy, the spectre was gone; and the
apartment was dark. When his thoughts began to
arise within him, they were of a more agonizing
character than any which he had formerly experi-
enced—" Your blood must flow for his." These
dreadful words still sounded in his ears, in the same
deep, sepulchral tone in which they had been uttered.
Do not suppose that one thought of himself ever
crossed his mind. He thought of his son—that son,
for whose welfare every desire of his life was concen-
trated,—that was his blood, against which he con-
ceived this dread prophecy to be directed—that was
his blood which he dreaded might flow. He shivered
at the very thought. He recalled the strange circum-
stances which had attended the drinking of the toast
to his roof-tree. His anxiety about his son was
raised to a pitch, that converted his bed, for that
night at least, into a bed of thorns. He slept not,
yet all his tossings failed to awaken his lady, who
slept as if she had been drenched with some soporifer-
ous drug. The sun had no sooner darted his first
rays through the casement, however, than she awaked
as if from a most refreshing sleep. She looked round
upon her husband, — observed his haggard and
tortured expression,—and the whole recollection of
what she previously knew having come upon her
at once, she began vehemently to upbraid herself.
"I have slept," said she, in atone of vexed self-
reprehension. '' After all my determination to the
contrary, I have slept throughout the whole night;
and you have been again disturbed. Say! what has
happened? Have you seen him again?"


Vision of Campbell of Inverawe. 43
"I have seen him," replied Inverawe in a sub-
dued tone and manner—" I have seen him, and his
appearance was terrible."
"Say—tell me !—what passed?" exclaimed the
lady earnestly. "Inverawe, I must know all."
Inverawe would have fain eaten in his words. He
would have especially wished to have left his wife in
ignorance of the denunciation to which the apparition
had given utterance. But he had not as yet recovered
sufficient mastery over himself, to enable him to baffle
the questioning of an acute woman. In a short time
the whole truth was extracted from him; and now
the lady, in a state of agitation that very much ex-
ceeded his, began to press upon him the necessity of
giving up the criminal to justice. Her argument was
long and energetic; and during the time that it
occupied, he gradually resumed the full possession of
himself.
"I have heard you, my love," replied he calmly;
"yet you have urged, and you can urge nothing
which can persuade me to break my solemn pledge.
The hitherto spotless honour of Inverawe shall never
be tarnished in my person. Dreadful as is the curse
which has been denounced upon me, I am still
resolved to act as an honourable man. Yet I will do
this much. I will again visit the man in the cave,
and insist with him that he shall seek some other
place of refuge. I have done enough for him. I have
suffered enough on his account. He must go else-
where. Perhaps I should have come to this resolve
yesterday—the time, alas! may now be past. But,
come what may, I am determined that the visit


44 Weird Tales.
of this night shall be the last that I shall pay to him.
He must go elsewhere. Even his own safety requires
that he shall do so—and mine! But no matter, he
must seek some other asylum!"
Even this resolve—late though it might be, was,
for the time, some consolation to the afflicted mind
of his wife. Nay, it was in some degree matter of
alleviation to his own sufferings. The broad sunlight
of heaven, and the bustling action of the creatures of
this world while all creation is awake, produces a
wonderful effect upon the human mind, in relieving it
from all those phantoms of anticipated evil which the
silent shades of night are so apt to conjure up within
it. Inverawe and his lady were less oppressed with
gloomy thoughts during the day than might have been
supposed possible. It is true that he often secretly
repeated over the denunciation of the apparition, hut
even yet he would have fain persuaded himself, as he
tried to persuade his wife, that he had been the sport
of dreams, resulting from some morbid stale of his
system.
"Ticonderoga I" said he, "where is Ticonderoga?
I know of no such place; nay, I never heard of any
such place; and, in truth, I do not believe that any
such place really exists on the face of this earth.
Ticonderoga! A name so utterly unknown to me,
and so strangely uncouth in itself, would lead me to
believe that it is the coinage of my own distempered
brain; and if so, then the whole must have been an
illusion. Yet it is altogether unaccountable and
inexplicable."
Thus it was that Inverawe reasoned during that


Vision of Campbell of Inverawe. 45
day; but as night again approached, it brought all its
phantoms of the imagination along with it.
Inverawe, however, wound himself up to go through
with that which he now considered as his last trial.
Having filled his basket as before, he set off on his
wonted circuitous route to the cave. As he went
thither, he endeavoured to steel up his mind to assume
that resolute tone with the stranger which he now felt
to be absolutely necessary to rid himself of so trouble-
some and distressing a charge. Much as it did violence
to his innate feelings of hospitality, to come to any
such determination, he resolved to insist on his
departure from the cave that very night, and he had
no difficulty in persuading himself that his doing this
would be the best line of safety he could prescribe for
the stranger, seeing that, by the active use of his limbs
during the remaining portion of it, he might well
enough reach some distant place of concealment
before daybreak. Full of such ideas, he pressed on
towards the cave, that he might get him off with as
little delay as possible. The light which had shone
from its mouth upon former occasions was now absent,
and Inverawe hailed the circumstance as a proof that
the wretched man had at last become more rational.
He approached the orifice in the cliff, and gently
called him. His own voice alone was returned to
him from the hollow bowels of the rock. All was so
mysteriously silent, that an involuntary chill fell upon
Inverawe. He repeated his call in a louder voice,
but still there was no reply—no stir from within. A
cold shudder crept over him, and for a moment he
half expected to see issue from the black void before


46 Weird Tales.
him, that appalling apparition which had now three
several times appeared by his bedside. A little
thought enabled him to get rid of this temporary
weakness. He recalled the last words of the spectre,
and the strange uncouth name of Ticonderoga. If
such a place had existence at all, it was there, and
there only, that he could expect to behold him again.
He became reassured, and all his wonted manliness
returned to him. He struck a light, and crept into
the cave. A short survey of its interior satisfied him
that the stranger was gone. The blanket, the ex-
tinguished lamp, and some other things, lay there, but
no other vestige of its recent inmate was to be seen.
Inverawe felt relieved; he was saved from even the
semblance of inhospitality. But the recollection of
the apparition's last words recurred to him", and then
everything around him seemed to whisper him that
indeed the time might now be past. He began, most
inconsistently, to wish that the stranger had still been
there—nay, he almost hoped that he might yet be
lingering about the neighbouring rocks or thickets.
He sallied forth from the cave, and abandoning all
his former caution, he shouted twice or thrice in
succession, at the very top of his voice, but without
obtaining any response, except that which came from
the echoes of the cliffs, muffled as they were by the
roar of the numerous cataracts of the mountain-side,
and the howling blast that swept downward through
the pass far below. For a moment he felt that if the
stranger had been still in his power, he could have
given him up to justice, to be dealt with as a murderer;
but reason made him blush, by bringing back to him


Vision of Campbell of Inverawe. 47
his high and chivalric sense of honour in its fullest
force, so that he turned to go homewards possessed
with a very different train of thought. When his lady
met him, she was eager in her inquiries, and deeply
depressed when she learned that Inverawe had now
lost all chance of delivering up the murderer.
"Alas!" said she, in an agony of tears, "the time
is now past.'"
"Do not allow this matter to distress you so, my
love," said Inverawe, endeavouring to soothe her into
a calm, which he could by no means command for
himself. "The more I think of it, the more I am
persuaded that the whole has been a phantasm of the
brain. Let us have a cup of wine, and laugh all such
foolish fancies away ere we go to bed. This perplex-
ing and distressing adventure has now passed by, and
this night I hope to shake off all such vapours of the
imagination."
Inverawe had little sleep that night, but he was
undisturbed by any reappearance of the apparition.
Unknown to his wife, he made a circuitous excursion
next day to Ben Cruachan, where a more accurate
examination of the cave and its environs satisfied him
that the stranger was indeed gone. And he was gone
for ever, for Inverawe never afterwards saw him,—
nor, indeed, did he ever again hear the slightest
intelligence regarding him.
Days, weeks, and months rolled away, and by
degrees the gloom which these extraordinary and
portentous events had brought upon Inverawe, as well
as upon his lady, began to be in a great degree
dissipated. His son had long since returned home in


48 Weird Tales.
full health and vigour, and things fell gradually into
their natural and usual course.
Inverawe was one night sitting in social converse
with his wife and his son, and their friend, young George
Campbell—the same indivdual who, as you may re-
member, was the giver of the toast of the roof-tree of
Inverawe,—when a packet of letters was brought in,
and handed to the Laird.
"What is all this?" exclaimed he quickly^ .breaking
the seal, and hastily examining the contents. "Ha!
the old Black Watch again! this is news indeed!"
"What ?—what is it?" cried his lady.
"Glorious news!" cried Inverawe, rubbing his
hands. "I am appointed to the majority of the
Highlanders; and here is an ensign's commission for
you, young gentleman," said he, addressing George
Campbell. "And my friend Grant, who writes to
me, tells me that he has got the lieutenant-colonelcy.
What can be more delightful than the prospect of
serving in such a corps, under the command of so old
a friend?"
"Glorious!—glorious!" cried young George Camp-
bell, jumping from his chair, and dancing through the
room with joy.
"A bumper to the gallant Highlanders, and their
brave commander!" cried Inverawe, filling the cups.
The toast was quaffed with enthusiasm. Young
Inverawe alone seemed to feel that there was no joy
in the cup for him.
"Would I had a commission too !" said he, in a
tone of extreme vexation.
"Boy," said Inverawe, gravely, "Your time is


Vision of Campbell of Inverawe. 49
coming. It will be well for you to stay at home to
look after your mother. One of us two is enough in
the field at once."
"Am I then to be doomed to sloth and idleness at
home?" said Donald pettishly; "better put petti-
coats on me at once, and give me a distaff to wield."
"Speak not so, Donald," said his mother, in a
trembling voice. "You are hardly old enough for
such warlike undertakings; and, indeed, your father
says what is but too true—for what could I do, were
both of you to be torn from me?"
Donald said no more. The cup circulated. George
Campbell was in high spirits, and full of happy
anticipations.
"I hope we may soon be sent on service," said he
exultingly.
"You may have service sooner than you dream of,"
said Inverawe, going on to gather the remainder of the
contents of his packet. "Grant writes me here, that
in consequence of the turn which matters are taking
in America, he hopes every day for the arrival of an
order for the regiment to embark. George, you and
I must lose no time in making up our kits, for we
must join the corps with all manner of expedition."
The parting between Inverawe and his lady was
tender and touching. Donald bid his father farewell
with less appearance of regret than his known affection
for him would have led any one to have anticipated.
There was even a certain smile of triumph on his
countenance as he saw them depart. But his mother
was too much overwhelmed by her own feelings, to
notice anything regarding those of her son.


50 Weird Tales.
The meeting between Inverawe and his old brother
officers was naturally a joyous one, and nothing could
be more delightful than the warmth of the reception
he met with from his long-tried friend Colonel Grant,
now commanding officer of the corps.
"My dear fellow, Inverawe !" said he, cordially
shaking him by the hand, "this happy circumstance
of having got you amongst us again, is even more
gratifying to me than my own promotion, and yet, let
me tell you, the peculiar circumstances attending that
were gratifying enough."
"I need not assure you that the news of it were
most gratifying to me," replied Inverawe. "It
doubled the happiness I felt, in getting the majority,
to find that I was to serve under so old and so much
valued a friend. But to what particular circumstances
do you allude?"
"When the step was opened to me, by the promo-
tion of Colonel Campbell to the command of the fifty-
fourth regiment," replied Colonel Grant, in a trembling
voice, and with the tears beginning to swell in his eyes,
"I was not a little surprised, and, as you will readily
believe, pleased also, to be waited on by a deputation
from the non-commissioned officers and privates of the
corps, to make offer to me of a purse containing the
sum necessary to purchase the lieutenant-colonelcy,
which they had subscribed among themselves, and
proposed to present to me, with the selfish view, as
the noble fellows declared to me, of securing to them-
selves, as commanding officer, a man whom they all
so much loved and respected! Campbell !—Inver-
awe!" continued he, with his voice faltering still


Vision of Campbell of Itiverawe. 51
more from the swelling of his emotions, "I can never
forget this, were I live to the age of Methuselah—I
can never deserve it all—but—but—pshaw! my heart
is too full to give utterance to my feelings, and I
must e'en play the woman."
"Noble fellows indeed!" cried Inverawe, fully
sympathizing with him in all he felt; "but by my
faith they looked at the matter in its true light, when
moved by selfish considerations, they were led so to
act—for they well knew that you would be as a father
to them."
"I shall ever be as a father to them whilst it
pleases God to spare me," said the Colonel warmly,
"and if ever I desert them while life remains, may I
be blown from the mouth of a cannon!"
"What was the result of this matter then?" de-
manded Inverawe.
"Why, as it happened," replied the Colonel, "the
promotion went in the regiment without purchase, so
that I enjoyed all the pleasure of receiving this kind
demonstration from my children, without taxing their
pockets, or laying myself under an unpleasant
pecuniary obligation to them, which might at times
have had a tendency in some degree to paralyze me
in the wholesome exercise of strict discipline. And
we shall require to stick the more rigidly to that now,
seeing that we are going on service."
"We are going on service then?" said Inverawe.
"We have this very evening received our orders
for America," replied Colonel Grant; "and never
did commanding officer go on service with more con-
fidence in his men and officers than I do."


52 Weird Tales.
"And I may safely say that never did officers or
men go on service with greater confidence in their
commander than we shall do," replied Inverawe,
again shaking the Colonel heartily by the hand.
George Campbell was introduced by Inverawe to
the particular notice of Colonel Grant, and by him to
the rest of the officers, among whom he soon found
himself at his ease. The time for their embarkation
approached, and all was bustle and preparation
amongst them. George had much to do, and it was
with some difficulty, but with great inward delight,
that he at last found himself complete in all his arms,
trappings, and necessaries. The night previous to
their going on board of the ships appointed to convey
them to their place of destination, was a busy one for
him, and he was still occupied, at a late hour, in his
quarters, when he was surprised by a knock at his
door.
"Come in!" cried George Campbell.
The door opened, and a young man entered, whose
fatigued and soiled appearance showed that he had
come off a long journey.
"Donald Campbell of Inverawe!" cried George,
in utter astonishment; and the young men were
instantly in one another's arms. "My dear fellow,
what strange chance has brought you hither?"
"I come to throw myself on your honour," said
Donald. "I come to throw myself on the honour of
him whom I have ever held to be my dearest friend;
—on the honour of one who has never failed me
hitherto, and who, if I mistake not, will not fail me
now. Give me your solemn promise that you will


54 Weird Tales.
bell, much perplexed. "But I have no relish for
having any hand in aiding you to oppose the will of
your father."
"No matter now, George, whether you have any
relish for it or not," replied young Inverawe, smiling.
"You have given me your promise that you will aid
me, and you must now make the best of it. So come
away. Let me see how you can best manage to get
me aboard. I must not be seen by my father till
we land in America, and then I shall enter as a
volunteer."
'' What will your father say then?" demanded
George Campbell.
"Why, that the blood of Inverawe was too strong
in me to be restrained," replied Donald. "Why,
man, it is just what he would have done himself. He
will be too proud of the spirit inherent in his house,
which has impelled me to this act, ever to think of
blaming me for it. Come, come, you have given me
your word."
"I have given you my word," said George Campbell;
"and I must honestly tell you that I wish I had been
less precipitate. But having given it, I must in truth
abide by it. It may be as you say, that your father
will have more pride than pain in this matter, when
he comes to know it. And then, as for myself, I
shall be too happy to have you as my companion in so
long a voyage. But come, let us have some refresh-
ment, and then we can talk over the matter, and
consider how your scheme may be best carried into
effect."
The thing was easily enough arranged. Many of


Vision of Campbell of Inverawe. 55
the privates of the corps were gentlemen who had
attendants of their own. There was nothing extra-
ordinary, therefore, in an officer being so provided.
A slight disguise was employed to alter Donald's
appearance, so that he might escape detection from
any one who had seen him before. Next morning he
went on board in charge of some of Ensign George
Campbell's baggage, and there he remained snugly
until the expedition sailed.
The Highland regiment embarked full of en-
thusiasm, and it was ultimately landed at New York
in the highest health and spirits. Colonel Stewart
of Garth, in his interesting work, tells us, that they
were caressed by all ranks and orders of men, but
more particularly by the Indians. Those inhabitants
of the wilds flocked from all quarters to see the
strangers, as they were on their march to Albany,
and the resemblance which they discovered between
the Celtic dress and their own, inclining them to
believe that they were of the same extraction as them-
selves, they hailed them as brothers. Orders were
issued to treat the Indians kindly; but, although
these were most generally and most cheerfully obeyed,
instances did occur where gross acts of impropriety
and harshness were exhibited towards them, and one
of these I shall now mention.
A young Indian, of tall and handsome proportions,
with that conscious air of equality which they all
possess, came up to a group of the Highlanders who
were resting themselves round a fire. An ignorant
and mischievous fellow of the party, who much more
merited the name of savage than him of the woods,


5 6 Weird Tales.
having heated the end of the stalk of a tobacco pipe,
handed it, full of tobacco, with much mock solemnity
to the young Indian,—who, in ignorance of the trick,
was just about to take it into his hand, and to apply
the heated end of it to his lips, when a young High-
lander who was present, dashed it to the ground.
The Indian started—looked tomahawks at the High-
land youth, and might have used one too, had not he,
with his glove on, taken up a portion of the broken
pipe-stalk, and signing to the Indian to feel it, made
him sensible of the kind and friendly service he had
rendered him. The ferocious rage that lightened in
the eye of the red man was at once extinguished. A
mild and benignant sunshine succeeded it. He took
the hand of the young Highlander, and pressed it to
his heart; and then, darting a look of dignified con-
tempt upon the poor creature who had been the
author of this base and childish piece of knavery
against him, he slowly, solemnly, and silently with-
drew.
Whilst Major Campbell of Inverawe was on the
march, his noble appearance seemed to make a strong
impression on their Indian followers. For his part,
he was peculiarly struck with the fine figure and
graceful mien of a heroic-looking young warrior of
the woods, who seemed to keep near to him, as if
earnestly intent on holding intercourse with him. He
encouraged his approach; and, conversing with him,
as well as the young man's imperfect knowledge of
English permitted him to do, he invited him, when
they halted for refreshment, to partake of his hasty
meal. The young Eagle Eye—for such was the


Vision of Campbell of Inverawe. 57
Indian's name in his own tribe—carried a rifle; and
Major Campbell having put some questions to him as
to his skill in using it, his curiosity was so excited by
all that the red man said of himself, that he resolved
to put it to the proof. Having loaded his own piece,
therefore, he proposed to his new Indian ally, to take
a short circuit, to look for game, during the brief time
that the men were allowed for rest, and one or two of
the officers arose to accompany them. The Eagle
Eye moved on before them with that silence, and
with that dignified air, which marked the confidence
which he had in his own powers. A walk of a few
hundred yards from their line of march, brought them
into a small open space of grassy ground, surrounded
by thickets. Inverawe stopped by chance to adjust
the buckle of his bandoleer, when the Eagle Eye,
who happened at that moment to be some paces to
the right of him, sprang on him like a falcon, and
threw him to the ground. As he was in the very act
of doing so, an arrow from the thicket in front of them
pierced the Indian's shoulder, whilst he, almost at the
same moment, levelled his rifle, fired it in the direc-
tion from whence the arrow came, and, rushing
forward with a yell, plunged among the bushes. The
whole of these circumstances passed so instantaneously,
that Major Campbell's brother officers were con-
founded. But having assisted him to rise from the
ground, they congratulated him on his escape from
a danger which neither he nor they could as yet very
well comprehend or explain. They were not long
left in suspense, however, for the Eagle Eye soon re-
appeared, dragging from the thicket the body of an


58 Weird Tales.
Indian belonging to a hostile tribe. In an instant,
the Eagle Eye exercised his scalping-knife, and
possessed himself of the bloody trophy of his enemy.
On examination, the ball from his rifle was discovered
to have perforated the brain through the forehead of
his victim. The mystery was explained. The young
Eagle Eye had suddenly descried the lurking foe,
deeply nestled among the bushes, and in the act of
taking a deliberate aim at Inverawe. He had saved
the Major's life at the imminent risk of his own, and
that quick sight from which he had his name, had
enabled his ready hand to take prompt and deadly
vengeance for the wound he had received in doing so.
The grateful Inverawe felt beggared in expressions of
thanks to his Indian preserver. He and his friends
extracted the arrow from the shoulder of the hero,
poured spirits into the wound, and bound it up; and
then, as they hastened back to join the troops, he
entreated the Eagle Eye to tell him how he could
recompense him.
"It is enough for me," replied the young Indian
warrior, with dignified gravity of manner, mingled
with becoming modesty, and in his broken language,
the imperfections of which I shall not attempt to give
you, though I shall endeavour to preserve the finer
peculiarities of its poetical conceptions, — "it is
enough for my youth to be suffered to live within the
shadow of a chief, broad as that which the great rock
spreads over the grassy surface of the Prairie; a
chief among those who have come over the waters of
the great salt lake, in number like that of the beavers
of the mohawk, whose fathers were the brethren of


60 Weird Tales.
The Eagle Eye, with great dignity, took the right
hand of Inverawe between both of his, and pressed it
forcibly to his heart. When they reached the ground
where the men were halting, the Major despatched a
non-commissioned officer with the Indian, to find out
the young man, and to bring him immediately before
him. They soon reappeared with him; and what was
Inverawe's astonishment, when he lifted up his eyes,
and beheld—his son!
It was exactly as Donald had himself prognosti-
cated. Inverawe's heart was so filled with joy, in
thus so unexpectedly beholding and embracing his
boy, at the very moment when he had been dreaming
that he was so far from him; and with pride in think-
ing of that brave spirit which had impelled him to
follow him to America; as well as with deep gratifi-
cation at the kind-hearted act which had thus caused
him to be so strangely brought before him,—that no
room was left within it for those gloomy thoughts
which might have otherwise arisen there. He clasped
him again and again to his bosom, whilst the Indian
stood by as a calm spectator of the scene, his coun-
tenance unmoved by the feelings of sympathy that
were working within him. Their first emotions were
no sooner over, than Inverawe hurried Donald away
to introduce him to the commanding-officer, and he
was speedily admitted into the corps as a gentle-
man volunteer, with the promise of the first vacant
ensigncy. It will easily be believed, that the strict
ties which were thus formed between the Campbells
of Inverawe and the noble Eagle Eye, were destined
to increase every day. Under the direction of his


62 Weird Tales.
sisted altogether of above twenty • two thousand
regulars, and thirty thousand provincial troops,
which last could not be classed under that character.
The hopes of all were high, therefore, and active
operations were immediately contemplated.
It was some little time before this, that Inverawe
was spending an evening, tlte-a-tlte, with his friend
Colonel Grant. The bottle was passing slowly but
regularly between them, when, by some unaccount-
able change in their conversation, the subject of
supernatural appearances came to be introduced.
Colonel Grant protested against all belief in them.
The recollection of the apparition which had three
several times visited Inverawe, came back upon his
mind, in form and colours so strong and forcible,
that his cheeks grew pale, and a deep gloom over-
spread his brow; so much so, indeed, that it did not
escape the observation of his friend. Colonel Grant
rallied him, and asked him, jocularly, if he had ever
seen a ghost.
"I declare I could almost fancy that you saw some
spectre at this moment, Inverawe," said he.
"Where?—how?—what?" cried' Inverawe, dart-
ing his eyes into every corner of the room, with a
degree of perturbation which the Colonel had never
seen him display before.
"Nay," said the Colonel, surprised into sudden
gravity, "I cannot say either where or what; but I
must confess that you seem to me as much disturbed
at present as if you saw a spectre."
"I cannot see him here," said Inverawe, with an
abstracted solemnity of tone and manner, that greatly


Vision of Campbell of Ihverawe. 63
increased his friend's astonishment—" I cannot see
him here. This is not the place where I am fated to
behold him."
'•'•Him!" exclaimed Colonel Grant, with growing
anxiety—"him !—whom, I pray you? For Heaven's
sake, tell me whom it is that you are fated to hehold!"
"Pardon me," replied Inverawe, at length in
some degree collecting his ideas, but speaking in a
solemn tone. "An intense remembrance which came
suddenly upon me, regarding strange circumstances
which happened to myself, has betrayed me to talk
of that which I would have rather avoided, and—
and which cannot interest you, incredulous as you
have declared yourself to be regarding all such super-
natural visitations."
"Nay, you will pardon me, if you please," said the
the Colonel eagerly; "for you have so wonderfully
excited my curiosity, that I must e'en entreat you to
satisfy me. What were these circumstances that
happened to you ?—tell me, I conjure you."
"It is with great pain," said Inverawe gravely,
"that I enter upon them at all; for, although they
still remain as fresh upon my mind as if they had
happened yesterday, I would fain bury them, not
only from all mankind, but from myself. And yet,
perhaps, it may be as well that you should know
them; for, strange as they are in themselves, they
would yet be stranger in their fulfilment. Listen
then attentively, and I shall tell you every thing,
even to the very minutest thought that possessed
me." And so he proceeded to narrate all that I have
already told.


