THE BURIED TREASURE.
Davie Cameron was only a poor peasant, and the cottage or _sheiling_where he dwelt was a humble one, even for that wild Scottish valley;but though he had a small habitation, and was poor in worldly goods, hehad a large heart, and was rich in that contentment which is betterthan gold. He often averred that he envied not the king on his throne,though, considering what very poor luck the Scottish monarchs have had,you may think that wasn't saying much.
Davie was gardener to the Laird of Lanarkville, just as his father hadbeen gardener to a former Laird of Lanarkville, and his grandfather toone still more remote.
If the testimony of Davie's old grandmother was to be trusted, theancient glories of the house of Lanark had dwindled away fromgeneration to generation, so that nowadays there was nothing to becompared with the splendors she had seen when she was a lassie. She wasgreatly scandalized because the present laird not only superintendedthe affairs of his estate, but had even been known to labor with hisown hands.
"His forbears wad hae scorned to do the like," she would exclaim,adding, with a mysterious shake of the head, "but gin the young lairdhad a' that belanged to him, he wad na need to dicker and delve likeane o' his ain sarvants, forsooth!"
The story which lay concealed in these words was this:
In the year 1745, when the then existing laird forsook his home tofollow the fortunes of Prince Charles Edward--for he was a staunchJacobite--he enclosed his treasure in an iron box and buried it in theearth. The sole witness and aid to this transaction was his faithfulfollower, Hugh Cameron.
At the battle of Culloden Lanark was killed, and Hugh received a woundwhich proved mortal. Before he died he confided the secret of theburied treasure to his younger brother, Archie, and would fain havedirected him to its hiding-place, but when he had uttered the words"under the Rowan tree in" ----, his spirit departed, and the sentencewas left forever unfinished.
Years passed before Archie returned again to his home, and when he didreturn there Lanark estate had been partially laid waste by Englishsoldiers. Rowan trees there were in plenty, but some had newly sprungup, and many old ones had been laid low, so that where in all thosebroad lands the iron box lay concealed, it was impossible to determine.
Diligent search was made for it, from time to time, but withoutsuccess; and when that generation had passed away the tradition came tobe regarded as doubtful, if not fabulous.
But old Mrs. Cameron, who, although not born at the time of the battleof Culloden, had heard the story in her childhood from her grandfather,who was no other than Archie himself, believed it as she believed thetruths of Holy Writ.
But then the "auld gudewife" believed in many other things which herposterity had grown wise enough to reject,--such as wraiths, witches,spunkies, and the like; and if rallied on the subject she would reply,indignantly, "And did na I my ain sel', see the fairies dancing in thebriken-shaw, one Halloween?"
Moreover, Mrs. Cameron held fast to the Jacobite principles of herancestors, for one of whom she claimed the honor of having oncesheltered the young chevalier in the days of his perilous and wearywanderings. In acknowledgment of the act the prince had given him agold buckle from his hat, and promised to bestow upon him the order ofknighthood, whenever he should come to the throne. The order, ofcourse, was never received, but the buckle was still carefullypreserved.
So Davie gave no more heed to her family traditions and wild bordertales than to her stories of witches and fairies, but just classed themall together, and when she said to him, as he was going to his dailylabor on the laird's land,--
"Ah, Davie, but there's a mickle treasure hid there, and wha kens butyou'll be the lucky finder?" he replied, with a laugh,--
"Nae doubt, nae doubt, a mickle treasure o' kale and potatoes, and whoso likely to find it as the laird's gardener?" and then he shoulderedhis spade and went off whistling:
"Contented wi' little, and canty wi' mair."
But one day, long to be remembered, as he was hard at work, without athought of grandmother and her legends, his spade struck againstsomething hard, which proved to be the root of a tree.
"You're an auld tenant, but ye'll have to quit," quoth Davie, tuggingaway manfully at the offender.
It obstinately refused to yield, and, laying open the earth with hisspade, he discovered that it had twined itself again and again roundsome object which he at first supposed to be a stone. A closerexamination, however, showed that it was not a stone, but _a rusty ironbox_!
Then the dying words of Hugh Cameron rushed to Davie's mind, and he hadno difficulty in completing the sentence which death had cut short,"Under the Rowan tree in--_the garden_!"
That it had stood there--the only tree of its kind--in the days of therebellion, was afterwards shown by consulting an old plan of theestate.
Davie's first impulse was to summon a witness to the spot, butremembering that the laird had gone to Edinburgh for a few days, hechanged his mind, and decided to impart the secret to no one till hecame back. To leave the box where it was, or anywhere else on thepremises, would be the same thing as to proclaim his discovery, as theservants would be sure to find it; so he concluded to take it home andconceal it in his own barn.
Now Davie was an honest man--at least he had always supposed himself tobe--and if you, or I, or another, had insinuated aught to the contrary,he would have been highly indignant. And yet it is a fact that as hewent out of the garden with the chest on his wheelbarrow along with thegarden tools, the whole carefully concealed with oat straw, he feltlike a thief!
Meeting some of his cronies, with whom at ordinary times he would haveheld a _jolly crack_, he now hurried by with a mere "Gude-e'en,neebor," and when he saw the minister coming that way he crossed theroad rather than speak to the godly man.
As he turned into the lane which led to his own cottage, little Jamie,who had been on the watch for him, came running out to beg for a rideon the wheelbarrow; and instead of catching him in his arms for a kiss,as was his wont, he angrily bade him "gang hame to his mither."
The disappointed child looked up in his father's face, and then,without saying a word, but sobbing bitterly, trotted back to the house.
There was in the barn a closet where Davie kept his garden tools, andwhich was seldom entered by any one save himself. There he depositedthe chest, which had already begun to exercise a baleful influence, andwhich was destined to work him still further woe.
He had intended--or he had made himself believe that he intended--torestore the box to its owner without opening it; but now that it was inhis own possession, he felt an almost irresistible desire to see whatit contained.
"Belike it's nae treasure, after a'," said he to himself; "but onlysome auld trash not worth a groat."
With that he placed his hand on the lid and shook it gently, scarcelydreaming that it would yield without hammer and chisel; but both therust-eaten lock and hinges gave way at once, and the cover fell to thefloor with a startling crash.
Enclosed within the box were the gold and silver plate of the Lanarkfamily.
Forth from their long burial they came to glitter once more in thesunlight, though the eyes that looked upon them last were years sinceclosed upon all earthly scenes, and the soul of him who placed themthere had gone, let us trust, to find a better treasure, where neithermoth nor rust corrupts, nor thieves break through and steal.
From the time that Davie Cameron found the buried treasure he was achanged man. He who was once so genial and light-hearted was now moodyand sullen. Once home had been to him the pleasantest spot in all theworld; but burdened with a consciousness of guilt, he could not bear tolook in the faces of his unsuspecting family, and by degrees he fellinto the habit of passing his evenings at the ale-house.
At first he took no part in the carousals of the place; but in thenature of things this could not last, and in the end he became asreckless and as riotous as any of his companions.
It was thus he formed an intimacy with Andy Ferguson. That he
was awild and dissipated young man was well known, and much was darklyhinted, which never came to light.
This man soon discovered that Davie had something on his mind, andtaking advantage of the confiding mood produced by liberal libations ofScotch whiskey and strong beer, he succeeded in drawing the secret fromhim. He at once proposed that they should dispose of the treasure anddivide the proceeds, ridiculing the scruples and laughing at the fearsof his more timid companion. He avowed his readiness to take all therisk, and threatened, if he were thwarted in his plans, to make thematter public.
So Davie, feeling that he was fairly caught within the toils, yielded.But though tempted, weak and erring, he was not hardened, and thethought of the crime he was about to commit weighed heavily on hisspirits. He became more irritable than ever, and when his wife asked,in her cheery way:
"What ails ye, Davie? Prithee, why sae doure, gude man?" he answered,fretfully:
"Whisht, woman, and dinna fash me wi' questions."
But one there was whose presence and whose playful ways never seemed tovex him, and that was his pet bairn, Nannie, his _wee lammie_, as heoften called her.
Nannie had been well taught in books, as the Scottish peasantry, unlikethe same class in Ireland, usually are. She was regularly seen in herplace at kirk, and knew the Assembly's Catechism by heart. She couldrepeat whole chapters from the Bible, and, better still, had everordered her simple life according to its precepts. In addition to allthese merits, she had a sweet, innocent face, a guileless, lovingheart, and was named by the youth of the neighborhood the BonnieShepherdess.
It is needless to say that Nannie had many admirers. Among others, AndyFerguson had not failed to notice her beauty and winning ways.
He had sometimes given her a bunch of flowers, or assisted her infinding a stray lamb, attentions which she had received with sweetnessand modesty, as she would have accepted the same from any other of theshepherd lads. But of love he never spoke or hinted, until one summerevening he joined her as she was driving home her sheep to the fold.
After addressing to her all the pretty, flattering things, which, I amtold, are common on such occasions, he plainly asked her to be hiswife.
"I'm but a wee lassie, ower young to think o' wedding this mony a day,"she replied.
"And so ye might be, gin I were a feckless laddie, like Rob Ainslee, orTam o' the Glen; but I hae riches, ye ken. Ye'll never need to fashyoursel' wi' wark, but just sing like the lane-rock, fra morn tille'en."
"Little care I for your riches," said Nannie, who, for reasons of herown, was vexed at this allusion to Rob Ainslee. "Does na the Scripturesay a gude name is better to be chosen than gold?"
"And wha says aught against my gude name?" exclaimed he, with loweringbrow.
"Andy Ferguson," said Nannie, pausing and looking him in the face, "itgrieves me to gi' you or ony creature pain; but ye maun speak to me naemair o' love or marriage--no, never. Ye maun gang your ain gait an'leave me to gae mine. As to your gude name, does na everybody ken--an'sorry I am to say it--where your evenings are spent, and what sort o'company ye keep?"