64 Weird Tales.
"Strange!" said the Colonel, after devouring the
narrative with breathless attention,—" wonderfully
strange indeed! But these are airy phantoms of the
brain, which we must not—nay, cannot allow to weigh
with us, or to dwell upon our minds, else might we be
bereft of reason itself, by permitting them to get
mastery over us, and so might we unwittingly aid
them in working out their own accomplishment.
Help yourself to another cup of wine, Inverawe, and
then let us change the subject for something of a more
cheerful nature."
But all cheerfulness had fled from Inverawe for
that night, and the friends soon afterwards separated,
to seek a repose, which he at least in vain tried to
court to his pillow for many hours; and when sleep
did come at last, the figure of the murdered man
floated to and fro in his dreams. But it did so, only
the more to convince him of the wonderful difference
between such faint visions of slumber, and that vivid
spectral appearance which had formerly so terribly
and deeply impressed itself upon his waking senses,
in his own bed-chamber at Inverawe.
The conversation I have just repeated, together
with Inverawe's narrative, remained strongly en-
graven upon the recollection of Colonel Grant. The
whole circumstances adhered to him so powerfully,
that he almost felt as if he too had seen the appari-
tion, and heard him utter his fatal words. He
could not divest himself of a most intense solicitude
about his friend's future fate, which he could in no
manner of way explain to his own rational satisfac-
tion. But the active and bustling duties which


Vision of Campbell of Inverawe. 65
now called for his attention, in consequence of the
approaching campaign, very speedily banished all
such thoughts from his mind.
It was not long after this, that Colonel Grant was
summoned by General Abercromby to meet the other
commanding-officers of corps in a council of war.
The council lasted for many hours, and when the
Colonel came forth from it after it had broken up,
he was observed to have a cloud upon his brow,
and a certain air of serious anxiety about him, which
was very much augmented by his meeting with his
friend Inverawe.
"Well," said Inrerawe cheerfully to him, as
Colonel Grant joined him and his other officers at
mess, "I hope you have good news for us, Colonel,
and that at last you can tell us that we are to march
out of quarters on some piece of active service."
"We are to march to-morrow," replied the Colonel,
with unusual gravity.
"Whither?" cried Inverawe eagerly. "Whither,
if I may be permitted to ask?"
"We march to Lake George," replied the Colonel,
with a very manifest disposition to taciturnity.
"Pardon me," said Inverawe; "perhaps I push
my questions indiscreetly,—if so, forgive me."
"No," replied the Colonel, with assumed careless-
ness. "I have nothing which the good of the service
requires me to conceal from you, Inverawe, nor,
indeed, from any one here present. We march for
Lake George, as I have already said; and there we
are to be embarked in boats to proceed up the lake.
Our object," added he, in a deeper and somewhat
S E


66 Weird Tales.
melancholy tone, — "our object is to attack Fort
Defiance."
'' What sort of a place is it?" demanded one of the
officers.
"A strong place, as I understand from the engineer
who reconnoitred it," replied the Colonel. "But
these American fastnesses are so beset with forests,
that no one can well judge of them till he is fairly
within their entrenchments."
"Then let us pledge this cup to our speedy posses-
sion of them !" exclaimed Inverawe joyously.
"With all my heart," said the Colonel, filling his
to the brim, but with a solemnity of countenance that
sorted but ill with the cheerful shouts of mutual inter-
change of congratulation that arose around the table.
"With all my heart, I drink the toast, and may we
all be there alive to drink a cup of thanks for our
success."
"Father," cried young Inverawe, in his keenness
overlooking the Colonel's ominous addition to the
toast; "now father, these Frenchmen shall see what
stuff Highlanders are made of!"
"They shall, my boy," replied Inverawe. "Come,
then, as I am master of the revels to-night, I call on
you all to fill a brimmer. I give you Highlanders
shoulder to shoulder!"
"Hurrah!—hurrah! — hurrah!" vociferated the
whole officers present.
This was but the commencement of an evening of
more than usual jollity. The spirits of all were up,
and of all, none were so high in glee as those of
Inverawe and his son. There was something, indeed,


Vision of Campbell of Inverawe. 67
which might have been almost said to have been
strangely wild in the unwonted revelry of the father.
Colonel Grant was the only individual present who
did not seem to keep pace with the rest. The flask
circulated with more than ordinary rapidity and
frequency; but as the mirth which it created rose
higher ^nd higher, and especially with Inverawe and
young Donald, Colonel Grant's thoughts seemed to
sink deeper and deeper into gloomy speculation. If
any one chanced so far to forget his own hilarity for
a moment, as to observe the strange anomaly in his
commanding-officer, it is probable that he attributed it
to those cares which must necessarily arise in the mind
of one with whom so much of the responsibility of
the approaching contest must rest. He retired from
the festive board at an early hour, leaving the others,
who kept up their night's enjoyment as long as they
could do so with decency. Inverawe and his son sat
with them to the last; and all agreed, at parting, that
they had been the life and soul of that evening's revel.
The next morning, the officers of the Highlanders
were early astir, to get their men into order of march.
Major Campbell of Inverawe was the most active
man among them. General Abercromby's force
upon this occasion consisted of about six thousand
regulars, and nine thousand provincial troops, together
with a small train of artillery. Before they moved
off, the General rode along the line of troops, giving
his directions to the field officers of each battalion in
succession. When he came up to the Highlanders,
he courteously accosted Colonel Grant and Major
Campbell.


68 Weird Tales.
"Gentlemen," said he, "we shall have toughish
work of it ; for though the enemy have not had time
to complete their defences, yet, I am told that, even
in its present state, there are few places which are
naturally likely to be of more troublesome entrance
than we shall find—"
"Than we shall find Fort Defiance" somewhat
strangely interrupted Colonel Grant, with an em-
phasis which not a little surprised Inverawe, as
coming from a man usually so polite. "Ay, I
have heard, indeed, that Fort Defiance is naturally
a strong place, General. But what will not High-
landers accomplish! You may rely on it you shall
have no cause to complain of the Black Watch!"
"I have no fear that I shall," replied the General,
betraying no symptom of having taking offence at
the Colonel's apparently unaccountable interruption.
"I know that both you and your men will do your
duty against Fort Defiance, or any other fort in
America."
"Fort Defiance is a bold name, General," said
Major Campbell, laughing.
"It is a bold name," said the Colonel gravely.
"It is a vaunting name enough," replied the
General. "Yet I hope to meet you both alive
and merry as conquerors within its works. Mean-
while, gentlemen, pray get your Highlanders under
march for the boats with as little delay as
possible."
Not another word but the necessary words of com-
mand were now uttered. The regiment moved off
steadily, and the embarkation on Lake George was


Vision of Campbell of Inverawe. 69
speedily effected, with the most perfect regularity
and order, on the 5th of July 1758.
It must have been a beautiful sight indeed, to have
beheld that immense flotilla of boats moving over the
pellucid surface of that lovely sheet of water—not a
sound proceeding from them save that of the oars,
the unruffled bosom of the lake everywhere reflecting
the serene sky. of a July evening, together with all
the charms of its bold and varied shores, and its
romantic islands,—its stillness affording a strange
prelude to that tempest of mortal contest which was
about to ensue. Its breadth is about two miles—so
that the boats nearly covered it from side to side.
As they moved on, they were occasionally lost to the
eyes of those who looked upon them from the shores,
as they disappeared into the numerous channels formed
by its islands, or were again discovered, as they
emerged from these narrow straits. There were
snatches of scenery, and many little circumstances
in the features of nature around them, that called up
the remembrance of their own Loch Awe to both the
Laird of Inverawe and young Donald, as the sun
went down ; and the pensiveness arising from these
home recollections, at such a time, kept both of them
silent. At length, after a safe and easy, and, on the
part of the enemy, an unobserved navigation, the
boats reached the northern end of the lake early on
the ensuing morning; and the landing having been
effected without opposition, the troops were formed
by General Abercromby into two parallel columns.
The order was given to advance; and the troops
speedily came to an outpost of the enemy, which was


70 Weird Tales.
abandoned without a shot. But as they proceeded,
the nature of the ground, encumbered as it was with
trees, rendered the march of both lines uncertain and
wavering, so that the columns soon began to interfere
with each other; and great confusion ensued. Whilst
endeavouring to extend themselves, the right column,
composed of the Highlanders and the Fifty - fifth
Regiment, under the command of Lord Howe, fell
in with a detachment of the enemy, which had got
bewildered in the wood, just as they themselves had
done. The British attacked them briskly, and a
sharp contest followed. The enemy behaved gallantly;
and the Highlanders especially distinguished them-
selves. Young Donald of Inverawe, his bosom bound-
ing with excitement, from the shouts of those engaged
in the skirmish, rushed into the thickest part of the
irregular melee, and performed such feats of prowess
with his maiden claymore, that they might have done
honour to an old and well-tried soldier. Excited yet
more by his success, he became rash and unguarded,
and being too forward in the pursuit among the trees
—which had already broken the troops on both sides
into small handfuls — he found himself suddenly
engaged with three enemies at once. As he was
just about to be overpowered by their united pressure
upon him, a ball from a rifle stretched one of them
lifeless before him, and in an instant afterwards, the
Eagle Eye, whose accurate aim had directed it to its
deadly errand, was flourishing his tomahawk over the
head of another of his foes. It fell upon him—the
skull was split open—the man rolled down on the
ground a ghastly corpse; and the third, that was left


Vision of Campbell of Inverawe. 71
opposed to young Inverawe, began to give way in
terror before him. Urging fiercely upon this last
foe, however, the youth ran him through with one
tremendous thrust, and he too dropped dead.
Flushed with success, Donald Campbell was now
about to continue the pursuit after some fugitives of
the enemy, who came rushing past him, when, turn-
ing to call on his red brother and preserver, the Eagle
Eye, to follow him, he beheld him stooping over one
of his dead foes, in the act of scalping him. At that
very moment he saw a French soldier approaching
his Indian brother unperceived, with sword uplifted,
and with the fell intent of hewing him down. Spring-
ing before the Eagle Eye, the young Inverawe pre-
pared himself to receive the meditated stroke, warded
it skilfully off, and then following in on his foe with
a thrust, he penetrated him right through the breast,
with a wound that was instantaneously mortal. The
Eagle Eye was now as sensible that he owed his life
to young Donald, as Donald could have been that his
had been preserved by the Indian warrior. They
stood for a moment gazing at each other, and then
they embraced with an affection which the stern
Eagle Eye had difficulty in veiling, and which young
Inverawe could not conceal.
By this time the enemy were all cut to pieces, or
put to flight. The joy of this unexpected victory was
turned into mourning by the death of Lord Howe
who had been unfortunately killed in the early part
of this random engagement. His loss at such a time
was greater than anything they had gained by this
partial overthrow of the enemy. And you will easily


72 Weird Tales.
understand this, when I tell you that it was said of
this young nobleman that he particularly distinguished
himself by his courage, activity, and rigid observation
of military discipline; and that he had so acquired
the esteem and affection of the soldiers, by his gener-
osity, sweetness of manners, and engaging address,
that they assembled in groups around the hurried
grave to which his venerated remains were consigned,
and wept over it in deep and silent grief.
The troops having been much harrassed by this
engagement, as well as by the troublesome nature of
their march, General Abercromby, in consideration
of the lateness of the hour, deemed it prudent to
deliver them from the embarrassment of the woods,
to march them back to the landing-place, which they
reached early in the morning. They were then
allowed the whole of the ensuing day and night for
repose. But on the morning of the 8th of July, he
rode up to the lines of the Highlanders, and saluting
Colonel Grant and Major Campbell of Inverawe,
"Gentlemen," said he, "I have just obtained in-
formation from some of the prisoners, that General
Levi is advancing with three thousand men to rein-
force, or succour,—a—a—a—to succour, I say—the
garrison I wish to attack."
"What!" exclaimed Colonel Grant,—" to succour
Fort Defiance, General? Then I presume you will
move on directly, to strike the blow before they can
arrive."
"That is exactly my intention," replied General
Abercromby.
"And now I must tell you confidentially, gentle-


Vision of Campbell of Inverawe. 73
men, that the present garrison consists of fully five
thousand men, of whom the greater part are said to be
French troops of the line, who, as I am informed, are
stationed behind the traverses, with large trees lying
everywhere felled in front of them. But I have sent
forward an engineer to reconnoitre more strictly, and
I trust I shall have his report before we shall have
advanced as far as—as—"
"As Fort Defiance," interrupted Colonel Grant.
"Well, General, are we to be in the advance?"
"No," replied the General. "As you and the
Fifty-fifth have had all the fighting that has as yet
fallen to our lot, I mean that you shall be in the
reserve upon this occasion. The picquets will com-
mence the assault, and they will be followed by the
grenadiers, which will be in their turn supported by
the battalions of the reserve. Nay, do not look
mortified, Colonel ;—you and your men will have a
bellyfull of it before all is done, I promise you."
With these words the General left them, and the
columns moved on through the wood in the order he
had signified to them. They had now possessed
themselves of better guides, and they were thus
enabled to make their march more direct, and as
they had already cleared their front of enemies, the
leading troops were soon up at the entrenchments.
Here they were surprised to find a regular breast-
work, nine or ten feet high, strongly defended with
wall-pieces, and having a very impregnable chevaux
dc frieze, whilst the whole ground in front was every-
where strewed thickly over with huge newly-felled
oak trees for the distance of about a cannon-shot


74 Weird Tales,
from the walls. From behind the ckevaux dc frieze,
the enemy, in strong force, commenced a most gall-
ing and destructive fire upon the assailants, so as to
render the works almost unapproachable, without
certain destruction, especially without the artillery,
which, from some accident, had not as yet been
brought up. But the very danger they had to
encounter seemed to give the British troops a more
than human courage. Regardless of the hailstorm of
bullets discharged on them with deliberate aim from
behind the abattis, whilst they were fighting their
laborious and painful way through the labyrinth of
fallen trunks and branches that opposed their passage,
they continued, column after column, to advance,
dropping and thinning fearfully as they went.
The Highlanders beheld this slaughter that the
enemy was making of their friends — their blood
boiled within them. In vain Colonel Grant and
Major Campbell galloped backwards and forwards
along the line, using every command and every argu-
ment that official authority or reason could employ to
restrain and to soothe them, till their time for action
should arrive. With one tremendous shout they
rushed forward from the reserve, and, cutting their
way through the trees with their claymores, they
were soon showing their plumed crests among the
very foremost ranks of the assailants. But so -mur-
derous was the fire that fell upon them, that their
black tufted bonnets were seen dropping in all direc-
tions, never to be again raised by the brave heads
that bore them. Their loss before they gained the
outward defences of the fort was fearful; but the


Vision of Campbell of Inverawe. 75
onset of those who survived was so overwhelming
that it drove the enemy from these outworks, and
compelled them to retreat within the body of the fort
itself.
Now came the most dreadful part of this work of
death. The garrison, protected by the works of the
fort, mowed down the ranks of the besiegers with a
yet more certain and unerring aim. Under the false
report that these works were as yet incomplete,
scaling ladders had been considered as unnecessary.
The Highlanders, gnashing their teeth like raging
tigers caught in the toils, endeavoured to clamber up
the front of them, by rearing themselves on each
other's shoulders, and by digging holes with their
swords and bayonets in the face of the intrenchments.
Some few succeeded, by such means, in gaining a
footing on the top. But it was only to make them-
selves more conspicuous, and more certain marks for
destruction; and they were no sooner seen, than
their lifeless bodies, perforated by showers of bullets,
were swept down upon their struggling comrades
below. By repeated and multiplied exertions of this
kind, Captain John Campbell succeeded in forcing
his way entirely over the breastwork, at the head of
a handful of men; but they also were instantly
despatched by the multitude of bayonets by which
they were assailed. For hours did these gallant men
persevere in the repetition of such daring attempts as
I have described—all, alas! with equal want of suc-
cess, and with increasing slaughter, till General
Abercromby ordered the retreat to be sounded. To
this call, however, the Highlanders were deaf; and


76 Weird Tales.
it was not until Colonel Grant, after receiving three
successive orders from the General, which he had
failed in enforcing, threw himself among them, and
literally drove them back from the works with his
sword, that he could collect and bring away the
small moiety that yet remained alive of that splendid
regiment with which he had marched to the attack.
More than one-half of the men, and two-thirds of the
officers, were lying killed or wounded on that
bloody field.
Colonel Grant had hardly gathered this remnant of
his men together, when he hastened back over the
ground where the contest had raged, to search eagerly
for some of those whom he most dearly loved, and
for the cause of whose absence from this hasty muster
he trembled to inquire or investigate. The enemy,
though victorious, had been too roughly handled to
be tempted to a sally, for the mere purpose of annoy-
ing those who were peacefully engaged in the sad
duty of carrying off their wounded or dying comrades.
The Colonel was therefore enabled to make his way
over the encumbered field without molestation, and
with no other interruption than that which was pre-
sented to him by the prostrate trees, which, however,
seemed to him to offer greater obstruction to his
present impatience than they had done during his
advance with his corps to the attack. The scene was
strangely terrible! It might have been imagined by
any one who looked upon that field, that all Nature,
rven the elements themselves, had been at strife.
Slaughtered, and mutilated, and dying men lay in
confused heaps, or scattered singly among the over-


Vision of Campbell of Inverawe. 7 7
thrown giants of the forest, those enormous trees
which had been so recently rooted in the primeval
soil, where they had stood for ages. • Colonel Grant
looked everywhere anxiously around him. Many
were the familiar faces that he recognised, but their
features were now so fixed by the last agonizing pang
of a violent death, as cruelly, yet certainly, to assure
him that they could never again in this world recog-
nise him. The last spirited words of high and
courageous hope, so recently uttered by many of
them to him in their anticipation of triumph, still
rang in his recollection, and as he tore his eyes away
from them, the tears would burst over his manly
cheeks as the thought arose in his mind, that words
of theirs would never again reach his ears. He
moved hurriedly on, endeavouring to suppress his
feelings, but every now and then compelled to give
way to them, till his attention was absorbingly
attracted by descrying the dark form of an Indian,
who was seated on his hams, beneath the arched
trunk and boughs of a huge felled oak. It was the
Eagle Eye.
He sat motionless as a bronze statue, with the
drapery of his blanket hanging in deep folds from his
shoulders. His features were grave and still, and
apparently devoid of feeling; but his eyes were
turned downward, and they were immoveably fixed
on the countenance of a young man who lay stretched
out a corpse before him. His head was supported
between the knees of the red man, whilst the
cold and stiffened fingers of him who was dead
were firmly clasped between both his hands. The


78 Weird Tales.
body was that of young Donald Campbell of
Inverawe.
"God help me!" cried the Colonel, clasping his
hands and weeping bitterly. "God help me, what
a spectacle!"
"Why should you weep, old man?" said the Eagle
Eye, with imperturbable calmness. "My young
brother has gone to the Great Spirit, like a great
warrior as he was. Who among his tribe shall be
ashamed of him? Who among warriors shall call
him a woman? I could weep for him too did I not
know that the Great Spirit has taken him to happi-
ness, from which it were wicked in me to wish to
have detained him for my own miserable gratifica-
tion. But he is happy! He has gone to those fair,
boundless, and plentiful hunting-grounds that lie
beyond the great lake, where he will never know
want, and where we, if our deeds be like his, will
surely follow him. But till then the sunshine of the
Eagle Eye has departed, and night must surround his
footsteps, since the light of his pale-faced brother has
departed!"
"This is too much !" said the Colonel, quite over-
whelmed by his feelings. "Help me to bear off the
body. It must not be left here."
The Eagle Eye arose in silence, and gravely and
solemnly assisted the Highlander who attended the
Colonel to lift and bear away the body, and they had
not thus proceeded more than a few paces in their
retreat from the works, when the weeping eyes of the
Highland commanding-officer and the eagle gaze of
the red warrior were equally arrested at the same


Vision of Campbell of Inverawe. 79
moment by one and the same object. This was the
manly and heroic form of Major Campbell of Inver-
awe. He sat on the ground desperately wounded,
with his back partially supported against the body of
his horse, which had been killed under him. His
eye-balls were stretched from their sockets, and fixed
upon vacancy, with an expression of terror greater
than that with which death himself, riding triumphant
as he was over that field of the slain, could have filled
those of so brave a man. Colonel Grant was so
overcome that he could not utter a word. He was
convulsed by his emotions. The Eagle Eye laid
down the body of Donald opposite to his father, and
silently resumed his former position, with the youth's
head between his knees. The father's eyes caught
the motionless features of his son, and he started
from his strange state of abstraction.
"My son!" murmured the wounded Inverawe.
"So it is as I supposed—he is gone! But I shall
soon be with you, boy. God in his mercy help and
protect your poor mother!"
"Speak not thus, my dearest friend !" said Colonel
Grant, making an effort to command himself, and
hastening to support and comfort the wounded man;
"trust me, you will yet do well. You must live for
your poor wife's sake."
"No!" replied Inverawe, with deep solemnity.
"My hour is come. In vain was it that your kind
friendship and that of the brave Abercromby suc-
ceeded in deceiving me,—for I have seen him—I
have seen him terribly,—and this is Ticonderoga!"
"Pardon me, my dear Inverawe, for a deception


8o Weird Tales.
which was so well intended," said the Colonel, much
agitated. "It is indeed Ticonderoga as you say, but
—but—believe me, that which now disturbs you was
only some phantom of your brain, arising from loss of
blood and weakness. Cheer up !— Come, man !—
Come !—Inverawe! Merciful Heaven, he is gone!"


THE TAPESTRIED CHAMBER;
OR,
THE LADY IN THE SACQUE.
BY SIR WALTER SCOTT.
THE following narrative is given from the pen, so far
as memory permits, in the same character in which it
was presented to the author's ear; nor has he claim
to further praise, or to be more deeply censured, than
in proportion to the good or bad judgment which he
has employed in selecting his materials, as he has
studiously avoided any attempt at ornament which
might interfere with the simplicity of the tale.
At the same time, it must be admitted that the
particular class of stories which turns on the marvel-
lous, possesses a stronger influence when told than
when committed to print. The volume taken up at
noonday, though rehearsing the same incidents,
conveys a much more feeble impression than is
achieved by the voice of the speaker on a circle of
fireside auditors, who hang upon the narrative as the
narrator details the minute incidents which serve to
give it authenticity, and lowers his voice with an
affectation of. mystery while he approaches the fearful
and wonderful part. It was with such advantages
that the present writer heard the following events
related, more than twenty years since, by the celebrated
Miss Seward, of Litchfield, who, to her numerous
S F


82 Weird Tales.
accomplishments, added, in a remarkable degree, the
power of narrative in private conversation. In its
present form the tale must necessarily lose all the
interest which was attached to it, by the flexible voice
and intelligent features of the gifted narrator. Yet
still, read aloud, to an undoubting audience by the
doubtful light of the closing evening, or, in silence,
by a decaying taper, and amidst the solitude of a half-
lighted apartment, it may redeem its character as a
good ghost story. Miss Seward always affirmed that
she had derived her information from an authentic
source, although she suppressed the names of the two
persons chiefly concerned. I will not avail myself of
any particulars I may have since received concerning
the localities of the detail, but suffer them to rest
under the same general description in which they
were first related to me; and, for the same reason, I
will not add to or diminish the narrative, by any
circumstance, whether more or less material, but simply
rehearse, as I heard it, a story of supernatural terror.
About the end of the American war, when the
officers of Lord Cornwallis's army, which surrendered
at Yorktown, and others, who had been made prisoners
during the impolitic and ill-fated controversy, were
returning to their own country, to relate their adven-
tures, and repose themselves after their fatigues,
there was amongst them a general officer, to whom
Miss S. gave the name of Browne, but merely, as I
understood, to save the inconvenience of introducing
a nameless agent in the narrative. He was an officer
of merit, as well as a gentleman of high consideration
for family and attainments. .


The Tapestried Chamber. 83
Some business had carried General Browne upon a
tour through the western counties, when, in the
conclusion of a morning stage, he found himself in
the vicinity of a small country town, which presented
a scene of uncommon beauty, and of a character
peculiarly English.
The little town, with its stately old church, whose
tower bore testimony to the devotion of ages long
past, lay amidst pastures and corn-fields of small
extent, but bounded and divided with hedgerow
timber of great age and size. There were few marks
of modern improvement. The environs of the place
intimated neither the solitude of decay nor the bustle
of novelty; the houses were old, but in good repair;
and the beautiful little river murmured freely on its
way to the left of the town, neither restrained by a
dam, nor bordered by a towing-path.
Upon a gentle eminence, nearly a mile to the
southward of the town, were seen, amongst many
venerable oaks and tangled thickets, the turrets of a
castle, as old as the wars of York and Lancaster, but
which seemed to have received important alterations
during the age of Elizabeth and her successor. It
had not been a place of great size; but whatever
accommodation it formerly afforded was, it must be
supposed, still to be obtained within its walls; at
least such was the inference which General Browne
drew from observing the smoke arise merrily from
several of the ancient wreathed and carved chimney-
stalks. The wall of the park ran alongside of the
highway for two or three hundred yards ; and through
the different points by which the eye found glimpses


84 Weird Tales.
into the woodland scenery, it seemed to be well
stocked. Other points of view opened in succession;
now a full one, of the front of the old castle, and now
a side glimpse at its particular towers; the former rich
in all the bizarrerie of the Elizabethan school, while
the simple and solid strength of other parts of the
building seemed to show that they had been raised
more for defence than ostentation.
Delighted with the partial glimpses which he
obtained of the castle through the woods -and glades
by which this ancient feudal fortress was surrounded,
our military traveller was determined to inquire
whether it might not deserve a nearer view, and
whether it contained family pictures or other objects
of curiosity worthy of a stranger's visit; when, leaving
the vicinity of the park, he rolled through a clean and
well-paved street, and stopped at the door of a well-
frequented inn.
Before ordering horses to proceed on his journey,
General Browne made inquiries concerning the pro-
prietor of the chateau which had so attracted his
admiration; and was equally surprised and pleased at
hearing in reply a nobleman named, whom we shall
call Lord Woodville. How fortunate! Much of
Browne's early recollections, both at school and at
college, had been connected with young Woodville,
whom, by a few questions, he now ascertained to be
the same with the owner of this fair domain. He
had been raised to the peerage by the decease of his
father a few months before, and, as the General
learned from the landlord, the term of mourning being
ended, was now taking possession of his paternal


The Tapestried Chamber. 85
estate, in the jovial season of merry autumn, accom-
panied by a select party of friends to enjoy the sports
of a country famous for game.
This was delightful news to our traveller. Frank
Woodville had been Richard Browne's fag at Eton,
and his chosen intimate at Christ Church; their
pleasures and their tasks had been the same; and the
honest soldier's heart warmed to find his early friend
in possession of so delightful a residence, and of an
estate, as the landlord assured him with a nod and a
wink, fully adequate to maintain and add to his
dignity. Nothing was more natural than that the
traveller should suspend a journey, which there was
nothing to render hurried, to pay a visit to an old
friend under such agreeable circumstances.
The fresh horses, therefore, had only the brief task
of conveying the General's travelling carriage to
Woodville Castle. A porter admitted them at a
modern Gothic lodge, built in that style to correspond
with the castle itself, and at the same time rang a bell
to give warning of the approach of visitors. Appar-
ently the sound of the bell had suspended the separation
of the company, bent on the various amusements of
the morning; for, on entering the court of the chateau,
several young men were lounging about in their
sporting dresses, looking at and criticising the dogs
which the keepers held in readiness to attend their
pastime. As General Browne alighted, the young
lord came to the gate of the hall, and for an instant
gazed, as at a stranger, upon the countenance of his
friend, on which war, with its fatigues and its wounds,
had made a great alteration. But the uncertainty


86 Weird Tales.
lasted no longer than till the visitor had spoken, and
the hearty greeting which followed was such as can
only be exchanged hetwixt those who have passed
together the merry days of careless boyhood or early
youth.
"If I could have formed a wish, my dear Browne,"
said Lord Woodville, "it would have been to have
you here, of all men, upon this occasion, which my
friends are good enough to hold as a sort of holiday.
Do not think you have been unwatched during the
years you have been absent from us. I have traced
you through your dangers, your triumphs, your mis-
fortunes, and was delighted to see that, whether in
victory or defeat, the name of my old friend was
always distinguished with applause."
The General made a suitable reply, and con-
gratulated his friend on his new dignities, and the
possession of a place and domain so beautiful.
"Nay, you have seen nothing of it as yet," said Lord
Woodville, "and I trust you do not mean to leave us
till you are better acquainted with it. It is true, I
confess, that my present party is pretty large, and the
old house, like other places of the kind, does not
possess so much accommodation as the extent of the
outward walls appears to promise. But we can give
you a comfortable old-fashioned room, and I venture
to suppose that your campaigns have taught you to
be glad of worse quarters."
The General shrugged his shoulders, and laughed.
"I presume," he said, "the worst apartment in your
chateau is considerably superior to the old tobacco-
cask, in which I was fain to take up my night's


The Tapestried Chamber. 87
lodging when I was in the Bush, as the Virginians
call it, with the light corps. There I lay, like
Piogenes himself, so delighted with my covering from
the elements, that I made a vain attempt to have it
rolled on to my next quarters; but my commander
for the time would give way to no such luxurious
provision, and I took farewell of my beloved cask
with tears in my eyes."
"Well, then, since you do not fear your quarters,"
said Lord Woodville, "you will stay with me a week
at least. Of guns, dogs, fishing-rods, flies, and
means of sport by sea and land, we have enough and
to spare: you cannot pitch on an amusement but we
will find the means of pursuing it. But if you prefer
the gun and pointers, I will go with you myself, and
see whether you have mended your shooting since
you have been amongst the Indians of the back
settlements."
The General gladly accepted his friendly host's
proposal in all its points. After a morning of manly
exercise, the company met at dinner, where it was
the delight of Lord Woodville to conduce to the
display of the high properties of his recovered friend,
so as to recommend him to his guests, most of whom
were persons of distinction. He led General Browne
to speak of the scenes he had witnessed; and as
every word marked alike the brave officer and the
sensible man, who retained possession of his cool
judgment under the most imminent dangers, the
company looked upon the soldier with general re-
spect, as on one who had proved himself possessed
of an uncommon portion of personal courage,—that


88 Weird Tales.
attribute, of all others, of which everybody desires to
be thought possessed.
The day at Woodville Castle ended as usual in such
mansions. The hospitality stopped within the limits
of good order. Music, in which the young lord was
a proficient, succeeded to the circulation of the bottle;
cards and billiards, for those who preferred such
amusements, were in readiness; but the exercise of
the morning required early hours, and not long after
eleven o'clock the guests began to retire to their
several apartments.
The young Lord himself conducted his friend,
General Browne, to the chamber destined for him,
which answered the description he had given of it,
being comfortable, but old-fashioned. The bed was
of the massive form used in the end of the seven-
teenth century, and the curtains of faded silk, heavily
trimmed with tarnished gold. But then the sheets,
pillows, and blankets looked delightful to the cam-
paigner, when he thought of his "mansion, the
cask." There was an air of gloom in the tapestry
hangings, which, with their worn-out graces, cur-
tained the walls of the little chamber, and gently
undulated as the autumnal breeze found its way
through the ancient lattice-window, which pattered
and whistled as the air gained entrance. The toilet,
too, with its mirror, turbaned, after the manner of
the beginning of the century, with a coiffure of
murrey-coloured silk, and its hundred strange-shaped
boxes, providing for arrangements which had been
obsolete for more than fifty years, had an antique,
and in so far a melancholy, aspect. But nothing


The Tapestried Chamber. 89
could blaze more brightly and cheerfully than the two
large wax candles; or if aught could rival them, it
was the flaming bickering fagots in the chimney that
sent at once their gleam and their warmth through
the snug apartment, which, notwithstanding the
general antiquity of its appearance, was not wanting
in the least convenience that modern habits rendered
either necessary or desirable.
"This is an old - fashioned sleeping apartment,
General," said the young lord; "but I hope you
find nothing that makes you envy your old tobacco-
cask."
"I am not particular respecting my lodgings,"
replied the General; "yet were I to make any choice,
I would prefer this chamber by many degrees to the
gayer and more modern rooms of your family mansion.
Believe me, that when I unite its modern air of com-
fort with its venerable antiquity, and recollect that it
is your lordship's property, I shall feel in better
quarters here, than if I were in the best hotel
London could afford."
"I trust—I have no doubt—that you will find
yourself as comfortable as I wish you, my dear
General," said the young nobleman; and once more
bidding his guest good-night, he shook him by the
hand, and withdrew.
The General once more looked around him, and
internally congratulating himself on his return to
peaceful life, the comforts of which were endeared by
the recollection of the hai dships and dangers he had
lately sustained, undressed himself, and prepared for
a luxurious night's rest.


90 Weird Tales.
Here, contrary to the custom of this species of tale,
we leave the General in possession of his apartment
until the next morning.
The company assembled for breakfast at an early
hour, but without the appearance of General Browne,
who seemed the guest that Lord Woodville was desir-
ous of honouring above all whom his hospitality had
assembled around him. He more than once ex-
pressed himself surprised at the General's absence,
and at length sent a servant to make inquiry after
him. The man brought back information that
General Browne had been walking abroad since an
early hour of the morning, in defiance of the weather,
which was misty and ungenial.
"The custom of a soldier," said the young noble-
man to his friends; "many of them acquire habitual
vigilance, and cannot sleep after the early hour at
which their duty usually commands them to be alert."
Yet the explanation which Lord Woodville thus
offered to the company seemed hardly satisfactory to
his own mind, and it was in a fit of silence and
abstraction that he awaited the return of the General.
It took place near an hour after the breakfast bell
had rung. He looked fatigued and feverish. His
hair—the powdering and arrangement of which was
at this time one of the most important occupations of
a man's whole day, and marked his fashion as much
as, in the present time, the tying of a cravat, or the
want of one—was dishevelled, uncurled, void of
powder, and dank with dew. His clothes were
huddled on with a careless negligence, remarkable in
a military man, whose real or supposed duties are


The Tapestried Chamber. 91
usually held to include some attention to the toilet;
and his looks were haggard and ghastly in a peculiar
degree.
"So you have stolen a march upon us this morning,
my dear General," said Lord Woodville; "or you
have not found your bed so much to your mind as I
had hoped and you seemed to expect. How did you
rest last night?"
'' Oh, excellently well! remarkably well! never
better in my life," said General Browne rapidly, and
yet with an air of embarrassment which was obvious
to his friend. He then hastily swallowed a cup of
tea, and, neglecting or refusing whatever else was
offered, seemed to fall into a fit of abstraction.
"You will take the gun to-day, General?" said his
friend and host, but had to repeat the question twice
ere he received the abrupt answer, "No, my lord; I
am sorry I cannot have the opportunity of spending
another day with your lordship: my post horses are
ordered, and will be here directly."
All who were present showed surprise, and Lord
Woodville immediately replied, "Post horses, my
good friend ! what can you possibly want with them,
when you promised to stay with me quietly for at
least a week?"
"I believe," said the General, obviously much
embarrassed, "that I might, in the pleasure of my
first meeting with your lordship, have said something
about stopping here a few days; but I have since
found it altogether impossible."
"This is very extraordinary," answered the young
nobleman. "You seemed quite disengaged yester-


The Tapestried Chamber. 93
castle, but for all the country which I see from this
elevated point of view."
"This is most extraordinary," said the young lord,
as if speaking to himself; "then there must be some-
thing in the reports concerning that apartment."
Again turning to the General, he said, "For God's
sake, my dear friend, be candid with me, and let me
know the disagreeable particulars which have befallen
you under a roof where, with consent of the owner,
you should have met nothing save comfort."
The General seemed distressed by this appeal, and
paused a moment before he replied. "My dear
lord," he at length said, "what happened to me last
night is of a nature so peculiar and so unpleasant,
that I could hardly bring myself to detail it even to
your lordship, were it not that, independent of my
wish to gratify any request of yours, I think that
sincerity on my part may lead to some explanation
about a circumstance equally painful and mysterious.
To others, the communication I am about to make
might place me in the light of a weak-minded, super-
stitious fool, who suffered his own imagination to
delude and bewilder him ; but you have known me in
childhood and youth, and will not suspect me of
having adopted in manhood the feelings and frailties
from which my early years were free." Here he
paused, and his friend replied:
"Do not doubt my perfect confidence in the truth
of your communication, however strange it may be,"
replied Lord Woodville; "I know your firmness of
disposition too well to suspect you could be made the
object of imposition, and am aware that your honour


94 Weird Tales.
and your friendship will equally deter you from
exaggerating whatever you may have witnessed."
"Well, then," said the General, "I will proceed
with my story as well as I can, relying upon your
candour, and yet distinctly feeling that I would
rather face a battery than recall to my mind the
odious recollections of last night."
He paused a second time, and then perceiving that
Lord Woodville remained silent and in an attitude of
attention, he commenced, though not without obvious
reluctance, the history of his night adventures in the
Tapestried Chamber.
"I undressed and went to bed so soon as your
lordship left me yesterday evening; but the wood in
the chimney, which nearly fronted my bed, blazed
brightly and cheerfully, and, aided by a hundred
exciting recollections of my childhood and youth,
which had been recalled by the unexpected pleasure
of meeting your lordship, prevented me from falling
immediately asleep. I ought, however, to say that
these reflections were all of a pleasant and agree-
able kind, grounded on a sense of having for a time
exchanged the labour, fatigues, and dangers of my
profession, for the enjoyments of a peaceful life, and
the reunion of those friendly and affectionate ties,
which I had torn asunder at the rude summons of
war.
"While such pleasing reflections were stealing over
my mind, and gradually lulling me to slumber, I was
suddenly aroused by a sound like that of the rustling
of a silken gown, and the tapping of a pair of high-
heeled shoes, as if a woman were walking in the


The Tapestried Chamber. 95
apartment. Ere I could draw the curtain to see
what the matter was, the figure of a little woman
passed between the bed and the fire. The back of
this form was turned to me, and I could observe,
from the shoulders and neck, it was that of an old
woman, whose dress was an old-fashioned gown,
which, I think, ladies call a sacque; that is, a sort ot
robe completely loose in the body, but gathered into
broad plaits upon the neck and shoulders, which fall
down to the ground, and terminate in a species of
train.
"I thought the intrusion singular enough, but
never harboured for a moment the idea that what I
saw was anything more than the mortal form of some
old woman about the establishment, who had a fancy
to dress like her grandmother, and who, having per-
haps (as your lordship mentioned that you were
rather straitened for room) been dislodged from her
chamber for my accommodation, had forgotten the
circumstance, and returned by twelve to her old
haunt. Under this persuasion, I moved myself in
bed and coughed a little, to make the intruder
sensible of my being in possession of the premises.
She turned slowly round, but, gracious Heaven, my
lord, what a countenance did she display to me!
There was no longer any question what she was, or
any thought of her being a living being. Upon a
face which wore the fixed features of a corpse were
imprinted the traces of the vilest and most hideous
passions which had animated her while she lived.
The body of some atrocious criminal seemed to have
been given up from the grave, and the soul restored


96 Weird Tales.
from the penal fire, in order to form, for a space, an
union with the ancient accomplice of its guilt. I
started up in bed, and sat upright, supporting myself
on my palms, as I gazed on this horrible spectre.
The hag made, as it seemed, a single and swift stride
to the bed where I lay, and squatted herself down
upon it in precisely the same attitude which I had
assumed in the extremity of horror, advancing her
diabolical countenance within half a yard of mine,
with a grin that seemed to intimate the malice and
the derision of an incarnate fiend."
Here General Browne stopped, ancl wiped from his
brow the cold perspiration with which the recollection
of his horrible vision had covered it.
"My lord," he said, "I am no coward. I have
been :n all the mortal dangers incidental to my
profession, and I may truly boast, that no man
ever knew Richard Browne dishonour the sword he
wears; but in these horrible circumstances, under the
eyes, and, as it seemed, almost in the grasp of an
incarnation of an evil spirit, all firmness forsook me,
all manhood melted from me like wax in the furnace,
and I felt my hair individually bristle. The current
of my life-blood ceased to flow, and I sank back in a
swoon, as very a victim to panic terror as ever was a
village girl, or a child of ten years old. How long I
lay in this condition I cannot pretend to guess.
"But I was roused by the castle clock striking
one, so loud that it seemed as if it were in the very
room. It was some time before I dared open my
eyes, lest they should again encounter the horrible
spectacle. When, however, I summoned courage to


The Tapestried Chamber. 97
look up, she was no longer visible. My first idea
was to pull my bell, wake the servants, and remove
to a garret or a hay-loft, to be ensured against a
second visitation. Nay, I will confess the truth, that
my resolution was altered, not by the shame of
exposing myself, but by the fear that, as the bell-
cord hung by the chimney, I might, in making my
way to it, be again crossed by the fiendish hag, who,
I figured to myself, might be still lurking about some
corner of the apartment.
"I will not pretend to describe what hot and cold
fever-fits tormented me for the rest of the night,
through broken sleep, weary vigils, and that dubious
state which forms the neutral ground between them.
An hundred terrible objects appeared to haunt me;
but there was the great difference betwixt the vision
which I have described, and those which followed,
that I knew the last to be deceptions of my own
fancy and over-excited nerves.
"Day at last appeared, and I rose from my bed ill
in health and humiliated in mind. I was ashamed of
myself as a man and a soldier, and still more so, at
feeling my own extreme desire to escape from the
haunted apartment, which, however, conquered all
other considerations ; so that, huddling on my clothes
with the most careless haste, I made my escape from
your lordship's mansion, to seek in the open air some
relief to my nervous system, shaken as it was by this
horrible encounter with a visitant, for such I must
believe her, from the other world. Your lordship
has now heard the cause of my discomposure, and of
my sudden desire to leave your hospitable castle. In


The Tapestried Chamber. 99
Yet as the opinion that the room was haunted very
strongly prevailed among the domestics, and was also
known in the neighbourhood and to many of my
friends, I feared some prejudice might be entertained
by the first occupant of the Tapestried Chamber,
which might tend to revive the evil report which it
had laboured under, and so disappoint my purpose of
rendering it an useful part of the house. I must con-
fess, my dear Browne, that your arrival yesterday,
agreeable to me for a thousand reasons besides, seemed
the most favourable opportunity of removing the un-
pleasant rumours which attached to the room, since
your courage was indubitable, and your mind free of
any pre-occupation on the subject. I could not,
therefore, have chosen a more fitting subject for my
experiment."
"Upon my life," said General Browne, somewhat
hastily, " I am infinitely obliged to your lordship—
very particularly indebted indeed. I am likely to
remember for some time the consequences of the
experiment, as your lordship is pleased to call it."
"Nay, now you are unjust, my dear friend," said
Lord Woodville. "You have only to reflect for a
single moment, in order to be convinced that I could
not augur the possibility of the pain to which you
have been so unhappily exposed. I was yesterday
morning a complete sceptic on the subject of super-
natural appearances. Nay, I am sure that had I
told you what was said about that room, those very
reports would have induced you, by your own choice,
to select it for your accommodation. It was my
misfortune, perhaps my error, but really cannot be


TOO Weird Tales.
termed my fault, that you have been afflicted so
strangely."
"Strangely indeed !" said the General, resuming
his good temper; "and I acknowledge that I have
no right to be offended with your lordship for treating
me like what I used to think myself—a man of some
firmness and courage. But I see my post horses are
arrived, and I must not detain your lordship from
your amusement."
"Nay, my old friend," said Lord Woodville,
since you cannot stay with us another day, which,
indeed, I can no longer urge, give me at least half an
hour more. You used to love pictures and I have a
gallery of portraits, some of them by Vandyke, repre-
senting ancestry to whom this property and castle
formerly belonged. I think that several of them will
strike you as possessing merit."
General Browne accepted the invitation, though
somewhat unwillingly. It was evident he was not
to breathe freely or at ease till he left Woodville
Castle far behind him. He could not refuse his
friend's invitation, however; and the less so, that he
was a little ashamed of the peevishness which he had
displayed towards his well-meaning entertainer.
The General, therefore, followed Lord Woodville
through several rooms, into a long gallery hung with
pictures, which the latter pointed out to his guest,
telling the names, and giving some account of the
personages whose portraits presented themselves in
progression. General Browne was but little in-
terested in the details which these accounts conveyed
to him. They were, indeed, of the kind which are


The Tapestried Chamber. 101
usually found in an old family gallery. Here, was a
cavalier who had ruined the estate in the royal cause;
there, a fine lady who had reinstated it by contracting
a match with a wealthy Roundhead. There, hung a
gallant who had been in danger for corresponding
with the exiled Court at Saint Germain's ; here, one
who had taken arms for William at the Revolution;
and there, a third that had thrown his weight alter-
nately into the scale of Whig and Tory.
While Lord Woodville was cramming these words
into his guest's ear, "against the stomach of his
sense," they gained the middle of the gallery, when
he beheld General Browne suddenly start, and assume
an attitude of the utmost surprise, not unmixed with
fear, as his eyes were caught and suddenly riveted by
a portrait of an old, old lady in a sacque, the fashion-
able dress of the end of the seventeenth century.
"There she is!" he exclaimed; "there she is, in
form and features, though inferior in demoniac
expression, to the accursed hag who visited me last
night!"
"If that be the case," said the young nobleman,
"there can remain no longer any doubt of the horrible
reality of your apparition. That is the picture of a
wretched ancestress of mine, of whose crimes a black
and fearful catalogue is recorded in a family history in
my charter-chest. The recital of them would be too
horrible; it is enough to say, that in yon fatal apart-
ment incest and unnatural murder were committed.
I will restore it to the solitude to which the better
judgment of those who preceded me had consigned
it; and never shall any one, so long as I can prevent


102 Weird Tales.
it, be exposed to a repetition of the supernatural
horrors which could shake such courage as yours."
Thus the friends, who had met with such glee,
parted in a very different mood; Lord Woodville to
command the Tapestried Chamber to be unmantled,
and the door built up; and General Browne to seek
in some less beautiful country, and with some less
dignified friend, forgetfulness of the painful night
which he had passed in Woodville Castle.


HIGHLAND SNOWSTORM.
BY JOHN WILSON
("CHRISTOPHER NORTH").
ONE family lived in Glencreran, and another in
Glencoe—the families of two brothers—seldom visit-
ing each other on working days, seldom meeting even
on Sabbaths, for theirs was not the same parish kirk
—seldom coming together on rural festivals or
holidays, for in the Highlands now these are not so
frequent as of yore; yet all these sweet seldoms,
taken together, to loving hearts made a happy many,
and thus, though each family passed its life in its
own home, there were many invisible threads stretched
out through the intermediate air, connecting the two
dwellings together,—as the gossamer keeps floating
from one tree to another, each with its own secret
nest. And nest-like both dwellings were. That in
Glencoe, built beneath a treeless but high-heathered
rock,—lone in all storms,—with greensward and
garden on a slope down to a rivulet, the clearest of
the clear (oh ! once woefully reddened!), and growing,
so it seems, in the mosses of its own roof, and the
huge stones that overshadow it, out of the earth.
That in Glencreran more conspicuous, on a knoll
among the pastoral meadows, midway between moun-
tain and mountain, so that the grove which shelters
it, except when the sun is shining high, is darkened
103


104 Weird Tales.
by their meeting shadows, —and dark indeed, even in
the sunshine, for 'tis a low but wide-armed grove of
old oak-like pines. A little farther down, and Glen-
creran is very sylvan; but this dwelling is the highest
up of all, the first you descend upon, near the foot of
that wild hanging staircase between you and Glen-
Etive. And, except this old oak-like grove of pines,
there is not a tree, and hardly a bush, on bank or
brae, pasture or hay-field, though these are kept by
many a rill, there mingling themselves into one
stream, in a perpetual lustre that seems to be as
native to the grass as its light is to the glow-worm.
Such are the two huts, for they are huts and »o more
—and you may see them still, if you know how to
discover the beautiful sights of nature from descriptions
treasured in your heart, and if the spirit of change,
now nowhere at rest on the earth, not even in its most
solitary places, have not swept from the scenes the
beautified, the humble but hereditary dwellings that
ought to be allowed, in the fulness of the quiet time,
to relapse back into the bosom of nature, through
insensible and unperceived decay.
These huts belonged to brothers, and each had an
only child,—a son and a daughter,—born on the same
day, and now blooming on the verge of youth. A
year ago, and they were but mere children ; but what
wondrous growth of frame and spirit does nature at
that season of life often present before our eyes! So
that we almost see the very change going on between
morn and morn, and feel that these objects of our
affection are daily brought closer to ourselves, by
partaking daily more and more in all our most sacred


Highland Snowstorm. 105
thoughts, in our cares and in our duties, and in know-
ledge of the sorrows as well as the joys of our common
lot. Thus had these cousins grown up before their
parents' eyes—Flora Macdonald, a name hallowed of
yore, the fairest, and Ronald Cameron, the boldest of
all the living flowers in Glencoe and Glencreran. It
was now their seventeenth birthday, and never had a
winter sun smiled more serenely over a knoll of snow.
Flora, it had been agreed on, was to pass that day in
Glencreran, and Ronald to meet her among the moun-
tains, that he might bring her down the many pre-
cipitous passes to his parents' hut. It was the middle
of February, and the snow had lain for weeks with all
its drifts unchanged, so calm had been the weather
and so continued the frost. At the same hour, known
by horologe on the cliff touched by the finger of
dawn, the happy creatures left each their own glen,
and mile after mile of the smooth surface glided away
past their feet, almost as the quiet water glides by the
little boat that in favouring breezes walks merrily
along the sea. And soon they met at the trysting
place—a bank of birch trees beneath a cliff that takes
its name from the eagles.
On their meeting, seemed not to them the whole
of nature suddenly inspired with joy and beauty?
Insects, unheard by them before, hummed and
glittered in the air; from tree roots, where the snow
was thin, little flowers, or herbs flower-like, now for
the first time were seen looking out as if alive; the
trees themselves seemed budding, as if it were already
spring; and rare as in that rocky region are the birds
of song, a faint trill for a moment touched their ears,


106 Weird Tales.
and the flutter of a wing, telling them that somewhere
near there was preparation for a nest. Deep down
beneath the snow they listened to the tinkle of rills
unreached by the frost, and merry, thought they, was
the music of these contented prisoners. Not Summer's
self, in its deepest green, so beautiful had ever been
to them before, as now the mild white of Winter;
and as their eyes were lifted up to heaven, when had
they ever seen before a sky of such perfect blue, a sun
so gentle in its brightness, or altogether a week-day
in any season so like a Sabbath in its stillness, so like
a holiday in its joy? Lovers were they, although as
yet they scarcely knew it; for from love only could
have come such bliss as now was theirs,—a bliss, that
while it beautified was felt to come from the skies.
Flora sang to Ronald many of her old songs, to
those wild Gaelic airs that sound like the sighing of
winds among fractured cliffs, or the branches of storm-
tossed trees, when the subsiding tempest is about to
let them rest. Monotonous music! but irresistible
over the heart it has once awakened and enthralled,
so sincere seems to be the mournfulness it breathes—a
mournfulness brooding and feeding on the same note,
that is at once its natural expression and sweetest
aliment, of which the singer never wearieth in her
dream, while her heart all the time is haunted by all
that is most piteous,—by the faces of the dead in
their paleness returning to the shades of life, only
that once more they may pour from their fixed eyes
those strange showers of unaccountable tears!
How merry were they between those mournful
airs! How Flora trembled to see her lover's burning


Highland Snowstorm. 107
brow and flashing eyes, as he told her tales of great
battles fought in foreign lands, far across the sea—
tales which he had drunk in with greedy ears from
the old heroes scattered all over Lochaber and
Badenoch, on the brink of the grave still garrulous
of blood?
"The sun sat high in his meridian tower."
But time had not been with the youthful lovers, and
the blessed beings believed that 'twas but a little hour
since beneath the Eagle Cliff they had met in the
prime of the morn!
The boy starts to his feet, and his keen eye looks
along the ready rifle—for his sires had all been famous
deer - stalkers, and the passion of the chase was
hereditary in his blood. Lo! a deer from Dalness,
hound-driven, or sullenly astray, slowly bearing his
antlers up the glen, then stopping for a moment to
snuff the air, then away—away! The rifle-shot rings
dully from the scarce echoing snow-cliffs, and the
animal leaps aloft, struck by a certain but not sudden
death-wound. Oh ! for Fingal now to pull him down
like a wolf! But labouring and lumbering heavily
along, the snow spotted as he bounds with blood, the
huge animal at last disappears round some rocks at
the head of the glen. "Follow me, Flora!" the
boy-hunter cries; and flinging down their plaids, they
turn their bright faces to the mountain, and away up
the long glen after the stricken deer. Fleet was the
mountain girl; and Ronald, as he ever and anon
looked back to wave her on, with pride admired her
lightsome motion as she bounded along the snow.


io8 Weird Tales.
Redder and redder grew that snow, and more heavily
trampled, as they winded round the rocks. Yonder
is the deer, staggering up the mountain, not half a
mile off—now standing at bay, as if before his
swimming eyes came Fingal, the terror of the forest,
whose howl was known to all the echoes, and quailed
the herd while their antlers were yet afar off. '' Rest,
Flora, rest! while I fly to him with my rifle, and
shoot him through the heart!"
Up—up—up the interminable glen, that kept
winding and winding round many a jutting pro-
montory and many a castellated cliff, the red-deer
kept dragging his gore-oozing bulk, sometimes almost
within, and then for some hundreds of yards just
beyond, rifle-shot; while the boy, maddened by the
chase, pressed forwards, now all alone, nor any more
looking behind for Flora, who had entirely dis-
appeared; and thus he was hurried on for miles by
the whirlwind of passion,—till at last he struck the
noble quarry, and down sank the antlers in the snow,
while the air was spurned by the convulsive beatings
of feet. Then leaped Ronald upon the red-deer like
a beast of prey, and lifted up a look of triumph to the
mountain-tops.
Where is Flora! Her lover has forgotten her—
and he is alone—nor knows it—he and the red-deer—
an enormous animal, fast stiffening in the frost of
death.
Some large flakes of snow are in the air, and they
seem to waver and whirl, though an hour ago there
was not a breath. Faster they fall and faster—the
flakes are almost as large as leaves; and overhead