At this Andy laughed a loud, scornful laugh. "Nae doubt everybody kensthat for the maist part my evenings are spent at the 'Twa Dogs'; and asto the company there, there is nae sae frequent guest as your honoredfather."
"And wha led him into sic ways but your ain sel'? Weel does the Biblesay a man canna touch pitch and not be defiled therewith."
"Just to hear her quote Scripture! Ane wad tak her for the minister, ora holy elder, at least. But leuk you here, lassie, say it was I thatput the cup to my neebor's lips, for you see I can quote Scripture,too. Wha was it taught him to be a thief?"
"Gang awa, Andy Ferguson, awa, for I will na listen to sic words anentmy ain dear father. Awa, I say," she repeated, waving her little hand,as he seemed inclined to follow her.
"Sin' ye will na believe me, gae ask him what he has done wi' thelaird's siller and gowd. Just speir him that," called Andy after her,and then he strode away down the glen.
She hastened on, and leaving her few sheep to wander at their will, shesought her father. She found him sitting on a knoll behind the byre,leaning his head on his hands. Throwing herself on the grass besidehim, she told him of her interview with Andy, his offer of marriage andher refusal.
"I hope ye did na anger him," said he, hastily.
"Why, father, what ill can his anger do us? Ye wad na ha'e me marry ane'er-do-weel, like Andy. And, father, I ha'e na told ye all. He calledye a thief, father, a thief. I knew it was a lee, a wicked lee. Dinnathink your little Nannie believed it. And then he bade me speir what yehad done wi' the laird's siller and gowd."
To her great grief and surprise, her father sunk his face in his handsagain with a low groan, but answered not a word.
"Winna ye speak to me and tell me what it a' means?" said she, twiningher arms over his shoulder.
"Sin' ye maun know, then, it is true; a' true that he tauld ye. O, mybonnie bairn!" said he, in a tone of ineffable sadness. And then hetold her how he had found the treasure, and of the sinful compact hehad made with Andy.
"But ye ha'e kept it a' safe, dear father?" cried Nannie, joyfully.
"A' safe. I ha'e not sae much as ta'en it frae the box."
"Then there is naught to do but take it back to the laird and tell himhere is his treasure, safe and sound."
"And then he'll speir me how I came by it, and wherefore I kept it saelang, and a' about it. And then, belike, he'll shut me up in prison. O,lassie, ye dinna think what ye're saying. Could ye bear to see yourpuir father shut up in a prison? Could ye ever hold up your head againfor the shame o't?"
"Better, far better be innocent and in prison, than guilty and go free.O, for my sake, for your wee lammie's sake, take back the laird'ssiller and gowd."
"Or, if he should na imprison me," he continued, "he will take frae methe place that has been mine, and my father's, and my grandfather'safore me. I shall na ha'e where to lay my head, na shelter for you, mybairn, an' Davie Cameron's name will be cast out as evil. Ha'e ye weelconsidered a' that, Nannie?"
"The future nane can foresee," replied she; "but this I know, that itis always safe to do the thing that is right. Then will the gude Godcare for us as He cares for the wee birdie that is lilting sae sweetlyon yonder thorn. And of this be certain, dear father, that come honoror shame, come weal, come woe, your little Nannie will cleave to you aslong as life shall last."
"Then, my blessed bairn, it shall be as you say." And even as Davieuttered these words, the clouds lifted. All the misery and uncertaintywere gone, to be succeeded by calmness and resolution.
Rising up from the ground, he paused only for a kiss from Nannie, andwent without delay to restore the chest to its rightful owner.
Simply and truthfully he told his story from first to last; adding,"And now I ha'e brought back wi' me the treasure I wrangfully took. Dowi' me as ye list."
The laird was overjoyed to recover this ancient and valuable familyrelic, and instead of greeting Davie with anger and threats ofpunishment, as he had expected, came near overwhelming him withgratitude, addressing him as "my good man."
"But ye dinna understand," said the bewildered Davie. "I ha'e na beengude. I e'en had it in my heart to be a thief, a wicked, pawkie thief."
"What you _intended_ to do matters less to me than what you have reallydone," answered the good-natured laird.
"Are ye na going to put me in prison, or turn me out o' my place?"
"On the contrary, I am going to reward you for the service you haverendered."
"That maun na be," cried Davie, drawing back. "Dinna ask me. I seek nareward but to feel that I can once mair look my fellow-creatures in theface, _an honest man_. An' the story o' what I ha'e suffered shall ayebe a warning to me, and to my bairns after me, _to flee fraetemptation_."
A happy circle was that which gathered round Davie's ingle that night,the ingle from which the ale-house never again had power to allure him.
Jean, the gudewife, wi
th her sewing in her hand, and the old gray catat her feet, shall be the central figure. Grandmother sits on one sideof the fireplace, spinning flax--ever and anon bursting out into someold Jacobite song--and Davie himself in the arm-chair, on the otherside, with Jamie on his knee. On a low seat close by him is Nannie--nowlooking into her father's face, and now glancing beyond--for there sitsRobbie Ainslee.
And so we drop the curtain.