Highland Snowstorm. 109
whence so suddenly has come that huge yellow cloud?
"Flora, where are you? where are you, Flora?" and
from the huge hide the boy leaps up, and sees that no
Flora is at hand. But yonder is a moving speck, far
off upon the snow. 'Tis she—'tis she; and again
Ronald turns his eyes upon the quarry, and the heart
of the hunter burns within him like a new-stirred fire.
Shrill as the eagle's cry disturbed in his eerie, he sends
a shout down the glen, and Flora, with cheeks pale
and bright by fits, is at last by his side. Panting and
speechless she stands, and then dizzily sinks on his
breast. Her hair is ruffled by the wind that revives
her, and her face all moistened by the snow-flakes,
now not falling, but driven—for the day has under-
gone a dismal change, and all over the sky are now
lowering savage symptoms of a fast-coming night-
storm.
Bare is poor Flora's head, and sorely drenched her
hair, that an hour or two ago glittered in the sun-
shine. Her shivering frame misses now the warmth
of the plaid, which almost no cold can penetrate, and
which had kept the vital current flowing freely in
many a bitter blast. What would the miserable boy
give now for the coverings lying far away, which, in
his foolish passion, he flung down to chase that fatal
deer? "Oh, Flora! if you would not fear to stay
here by yourself, under the protection of God, who
surely will not forsake you, soon will I go and come
from the place where our plaids are lying; and under
the shelter of the deer we may be able to outlive the
hurricane,—you wrapped up in them,—and folded, O
my dearest sister, in my arms!" "I will go with


no Weird Tales.
you down the glen, Ronald!" and she left his breast,
but, weak as a day-old lamb, tottered and sank down
on the snow. The cold—intense as if the air were
ice—had chilled her very heart, after the heat of that
long race; and it was manifest that here she must be
for the night—to live or to die. And the night
seemed already come, so full was the lift of snow;
while the glimmer every moment became gloomier,
as if the day were expiring long before its time.
Howling at a distance down the glen was heard a
sea-born tempest from the Linnhe Loch, where now
they both knew the tide was tumbling in, bringing
with it sleet and snow-blasts from afar; and from the
opposite quarter of the sky an inland tempest was
raging to meet it, while every lesser glen had its own
uproar, so that on all hands they were environed with
death.
"I will go—and, till I return, leave you with
God." "Go, Ronald!" And he went and came, as
if he had been endowed with the raven's wings.
Miles away and miles back had he flown, and an
hour had not been with his going and his coming;
but what a dreary wretchedness meanwhile had been
hers! She feared that she was dying—that the cold
snowstorm was killing her—and that she would never
more see Ronald, to say to him farewell. Soon as
he was gone, all her courage had died. Alone, she
feared death, and wept to think how hard it was for
one so young thus miserably to die. He came, and
her whole being was changed. Folded up in both
the plaids, she felt resigned. "Oh ! kiss me, kiss
me, Ronald; for your love—great as it is—is not a»


Highland Snowstorm. 111
my love. You must never forget me, Ronald, when
your poor Flora is dead."
Religion with these two young creatures was as
clear as the light of the Sabbath day; and their belief
in heaven just the same as in earth. The will of God
they thought of just as they thought of their parents'
will; and the same was their living obedience to its
decrees. If she was to die, supported now by the
presence of her brother, Flora was utterly resigned;
if she was to live, her heart imaged to itself the very
forms of her grateful worship. But all at once she
closed her eyes, ceased breathing,—and, as the
tempest howled and rumbled in the gloom that fell
around them like blindness, Ronald almost sunk
down, thinking that she was dead.
"Wretched sinner that I am—my wicked madness
brought her here to die of cold!" And he smote his
breast, and tore his hair, and feared to look up, lest
the angry eye of God were looking on him through
the storm.
All at once, without speaking a word, Ronald
lifted Flora in his arms, and walked away up the glen,
here almost narrowed into a pass. Distraction gave
him supernatural strength, and her weight seemed
that of a child. Some walls of what had once been a
house, he had suddenly remembered, were but a short
way off; whether or not they had any roof he had
forgotten,—but the thought even of such a shelter
seemed a thought of salvation. There it was—a
snow-drift at the opening that had once been a door
—snow up the holes once windows—the wood of the
roof had been carried off for fuel, and the snow-flakes


ii2 Weird Tales.
were falling in, as if they would soon fill up the inside
of the ruin. The snow in front was all trampled,
as if by sheep; and carrying in his burden under
the low lintel, he saw the place was filled with a
flock that had foreknown the hurricane, and that,
all huddled together, looked on him as on the
shepherd, come to see how they were faring in the
storm.
And a young shepherd he was, with a lamb
apparently dying in his arms. All colour, all motion,
all breath, seemed to be gone; and yet something
convinced his heart that she was yet alive. The
ruined hut was roofless, but across an angle of the
walls some pine branches had been flung, as a sort of
shelter for the sheep or cattle that might repair
thither in cruel weather—some pine-branches left by
the wood-cutters, who had felled the few trees that
once stood at the very head of the glen. Into that
corner the snow-drift had not yet forced its way, and
he sat down there, with Flora in the cherishing of his
embrace1, hoping that the warmth of his distracted
heart might be felt by her, who was as cold as a
corpse. The chill air was somewhat softened by the
breath of the huddled flock, and the edge of the
cutting wind blunted by the stones. It was a place
in which it seemed possible that she might revive,
miserable as it was with the mire-mixed snow, and
almost as cold as one supposes the grave. And she
did revive, and under the half-open lids the dim blue
appeared to be not yet life-deserted. It was yet but
the afternoon,—night-like though it was,—and he
thought, as he breathed upon her lips, that a faint red


114 Weird Tales.
Bright was the peat fire in the hut of Flora's
parents in Glencoe, — and they were among the
happiest of the humble happy, blessing this the birth-
day of their blameless child. They thought of her,
singing her sweet songs by the fireside of the hut in
Glencreran, and tender thoughts of her cousin Ronald
were with them in their prayprs. No warning came
to their ears in the sugh or the howl; for fear it is
that creates its own ghosts, and all its own ghost-
like visitings; and they had seen their Flora, in the
meekness of the morning, setting forth on her way
over the quiet mountains, like a fawn to play. Some-
times too, Love, who starts at shadows as if they
were of the grave, is strangely insensible to realities
that might well inspire dismay. So was it now with
the dwellers in the hut at the head of Glencreran.
Their Ronald had left them in the morning,—night
had come, and he and Flora were not there; but the
day had been almost like a summer day, and in their
infatuation they never doubted that the happy crea-
tures had changed their minds, and that Flora had
returned with him to Glencoe. Ronald had laughingly
said that haply he might surprise the people in that
glen by bringing back to them Flora on her birthday,
and, strange though it afterwards seemed to her to
be, that belief prevented one single fear from touch-
ing his mother's heart, and she and her husband that
night lay down in untroubled sleep.
And what could have been done for them had they
been told by some good or evil spirit that their chil-
dren were in the clutches of such a night? As well
seek for a single bark in the middle of the misty


Highland Snowstorm. 115
main! But the inland storm had been seen brewing
among the mountains round King's House, and hut
had communicated with hut, though far apart in
regions where the traveller sees no symptoms of
human life. Down through the long cliff-pass of
Mealanumy, between Buchael-Etive and the Black
Mount, towards the lone House of Dalness, that lies
in everlasting shadows, went a band of shepherds,
trampling their way across a hundred frozen streams.
Dalness joined its strength, and then away over the
drift-bridged chasms toiled that gathering, with their
sheep-dogs scouring the loose snows in the van,
Fingal the Red Re? fer, with his head aloft on the
look-out for deer, grimly eyeing the corrie where last
he tasted blood. All " plaided in their tartan array,"
these shepherds laughed at the storm,—and hark, you
hear the bagpipe play—the music the Highlanders
love both in war and in peace.
"They think then of the owrie cattle,
And silly sheep ; *'
and though they ken 'twill be a moonless night,—for
the snowstorm will sweep her out of heaven,—up the
mountain and down the glen they go, marking where
flock and herd have betaken themselves; and now, at
midfall, unafraid of that blind hollow, they descend
into the depth where once stood the old grove of
pines. Following their dogs, who know their duties
in their instinct, the band, without seeing it, are now
close to that ruined hut. Why bark the sheep-dogs
so ?—and why howls Fingal, as if some spirit passed
athwart the night? He scents the dead body of the


n6 Weird Tales.
boy who so often had shouted him on in the forest
when the antlers went by! Not dead—nor dead she
who is on his bosom. Yet life in both is frozen—
and will the red blood in their veins ever again be
thawed! Almost pitch dark is the roofless ruin; and
the frightened sheep know not what is that terrible
shape that is howling there. But a man enters, and
lifts up one of the bodies, giving it into the arms of
those at the doorway, and then lifts up the other;
and by the flash of a rifle they see that it is Ronald
Cameron and Flora Macdonald, seemingly both
frozen to death. Some of those reeds that the
shepherds burn in their huts are kindled, and in that
small light they are assured that such are the corpses.
But that noble dog knows that death is not there, and
licks the face of Ronald, as if he would restore life to
his eyes. Two of the shepherds know well how to
fold the dying in their plaids,—how gentlest to carry
them along; for they had learnt it on the field of
victorious battle, when, without stumbling over the
dead and wounded, they bore away the shattered
body, yet living, of the youthful warrior who had
shown that of such a clan he was worthy to be the
chief.
The storm was with them all the way down the
glen; nor could they have heard each others' voices
had they spoke; but mutely they shifted the burden
from strong hand to hand, thinking of the hut in
Glencoe, and of what would be felt there on their
arrival with the dying or the dead. Blind people
walk through what to them is the night of crowded
day-streets, unpausing turn round corners, unhesitating


Highland Snowstorm. 117
plunge down steep stairs, wind their way fearlessly
through whirlwinds of life, and reach in their serenity,
each one unharmed, his own obscure house. For
God is with the blind. So is He with all who walk
on walks of mercy. This saving band had no fear,
therefore there was no danger, on the edge of the pit-
fall or the cliff. They knew the countenances of the
mountains, shown momentarily by ghastly gleamings
through the fitful night, and the hollow sound of each
particular stream beneath the snow, at places where
in other weather there was a pool or a water-fall.
The dip of the hills, in spite of the drifts, familiar to
their feet, did not deceive them now ; and then the
dogs, in their instinct, were guides that erred not:
and as well as the shepherds knew it themselves, did
Fingal know that they were anxious to reach Glencoe.
He led the way as if he were in moonlight; and often
stood still when they were, shifting their burden, and
whined as if in grief. He knew where the bridges
were—stones or logs; and he rounded the marshes
where at springs the wild fowl feed. And thus
instinct, and reason, and faith, conducted the saving
band along; and now they are at Glencoe, and at
the door of the hut.
To life were brought the dead; and there, at mid-
night, sat they up like ghosts. Strange seemed they
for a while to each others' eyes, and at each other
they looked as if they had forgotten how dearly once
they loved. Then, as if in holy fear, they gazed in
each others' faces, thinking that they had awoke
together in heaven. "Flora!" said Ronald,—and
that sweet word, the first he had been able to speak,


n8 Weird Tales.
reminded him of all that had passed, and he knew
that the God in whom they had put their trust had
sent them deliverance. Flora, too, knew her parents,
who were on their knees; and she strove to rise up
and kneel down beside them, but she was powerless
as a broken reed; and when she thought to join with
them in thanksgiving, her voice was gone. Still as
death sat all the people in the hut, and one or two
who were fathers were not ashamed to weep.


LEGEND OF THE DROPPING WELL.
BY HUGH MILLER.
'* Mop.—Is it true, think you T
Ant,—Very true;—why should I carry lies abroad?"
WINTER'S TALE.
IN perusing in some of our older Gazetteers the half
page devoted to Cromarty, we find that, among the
natural curiosities of the place, there is a small cavern
termed the Dropping Cave, famous for its stalactites
and its petrifying springs. And though the progress
of modern discovery has done much to lower the
wonder, by rendering it merely one of thousands of
the same class,—for even among the cliffs of the hill
in which the cavern is perforated, there is scarcely a
spring that has not its border of coral-like petrifac-
tions, and its moss and grass and nettle-stalks of
marble,—the Dropping Cave may well be regarded as
a curiosity still. It is hollowed, a few feet over the
beach, in the face of one of the low precipices which
skirt the entrance of the bay. From a crag which
overhangs the opening there falls a perpetual drizzle,
which, settling on the moss and lichens beneath,
converts them into stone; and on entering the long
narrow apartment within, there may be seen by the
dim light of the entrance a series of springs, which
filter through the solid rock above, descending in so
continual a shower, that even in the sultriest days
119


I2O Weird Tales.
"of midsummer, when the earth is parched and the
grass has become brown and withered, we may hear
the eternal drop pattering against the rough stones of
the bottom, or tinkling in the recess within, like the
string of a harp struck to ascertain its tone. A stone
flung into the interior, after rebounding from side to
side of the rock, falls with a deep hollow plunge, as
if thrown into the sea. Had the Dropping Cave
been a cavern of Greece or Sicily, the classical mytho-
logy of these countries would have tenanted it with
the goddess of rains and vapour.
The walk to the cave is one of the most agreeable
in the vicinity of the town, especially in a fine morn-
ing of midsummer, an hour or so after the sun has
risen out of the Firth. The path to it has been
hollowed out of the hill-side by the feet of men and
animals, and goes winding over rocks and stones—
now in a hollow, now on a height, anon lost in the
beach. In one of the recesses which open into the
hill, a clump of forest-trees has sprung up, and, lifting
their boughs to the edge of the precipice above, cover
its rough iron features as if with a veil; while, from
the shade below, a fine spring, dedicated in some
remote age to " Our Ladye," comes bubbling to the
light with as pure and copious a stream as in the days
of the priest and the pilgrim. We see the beach
covered over with sea-shells and weeds, the cork
buoys of the fishermen, and fragments of wrecks.
The air is full of fragrance. Only look at yonder
white patch in the hollow of the hill; 'tis a little city
of flowers, a whole community of one species—the
meadow-sweet. The fisherman scents it over the


Legend of the Dropping Well. 121
water, as he rows homeward in -the cool of the even-
ing, a full half-mile from the shore. And see how
the hill rises above us, roughened with heath and fern
and foxglove, and crested a-top with a dark wood of
fir. See how the' beeches which have sprung up on
the declivity recline in nearly the angle of the hill, so
that their upper branches are only a few feet from
the soil ; reminding us, in the midst of warmth and
beauty, of the rough winds of winter and the blasting
influence of the spray. The insect denizens of the
heath and the wood are all on wing; see, there is the
red bee, and there the blue butterfly, and yonder the
burnet-moth with its wings of vermilion, and the
large bird-like dragon-fly, and a thousand others
besides, all beautiful and all happy. And then the
birds. But why attempt a description? The
materials of thought and imagination are scattered
profusely around us; the wood, the cliffs, and the
spring—the flowers, the insects, and the birds—the
shells, the broken fragments of wreck, and the dis-
tant sail—the sea, the sky, and the opposite land—
are all tones of the great instrument, Nature, which
need only to be awakened by the mind to yield
its sweet music. And now we have reached the
cave.
The Dropping Cave ninety years ago was a place
of considerable interest; but the continuous shower
which converted into stone the plants and mosses on
which it fell, and the dark recess which no one had
attempted to penetrate, and of whose extent imagina-
tion had formed a thousand surmises, constituted
some of merely the minor circumstances that had


izz Weird Tales.
rendered it such. Superstition had busied herself for
ages before in making it a scene of wonders. Boat-
men, when sailing along the shore in the night-time,
had been startled by the apparition of a faint blue
light, which seemed glimmering from its entrance:
* * * the mermaid had been seen sitting on
a rock a few yards before it, singing a low melancholy
song, and combing her long yellow hair with her
fingers; and a man who had been engaged in fishing
crabs among the rocks, and was returning late in the
evening by the way of the cave, almost shared the
fate of its moss and lichens, when, on looking up, he
saw an old grey-headed man, with a beard that
descended to his girdle, sitting in the opening, and
gazing wistfully on the sea.
I find some of these circumstances of terror em-
bodied in verse by the provincial poet whom I have
quoted in an early chapter as an authority regarding
the Cromarty tradition of Wallace; and now, as then,
I will avail myself of his description :—
"When round the lonely shore
The vex'd waves toil'd with deaf ning roar,
And Midnight, from her lazy wain.
Heard wild winds roar and tides complain,
And groaning woods and shrieking sprites ;—
Strange sounds from thence, and fearful lights,
Had caught the sailor's ear and eye,
As drove his storm-press'd vessel by.
More fearful still, Tradition told
Of that dread cave a story old—
So very old, ages had pass'd
Since he who made had told it last.
'Twas thus it ran :—Of strange array
An aged man, whose locks of gray,


124 Weird Tales.
flood, received new accessions every night. So little,
indeed, had he in common with the small-minded
class who, possessed of only a limited number of
narratives and ideas, go over and over these as the
hands of a clock pass continually over the same
figures, that, with but one exception in favour of the
adventure of the cave, he hardly ever told the same
story twice.
There was a tradition current in Cromarty, that a
townsman had once passed through the Dropping
Cave, until he heard a pair of tongs rattle over his
head on the hearth of a farmhouse of Navity, a
district of the parish which lies fully three miles from
the opening; and Willie, who was, it seems, as hard
of belief in such matters as if he himself had never
drawn on the credulity of others, resolved on testing
the story by exploring the cave. He sewed sprigs of
rowan and wych-elm in the hem of his waistcoat,
thrust a Bible into one pocket and a bottle of gin
into the other, and providing himself with a torch,
and a staff of buckthorn which had been cut at the
full of the moon, and dressed without the assistance
of iron or steel, he set out for the cave on a morning
of midsummer. It was evening ere he returned—his
torch burnt out, and his clothes stained with mould
and slime, and soaked with water.
After lighting the torch, he said, and taking a firm
grasp of the staff, he plunged fearlessly into the gloom
before him. The cavern narrowed and lowered as
he proceeded; the floor, which was of a white stone
resembling marble, was hollowed into cisterns, filled
with a water so exceedingly pure that it sparkled to


Legend of the Dropping Well. 127
The rest of the adventure wonderfully resembled a
dream. On returning to consciousness, he found that
the gloom around him had given place to a dim red
twilight, which flickered along the sides and roof like
the reflection of a distant fire. He rose, and grasp-
ing his staff staggered forward. "It is sunlight,"
thought he, "I shall find an opening among the
rocks of Eathie, and return home over the hill."
Instead, however, of the expected outlet, he found
the passage terminate in a wonderful apartment, so
vast in extent, that though an immense fire of pine-
trees, whole and unbroken from root to branch, threw
up a red wavering sheet of flame many yards in
height, he could see in some places neither the walls
nor the roof. A cataract, like that of Foyers during
the long-continued rains of an open winter, descended
in thunder from one of the sides, and presenting its
broad undulating front of foam to the red gleam of
the fire, again escaped into darkness through a wide
broken-edged gulf at the bottom. The floor of the
apartment appeared to be thickly strewed with human
bones, half-burned and blood-stained, and gnawed as
if by cannibals; and directly in front of the fire there
was a low tomb-like erection of dark-coloured stone,
full twenty yards in length, and roughened with
grotesque hieroglyphics, like those of a Runic obelisk.
An enormous mace of iron, crusted with rust and
blood, reclined against the upper end; while a bugle
of gold hung by a chain of the same metal from a
column at the bottom. Willie seized the bugle, and
winded a blast till the wide apartment shook with
the din; the waters of the cataract disappeared, as if


128 Weird Tales.
arrested at their source; and the ponderous cover of
the tomb began to heave and crackle, and pass slowly
over the edge, as if assailed by the terrific strength
of some newly-awakened giant below. Willie again
winded the bugle; the cover heaved upwards, dis-
closing a corner of the chasm beneath; and a hand
covered with blood, and of such fearful magnitude as
to resemble only the conceptions of Egyptian sculp-
ture, was slowly stretched from the darkness towards
the handle of the mace. Willie's resolution gave way,
and, flinging down the horn, he rushed hurriedly
towards the passage. A yell of blended grief and
indignation burst from the tomb, as the immense
cover again settled over it j the cataract came dashing
from its precipice with a heavier volume than before;
and a furious hurricane of mingled wind and spray
that rushed howling from the interior, well-nigh
dashed the adventurer against the sides of the rock.
He succeeded, however, in gaining the passage, sick
at heart and nearly petrified with terror; a state of
imperfect consciousness succeeded, like that of a
feverish dream, in which he retained a sort of half
conviction that he was lingering in the damps and
darkness of the cave, obstinately and yet unwillingly;
and, on fully regaining his recollection, he found him-
self lying across the ninth cistern, with the fragments
of the broken bottle on the one side, and his buck-
thorn staff on the other. He could hear from the
opening the dash of the advancing waves against the
rocks, and on leaping to the beach below, found that
his exploratory journey had occupied him a whole
day.


Legend of the Dropping Well. 129
The adventure of Willie Millar formed at one time
one'of the most popular traditions of Cromarty. It
was current among the children not more than eighteen
years ago, when the cave was explored a second time,
but with a very different result, by a boy of the school
in which the writer of these legends had the mis-
fortune of being regarded as the greatest dunce and
truant of his time. The character of Willie forms
the best possible commentary on his story — the
character of the boy may perhaps throw some little
light on his. When in his twelfth year, he was by
far the most inquisitive little fellow in the place.
His curiosity was insatiable. He had broken his
toys when a child, that he might see how they were
constructed; and a watch which the owner had
thoughtlessly placed within his reach, narrowly escaped
sharing a similar fate. He dissected frogs and mice
in the hope of discovering the seat of life ; and when
one day found dibbling at the edge of a spring, he
said he was trying to penetrate to the source of water.
His schoolmaster nicknamed him "The Senachie"
for the stories with which he beguiled his class-fellows
of their tasks were without end or number; the
neighbours called him Philosopher, for he could point
out the star of the pole, with the Great Bear that
continually walks round it; and he used to affirm
that there might be people in the moon, and that the
huge earth is only a planet. Having heard the legend
of Willie Millar, he set out one day to explore the
cave; and when he returned he had to tell that the
legend was a mere legend, and that the cave, though
not without its wonders, owed, like the great ones of
s I


Legend of the Dropping Well. 133
the evening of the interment he felt oppressed and
unhappy; his imagination was haunted by a thousand
feverish shapes of open graves with bones mouldering
round their edges, and of coffins with the lids dis-
placed; and after he had fallen asleep, the images,
which were still the same, became more ghastly and
horrible. Towards morning, however, they had all
vanished; and he dreamed that he was walking alone
by the sea-shore in a clear and beautiful day of
summer. Suddenly, as he thought, some person
stepped up behind, and whispered in his ear, in the
Voice of his deceased companion, "Go on, Willie; I
shall meet you at Stormy." There is a rock in the
neighbourhood of Fiddler's Well, so called, from the
violence with which the sea beats against it when
the wind blows strongly from the east. On hearing
the voice he turned round, and seeing no one, he
went on, as he thought, to the place named, in the
hope of meeting his friend, and sat down on a bank
to wait his coming; but he waited long—lonely and
dejected; and then remembering that he for whom
he waited was dead, he burst into tears. At this
moment a large field-bee came humming from the
west, and began to fly round his head. He raised
his hand to brush it away; it widened its circle, and
then came humming into his ear as before. He
raised his hand a second time, but the bee would not
be scared off; it hummed ceaselessly round and round
him, until at length its murmurings seemed to- be
fashioned into words, articulated in the voice of his
deceased companion. "Dig, Willie, and drink!"
it said; "Dig, Willie, and drink!" He accordingly


134 Weird Tales.
set himself to dig, and no sooner had he torn a sod
out of the bank than a spijng of clear water gushed
from the hollow; and the bee taking a wider circle,
and humming in a voice of triumph that seemed to
emulate the sound of a distant trumpet, flew away.
He looked after it, but as he looked the images of
his dream began to mingle with those of the waking
world; the scenery of the hill seemed obscured by a
dark cloud, in the centre of which there glimmered a
faint light; the rocks, the sea, the long declivity,
faded into the cloud ; and turning round he saw only
a dark apartment, and the faint beams of morning
shining in at a window. He rose, and after digging
the well, drank of the water and recovered. And its
virtues are still celebrated; for though the water be
only simple water, it must be drunk in the morning,
and as it gushes from the bank; and with pure air,
exercise, and early rising for its auxiliaries, it con-
tinues to work cures.


WANDERING WILLIE'S TALE.
BY SIR WALTER SCOTT.
YE maun have heard of Sir Robert Redgauntlet, of
that Ilk, who lived in these parts before the dear
years. The country will lang mind him; and our
fathers used to draw breath thick if ever they heard
him named. He was out wi' the Hielandmen in
Montrose's time; and again he has in the hills wi'
Glencairn in the saxteen hundred and fifty-twa; and
sae when King Charles the Second came in, wha was
in sic favour as the Laird of Redgauntlet? He was
knighted at Lonon court, wi' the King's ain sword;
and being a red-hot prelatist, he came down here,
rampauging like a lion, with commissions of lieuten-
ancy (and of lunacy, for what I ken), to put down a'
the Whigs and Covenanters in the country. Wild
wark they made of it; for the Whigs were as dour as
the Cavaliers were fierce, and it was which should first
tire the other. Redgauntlet was aye for the strong
hand; and his name is kend as wide in the country
as Claverhouse's or Tarn Dalyell's. Glen, nor dargle,
nor mountain, nor cave, could hide the puir hill-folk
when Redgauntlet was out with bugle and blood-
hound after them, as if they had been sae mony deer.
And troth when they fand them, they didna mak
muckle mair ceremony than a Hielandman wi' a
roebuck. It was just, "Will ye tak the test?"—if
135


136 Weird Tales.
not, "Make ready—present—fire!" and there lay
the recusant.
Far and wide was Sir Robert hated and feared.
Men thought he had a direct compact with Satan—
that he was proof against steel—and that bullets
happed aff his buff-coat like hailstanes from a hearth
—that he had a mear that would turn a hare on the
side of Carrifragawns — and muckle to the same
purpose, of whilk mair anon. The best blessing they
wared on him was, "Deil scowp wi' Redgauntlet!"
He wasna a bad maister to his ain folk though, and
was weel aneugh liked by his tenants; and as for the
lackies and troopers that raid out wi' him to the
persecutions, as the Whigs caa'd those killing times,
they wad hae drunken themsells blind to his health
at ony time.
Now you are to ken that my gudesire lived on
Redgauntlet's grund—they ca' the place Primrose-
Knowe. We had lived on the grund, and under the
Redgauntlets, since the riding days, and lang before.
It was a pleasant bit; and I think the air is callerer
and fresher there than ony where else in the country.
It's a' deserted now; and I sat on the broken door-
cheek three days since, and was glad I couldna see
the plight the place was in; but that's a' wide o' the
mark. There dwelt my gudesire, Steenie Steenson,
a rambling, rattling chiel he had been in his young
days, and could play weel on the pipes; he was
famous at "Hoopers and Girders"—a' Cumberland
couldna touch him at "Jockie Lattin "—and he had
the finest finger for the back-lilt between Berwick
and Carlisle. The like o' Steenie wasna the sort that


Wandering Willie's Tale. 137
they made Whigs o'. And so he became a Tory, as
they ca' it, which we now ca' Jacobites, just out of a
kind of needcessity, that he might belang to some
side or other. He had nae ill-will to the Whig
bodies, and liked little to see the blude rin, though,
being obliged to follow Sir Robert in hunting and
hosting, watching and warding, he saw muckle mis-
chief, and maybe did some, that he couldna avoid.
Now Steenie was a kind of favourite with his
master, and kend a' the folks about the castle, and
was often sent for to play the pipes when they were
at their merriment. Auld Dugald MacCallum, the
butler, that had followed Sir Robert through gude
and ill, thick and thin, pool and stream, was specially
fond of the pipes, and aye gae my gudesire his gude
word wi' the Laird; for Dougal could turn his master
round his finger.
Weel, round came the Revolution, and it had like
to have broken the hearts baith of Dougal and his
master. But the change was not a'thegither sae great
as they feared, and other folk thought for. The
Whigs made an unco crawing what they wad do with
their auld enemies, and in especial wi' Sir Robert
Redgauntlet. But there were ower mony great folks
dipped in the same doings, to mak a spick and span
new warld. So Parliament passed it a' ower easy;
and Sir Robert, bating that he was held to hunting
foxes instead of Covenanters, remained just the man
he was. His revel was as loud, and his hall as weel
lighted, as ever it had been, though maybe he lacked
the fines of the Nonconformists, that used to come to
stock his larder and cellar; for it is certain he began


138 Weird Tales.
to be keener about the rents than his tenants used to
find him before, and they behoved to be prompt to
the rent-day, or else the Laird wasna pleased. And
he was sic an awsome body, that naebody cared to
anger him; for the oaths he swore, and the rage that
he used to get into, and the looks that he put on,
made men sometimes think him a devil incarnate.
Weel, my gudesire was nae manager—no that he
was a very great misguider—but he hadna the saving
gift, and he got twa terms' rent in arrear. He got
the first brash at Whitsunday put ower wi' fair word
and piping; but when Martinmas came, there was a
summons from the grand officer to come wi' the rent
on a day preceese, or else Steenie behoved to flit.
Sair work he had to get the siller; but he was weel-
freended, and at last he got the haill scraped thegither
— a thousand merks — the maist of it was from a
neighbour they caa'd Laurie Lapraik — a sly tod.
Laurie had walth o' gear—could hunt wi' the hound
and rin wi' the hare—and be Whig or Tory, saunt or
sinner, as the wind stood. He was a professor in his
Revolution warld, but he liked an orra sough of this
world, and a tune on the pipes weel eneugh at a
bytime; and abune a', he thought he had gude security
for the siller he lent my gudesire ower the stocking at
Primrose-Knowe.
Away trots my gudesire to Redgauntlet Castle, wi'
a heavy purse and a light heart, glad to be out of the
Laird's danger. Weel, the first thing he learned at
the castle was, that Sir Robert had fretted himself
into a fit of the gout, because he did not appear before
twelve o'clock. It wasna a'thegither for the sake of


Wandering Willie's Tale. 139
the money, Dougal thought; but because he didna
like to part wi' my gudesire aff the grund. Dougal
was glad to see Steenie, and brought him into the
great oak parlour, and there sat the Laird his leesome
lane, excepting that he had beside him a great, ill-
favoured jackanape, that was a special pet of his; a
cankered beast it was, and mony an ill-natured trick
it played—ill to please it was, and easily angered—
ran about the haill castle, chattering and yowling, and
pinching and biting folk, especially before ill weather,
or disturbances in the State. Sir Robert caa'd it
Major Weir, after the warlock that was burnt; and
few folk liked either the name or the conditions of the
creature—they thought there was something in it by
ordinar—and my gudesire was not just easy in his
mind when the door shut on him, and he saw himself
in the room wi' naebody but the Laird, Dougal
MacCallum, and the Major, a thing that hadna chanced
to him before.
Sir Robert sat, or, I should say, lay in a great
armed chair, wi' his grand velvet gown, and his feet
on a cradle; for he had baith gout and gravel, and
his face looked as gash and ghastly as Satan's. Major
Weir sat opposite to him, in a red laced coat, and the
Laird's wig on his head; and aye as Sir Robert
girned wi' pain, the jackanape girned too, like a sheep's
head between a pair of tangs—an ill-faured, fearsome
couple they were. The Laird's buff coat was hung on
a pin behind him, and his broad-sword and his pistols
within reach; for he keepit up the auld fashion of
having the weapons ready, and a horse saddled day
and night, just as he used to do when he was able to


Wandering Willie's Tale. 141
hirdy-girdy — naebody to say ''come in," or "gae
out." Terribly the Laird roared for cauld water to
his feet, and wine to cool his throat; and hell, hell,
hell, and its flames, was aye the word in his mouth.
They brought him water, and when they plunged his
swoln feet into the tub, he cried out it was burning.
And folk say that it did bubble and sparkle like a
seething cauldron. He flung the cup at Dougal's
head, and said he had given him blood instead of
burgundy; and, sure aneugh, the lass washed clotted
blood aff the carpet the neist day. The jackanape
they caa'd Major Weir, it jibbered and cried as if it
was mocking its master; my gudesire's head was like
to turn—he forgot baith siller and receipt, and down-
stairs he banged; but as he ran, the shrieks came
faint and fainter. There was a deep-drawn shivering
groan, and word gaed through the Castle that the
Laird was dead.
Weel, away came my gudesire, wi' his finger in his
mouth, and his best hope was, that Dougal had seen
the money-bag, and heard the Laird speak of writing
the receipt. The young Laird, now Sir John, came
from Edinburgh, to see things put to rights. Sir
John and his father never gree'd weel. Sir John had
been bred an advocate, and afterwards sat in the last
Scots Parliament and voted for the Union, having
gotten, it was thought, a rug of the compensations—
if his father could have come out of his grave, he
would have brained him for it on his awn hearthstane.
Some thought it was easier counting with the auld
rough Knight than the fair-spoken young ane—but
mair of that anon.


142 Weird Tales.
Dougal MacCallum, poor body, neither grat nor
graned, but gaed about the house looking like a
corpse, but directing, as was his duty, a' the order of
the grand funeral. Now, Dougal looked aye waur
and waur when night was coming, and was aye the
last to gang to his bed, whilk was in a little round
just opposite the chamber of dias, whilk his master
occupied while he was living, and where he now lay in
state, as they caa'd it, weel-a-day! The night before
the funeral, Dougal could keep his own counsel nae
langcr; he came doun with his proud spirit, and
fairly asked auld Hutcheon to sit in his room with
him for an hour. When they were in the round,
Dougal took ae tass of brandy to hiniscll, and gave
another to Hutcheon, and wished him all health and
lang life, and said that, for himsell, he wasna lang for
this world; for that, every night since Sir Robert's
death, his silver call had sounded from the state
chamber, just as it used to do at nights in his lifetime,
to call Dougal to help to turn him in his bed. Dougal
said, that being alone with the dead on that floor of
the tower (for naebody cared to wake Sir Robert Red-
gauntlet like another corpse), he had never daured to
answer the call, but that now his conscience checked
him for neglecting his duty; for, "though death
breaks service," said MacCallum, "it shall never
break my service to Sir Robert; and I will answer
his next whistle, so be you will stand by me,
Hutcheon."
Hutcheon had nae will to the wark, but he had
stood by Dougal in battle and broil, and he wad not
fail him at this pinch; so down the carles sat ower a


Wandering Willie's Tale. 143
stoup of brandy, and Hutcheon, who was something
of a clerk, would have read a chapter of the Bible;
but Dougal would hear naething but a blaud of
Davie Lindsay, whilk was the waur preparation.
When midnight came, and the house was quiet
as the grave, sure aneugh the silver whistle sounded
as sharp and shrill as if Sir Robert was blowing it,
and up gat the twa auld serving-men, and tottered
into the room where the dead man lay. Hutcheon
saw aneuch at the first glance; for there were torches
in the room, which showed him the foul fiend in his
ain shape, sitting on the Laird's coffin! Over he
cowped, as if he had been dead. He could not tell
how lang he lay in a trance at the door, but when he
gathered himself, he cried on his neighbour, and
getting nae answer, raised the house, when Dougal
was found lying dead within twa steps of the bed
where his master's coffin was placed. As for the
whistle, it was gaen anes and aye; but mony a time
was it heard at the top of the house on the bartizan,
and amang the auld chimneys and turrets, where the
howlets have their nests. Sir John hushed the matter
up, and the funeral passed over without mair bogle-
wark.
But when a' was ower, and the Laird was begin-
ning to settle his affairs, every tenant was called up
for his arrears, and my gudesire for the full sum that
stood against him in the rental-book. Weel, away
he trots to the Castle, to tell his story, and there he
is introduced to Sir John, sitting in his father's chair,
in deep mourning, with weepers and hanging cravat,
and a small walkine rapier by his side, instead of the


146 Weird Tales.
Stephen. "The siller maun be about the house, Sir
John. And since yer honour never got it, and his
honour that was canna have ta'en it wi' him, maybe
some of the family may have seen it."
Sir John. "We will examine the servants, Stephen;
that is but reasonable."
But lackey and lass, and page and groom, all
denied stoutly that they had ever seen such a bag of
money as my gudesire described. What was waur,
he had unluckily not mentioned to any living soul of
them his purpose of paying his rent. Ae quean had
noticed something under his arm, but she took it for
the pipes.
Sir John Redgauntlet ordered the servants out of
the room, and then said to my gudesire, "Now,
Steenie, ye see ye have fair play; and, as I have little
doubt ye ken better where to find the siller than ony
other body, I beg, in fair terms, and for your own
sake, that you will end this fasherie; for Stephen, ye
maun pay or flit."
"The Lord forgie your opinion," said Stephen,
driven almost to his wit's end—"I am an honest
man."
"So am I, Stephen," said his honour; "and so
are all the folks in the house, I hope. But if there
be a knave amongst us, it must be he that telk the
story he cannot prove." He paused, and then added
mair sternly, "If I understand your trick, sir, you
want to take advantage of some malicious reports
concerning things in this family, and particularly
respecting my father's sudden death, thereby to cheat
me out of the money, and perhaps take away my


Wandering Willie's Tale. 147
character, by insinuating that I have received the rent
I am demanding. Where do you suppose this money
to be? I insist upon knowing."
My gudesire saw everything look sae muckle against
him that he grew nearly desperate; however, he
shifted from one foot to another, looked to every
corner of the room, and made no answer.
"Speak out, sirrah," said the Laird, assuming a
look of his father's, a very particular ane, which he
had when he was angry; it seemed as if the wrinkles
of his frown made that selfsame fearful shape of a
horse's shoe in the middle of his brow;—" Speak out,
sir! I will know your thoughts;—do you suppose
that I have this money?"
"Far be it frae me to say so," said Stephen.
"Do you charge any of my people with having
taken it?"
"I wad be laith to charge them that may be inno-
cent," said my gudesire; "and if there be any one
that is guilty, I have nae proof."
"Somewhere the money must be, if there is a word
of truth in your story," said Sir John; "I ask where
you think it is—and demand a correct answer?"
"In hell, if you will have my thoughts of it," said
my gudesire, driven to extremity,—" in hell I with
your father, his jackanape, and his silver whistle."
Down the stairs he ran (for the parlour was nae
place for him after such a word), and he heard the
Laird swearing blood and wounds behind him, as fast
as ever did Sir Robert, and roaring for the bailie and
the baron-officer.
Away rode my gudesire to his chief creditor (him


Wandering Willie's Tale. 149
Enemy, if he would but get him back the pock of
siller, or tell him what came o't, for he saw the haill
world was like to regard him as a thief and a cheat,
and he took that waur than even the ruin of his house
and hauld.
On he rode, little caring where. It was a dark
night turned, and the trees made it yet darker, and
he let the beast take its ain road through the wood;
when, all of a sudden, from tired and wearied that
it was before, the nag began to spring, and flee, and
stend, that my gudesire could hardly keep the saddle.
Upon the whilk, a horseman, suddenly riding up
beside him, said, "That's a mettle beast of yours,
freend; will you sell him?" So saying, he touched
the horse's neck with his riding-wand, and it fell into
its auld heigh-ho of a stumbling trot. "But his
spunk's soon out of him, I think," continued the
stranger, "and that is like mony a man's courage,
that thinks he wad do great things till he come to
the proof.
My gudesire scarce listened to this, but spurred his
horse, with "Gude e'en to you, freend."
But it's like the stranger was ane that doesna
lightly yield his point; for, ride as Steenie liked,
he was aye beside him at the selfsame pace. At last
my gudesire, Steenie Steenson, grew half angry ; and,
to say the truth, half feared.
"What is it that ye want with me, freend?" he
said, "If ye be a robber, I have nae money; if ye
be a leal man, wanting company, I have nae heart
to mirth or speaking; and if ye want to ken the road,
I scarce ken it mysell."


150 Weird Tales.
"If you will tell me your grief," said the stranger,
"I am one that, though I have been sair miscaa'd in
the world, am the only hand for helping my freends."
So my gudesire, to ease his ain heart, mair than
from any hope of help, told him the story from
beginning to end.
"It's a hard pinch," said the stranger; "but I
think I can help you."
"If you could lend the money, sir, and take a lang
day—I ken nae other help on earth," said my gude-
sire.
"But there may be some under the earth," said the
stranger. "Come, I'll be frank wi' you; I could
lend you the money on bond, but you would maybe
scruple my terms. Now, I can tell you, that your
auld Laird is disturbed in his grave by your curses,
and the wailing of your family; and if you daur
venture to go to see him, he will give you the
receipt."
My gudesire's hair stood on end at this proposal, but
he thought his companion might be some humorsome
chield that was trying to frighten him, and might end
with lending him the money. Besides, he was bauld
wi' brandy, and desperate wi' distress; and he said,
he had courage to go to the gate of hell, and a step
farther, for that receipt. The stranger laughed.
Weel, they rode on through the thickest of the
wood, when, all of a sudden, the horse stopped at
the door of a great house; and, but that he knew the
place was ten miles off, my father would have thought
he was at Redgauntlet Castle. They rode into the
outer court yard, through the muckle faulding yetts,


Wandering Willie's Tale. 151
and aneath the auld portcullis; and the whole front
of the house was lighted, and there were pipes and
fiddles, and as much dancing and deray within as
used to be in Sir Robert's house at Pace and Yule,
and such high seasons. They lap off, and my gude-
sire, as seemed to him, fastened his horse to the very
ring he had tied him to that morning, when he gaed
to wait on the young Sir John.
"God !" said my gudesire, "if Sir Robert's death
be but a dream!"
He knocked at the ha' door just as he was wont,
and his auld acquaintance, Dougal MacCallum,—just
after his wont too,—came to open the door, and said,
"Piper Steenie, are ye there, lad? Sir Robert has
been crying for you."
My gudesire was like a man in a dream—he looked
for the stranger, but he was gane for the time. At
last he just tried to say, "Ha! Dougal Driveower,
are ye living? I thought ye had been dead."
"Never fash yoursell wi' me," said Dougal, "but
look to yoursell; and see ye tak naething frae ony-
body here, neither meat, drink, or siller, except just
the receipt that is your ain."
So saying, he led the way out through halls and
trances that were weel kend to my gudesire, and into
the auld oak parlour; and there was as much singing
of profane sangs, and biding of red wine, and speak-
ing blasphemy and sculduddry, as had ever been in
Redgauntlet Castle when it was at the blithest.
But, Lord take us in keeping! what a set of
ghastly revellers they were that sat round that table!
My gudesire kend mony that had lang before gane to


152 Weird Tales.
their place, for often had he piped to the most part
in the hall of RedgauntleU There was the fierce
Middleton, and the dissolute Rothes, and the crafty
Lauderdale; and Dalyell, with his bald head and a
beard to his girdle; and Earlshall, with Cameron's
blude on his hand; and wild Bonshaw, that tied
blessed Mr. Cargill's limbs till the blude sprung; and
Dumbarton Douglas, the twice-turned traitor baith to
country and king. There was the Bluidy Advocate
MacKenyie, who, for his worldly wit and wisdom,
had been to the rest as a god. And there was
Claverhouse, as beautiful as when he lived, with
his long, dark, curled locks, streaming down over
his laced buff-coat, and his left hand always on his
right spule-blade, to hide the wound that the silver-
bullet had made. He sat apart from them all, and
looked at them with a melancholy, haughty counte-
nance ; while the rest halloed, and sung, and laughed,
that the room rang. But their smiles were fearfully
contorted from time to time ; and their laughter passed
into such wild sounds, as made my gudesire's very
nails grow blue, and chilled the marrow in his banes.
They that waited at the table were just the wicked
serving-men and troopers, that had done their work
and cruel bidding on earth. There was the Lang
Lad of the Nethevtown, that helped to take Argyle;
and the Bishop's summoner, that they called the
Deil's Rattle-bag; and the wicked guardsmen, in
their laced-coats; and the savage Highland Amorites,
that shed blood like water; and many a proud serv-
ing-man, haughty of heart and bloody of hand,
clinging to the rich, and making them wickeder


Wandering Willies Tale. 153
than they would be; grinding the poor to powder,
when the rich had broken them to fragments. And
mony, mony mair were coming and ganging, a' as
busy in their vocation as if they had been alive.
Sir Robert Redgauntlet, in the midst of a' this
fearful riot, cried, wi' a voice like thunder, on Steenie
Piper, to come to the board-head where he was
sitting; his legs stretched out before him, and
swathed up with flannel, with his holster pistols
aside him, while the great broad-sword rested against
his chair, just as my gudesire had seen him the last
time upon earth—the very cushion for the jackanape
was close to him, but the creature itsell was not there
—it wasna its hour, it's likely; for he heard them say
as he came forward, "Is not the Major come yet?"
And another answered, "The jackanape will be
here betimes the morn." And when my gudesire
came forward, Sir Robert, or his ghaist, or the deevil
in his likeness, said, "Weel, piper, hae ye settled wi'
my son for the year's rent?"
With much ado my father gat breath to say, that
Sir John would not settle without his honour's receipt.
"Ye shall hae that for a tune of the pipes, Steenie,"
said the appearance of Sir Robert. "Play us up,
'Weel noddled, Luckie.'"
Now this was a tune my gudesire learned from a
warlock, that heard it when they were worshipping
Satan at their meetings; and my gudesire had some-
times played it at the ranting suppers in Redgauntlet
Castle, but never very willingly; and now he grew
cauld at the very name of it, and said, for excuse, he
hadna his pipes wi' him.


154 Weird Tales.
"MacCallum, ye limb of Beelzebub," said the
fearfu' Sir Robert, "bring Steenie the pipes that I
am keeping for him!"
MacCallum brought a pair of pipes that might have
served the piper of Donald of the Isles. But he gave
my gudesire a nudge as he offered them; and looking
secretly and closely, Steenie saw that the chanter was
of steel, and heated to a white heat; so he had fair
warning not to trust his fingers with it. So he
excused himself again, and said he was faint and
frightened, and had not wind aneugh to fill the bag.
"Then ye maun eat and drink, Steenie," said the
figure; "for we do little else here; and it's ill
speaking between a fou man and a fasting."
Now these were the very words that the bloody
Earl of Douglas said to keep the King's messenger
in hand, while he cut the head off MacLellan of
Bombie, at the Threave Castle; and that put Steenie
mair and mair on his guard. So he spoke up like a
man, and said he came neither to eat, or drink, or
make minstrelsy; but simply for his ain—to ken what
was come o' the money he had paid, and to get a
discharge for it; and he was so stout-hearted by this
time, that he charged Sir Robert for conscience-sake
—(he had no power to say the holy name)—and as he
hoped for peace and rest, to spread no snares for him,
but just to give him his ain.
The appearance gnashed its teeth and laughed, but
it took from a large pocket-book the receipt, and
handed it to Steenie. "There is your receipt, ye
pitiful cur; and for the money, my dog-whelp of a
son may go look for it in the Cat's Cradle."


Wandering Willie's Tale. 155
My gudesire uttered mony thanks, and was about
to retire, when Sir Robert roared aloud, "Stop,
though, thou sack-doudling son of a whore! I am
not done with thee. HERE we do nothing for
nothing; and you must return on this very day
twelvemonth, to pay your master the homage that
you owe me for my protection."
My father's tongue was loosed of a suddenty, and
he said aloud, "I refer mysell to God's pleasure, and
not to yours."
He had no sooner uttered the word than all was
dark around him; and he sunk on the earth with
such a sudden shock, that he lost both breath and
sense.
How long Steenie lay there, he could not tell; but
when he came to himsell, he was lying in the auld
kirkyard of Redgauntlet parochine, just at the door
of the family aisle, and the scutcheon of the auld
knight, Sir Robert, hanging over his head. There
was a deep morning fog on grass and grave-shine
around him, and his horse was feeding quietly beside
the minister's twa cows. Steenie would have thought
the whole was a dream, but he had the receipt in his
hand, fairly written and signed by the auld Laird;
only the last letters of his name were a little dis-
orderly, written like one seized with sudden pain.
Sorely troubled in his mind, he left that dreary
place, rode through the mist to Redgauntlet Castle,
and with much ado he got speech of the Laird.
"Well, you dyvour bankrupt," was the first word,
'' have you brought me my rent?"
"No," answered my gudesire, "I have not; but


156 Weird Tales.
\ have brought your honour Sir Robert's receipt
for it."
"How, sirrah?—Sir Robert's receipt!—You told
me he had not given you one."
"Will your honour please to see if that bit line is
right?"
Sir John looked at every line, and at every letter,
with much attention; and at last, at the date, which
my gudesire had not observed, "From my appointed
place," he read, "this twenty-fifth of November."—
"What!—That is yesterday !—Villain, thou must
have gone to hell for this!"
"I got it from your honour's father—whether he
be in heaven or hell, I know not," said Steenie.
"I will delate you for a warlock to the Privy
Council!" said Sir John. "I will send you to your
master, the devil, with the help of a tar-barrel and a
torch!"
"I intend to delate mysell to the Presbytery," said
Steenie, "and tell them all I have seen last night,
whilk are things fitter for them to judge of than a
borrel man like me."
Sir John paused, composed himsell, and desired to
hear the full history; and my gudesire told it him from
point to point, as I have told it you—word for word,
neither more or less.
Sir John was silent again for a long time, and at
last he said, very composedly, "Steenie, this story of
yours concerns the honour of many a noble family
besides mine; and if it be a leasing-making, to keep
yourself out of my danger, the least you can expect is
to have a red-hot iron driven through your tongue,


158 Weird Tales.
help him. And there was the bag of siller sure
aneugh, and mony orra things besides, that had been
missing for mony a day. And Sir John, when he
had riped the turret weel, led my gudesire into the
dining-parlour, and took him by the hand, and spoke
kindly to him, and said he was sorry he should have
doubted his word, and that he would hereafter be a
good master to him, to make amends.
"And now, Steenie," said Sir John, "although
this vision of yours tends, on the whole, to my
father's credit, as an honest man, that he should,
even after his death, desire to see justice done to a
poor man like you, yet you are sensible that ill-
dispositioned men might make bad constructions upon
it, concerning his soul's health. So, I think, we had
better lay the haill dirdum on thit ill-deedie creature,
Major Weir, and say naething about your dream in
the wood of Pitmurkie. You had taken ower muckle
brandy to be very certain about onything; and,
Steenie, this receipt" (his hand shook while he held
it out),—" it's but a queer kind of document, and
we will do best, I think, to put it quietly in the fire."
"Od, but for as queer as it is, it's a' the voucher I
have for my rent," said my gudesire, who was afraid,
it may be, of losing the benefit of Sir Robert's
discharge.
"I will bear the contents to your credit in the
rental-book, and give you a discharge under my own
hand," said Sir John, "and that on the spot. And,
Steenie, if you can hold your tongue about this
matter, you shall sit, from this term downward, at an
easier rent."


Wandering Willie's Tale. 159
"Mony thanks to your honour," said Steenie, who
saw easily in what corner the wind was; '' doubtless
I will be conformable to all your honour's com-
mands; only I would willingly speak wi' some
powerful minister on the subject, for I do not like
the sort of summons of appointment whilk your
honour's father—"
"Do not call the phantom my father!" said Sir
John, interrupting him.
"Weel, then, the thing that was so like him,"
said my gudesire; "he spoke of my coming back to
him this time twelvemonth, and it's a weight on my
conscience."
"Aweel, then," said Sir John, "if you be so much
distressed in mind, you may speak to our minister of
the parish; he is a douce man, regards the honour of
our family, and the mair that he may look for some
patronage from me."
"Wi' that my gudesire readily agreed that the
receipt should be burnt, and the Laird threw it into
the chimney with his ain hand. Burn it would not
for them, though ; but away it flew up the lum, wi' a
lang train of sparks at its tail, and a hissing noise like
a squib.
My gudesire gaed down to the manse, and the
minister, when he had heard the story, said it was his
real opinion, that though my gudesire had gaen very
far in tampering with dangerous matters, yet, as he
had refused the devil's arles (for such was the offer of
meat and drink), and had refused to do homage by
piping at his bidding, he hoped, that if he held a
circumspect walk hereafter, Satan could take little


THE HAUNTED SHIPS.
BY ALLAN CUNNINGHAM.
"Though my mind's not
Hoodwink'd with rustic marvels, I do think
There are more things in the grove, the air, the flood,
Yea, and the clmrncll'd earth, than that wise man,
Who walks so proud as if his form alone
Fill'd the wide temple of the universe,
Will let a frail mind say. I'd write i' the creed
O' the sagest head alive, that fearful forms,
Holy or reprobate, do page men's heels;
That shapes, too horrid for our gaze, stand o'er
The murderer's dust, and for revenge glare up,
Even till the stars weep fire for very pity."
ALONG the sea of Solway, romantic on the Scottish
side, with its woodland, its bays, its cliffs, and head-
lands,—and interesting on the English side, with its
many beautiful towns with their shadows on the
water, rich pastures, safe harbours, and numerous
ships,—there still linger many traditional stories of a
maritime nature, most of them connected with super-
stitions singularly wild and unusual. To the curious
these tales afford a rich fund of entertainment, from
the many diversities of the same story; some dry and
barren, and stripped of all the embellishments of
poetry; others dressed out in all the riches of a
superstitious belief and haunted imagination. In this
they resemble the inland traditions of the peasants;
but many of the oral treasures of the Galwegian or
the Cumbrian coast have the stamp of the Dane and
S i.


162 Weird Tales.
the Norseman upon them, and claim but a remote
or faint affinity with the legitimate legends of
Caledonia. Something like a rude prosaic outline of
several of the most noted of the northern ballads, the
adventures and depredations of the old ocean kings,
still lends life to the evening tale ; and, among others,
the story of the Haunted Ships is still popular among
the maritime peasantry.
One fine harvest evening, I went on board the
shallop of Richard Faulder, of Allanbay; and, com-
mitting ourselves to the waters, we allowed a gentle
wind from the east to waft us at its pleasure towards
the Scottish coast. We passed the sharp promontory
of Siddick; and skirting the land within a stone-cast,
glided along the shore till we came within sight
of the ruined Abbey of Sweetheart. The green
mountain of Criffell ascended beside us; and the
bleat of the flocks from its summit, together with the
winding of the evening horn of the reapers, came
softened into something like music over land and sea.
We pushed our shallop into a deep and wooded bay,
and sat silently looking on the serene beauty of the
place The moon glimmered in her rising through
the tall shafts of the pines of Caerlaverock; and the
sky, with scarce a cloud, showered down on wood,
and headland, and bay, the twinkling beams of a
thousand stars rendering every object visible. The
tide, too, was coming with that swift and silent swell
observable when the wind is gentle; the woody curves
along the land were filling with the flood, till it
touched the green branches of the drooping trees;
while in the centre current the roll and the plunge of


164 Weird Tales.
wooden skewer round his neck, fell mid-leg down,
concealing all his nether garments as far as a pair of
hose, darned with yarn of all conceivable colours,
and a pair of shoes, patched and repaired till nothing
of the original structure remained, and clasped on his
feet with two massy silver buckles. If the dress of
the old man was rude and sordid, that of his grand-
daughter was gay, and even rich. She wore a
boddice of fine wool, wrought round the bosom with
alternate leaf and lily, and a kirtle of the same fabric,
which, almost touching her white and delicate ancle,
showed her snowy feet, so fairy-light and round that
they scarcely seemed to touch the grass where she
stood. Her hair, a natural ornament which woman
seeks much to improve, was of bright glossy brown,
and encumbered rather than adorned with a snood,
set thick with marine productions, among which the
small clear pearl found in the Solway was conspicuous.
Nature had not trusted to a handsome shape, and a
sylph-like air, for young Barbara's influence over the
heart of man ; but had bestowed a pair of large bright
blue eyes, swimming in liquid light, so full of love,
and gentleness, and joy, that all the sailors from
Annan Water to far Saint Bees acknowledged their
power, and sung songs about the bonnie lass of Mark
Macmoran. She stood holding a small gaff-hook of
polished steel in her hand, and seemed not dissatisfied
with the glances I bestowed on her from time to time,
and which I held more than requited by a single
glance of those eyes which retained so many
capricious hearts in subjection.
The tide, though rapidly augmenting, had not yet


The Haunted Ships. 16 7
after yell, sustaining himself against the prodigious
rush of the current.
From a shealing of turf and straw, within the pitch
of a bar from the spot where we stood, came out an
old woman bent with age, and leaning on a crutch.
"I heard the voice of that lad Andrew Lammie; can
the chield be drowning, that he skirls sae uncannilie?"
said the old woman, seating herself on the ground,
and looking earnestly at the water. "Ou ay," she
continued, "he's doomed, he's doomed; heart and
hand can never save him; boats, ropes, and man's
strength and wit, all vain! vain! he's doomed, he's
doomed!"
By this time I had thrown myself into the shallop,
followed reluctantly by Richard Faulder, over whose
courage and kindness of heart superstition had great
power; and with one push from the shore, and some
exertion in sculling, we came within a quoit-cast of
the unfortunate fisherman. He stayed not to profit by
our aid; for when he perceived us near, he uttered
a piercing shriek of joy, and bounded towards us
through the agitated element the full length of an oar.
I saw him for a second on the surface of the water;
but the eddying current sucked him down; and all I
ever beheld of him again was his hand held above the
flood, and clutching in agony at some imaginary aid.
I sat gazing in horror on the vacant sea before us:
but a breathing time before, a human being, full of
youth, and strength, and hope, was there; his cries
were still ringing in my ears, and echoing in the
woods; and now nothing «vas seen or heard save the
turbulent expanse of water, and the sound of its


168 Weird Tales.
chafing on the shores. We pushed back our shallop,
and resumed our station on the cliff beside the old
mariner and his descendant.
"Wherefore sought ye to peril your own lives fruit-
lessly?" said Mark, "in attempting to save the
doomed. Whoso touches those infernal ships, never
survives to tell the tale. Woe to the man who is
found nigh them at midnight when the tide has sub-
sided, and they arise in their former beauty, with
forecastle, and deck, and sail, and pennon, and
shroud! Then is seen the streaming of lights along
the water from their cabin windows, and then is
heard the sound of mirth and the clamour of tongues,
and the infernal whoop and halloo, and song, ringing
far and wide. Woe to the man who comes nigh
them!"
To all this my Allanbay companion listened with a
breathless attention. I felt something touched with a
superstition to which I partly believed I had seen one
victim offered up; and I inquired of the old mariner,
"How and when came these haunted ships there?
To me they seem but the melancholy relics of some
unhappy voyagers, and much more likely to warn
people to shun destruction, than entice and delude
them to it."
"And so," said the old man with a smile, which
had more of sorrow in it than of mirth; "and so,
young man, these black and shattered hulks seem to
the eye of the multitude. But things are not what
they seem ; that water, a kind and convenient servant
to the wants of man, which seems so smooth, and
so dimpling, and so gentle, has swallowed up a


The Haunted Ships. 169
human soul even now ; and the place which it covers,
so fair and so level, is a faithless quicksand, out of
which none escape. Things are otherwise than they
seem. Had you lived as long as I have had the
sorrow to live; had you seen the storms, and braved
the perils, and endured the distresses which have
befallen me; had you sat gazing out on the dreary
ocean at midnight on a haunted coast; had you seen
comrade after comrade, brother after brother, and son
after son, swept away by the merciless ocean from
your very side; had you seen the shapes of friends,
doumed to the wave and the quicksand, appearing to
you in the dreams and visions of the night,—then
would your mind have been prepared for crediting
the maritime legends of mariners; and the two
haunted Danish ships would have had their terrors
for you, as they have for all who sojourn on this coast.
"Of the time and the cause of their destruction,"
continued the old man, "I know nothing certain:
they have stood as you have seen them for uncounted
time; and while all other ships wrecked on this
unhappy coast have gone to pieces, and rotted, and
sunk away in a few years, these two haunted hulks
have neither sunk in the quicksand, nor has a single
spar or board been displaced. Maritime legend says,
that two ships of Denmark having had permission,
for a time, to work deeds of darkness and dolour on
the deep, were at last condemned to the whirlpool
and the sunken rock, and were wrecked in this
bonnie bay, as a sign to seamen to be gentle and
devout. The night when they were lost was a
harvest evening of uncommon mildness and beauty;


170 Weird Tales.
the sun had newly set; the moon came brighter and
brighter out; and the reapers, laying their sickles at
the root of the standing corn, stood on rock and bank,
looking at the increasing magnitude of the waters, for
sea and land were visible from Saint Bees to Barn-
hourie. The sails of two vessels were soon seen bent
for the Scottish coast; and with a speed outrunning
the swiftest ship, they approached the dangerous
quicksands and headland of Borran Point. On the
deck of the foremost ship not a living soul was seen,
or shape, unless something in darkness and form
resembling a human shadow could be called a shape,
which flitted from extremity to extremity of the ship,
with the appearance of trimming the sails, and direct-
ing the vessel's course. But the decks of its com-
panion were crowded with human shapes; the
captain, and mate, and sailor, and cabin boy, all
seemed there; and from them the sound of mirth and
minstrelsy echoed over land and water. The coast
which they skirted along was one of extreme danger;
and the reapers shouted to warn them to beware of
sandbank and rock; but of this friendly counsel no
notice was taken, except that a large and famished
dog, which sat on the prow, answered every shout
with a long, loud, and melancholy howl. The deep
sand-bank of Carsethorn was expected to arrest the
career of these desperate navigators; but they passed,
with the celerity of waterfowl, over an obstruction
which had wrecked many pretty ships.
"Old men shook their heads and departed, saying,
•We have seen the 6end sailing in a bottomless ship—
let us go home and pray'; but one young and wilful


The Haunted Ships. r 7i
man said, 'Fiend! I'll warrant it's nae fiend, but
douce Janet Withershins, the witch, holding a carouse
with some of her Cumberland cummers, and mickle
red wine will be spilt atween them. 'Dod I would
gladly have a toothfu'! I'll warrant it's nane o' your
cauld sour slae-water like a bottle of Bailie Skrinkie's
port, but right drap-o'-my-heart's-blood stuff, that
would waken a body out of their last linen. I wonder
where the cummers will anchor their craft?' 'And
I'll vow,' said another rustic, 'the wine they quaff is
none of your visionary drink, such as a drouthie body
has dished out to his lips in a dream; nor is it
shadowy and unsubstantial, like the vessels they sail
in, which are made out of a cockle-shell or a cast-off
slipper, or the paring of a seaman's right thumb-
nail. I once got a hansel out of a witch's quaigh
myself,—auld Marion Mathers, of Dustiefoot, whom
they tried to bury in the old kirk-yard of Dun-
score; but the cummer raise as fast as they laid
her down, and nae where else would she lie but
in the bonnie green kirk-yard of Kier, among douce
and sponsible fowk. So I'll vow that the wine of a
witch's cup is as fell liquor as ever did a kindly turn
to a poor man's heart; and be they fiends, or be
they witches, if they have red wine asteer, I'll risk a
drouket sark for ae glorious tout on't.' 'Silence,
ye sinners,' said the minister's son of a neighbouring
parish, who united in his own person his father's
lack of devotion with his mother's love of liquor.
'Whisht!—speak as if ye had the fear of something
holy before ye. Let the vessels run their own way
to destruction; who can stay the eastern wind, and


172 Weird Tales.
the current of the Solway sea? I can find ye Scrip-
ture warrant for that; so let them try their strength
on Blawhooly rocks, and their might on the broad
quicksand. There's a surf running there would
knock the ribs together of a galley built by the imps
of the pit, and commanded by the Prince of Dark-
ness. Bonnilie and bravely they sail away there;
but before the blast blows by they'll be wrecked;
and red wine and strong brandy will be as rife as
dyke-water, and we'll drink the health of bonnie Bell
Blackness out of her left foot slipper.'
"The speech of the young profligate was applauded
by several of his companions, and away they flew
to the bay of Blawhooly, from whence they never
returned. The two vessels were observed all at once
to stop in the bosom of the bay, on the spot where
their hulls now appear ; the mirth and the minstrelsy
waxed louder than ever; and the forms of maidens,
with instruments of music and wine-cups in their
hands, thronged the decks. A boat was lowered;
and the same shadowy pilot who conducted the ships
made it start towards the shore with the rapidity of
lightning, and its head knocked against the bank
where the four young men stood, who longed for the
unblest drink. They leaped in with a laugh, and
with a laugh were they welcomed on deck; wine
cups were given to each, and as they raised them to
their lips the vessels melted away beneath their feet;
and one loud shriek, mingled with laughter still
louder, was heard over land and water for many
miles. Nothing more was heard or seen till the
morning, when the crowd who came to the beach


174 Weird Tales.
and sat down behind that old oak, and looked abroad
on the wide sea. I had my ain sad thoughts, ye may
think, at the time : it was in that very bay my blithe
gudeman perished, with seven more in his company;
and on that very bank where ye see the waves leap-
ing and foaming, I saw seven stately corses streeked,
but the dearest was the eighth. It was a woeful
sight to me, a widow, with four bonnie boys, with
nought to support them but these twa hands, and
God's blessing, and a cow's grass. I have never
liked to live out of sight of this bay since that time;
and mony's the moonlight night I sit looking on
these watery mountains, and these waste shores; it
does my heart good, whatever it may do to my head.
So ye see it was Hallowmas night; and looking on
sea and land sat I; and my heart wandering to other
thoughts soon made me forget my youthful company
at hame. It might be near the howe hour of the
night; the tide was making, and its singing brought
strange old-world stories with it; and I thought on
the dangers that sailors endure, the fates they meet
with, and the fearful forms they see. My own blithe
gudeman had seen sights that made him grave
enough at times, though he aye tried to laugh them
away.
"Aweel, atween that very rock aneath us and the
coming tide, I saw, or thought I saw, for the tale is
so dream-like, that the whole might pass for a vision
of the night,—I saw the form of a man; his plaid was
gray; his face was gray; and his hair, which hung
low down till it nearly came to the middle of his
back, was as white as the white sea-foam. He


The Haunted Ships. 175
began to howk and dig under the bank; an' God be
near me, thought I, this maun be the unblessed
spirit of auld Adam Gowdgowpin, the miser, who is
doomed to dig for shipwrecked treasure, and count
how many millions are hidden for ever from man's
enjoyment. The Form found something which in
shape and hue seemed a left-foot slipper of brass; so
down to the tide he marched, and placing it on the
water, whirled it thrice round; and the infernal
slipper dilated at every turn, till it became a bonnie
barge with its sails bent, and on board leaped the
form, and scudded swiftly away. He came to one
of the Haunted Ships; and striking it with his oar,
a fair ship, with mast, and canvas, and mariners,
started up; he touched the other Haunted Ship, and
produced the like transformation; and away the
three spectre ships bounded, leaving a track of fire
behind them on the billows which was long unex-
tinguished. Now was nae that a bonnie and a fearful
sight to see beneath the light of the Hallowmas
moon? But the tale is far frae finished; for mariners
say that once a year, on a certain night, if ye stand
on the Borran Point, ye will see the infernal shallops
coming snoring through the Solway; ye will hear
the same laugh, and song, and mirth, and minstrelsy,
which our ancestors heard ; see them bound over the
sand-banks and sunken rocks like sea-gulls, cast
their anchor in Blawhooly Bay, while the shadowy
figure lowers down the boat, and augments their
numbers with the four unhappy mortals to whose
memory a stone stands in the kirkyard, with a sink-
ing ship and a shoreless sea cut upon it. Then the


The Haunted Ships. 177
auld Moll the present of a new kirtle and a stone of
cheese."
"O father," said his grand-daughter Barbara, "ye
surely wrong poor old Mary Moray. What use could
it be to an old woman like her, who has no wrongs
to redress, no malice to work out against mankind,
and nothing to seek of enjoyment save a cannie hour
and a quiet grave,—what use could the fellowship of
fiends, and the communion of evil spirits, be to her?
I know Jenny Primrose puts rowan-tree above the
door-head when she sees old Mary coming; I know
the good wife of Kittlenaket wears rowan-berry leaves
in the headband of her blue kirtle, and all for the
sake of averting the unsonsie glance of Mary's right
ee; and I know that the auld laird of Burntroutwater
drives his seven cows to their pasture with a wand
of witch-tree, to keep Mary from milking them.
But what has all that to do with haunted shallops,
visionary mariners, and bottomless boats? I have
heard myself as pleasant a tale about the Haunted
Ships and their unworldly crews, as any one would
wish to hear in a winter evening. It was told me by
young Benjie Macharg, one summer night, sitting
on Arbigland Bank. The lad intended a sort of love
meeting; but all that he could talk of was about
smearing sheep and shearing sheep, and of the wife
which the Norway elves of the Haunted Ships made
for his uncle Sandie Macharg. And I shall tell ye
the tale as the honest lad told it to me.
"Alexander Macharg, besides being the laird of
three acres of peatmoss, two kale gardens, and the
owner of seven good milch cows, a pair of horses,
s M


The Haunted Ships. i7$
"So it fell on a time that Laird Macharg took his
half-net on his back, and his steel spear in his hand,
and down to Blawhooly Bay gade he, and into the
water he went right between the two haunted hulks,
and, placing his net, awaited the coming of the tide.
The night, ye maun ken, was mirk, and the wind
lowne, and the singing of the increasing waters
among the shells and the peebles was heard for
sundry miles. All at once lights began to glance and
twinkle on board the two Haunted Ships from every
hole and seam, and presently the sound as of a
hatchet employed in squaring timber echoed far and
wide. But if the toil of these unearthly workmen
amazed the Laird, how much more was his amaze-
ment increased when a sharp shrill voice called out,
'Ho! brother, what are you doing now?' A voice
still shriller responded from the other haunted ship,
'I'm making a wife to Sandie Macharg!' and a loud
quavering laugh, running from ship to ship, and from
bank to bank, told the joy they expected from their
labour.
"Now the Laird, besides being a devout and a
God-fearing man, was shrewd and bold; and in plot,
and contrivance, and skill in conducting his designs,
was fairly an overmatch for any dozen land elves.
But the water elves are far more subtle; besides,
their haunts and their dwellings being in the great
deep, pursuit and detection is hopeless if they succeed
in carrying their prey to the waves. But ye shall
hear. Home flew the laird,—collected his family
around the hearth,—spoke of the signs and the sins
of the times, and talked of mortification and prayer


The Haunted Ships. 181
a sudden sickness? though its sinful-like to send the
poor messenger a mile agate with a lie in his mouth
without a glass of brandy.'
"' To such a messenger, and to those who sent
him, no apology is needed,' said the austere Laird,
'so let him depart.' And the clatter of a horse's
hoofs was heard, and the muttered imprecations of
its rider on the churlish treatment he had experienced.
"'Now Sandie, my lad,' said his wife, laying an
arm particularly white and round about his neck as
she spoke, 'are you not a queer man and a stern?
I have been your wedded wife now these three years;
and, beside my dower, have brought you three as
bonnie bairns as ever smiled aneath a summer sun.
O man, you a douce man, and fitter to be an elder
than even Willie Greer himself,—I have the minister's
ain word for't,—to put on these hard-hearted looks,
and gang waving your arms that way, as if ye said,
"I winna take the counsel of sic a hempie as you."
I'm your ain leal wife, and will and maun have an
explanation.'
-" To all this Sandie Macharg replied, 'It is written
—" Wives, obey your husbands ;" but we have been
stayed in our devotion, so let us pray;' and down he
knelt. His wife knelt also, for she was as devout as
bonnie; and beside them knelt their household, and
all lights were extinguished.
"' Now this beats a',' muttered his wife to herself;
'however, I shall be obedient for a time; but if I
dinna ken what all this is for before the morn by
sunket-time, my tongue is nae langer a tongue, nor
my hands worth wearing.'


The Haunted Ships. 183
honest farmer and his wife to open the door; and
when the like success attended every new stratagem,
silence for a little while ensued, and a long, loud,
and shrilling laugh wound up the dramatic efforts
of the night. In the morning, when Laird Macharg
went to the door, he found standing against one of
the pilasters a piece of black ship oak, rudely fashioned
into something like human form, and which skilful
people declared would have been clothed with seem-
ing flesh and blood, and palmed upon him by elfin
adroitness for his wife, had he admitted his visitants.
A synod of wise men and women sat upon the woman
of timber, and she was finally ordered to be devoured
by fire, and that in the open air. A fire was soon
made, and into it the elfin sculpture was tossed from
the prongs of two pairs of pitchforks. The blaze
that arose was awful to behold; and hissings, and
burstings, and loud cracklings, and strange noises,
were heard in the midst of the flame; and when
the whole sank into ashes, a drinking cup of some
precious metal was found; and this cup, fashioned
no doubt by elfin skill, but rendered harmless by
the purification with fire, the sons and daughters of
Sandie Macharg and his wife drink out of to this
very day. Bless all bold men, say I, and obedient
wives!"


THE UNKNOWN.
BY JOHN MACKAY WILSON.
IN the year 1785, a young and beautiful woman,
whose dress and features bespoke her to be a native
of Spain, was observed a few miles beyond Ponteland,
on the road which leads to Rothbury. She appeared
faint and weary; dimness was deepening over the
lustre of her dark eyes, and their glance bespoke
anxious misery. Her raiment was of the finest silk;
but time had caused its colour to fade; and it hung
around her a tattered robe—an ensign of present
poverty and wretchedness, a ruined remnant of
prouder days that were past. She walked feebly and
slowly along, bearing in her arms an infant boy; and
she was observed, at intervals, to sit down, press her
pale lips to her child's cheek, and weep. Several
peasants, who were returning from their labours in
the fields, stood and spoke to her; but she gazed on
them with wild looks of despair, and she answered them
in a strange language which they did not understand.
"She has been a lady, poor thing," said some of
them.
"Ha!" said others, who had less charity in their
breasts, "they have not all been ladies that wear
tattered silk in strange fashions."
Some inquired of her if she were hungry; if she
wanted a lodging; or where she was going. But,
like the mother of Thomas-a-Beckett, to all their
184


The Unknown. 185
inquiries she answered them but in one word that they
understood, and that word was "Edinburgh!"
Some said, "The poor creature is crazed "; and
when she perceived that they comprehended her not,
she waved her hand impatiently for them to depart,
and pressing her child closer to her bosom, she bent
her head over him and sighed. The peasants, believing
from her gestures that she desired not their presence,
left her, some pitying, all wondering. Within an
hour some of them returned to the place where they
had seen her, with the intent of offering her shelter
for the night; but she was not to be found.
On the following morning, one Peter Thornton, a
farmer, went into his stackyard before his servants
were astir, and his attention being aroused by the
weeping and wailing of a child, he hastened toward
the spot from whence the sound proceeded. In a
secluded corner of the yard he beheld a woman lying,
as if asleep, upon some loose straw; and a child was
weeping and uttering strange sounds of lamentation
in her bosom. It was the lovely, but wretched-
looking foreigner whom the peasants had seen on the
evening before. Peter was a blunt, kind-hearted
Scotsman: he resembled a piece of rich, though
unpolished metal. He approached the forlorn stranger;
and her strange dress, her youth, the stamp of misery
that surrounded her, and the death-like expression of
her features, moved him, as he gazed upon her and
her child, almost to tears.
"Get up, woman," said he; "why do you lie
there? Get up, and come wi' me; ye seem to be ill,
and my wife will get ye something comfortable."


186 Weird Tales.
"But she spoke not, she moved not, though the
child screamed louder at his presence. He called to
her again; but still she remained motionless.
"Preserve us!" said he, somewhat alarmed,
"what can have came owre the woman? I daresay
she is in a trance I She sleeps sounder there in the
open air, and upon the bare straw, wi' her poor bairn
crying like to break its heart upon her breast, than I
could do on a feather bed, wi' everything peace and
quietness around me. Come, waken, woman!" he
added; and he bent down and took her by the hand.
But her fingers were stiff and cold—there was no sign
of life upon her lips, neither was there breath in her
nostrils.
"What is thisl" exclaimed Peter, in a tone of
horror—"a dead woman in my stackyard!—has there
been murder at my door through the night? I'll gie
all that I am worth as a reward to find it out!"
And leaving the child screaming by the side of its
dead mother, he rushed breathless into the house,
exclaiming—"Oh wife! wife—Jenny, woman!—I
say, Jenny ! get up! Here has been bloody wark at
our door! What do ye think !—a dead woman lying
in our stackyard, wi' a bonny bairn screaming on her
breast!"
"What's that ye say, Peter!" cried his wife,
starting up in terror; "a dead woman?—ye're
dreaming—ye're not in earnest I"
"Haste ye! haste ye, Jenny!" he added; "it's
as true as that my name is Peter Thornton."
She arose, and, with their household servants,
accompanied him to where the dead body lay.


The Unknown. 189
foreign words that they may stand for. We shall,
therefore, just give him some decent Christian name."
"And what name more decent or respectable could
we gie him than our own?" said Jenny. "Suppose
we just call him Thornton—Peter Thornton!"
"No, no, gudewife," said he, "there must twa
words go to the making o' that bargain; for though
nobody would charge you wi' being his mother, the
time may come when folk would be wicked enough to
hint that I was his faither; therefore I do not think
it proper that he should tak my name. What say ye
now, as it is probable that his faither's name begun
wi' a C, if we were to call him Christopher; and as
we found him in the month of May, we should gie
him a surname after the month, and call him Chris-
topher May. That, in my opinion, is a very bonny
name; and I hae nae doubt that, if he be spared till
those dark een o' his begin to look after the lasses,
mony a ane o' them will be o' the same way o'
thinking."
The child soon became reconciled to the change in
his situation, and returned the kindness of his foster-
mother with affection. She rejoiced as he gradually
forgot the few words of Spanish which he at first
lisped, and in their stead began to speak the language
of the Borders. With delight in her eyes, she
declared that "she had learned him his mother tongue,
which he now spoke as natural as life, though, when
she took him under her care, he could say nothing
but some heathenish kind o' sounds, which nobody
could mak any more sense o', than it was possible to
do out o' the yammerin' o' an infant o' six months old."


190 Weird Tatei.
As the orphan grew up, he became noted as the
liveliest boy in the neighbourhood. He was the
tallest of his age, and the most fearless. About three
years after Peter Thornton had taken him under his
protection, he sent him to school. But, lively as the
orphan Christopher May was (for so we shall now
call him), he by now means showed an aptness to
learn. For five years, and he never rose higher than
the middle of the class. The teacher was often
wroth with the thoughtlessness of his pupil; and in
his displeasure said—"It is nonsense, sirrah, to say
that ye was ever a Spaniard. There is something
like sense and stability o' character about the people
o' Spain; but you—ye're a Frenchman !—a thought-
less, dancing, settle-to-nothing fool. Or, if ever ye
were a Spaniard, ye belong to the family o' Don
Quixote ; his name would be found in the catalogue
o' your great-grandfathers." Even Peter Thornton,
though no scholar, was grieved when the teacher
called upon him, and complained of the giddiness of
his adopted son, and of the little progress which he
made under his care.
"Christie, ye rascal ye," said Peter, stamping his
foot, "what news are these your master tells o' ye?
He says he's ashamed o' ye, and that ye'll never
learn."
But even for his thoughtlessness, the kind heart of
Jenny found an excuse.
"Dear me, gudeman," said she, "I wonder-to
hear the maister and ye talk; I am surprised that
both o' ye haena mair sense. Do ye not tak into
consideration that the bairn is learning in a foreign


The Unknown. 193
all. Then she would point out to him the initial
letters, the C. F. and the M. V., and would add,
"That has been your faither and your mother's
name when they were sweethearts—at least so our
Peter says (and he is seldom wrong); but the little
e t between them—I canna think what it stands for.
O Christopher, my canny laddie, it is a pity but that
ye would only endeavour to be a scholar, as ye are
good otherwise, and then ye might be able to tell
what the e t means. Who kens but it may throw
some light upon your parentage; for, if ever ye
discover who your parents were, it will be through
the instrumentality o' these rings. Peter always says
that (and, as I say, he is seldom wrong), and there-
fore I always keep them locked away, lest onything
should come owre them ; and when they are out o'
the drawer, I never suffer them to be out o' my
sight."
In the fulness of her heart Mrs. Thornton told this
story at least four times in the year, almost in the
same words, and always exhibiting the rings. Her
kindly counsels, and the cogent reasons which she
urged to Christopher why he should become a scholar,
at length awoke his slumbering energies. For the
first time, he stood dux of his class, and once there,
he stood like a nail driven into a wall, which might
not be removed. His teacher, who was a man of
considerable knowledge and reading (though perhaps
not what those calling themselves learned would call
a man of learning—for learned is a very vague word,
and is as frequently applied where real ignorance
exists, as to real knowledge),—that teacher who had
S ' N


196 Weird Tales.
They who said so were in the right. Poor Jenny
had not been in her grave eleven months and twenty
days, when Peter led another Mrs. Thornton from
the altar. When he had brought her home, he intro-
duced to her the orphan Christopher.
"Now dear," said he, "here is a laddie—none
know whom he belongs to. I found him one morn-
ing, when he was a mere infant, screaming on the
breast o' his dead mother. Since then I have brought
him up. My late wife was very fond o' him—so,
indeed was I; and it is my request that ye will be
kind to him. Here," added he, "are two rings
which his mother had upon her fingers when I found
her a cold corpse. Poor fellow, if anything ever
enable him to discover who his parents were, it will
be them, though there is but little chance that he ever
will. However, I have been as a faither to him for
more than ten years; and I trust, love, that ye will act
towards him as a mother. Come forward, Christopher,"
continued he, "and welcome your new mother."
The boy came forward hanging his head, and
bashfully stretched out his hand towards her; but
the new-made Mrs. Thornton had his mother's
jewelled ring in her hand, and she observed him not.
He stood with his eyes now bent upon the ground,
now upon her, and again upon his mother's ring, as
she turned it round and round.
"Well," said she, addressing her husband, and
still turning it round as she spoke, "It is, indeed, a
beautiful ring—a very beautiful ring!"
"I am glad ye think so," said he; "she had been
a bonny woman that wore it."


The Unknown. 197
She placed the ring upon her finger, she turned it
round again, and gazed on it with admiration. "I
should like to wear such a ring," she added.
"Why, hinny, and ye may wear it," said Peter;
"for the ring is mine twenty times owre, whatever
its value may be, considering what I have done for
the laddie."
With an expression of countenance which might be
described as something between a smile and a blush,
or, as the people north the Tweed very aptly express
it, with a "smirk" she slipped the ring upon her
finger, saying that it fitted as well as though it had
been made for her.
Passion flashed in the eyes of the orphan. His
"new mother," as Peter styled her, had done what
poor Jenny never ventured to do. He withdrew his
hand which he had extended to greet her ; and he
was turning away sullenly, when his foster-father
said, "Stop, Christopher, ye must not go away until
ye have shaken hands with your mother. And he
turned again, and once more extended to her his
hand.
"Well," said she, addressing her husband, and
putting forth two of her fingers to Christopher, "is
it really possible that you have brought up this great
boy? What a trouble he must have been—and
expense too!"
"Oh, you are quite mistaken," said Peter;
"Christopher never cost us the smallest trouble. I
have been proud of him and pleased with him, since
ever I took him under my roof; and, poor fellow,
as to the expense that he has cost me, if I never had


The Unknown. 199
and all to appear young in the eyes of some widowed
or matronly divinity. I do not exactly agree with
the poet who says—
1' Love never strikes but once, that strikes at all ":
for I think, from nineteen to five and twenty, there
are few men (or women either) who have not felt a
particular sensation about their hearts which they
took to be love, and felt it more than once too, and
which ultimately would have become love but for
particular circumstances which broke off the acquaint-
anceship; and, before five and thirty, we forget that
such a feeling had existed, and laugh at, or profess to
have no patience with, those who are its victims. We
should always remember, however, that it is not easy
to put an old head upon young shoulders, and think
of how we once felt and acted ourselves; and to
recollect, also, how happy, how miserable, we were
in those days. Love is an abused word. Elderly
people turn up their nostrils when they see it in print.
They will hardly read a book where the word occurs.
They will fling it away, and cry "Stuff!" But, if
they would look back upon their days of old, they
would treat it with more respect. But the second
love of your middle-aged men and women—call it
doting, or call it by any other name, but do not call
it love, for that it is not, and cannot be. Man never
knows what love is, until he has experienced the
worth of an affectionate wife, who for his sake would
suffer all that the world's ills can inflict.
Now, Peter Thornton, though not an old man, and
although his first wife had certainly been dear unto


The Unknown. 201
would Jenny have said had she seen this?" And
Peter, repenting of what he did, turned away and
wept. Yet a sin that is once committed is less
difficult to commit again, and remorse becomes as an
echo that is sinking faint. Having, therefore, once
lifted his hand against the orphan—though he then
wept for having done so—it was not long until the
blows were repeated without compunction.
Christopher, however, was a strange boy,—perhaps
what some would call a provoking one,—and often,
when Mrs. Thornton pursued him from the house to
chastise him, he would hastily climb upon the tops of
the houses of the farm-servants, and sitting astride
upon them, nod down to her triumphantly, as with
threats she shook her hand in his face; and, smil-
ing, sing—
"Loudon's bonny woods and braes.'*
But his favourite song on such occasions was the
following, which, if it be not the exact words that he
sang, embodies the sentiment—
Can I forget the woody braes
Where love and innocence foregather;
Where aft, in early summer days,
I've crooned a sang amang the heather?
Can I forget my father's hearth—
My mother by the ingle spinnin*—
Their weel-pleased look to see the mirth
O* a' their bairnies round them rinnin*?
It was a waefu' hour to me,
When I frae them an* love departed:
The tear was in my mother's ee—
My father blessed me—broken-hearted;


202 Weird Tales.
My aulder brithers took my hand,
The younkers a' ran frae me greetin' 1
But, waur than this—J couldna stand
My faithfu' lassie's farewell meetin'!
Can I forget her parting kiss,
Her last fond look and true love token?
Forget an hour sae dear as this!
Forget I—the word shall ne'er be spoken!
Forget!—na, though the foamin' sea,
High hills and mony a sweepin' river,
May lie between their hearth an' me,
My heart shall be at hame for ever.
Now, when Christopher was pursued by his perse-
cutor, he sought refuge on the house-tops, sitting
upon them much after the fashion of a tailor, and
carolling the song we have just quoted most merrily.
Many, indeed, wondered that he, never having
known the hearth of either a father or a mother,
should have sung such a song; but it was so, and the
orphan delighted to sing it Yet we often do many
things for which we find it difficult to assign a reason.
There was one amusing trait in the character of
Christopher, and that was, that the more vehemently
Mrs. Thornton scolded him, and the more bitter her
imprecations against him became, so while he sat as
a tailor on the house-top did his song wax louder and
more loud, and his strain become merrier. We have
heard women talk of being ready to eat the nails
from their fingers with vexation; and on such occa-
sions Mrs. Thornton was so. But her anger did not
amend the disposition of Christopher, though it often
drew down upon him the indignation of her husband.
It has already been mentioned that he struck him


The Unknown. 205
husband endeavoured to soothe and restore her, and
the men-servants followed Christopher. But it was
an idle task. No one had rivalled him in speed of
foot, and they could not overtake him.
"The time will come," he cried, as he ran, "when
Peter Thornton will repent his conduct towards me.
Follow me not, for the first who shall lay a hand
upon me shall die."
The farm-servants who pursued him were awed by
his manner; and after following him about a mile,
turned back.
"Where can the laddie have gone to?" said Peter;
"he never took ony o' these fits in Jenny's time. I
hope, wife, that ye have done nothing to him that ye
ought not to have done."
"Me done to him !" she cried—"ye will bring up
your beggars, and this is your reward."
"Mrs. Thornton," answered he, "I am amazed
and astonished to behold this conduct in Christopher.
For more than a dozen years he has been an inmate
beneath my roof; seldom have I had to quarrel him,
and never until you became my wife."
The words between Peter and his better half grew
loud and angry; but, instead of describing their
matrimonial altercations, we shall follow the orphan
Christopher.
But before accompanying him in his flight from the
house of Peter Thornton, we shall go back a few
years, and take up another part of his history.
There resided in the neighbourhood in which Chris-
topher had been brought up one George Wilkinson,
who had a daughter named Jessie. Christopher and


206 Weird Tales.
Jessie were schoolmates together; and when the
other children ran hallooing from the school, they
walked together, whispering, smiling at each other.
It was strange that affection should have sprung up
in such young hearts. But it was so.
Christopher became the one absorbing thought
upon which the mind of Jessie dwelt; and she became
the day-dream of his being. She was comparatively
a child when he left the house of his foster-father—so
was he ; yet, although they became thus early parted,
they forgot not each other. Young as she was,
Jessie Wilkinson lay on her bed and wept for the
sake of poor Christopher. They indeed might be
said to be but the tears of a child; yet they were
tears which we can shed but once. Young as Jessie
was, Christopher became the dream of her future
existence. She remembered the happy days that
they had passed together when the hawthorn was in
blossom, or the bean was in the bloom, when they
loitered together, side by side, and the air was preg-
nant with fragrance, while his hand would touch
hers, and he would say "Jessie!" and look in her
face and wonder what he meant to have said; and
she would answer him, "Christopher!" Still did
those days haunt the recollection of the simple girl;
and as she grew in years and stature, his remem-
brance became the more entwined around her heart.
When she had reached the age of womanhood, other
wooers offered her their hand ; but she thought of
the boy that had first loved her; and to him her
memory clung, as the evening dawn falleth on the
hills. Her father was but a poor man; and when


The Unknown. 207
many perceived the liking which Christopher May,
the adopted son and supposed heir of the rich Peter
Thornton, entertained for her, they said that nothing,
or, at least no good, would proceed from their
acquaintance. But they who so said did not truly
judge of the heart of Jessie. She was one of those
who can love but once, and that once must be for
ever. In their early childhood, Christopher had
become a part of her earliest affection, and she now
found it impossible to forget him, or shake his remem-
brance from her bosom. It was certainly a girl's
love, and elderly people will laugh at it; but why
should they laugh? Had they the feelings which
they once cherished—the feelings which were once
dearest to them — the feelings without which they
believed they could not exist ?—and wherefore could
they blame poor Jessie for remembering what they
had forgot?
Many years passed, and no one heard of Chris-
topher. Even Peter Thornton knew nothing of
where he was, or what had become of him—the child
of his adoption was lost to him. lie heard his neigh-
bours upbraid him with having treated the boy with
cruelty ; and Peter's heart was troubled. He reflected
upon his wife for her conduct towards the orphan,
and it gave rise to bickerings between them.
Hitherto we have spoken of the unknown orphan;
we must now speak of an unknown soldier. At the
battle of Salamanca, amongst the men who there
distinguished themselves, there was a young sergeant,
whose feats of valour attracted the notice of his
superiors. Where the battle raged fiercest, there were


2o8 Weird Tales.
the effects of his arm made visible ; hij impetuosit*
over all his enemies had attracted the notice of his
superior officers. But in the moment of victory,
when the streets were lined with dead, the young
hero fell, covered with bayonet wounds. A field-
officer, who had been an observer of his conduct,
ordered a party of his men to attempt his rescue.
The life of the young hero was long despaired of;
and when he recovered, several officers, in admiration
of his courage, agreed to present him with a sword.
It was beautifully ornamented, and bore the inscrip-
tion—
"Presentedto Christopher May, sergeant in the
regiment of infantry, by several officers who were
witnesses of the heroism he displayed at the battle of
Salamanca."
The sword was presented to him at the head of his
regiment, and the officer who placed it in his hand
addressed him, saying: "Young soldier, the gallant
bearing which you exhibited at Salamanca has excited
the admiration of all who beheld it. The officers of
your own regiment, therefore, and others, have
deemed it their duty to present you with this sword,
as a reward of merit, and a testimony of the admira-
tion with which your heroism has inspired them. I
have now the gratification of placing it in the hands
of a brave man. Take it, and if your parents yet
live, it will be a trophy of which they will be proud,
and which your posterity will exhibit with admira-
tion."
"My parents!" said the young soldier, with &
a'gh; "alas, sir ! I never knew one whom I could


The Unknown. 209
call by the endearing name of father or of mother. I
am an orphan—an unknown one. I believe I am
not even an Englishman, but a native of the land for
the freedom of which we now' fight!"
"You are a Spaniard!" said the officer with sur-
prise; "it is impossible — neither your name nor
features bespeak you to belong to this nation. But
you say that you never knew your parents—what
know you of your history?"
"Little, indeed," he replied; and as he spoke, the
officers gathered around him, and he continued: "I
have been told that in the month of May, four and
twenty years ago, the dead body of a woman was
found in a farm-yard, about fifteen miles north of
Newcastle. She was dressed in Spanish costume,
and a child of about three years of age hung weeping
on her bosom. I was that child; and I have been
told that the few words I could then lisp were
Spanish. The kind - hearted wife of the honest
Northumbrian who found me brought me up as her
own child, and while she lived, I might almost have
said I had a mother. But at her death, I found,
indeed, that I had neither parent, kindred, nor
country, but that I was in truth what some called me
in derision—' The Unknown.' I entered the army,
and have fought in defence of the land to which I
believe I belong. This only do I know of my his-
tory, or of who or what I am."
While the young sergeant spoke, every eye was
bent upon him interestedly; but there was one
who was moved even to tears. He was an
officer of middle age, named Major Ferguson. He


210 Weird Tales.
approached the gallant youth, and gazed earnestly in
his face.
"You say that you were about three years old," he
said, "when you were found clinging to the breast of
your mother: have you no remembrance of her—no
recollection of the name by which you were then
called?"
"None! none!" answered the other. "I some-
times fancy that, as the vague remembrance of a
dream, I recollect clinging round my mother's neck,
and kissing her cold lips; but whether it indeed be
remembrance, or merely the tale that has been often
told me, I am uncertain. I often imagine, also, that
her beautiful features yet live in my memory, though
with the indistinctness of an ethereal being—like a
vapour that is dying away on the far horizon; and I
am uncertain also whether the fair vision that haunts
me be indeed a dim remembrance of what my mother
was, or a creation of my brain."
The interest of the scene was heightened by the
resemblance which Major Ferguson and the young
sergeant bore to each other. All observed it—all
expressed their surprise—and the Major in his turn
began his tale.
"Your features, young man," said he, "and your
story, have drawn tears to the eyes of an old soldier.
Thirty years ago I was in this country, and became
an inmate in the house of a rich merchant in Madrid.
His name was Valdez, and he had an only daughter
called Maria. When I first beheld her, she was
about nineteen, and a being more beautiful I had
never seen—I have not seen. Affection sprang up


212 Weird Tales.
ous winding passages. I heard the grating of locks,
and the creaking of bolts, as they proceeded. Door
succeeded door, groaning on their unwilling hinges,
as they ascended stairs, and descended others, in an
interminable labyrinth. Still the men who hurried
me onward maintained a sullen silence; and no
sound was heard, save the clashing of prison doors,
and the sepulchral echo of their footsteps ringing
through the surrounding dungeons. They at length
stopped. A cord, suspended from a block in the
roof, was fastened round my waist; and when one,
turning a sort of windlass, which communicated with
the other end of the cord, raised me several feet from
the ground, his comrade drew a knife, and cut
asunder the fastenings that bound my arms. While
one, holding the handle of the machine, kept me
hanging in the air, other two applied a key to a large
square stone in the floor, which, aided by a spring,
they with some difficulty raised, and revealed a
yawning opening to a dungeon, yet deeper and more
dismal than that which formed its entrance. The
moment my hands were at liberty, I tore the bandage
from my eyes, and perceiving, through the aid of a
dim lamp that flickered in a corner of the vault, the
horror of my situation, I struggled in desperation.
But my threatenings and my groans were answered
only by their hollow echoes, or the more dismal
laughter of my assassins.
"' Down! down!' vociferated both voices to their
companion, as the stone was raised; and, in a moment,
I was, plunged to the dark mouth of the dungeon. I
uttered a cry of agony, louder and longer than the


214 Weird Tales.
feeling of the present, opened upon my mind, like
the confused terror of a dismal dream. I rose slowly
to my feet, and, disengaging myself from the rope by
which I was suspended into the vault, endeavoured
to look around the walls of my prison-house; but
all was dark as the grave. Recollecting the part
sustained in seizing me by the wounded man, who
still groaned and writhed at my feet, I darted
fiercely upon him ; and hurling him from the ground,
exclaimed, 'Villain! tell me or die !—where am I?
or by whom am I brought here?' A loud, long yell
of terror, accompanied by violent and despairing
struggles, like a wild beast tearing from the paws of
a lion, was the only answer returned by the miserable
being. And as the piteous and heart-piercing yell
rang round the cavern, and its echoes, multiplying in
darkness, at length died away, leaving silence more
dolorous than ourselves, I felt as a man from the
midst of a marriage-feast, suddenly thrust into the
cells of Bedlam; where, instead of the music of the
harp and the lute, was the shriek and the clanking
chains of insanity; for bridal ornaments, the mad-
man's straw; and for the gay dance, the convulsions
of the maniac, and the sorrowful gestures of idiocy.
Every feeling of indignation passed away—my blood
grew cold—the skin moved upon my flesh—I again
laid the wretched man on the damp earth, and fear-
fully groped to the opposite side of the dungeon.
"As I moved around, feeling through the dense
darkness of my prison, I found it a vast square, its
sides composed merely of the rude strata of earth or
rock; and measuring nearly six times the length of


The Unknown. 217
brain; and groping along the damp floor, where my
hand seemed passing over the ribs of a skeleton, I
threw a loose fragment in the air, towards the point
from whence the doubted glimmering proceeded;
and perceived, for a moment, as it fell, the shadow
of a substance. Then, springing forward to the spot,
I gasped to inhale, with its feeble ray, one breath
that was not agony.
"Thirst burned my lips, and, to cool them, they
were pressed against the damp walls of the prison;
but my tongue was still dry—my throat parched—
and hunger began to prey upon me. While thus
suffering, a faint light streamed from a narrow open-
ing in the roof of the vault. • Slowly a feeble lamp
was lowered through the aperture, and descended
within two or three feet of my head. A small basket,
containing a portion of bread and a pitcher of water,
suspended by a cord, was let down'into the vault.
I seized the pitcher, as I would have rushed upon
liberty; and raising it to my lips, as the pure, grateful
beverage allayed the fever of my thirst, I shed a
solitary tear, and, in the midst of my misery, that
tear was a tear of joy—like the morning-star gilding
the horizon, when the surrounding heavens are
wrapped in tempest. With it the feelings of the
Christian and the man met in my bosom; and,
bending over my fellow-sufferer, I applied the water
to his lips. The poor wretch devoured the draught
to its last drop with greediness.
"The presence and the unceasing groans of my
companion—yea, the dungeon and darkness them-
selves—were forgotten in the one deadening and


The Unknown. 219
for the first time, aided by the lamp that was sus-
pended over me, I gazed inquisitively, and with a
feeling of dismay, around the Golgotha in which I
was immured. There lay my hideous companion,
the foam of pain and insanity gurgling from his
mouth; beside him the skeleton of a mailed warrior,
and around, the uncoffined bones of four others,
partly covered with their armour, and
* 'The brands yet rusted in their bony hands.'
"Although prepared for such a scene, I placed my
hands before my eyes, shuddering at the thought of
becoming as one of those—of being their companion
while I lived—of lying down by the side of a skeleton
to die! The horror of the idea fired anew my
resolution, and added more than human strength to
my arm. I again eagerly sought the direction of the
doubtful gleam, which formerly filled me with hope;
and was convinced that from thence an opening
might be effected, if not to perfect liberty, to a sight
of the blessed light of heaven, where freedom, I
dreaded not, would easily be found. Filled with
determination, which no obstacle could impede, I
took one of the swords, which had lain by the side
of its owner, untouched for ages, and with this
instrument commenced the laborious and seemingly
impossible task, of cutting out a flight of steps in the
rude wall, and thereby gain the invisible aperture,
from which something like light was seen to emanate.
The ray proceeded from an extreme angle of the
dungeon, and apparently at its utmost height. The
materials on which I had to work were chiefly a hard


The Unknown. 221
withhold him, I perceived he had drained off the
contents of a goblet, in which a few drops of a dark
coloured liquor still remained; and the pitcher of
water was untouched. The wretched maniac had
swallowed the draught but a few minutes, when,
rolling himself together, his screams and contortions
became more frightful than before, and increasing in
virulence for an hour, he lay motionless a few seconds,
gasping for breath; and springing suddenly to his
feet, he gazed wistfully above and around him, with a
look of extreme agony, and exclaiming, 'Heaven
help me!' he rushed fiercely towards the wall in the
opposite direction to where I was attempting to effect
my escape, gave one furious pull at what appeared the
solid rock, and with a groan, fell back and expired.
"When the horror occasioned by his death in some
degree abated, the singularity of the manner in which
he tore at the wall of the dungeon fixed my attention;
and with almost frantic joy I perceived that a portion
of the hitherto thought impenetrable rock had yielded
several inches to his dying grasp. I hastily removed
the body, and pulling eagerly at the unloosed frag-
ment, it fell upon the ground, a rough unhewn lump
of granite, leaving an opening of about two feet square
in the rude rocky wall, from which it was so cut as to
seem to feeling, and almost appearance, a solid part
of it.
"My task was now abandoned. The gleam of
light, which for weeks was to me an object of such
intense interest, proceeded from a mere hairbreadth
cleft in the rock. Taking up a sword which lay upon
the ground, I drew my body into the aperture formed


222 Ward Tales.
by the removal of the piece of rock; and creeping
slowly on my hands and knees, groping with the
weapon before me, I at length found the winding and
dismal passage sufficiently lofty to permit me to stand
erect. I seemed enveloped in an interminable cavern,
now opening into spacious chambers, clothed with
crystal; again losing itself in low passages, or narrow
chinks of the rock, and suddenly terminating in a
slippery precipice, beneath which gurgling waters
were heard to run. Hours and hours passed; still I
was groping onward, when I suddenly found my hopes
cut off by the interposition of a precipice. I probed
fearfully forward with the sword, but all was an
unsubstantial void; I drew it on each side, and there
it met but the solid walls. I knelt, and reached down
the sword to the length of my arm, but it touched
nothing. In agony I dropped the weapon, by its
sound to ascertain the depth, and, delighted, found
it did not exceed eight or ten feet. I cautiously slid
down, and groping around, again placed my hand
upon the sword. Though my heart occasionally sank
within me, yet the overcoming of each difficulty lent
its inspiring aid to overcome its successor. Often
every hope appeared extinct. Now I ascended, or
again descended the dropping and crystalled rocks;
now crept into openings, which suddenly terminated,
and turning again, anxiously listened to the sound of
the rippling water as my only guide. Often, in spite
of every precaution, I was stunned with a blow from
the abrupt lowness of the roof, or suddenly plunged
to the arms in the numerous pools, whose waters had
been dark from their birth.


The Rescue. 225
not result as he expected, varying considerably from
the dead-reckoning, had not noticed the captain's
motions. When he had completed his calculations,
he called out, without looking round, "I make our
latitude and longitude, so and so. Can that be right?
How is yours?"
Receiving no reply, he repeated his question, glanc-
ing over his shoulder and perceiving, as he thought,
the captain busy writing on his slate. Still no answer.
Thereupon he rose; and, as he fronted the cabin-door,
the figure he had mistaken for the captain raised its
head and disclosed to the astonished mate the features
of an entire stranger.
Bruce was no coward; but, as he met that fixed
gaze looking directly at him in grave silence, and
became assured that it was no one whom he had ever
seen before, it was too much for him; and, instead of
stopping to question the seeming intruder, he rushed
upon deck in such evident alarm that it instantly
attracted the captain's attention. "Why, Mr. Bruce,"
said the latter, "what in the world is the matter with
you?"
"The matter, sir? Who is that at your desk?"
"No one that I know of."
"But there i>, sir; there's a stranger there."
"A stranger! Why, man, you must be dreaming.
You must have seen the steward there, or the second
mate. Who else would venture down without orders?"
"But, sir, he was sitting in your arm-chair, fronting
the door, writing on your slate. Then he looked up
full in my face; and, if ever I saw a man plainly and
distinctly in this world, I saw him."
i f


The Rescue. 227
"Have you been trifling with me, sir?" added the
captain, in a stern manner.
"On my word as a man and as a sailor, sir," replied
Bruce, "I know no more of this matter than you do.
I have told you the exact truth."
The captain sat down at his desk, the slate before
him, in deep thought. At last, turning the slate over
and pushing it toward Bruce, he said, "Write down,
'Steer to the nor'west."'
The mate complied; and the captain, after nar-
rowly comparing the two handwritings, said, "Mr.
Bruce, go and tell the second mate to come down
here."
He came; and, at the captain's request, he also
wrote the same words. So did the steward. So, in
succession, did every man of the crew who could write
at all. But not one of the various hands resembled,
in any degree, the mysterious writing.
When the crew retired, the captain sat deep in
thought. "Could any one have been stowed away?"
at last he said. "The ship must be searched; and if
I don't find the fellow, he must be a good hand at
hide-and-seek. Order up all hands."
Every nook and corner of the vessel, from stem to
stern, was thoroughly searched, and that with all the
eagerness of excited curiosity,—for the report had
gone out that a stranger had shown himself on board;
but not a living soul beyond the crew and the officers
was found.
Returning to the cabin after their fruitless search,
"Mr. Bruce," said the captain, "what the devil do
you make of all this?"


228 Weird Tales.
"Can't tell, sir. / saw the man write; you see the
writing. There must be something in it."
"Well, it would seem so. We have the wind free,
and I have a great mind to keep her away and see
what will come of it."
"I surely would, sir, if I were in your place. It's
only a few hours lost, at the worst."
"Well, we'll see. Go on deck and give the course
nor'west. And, Mr. Bruce," he added, as the mate
rose to go, "have a look-out aloft, and let it be a
hand you can depend on."
His orders were obeyed. About three o'clock the
look-out reported an iceberg nearly ahead, and, shortly
after, what he thought was a vessel of some kind close
toit.
As they approached, the captain's glass disclosed
the fact that it was a dismantled ship apparently
frozen to the ice, and with a good many human beings
on it. Shortly after, they hove to, and sent out the
boats to the relief of the sufferers.
It proved to be a vessel from Quebec, bound to
Liverpool, with passengers on board. She had got
entangled in the ice, and finally frozen fast, and had
passed several weeks in a most critical situation. She
was stove, her decks swept,—in fact, a mere wreck;
all her provisions and almost all her water gone.
Her crew and passengers had lost all hopes of being
saved, and their gratitude for the unexpected rescue
was proportionately great.
As one of the men who had been brought away in
the third boat that had reached the wreck was ascend-
ing the ship's side, the mate, catching a glimpse of his


The Rescue. 229
face, started back in consternation. It was the very
face he had seen, three or four hours before, looking
up at him from the captain's desk.
At first he tried to persuade himself it might be
fancy; but the more he examined the man the more
sure he became that he was right. Not only the face,
but the person and the dress, exactly corresponded.
As soon as the exhausted crew and famished passen-
gers were cared for, and the bark on her course again,
the mate called the captain aside. "It seems that
was not a ghost I saw to-day, sir; the man's alive.'
"What do you mean? Who's alive?"
"Why, sir, one of the passengers we have just
saved is the same man I saw writing on your slate at
noon. I would swear to it in a court of justice."
"Upon my word, Mr. Bruce," replied the captain,
"this gets more and more singular. Let us go and
see this man."
They found him in conversation with the captain
of the rescued ship. They both came forward, and
expressed, in the warmest terms, their gratitude for
deliverance from a horrible fate,—slow-coming death
by exposure and starvation.
The captain replied that he had but done what he
was certain they would have done for him under the
same circumstances, and asked them both to step
down into the cabin. Then, turning to the passenger,
he said, "I hope, sir, you will not think I am trifling
with you; but I would be much obliged to you if you
would write a few words on this slate." And he
handed him the slate, with that side up on which the
mysterious writing was not. "I will do anything


The Rescue. 231
intended to speak to you about it as soon as we got
a little quiet. This gentleman" (pointing to the
passenger), "being much exhausted, fell into a heavy
sleep, or what seemed such, some time before noon.
After an hour or more he awoke, and said to me,
'Captain, we shall be relieved this very day.' When
I asked him what reason he had for saying so, he
replied that he had dreamed that he was on board a
bark, and that she was coming to our rescue. He
described her appearance and rig; and, to our utter
astonishment, when your vessel hove in sight, she
corresponded exactly to his description of her. We
had not put much faith in what he said ; yet still we
hoped there might be something in it, for drowning
men, you know, will catch at straws. As it has
turned out, I cannot doubt that it was all arranged,
in some incomprehensible way, by an overruling
Providence, so that we might be saved. To Him be
all thanks for His goodness to us."
"There is not a doubt," rejoined the other captain,
"that the writing on the slate, let it have come there
as it may, saved all. your lives. I was steering at the
time considerably south of west, and I altered my
course to nor'west, and had a look-out aloft, to see
what would come of it. But you say," he added,
turning to the passenger, "that you did not dream of
writing on a slate?"
"No, sir. I have no recollection whatever of
doing so. I got the impression that the bark I saw
in my dream was coming to rescue us; but horn that
impression came, I cannot tell. There is another
very strange thing about it," he added. "Every


232 Weird Tales.
thing here on board seems to me quite familiar; yet I
am very sure I never was in your vessel before. It is
all a puzzle to me. What did your mate see?"
Thereupon Mr. Bruce related to them all the
circumstances above detailed. The conclusion they
finally arrived at was, that it was a special interposi-
tion of Providence to save them from what seemed a
hopeless fate.
The above narrative was communicated to me by
Captain J. S. Clarke, of the schooner Julia Hallock,
who had it directly from Mr. Bruce himself. They
sailed together for seventeen months, in the years
1836 and 1837 ; so that Captain Clarke had the story
from the mate about eight years after the occurrence.
He has since lost sight of him, and does not know
whether he is yet alive. All he has heard of him
since they were shipmates is, that he continued to
trade to New Brunswick, that he became the master
of the brig Comet, and that she was lost.
I asked Captain Clarke if he knew Bruce well, and
what sort of man he was.
"As truthful and straightforward a man," he
replied, "as ever I met in all my life. We were as
intimate as brothers; and two men can't be together,
shut up for seventeen months in the same ship, with-
out getting to know whether they can trust one
another's word or not. He always spoke of the
circumstance in terms of reverence, as of an incident
that seemed to bring him nearer to God and to
another world. I'd stake my life upon it that he told
me no lie."


234 Weird Tales.
posterity, in those mischievous inventions practised
by the witches of latter times, who understand the
knack of torturing their unhappy contemporaries in
all its branches, as exemplified in the cases of several
worthies noticed in the sequel.
The next important power of a witch and a warlock
consists in their control over air and water, whereby
they raise most dreadful storms and hurricanes by sea
and by land, and thus accomplish the destruction of
many a valuable life, which otherwise might have been
long spared. The following account of the loss of a
most excellent gentleman exhibits too melancholy an in-
stance of the success of their experiments in this way :—
"John Garve Macgillichallum of Razay was an
ancient hero of great celebrity. Distinguished in the
age in which he lived for the gallantry of his exploits,
he has often been selected by the bard as the theme
of his poems and songs. Alongst with a constitution
of body naturally vigorous and powerful, Razay was
gifted with all those noble qualities of the mind which
a true hero is supposed to possess. And what
reflected additional lustre on his character, was that
he never failed to apply his talents and powers to the
best uses. He was the active and inexorable enemy
of the weird sisterhood, many of whom he was the
auspicious instrument of sending to their 'black
inheritance' much sooner than they either expected
or desired. It was not therefore to be supposed,
that, while those amiable actions endeared Razay to
all good people, they were at all calculated to win
him the regard of those infernal hags to whom he
was so deadly a foe. As might be naturally expected,


The Witch of Laggan. 235
they cherished towards him the most implacable thirst
of revenge, and sought, with unremitting vigilance,
for an opportunity of quenching it. That such an
opportunity did unhappily occur, and that the medi-
tated revenge of these hags was too well accomplished,
will speedily appear from this melancholy story.
"It happened upon a time that Razay and a
number of friends planned an expedition to the island
of Lewis, for the purpose of hunting the deer of that
place. They accordingly embarked on board the
chieftain's yacht, manned by the flower of the young
men of Razay, and in a few hours they chased the
fleet-bounding hart on the mountains of Lewis.
Their sport proved excellent. Hart after hart, and
hind after hind, were soon levelled to the ground by
the unerring hand of Razay; and when night termi-
nated the chase, they retired to their shooting
quarters, where they spent the night with joviality
and mirth, little dreaming of their melancholy fate
in the morning.
"In the morning of next day, the chief of Razay
and his followers rose with the sun, with the view of
returning to Razay. The day was squally and
occasionally boisterous, and the billows raged with
great violence. But Razay was determined to cross
the channel to his residence, and ordered his yacht to
prepare for the voyage. The more cautious and less
courageous of his suite, however, urged on him to
defer the expedition till the weather should some-
what settle,—an advice which Razay, with a courage
which knew no fear, rejected, and expressed his firm
determination to proceed without delay. Probably


236 Weird Tales.
with a view to inspire his company with the necessary
degree of courage to induce them all to concur in
the undertaking, he adjourned with them to the ferry-
house, where they had recourse to that supporter of
spirits under every trial, the usquebaugh, a few bottles
of which added vastly to the resolution of the com-
pany. Just as the party were disputing the practica-
bility of the proposed adventure, an old woman, with
wrinkled front, bending on a crutch, entered the
ferry-house; and Razay, in the heat of argument,
appealed to the old woman, whether the passage of
the channel on such a day was not perfectly practi-
cable and free from danger. The woman, without
hesitation, replied in the affirmative, adding such
observations, reflecting on their courage, as imme-
diately silenced every opposition to the voyage ; and,
accordingly the whole party embarked in the yacht
for Razay. But, alas! what were the consequences?
No sooner were they abandoned to the mercy of the
waves than the elements seemed to conspire to their
destruction. All attempts to put back the vessel
proved unavailing, and she was speedily driven out
before the wind in the direction of Razay. The
heroic chieftain laboured hard to animate his com-
pany, and to dispel the despair which began to seize
them, by the most exemplary courage and resolution.
He took charge of the helm, and in spite of the
combined efforts of the sea, wind, and lightning, he
kept the vessel steadily on her course towards the
lofty point of Aird, in Skye. The drooping spirits of
his crew began to revive, and hope began to smile upon
them,—when lo! to their great astonishment, a large


The Witch of Laggan. 237
cat was seen to climb the rigging. This cat was soon
followed by another of equal size, and the last by a
successor, until at length the shrouds, masts, and
whole tackle were actually covered with them. Nor
did the sight of all those cats, although he knew
well enough their real character, intimidate the
resolute Razay, until a large black cat, larger than
any of the rest, appeared on the mast-head, as
commander-in-chief of the whole legion. Razay, on
observing him, instantly foresaw the result; he, how-
ever, determined to sell his life as dearly as possible,
and immediately commanded an attack upon the
cats; but, alas! it soon proved abortive. With a
simultaneous effort the cats overturned the vessel on
her leeward wale, and every soul on board was
precipitated into a watery grave. Thus ended the
glorious life of Jan Garbh Macgillichallum of Razay,
to the lasting regret of the brave clan Leod and all
good people, and to the great satisfaction of the
abominable witches who thus accomplished his
lamentable doom.
"The same day, another hero, celebrated for his
hatred of witchcraft, was warming himself in his
hunting hut, in the forest of Gaick, in Badenoch.
His faithful hounds, fatigued with the morning
chase, lay stretched on the turf by his side,—his
gun, that would not miss, reclined in the neuk of the
bothy,—the skian dhu of the sharp edge hung by his
side, and these alone constituted his company. As
the hunter sat listening to the howling storm as it
whistled by, there entered at the door an apparently
poor weather-beaten cat, shivering with cold, and


238 Weird Tales.
drenched to the skin. On observing her, the hairs
of the dogs became erected bristles, and they imme-
diately rose to attack the pitiable cat, which stood
trembling at the door. 'Great hunter of the hills,'
exclaims the poor-looking trembling cat,' I claim
your protection. I know your hatred to my craft,
and perhaps it is just. Still spare, O spare a poor
jaded wretch, who thus flies to you for protection
from the cruelty and oppression of her sisterhood.'
Moved to compassion by her eloquent address, and
disdaining to take advantage of his greatest enemy in
such a seemingly forlorn situation, he pacified his
infuriated dogs, and desired her to come forward to
the fire and warm herself. 'Nay,' says she, 'in the
first place, you will please bind with this long hair
those two furious hounds of yours, for I am afraid
they will tear my poor hams to pieces. I pray you,
therefore, my dear sir, that you would have the good-
ness to bind them together by the necks with this
long hair.' But the curious nature of the hair in-
duced the hunter to dissemble a little. Instead of
having bound his dogs with it, as he pretended, he
threw it across a beam of wood which connected the
couple of the bothy. The witch then, supposing
the dogs securely bound, approached the fire, and
squatted herself down as if to dry herself. She had
not sitten many minutes, when the hunter could
easily discover a striking increase in her size, which
he could not forbear remarking in a jocular manner to
herself. 'A bad death to you, you nasty beast,' says
the hunter; 'you are getting very large.' 'Ay,
ay,' replied the cat equally jocosely, 'as my hairs


The Witch of Laggan. 239
imbibe the heat, they naturally expand.' These
jokes, however, were but a prelude to a more serious
conversation. The cat still continuing her growth,
had at length attained a most extraordinary size,—
when, in the twinkling of an eye, she transformed
herself into her proper likeness of the Goodwife of
Laggan, and thus addressed him: 'Hunter of the
Hills, your hour of reckoning is arrived. Behold
me before you, the avowed champion of my
devoted sisterhood, of whom Macgillichallum of
Razay and you were always the most relent-
less enemies. But Razay is no more. His last
breath is fled. He lies a lifeless corpse on the
bottom of the main ; and now, Hunter of the Hills,
it is your turn.' With these words, assuming a most
hideous and terrific appearance, she made a spring at
the hunter. The two dogs, which she supposed
securely bound by the infernal hair, sprung at her in
her turn, and a most furious conflict ensued. The
witch, thus unexpectedly attacked by the dogs, now
began to repent of her temerity. 'Fasten, hair,
fasten? she perpetually exclaimed, supposing the dogs
to have been bound by the hair ; and so effectually
did the hair fasten, according to her order, that it
at last snapt the beam in twain. At length, finding
herself completely overpowered, she attempted a
retreat, but so closely were the hounds fastened in
her breasts, that it was with no small difficulty she
could get herself disengaged from them. Screaming
and shrieking, the Wife of Laggan dragged herself
out of the house, trailing after the dogs, which were
fastened in her so closely, that they never loosed


240 Weird Tales.
their hold until she demolished every tooth in their
heads. Then metamorphosing herself into the like-
ness of a raven, she fled over the mountains in the
direction of her home. The two faithful dogs,
bleeding and exhausted, returned to their master,
and, in the act of carressing his hand, both fell down
and expired at his feet. Regretting their loss with a
sorrow only known to the parent who weeps over the
remains of departed children, he buried his devoted
dogs, and returned home to his family. His wife
was not in the house when he arrived, but she soon
made her appearance. 'Where have you been, my
love?' inquired the husband. 'Indeed,' replies she,
'I have been seeing the Goodwife of Laggan, who
has been just seized with so severe an illness, that
she is not expected to live for any time.' 'Ay!
ay!' says he, 'what is the matter with the worthy
woman?' 'She was all day absent in the moss at
her peats,' replies the wife, 'and was seized with a
sudden colic, in consequence of getting wet feet; and
now all her friends and neighbours are expecting her
demission.' 'Poor woman,' says the husband,' 'I
am sorry for her. Get me some dinner; it will be
right that I should go and see her also.' Dinner
being provided and despatched, the hunter imme-
diately proceeded to the house of Laggan, where he
found a great assemblage of neighbours mourning,
with great sincerity, the approaching decease of a
woman whom they all had hitherto esteemed virtuous.
The hunter, walking up to the sick woman's bed in a
rage, proportioned to the greatness of its cause,
stripped the sick woman of all her coverings. A


The Witch of Laggan. 241
shriek from the now exposed witch brought all the
company around her. 'Behold,' says he, 'the object
of your solicitude, who is nothing less than an
infernal witch. To-day, she informs me, she was
present at the death of the Laird of Razay, and
only a few hours have elapsed since she attempted to
make me share his fate. This night, however, she
shall expiate her crime, by the forfeiture of her horrid
life.' Relating to the company the whole circum-
stances of her attack upon him, which were too well
corroborated by the conclusive marks she bore on her
person, the whole company were perfectly convinced
of her criminality; and the customary punishment
was about to be inflicted on her, when the miserable
wretch addressed them as follows: 'My ill-requited
friends, spare an old acquaintance, already in the
agonies of death, from any further mortal degradation.
My crimes and my folly now stare me in the face,
in their true colours; while my vile and perfidious
seducer, the enemy of your temporal and spiritual
interests, only laughs at me in my distress; and, as a
reward for my fidelity to his interest, in seducing
every thing that was amiable, and in destroying every
thing that was good, he is now about to consign my
soul to eternal misery. Let my example be a warning
to all the people of the earth to shun the fatal rock
on which I have split; and as a strong inducement
for them to do so, I shall atone for my iniquity to the
utmost of my ability, by detailing to you the awful
history of my life.' Here the Wife of Laggan de-
tailed at full length the way she was seduced into the
service of the Evil One,—all the criminal adventures
s Q


242 Weird Tales.
in which she had been engaged, and ended with a
particular account of the death of Macgillichallum of
Razay, and her attack upon the hunter, and then
expired.
'' Meanwhile, a neighbour of the Wife of Laggan
was returning home late at night from Strathdeam,
where he had been upon some business, and had just
entered the dreary forest of Monalea, in Badenoch,
when he met a woman dressed in black, who ran
with great speed, and inquired of the traveller, with
great agitation, how far she was distant from the
churchyard of Dalarossie, and if she could be there
by twelve o'clock. The traveller told her she might,
if she continued to go at the same pace that she did
then. She then fled alongst the road, uttering the
most desponding lamentations, and the traveller
continued his road to Badenoch. He had not, how-
ever, walked many miles when he met a large black
dog, which travelled past him with much velocity, as
if upon the scent of a track or footsteps; and soon
after he met another large black dog sweeping along
in the same manner. The last dog, however, was
scarcely past, when he met a stout black man on a
fine fleet black courser, prancing along in the same
direction after the dogs. 'Pray,' says the rider to
the traveller, 'did you meet a woman as you came
along the hill?' The traveller replied in the affirma-
tive. 'And did you meet a dog soon after ?' rejoined
the rider. The traveller replied he did. 'And,'
added the rider, 'do you think the dog will over-
take her ere she can reach the church of Dalarossie?'
'He will, at any rate, be very close upon her heels,'


The Witch of Laggan. 243
answered the traveller. Each then took his own
way. But before the traveller had got the length of
Glenbanchar, the rider overtook him on his return,
with the foresaid woman before him across the bow of
his saddle, and one of the dogs fixed in her breast,
and another in her thigh. 'Where did you overtake
the woman?' inquired the traveller. 'Just as she
was entering the churchyard of Dalarossie,' was his
reply. On the traveller's return home, he heard of
the fate of the unfortunate Wife of Laggan, which
soon explained the nature of the company he had
met on the road. It was, no doubt, the spirit of the
Wife of Laggan flying for protection from the infernal
spirits (to whom she had sold herself), to the church-
yard of Dalarossie, which is so sacred a place, that a
witch is immediately dissolved from all her ties with
Satan, on making a pilgrimage to it, either dead or
alive. But it seems the unhappy Wife of Laggan was
a stage too late."


Allan MacTavisKs Fishing. 245
husband with a depth and intensity of affection which
had led her to do as she had done—to violate filial
duty for his sake; but which could not teach her to
forget the fault she had committed, or the parent
whom she had deserted; and the consciousness of
her disobedience was with her in her happiest hour, to
sink her heart as with a weight of lead. She was the
only child of a wealthy farmer, originally from Ayr-
shire, who had come during his daughter's childhood,
immediately after the death of his wife, to settle in
Stirlingshire, not far from the Bridge of Allan.
Andrew Weir was one of those who still retain,
almost in all their original strictness, the peculiar
tenets and ideas of the Cameronians, of whom there
are many to be found at the present day in the wild
and lonely districts of the south'-western part of
Scotland. His notions of family discipline, and of
strict seclusion from those who held a different
doctrine from his own, were extremely rigid; yet,
notwithstanding these, the affection which he had
borne his daughter was very great, — nor had the
harmony subsisting between them ever experienced
any interruption, until the arrival of Allan MacTavish
near their place of residence; and his subsequent
acquaintance with Margaret, first broke in upon the
calm tenor of her life, by introducing sensations to
which her heart had never before been awakened.
The intimacy of his daughter with the young High-
lander had continued for a considerable time ere
Andrew Weir became aware of it; for Margaret knew
her father's prejudices too well to dare make him
acquainted with her lover. It came to his knowledge


246 Weird Tales.
by accident, and his anger was proportionally great.
In common with many of his countrymen, Andrew
entertained an extreme dislike to Highlanders, which
dislike, in the present instance, received tenfold con-
firmation from the circumstance of MacTavish being
a Catholic. He would have considered himself as
signing the warrant for his daughter's eternal perdi-
tion, had he not instantly forbidden all intercourse
between them.
At this juncture, Allan's foster-brother died, and
left him a small legacy; but with his death, at the
some time ceased all the reasons for Allan's remaining
absent from his own country. He contrived an
interview with Margaret ere he should depart. It
is needless to linger on an oft - told tale. The
struggle between filial affection and all-powerful love
in the heart of the unsophisticated girl, was severe
and long continued; while the religious feelings in
which she had been educated, contributed to swell the
amount of reluctance and of terror with which she
contemplated the step to which she was urged. But
love at last prevailed. Margaret fled from her father's
house with her lover. They instantly proceeded to
Edinburgh, where they were marrried by a Catholic
priest; and then sought the lonely solitudes of Allan's
old Argyllshire mountains. But Margaret—so strict
had been the filial obedience in which she was brought
up, so severe the religious faith of her youth—could
not find happiness the portion of her married life
notwithstanding all the kindness of her husband, the
loveliness of her infant, and the peacefulness of her
home. The image of her gray-haired father going


250 Weird Tales.
your husband to bide at hame the nicht, and no gang
to the fishin', or ye'll maybe rue it when ye canna'
mend it.' And wi' that he turned roun', and gaed
awa' again, or ever I had pooer to speak till him ; an'
I startit up, and waukenet wi' the fricht. But do,
Allan !" and Margaret again burst into a flood of
weeping: "it's na' for nocht that I've seen the auld
man this nicht. Be ruled by the warnin' he gied me,
and dinna gang to the fishin'."
"Hoots, bairn," exclaimed her husband, "your
father liked na' me. It was mair like he wad warn ye
no' to let me gang, to hinder me from some good than
from ill. No, no, Margaret dear, gang I must, this
night."
Margaret again wept, wrung her hands, and implored
her husband not to go. But superstitious as every
Highlander is, on this night it appeared that his wife's
mysterious dream made no impression upon Allan
MacTavish. His spirits, on the contrary, had seldom
seemed so high or so excited. He led Margaret to the
door;—showed her the calm, clear sky, brilliant with
stars, and the full spring-tide coming so tranquilly into
the little bay ;—asked her with a kiss, if this were a
night to let a dream frighten him from his fishing; and
without awaiting further remonstrance, strode to the
place where his boat was moored; and as he pushed it
from the shore, turned his head, once more to utter a
light and laughing farewell. "Gang to your bed, my
bonny Peggy," he said, "and be up belyve the morn,
to see the grand boat-load o' fish that I'll bring ye
back."
Margaret stood upon the shore and watched his boat


Allan MacTavisKs Fishing. -251
as it doubled the headland, until, through the darkness,
her straining eye could no longer discern it; heedless
the while of the still advancing tide, that now laved
her feet. She dried her tears, and looked up to the
calm heaven, where not a cloud obscured the dark-
blue bosom of night; till at last, half reassured by
her husband's cheerful anticipations, half cheered
by the serene aspect of the weather, she returned to
the cottage, and after commending him in a fervent
prayer to the protection of Heaven, she replenished
the fire with peats, and lay down beside her child,
where in a short time she fell into a tranquil sleep.
How long Margaret had slept she knew not; but it
could not have been very long, for, except the fitful
flashes of the fire-light, all was darkness in the cottage,
when she was suddenly awakened by a loud and pro-
longed sound. She started up in bed, and listened,
in an agony of apprehension that almost froze the
blood in her veins. It was no dream,—no delusion,
—she distinctly heard the loud wild howling of the
awakened blast, raging overhead as though it would
tear off the very roof of the cottage, and scatter it in its
fury. She had sunk to sleep when all was stillness on
earth and in heaven. She woke to a tumult as awful,
as though all the winds had at once been set free
from their cave, and despatched to waste their wrath
upon the vexed bosom of the sea. But, deeper and
more awful than the winds, there came another sound
—the raging of the waters, as they rose in their might,
and dashed themselves with a loud booming roar upon
the cliffs. Margaret sprang from her bed, and, un-
dressed as she was, rushed to the cottage door. The


252 Weird Tales.
instant she raised the latch, the force of the tempest
dashed it open against the wall. She looked out into
the night A pitchy darkness now brooded over all
things; every star seemed blotted from the face of
heaven; but dimly through the gloom she could descry
the white crests of the waves, as they surged and lashed
the beach within a few yards of the cottage door. The
tide had risen to a height almost unexampled on that
coast, beneath the influence of a vernal storm; it had
far overpassed its usual limits within the Cove of Craig-
navarroch; and on the rocks, beyond which it could
not go, it was breaking high,—high overhead,—with a
noise like thunder. Never was change in the weather
more sudden and more complete. Margaret stood for
a minute in speechless horror and dismay ; then, rush-
ing back into the cottage, she fell upon her knees, and
held up her hands to heaven. "Lord God!" she
exclaimed—" have mercy ! have mercy!" She could
not utter another word. She hid her face in her hands,
and sobbed in agony.
Still the tempest raged, and the waves roared
on. Margaret dressed herself, and carefully covered
her infant, whose sweet sleep was unbroken by the
fearful tumult. Again she went to the door, and
stood, looking into the night, regardless of the
wind, which drove a heavy rain against her face.
She strained her ears to distinguish some sound,—
some cry,—amid the pauses of the hurricane. As
well might she have striven to distinguish the low
music of the woodland bird, as the wildest shriek
that ever broke from the lips of despair and anguish,
in the midst of an uproar of the elements like that


Allan MacTamsKs Fishing. 253
through which she had dreamt of hearing it. But
those from whom that sound must have come, were
far—far beyond where her ear could catch their
voices.
She closed the door, returned into the room, and
knelt down again on the floor, burying her face and
closing her ears, as if to shut out the noise of the
tempest; while her whole frame shook with the
gasping sobs which brought no tears to relieve her;
and at every fresh howl of the blast, she shuddered
and her limbs shrank closer together. She tried to
pray,—but the words died upon her lips. She could
not speak ;—she could not even think ;—she only
felt as though she were all one nerve—one thrilling
nerve—quivering beneath repeated and torturing
pangs.
On a sudden the wind sunk,—completely sunk.
For the space of three minutes there was not a
breath heard to blow. Margaret raised her head,
and listened. All was still. She was about to spring
from the ground, when back—back it came again,
—the hideous burst—the roaring bellow of the
augmented hurricane, as though it had gained strength
and fierceness from its brief repose! Back it came—
shaking the very cottage walls, and rattling the door
and little window as though it would burst them
open; and Margaret flung herself forward again
with a wild shriek, and clasped her hands over her
ears again, to deaden the sound.
Then she started from the ground, as a thought
struck her, which seemed to bring some faint gleam
of hope. "I kenna whan the storm began," said


256 Weird Tales.
it could not be said that she saw—but she felt as if
something cold and wet had glided swiftly by her,
with a scarce perceptible contact, into the house. A
damp dew overspread her forehead; her limbs
trembled and bent beneath her, as she instinctively
turned round, and looked into the room which she
had quitted. The light was so faint, that within the
house it scarce vanquished the darkness; but a bright
gleam flashing up from the fire, showed everything
in the room distinctly for an instant's space; and by
that gleam, Margaret beheld the figure of her husband
standing within the door, pale, as it seemed to her,
and dim, and shadowy, with the water dripping from
his clothes and hair. The fire-flash sunk as instan-
taneously as it had shone, and all again was obscurity,
as she dropped upon the floor in a swoon.
When the unhappy wife again opened her eyes,
and recovered her perceptions of what was passing
around her, she found herself laid in her own bed.
The bright glorious sunshine was beaming in at the
cottage window, as though to mock her desolation.
Several women, from the neighbouring fishing village,
were in the room; one of whom held in her arms, the
infant of Margaret, whom she was endeavouring to
soothe and quiet; and at the moment she raised her
head, the door opened, and upon the self-same spot
where she had that morning beheld his likeness stand,
she saw the lifeless corpse of her drowned husband,
borne in the arms of some of his comrades, who had
with difficulty rescued it from the devouring waves;
yet rescued it too late to save.


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