CHAPTER XI
ENTER TIME, AS CHORUS I, that please some, try ail, both joy and terror Of good and bad; that make and unfold error, Now take upon me, in the name of Time, To use my wings Impute it not a crime To me, or my swift passage, that I slide O'er sixteen years, and leave the growth untried Of that wide gap.
Winter's Tale.
Our narration is now about to make a large stride, and omit a space ofnearly seventeen years; during which nothing occurred of any particularconsequence with respect to the story we have undertaken to tell. Thegap is a wide one; yet if the reader's experience in life enables himto look back on so many years, the space will scarce appear longer inhis recollection than the time consumed in turning these pages.
It was, then, in the month of November, about seventeen years after thecatastrophe related in the last chapter, that, during a cold and stormynight, a social group had closed around the kitchen-fire of the GordonArms at Kippletringan, a small but comfortable inn kept by Mrs.Mac-Candlish in that village. The conversation which passed among themwill save me the trouble of telling the few events occurring duringthis chasm in our history, with which it is necessary that the readershould be acquainted.
Mrs. Mac-Candlish, throned in a comfortable easychair lined with blackleather, was regaling herself and a neighbouring gossip or two with acup of genuine tea, and at the same time keeping a sharp eye upon herdomestics, as they went and came in prosecution of their various dutiesand commissions. The clerk and precentor of the parish enjoyed at alittle distance his Saturday night's pipe, and aided its blandfumigation by an occasional sip of brandy and water. Deacon Bearcliff,a man of great importance in the village, combined the indulgence ofboth parties: he had his pipe and his tea-cup, the latter being lacedwith a little spirits. One or two clowns sat at some distance, drinkingtheir twopenny ale.
'Are ye sure the parlour's ready for them, and the fire burning clear,and the chimney no smoking?' said the hostess to a chambermaid.
She was answered in the affirmative. 'Ane wadna be uncivil to them,especially in their distress,' said she, turning to the Deacon.
'Assuredly not, Mrs. Mac-Candlish; assuredly not. I am sure ony sma'thing they might want frae my shop, under seven, or eight, or tenpounds, I would book them as readily for it as the first in thecountry. Do they come in the auld chaise?'
'I daresay no,' said the precentor; 'for Miss Bertram comes on thewhite powny ilka day to the kirk--and a constant kirk-keeper sheis--and it's a pleasure to hear her singing the psalms, winsome youngthing.'
'Ay, and the young Laird of Hazlewood rides hame half the road wi' herafter sermon,' said one of the gossips in company. 'I wonder how auldHazlewood likes that.'
'I kenna how he may like it now,' answered another of the tea-drinkers;'but the day has been when Ellangowan wad hae liked as little to seehis daughter taking up with their son.'
'Ay, has been,' answered the first, with somewhat of emphasis.
'I am sure, neighbour Ovens,' said the hostess,'the Hazlewoods ofHazlewood, though they are a very gude auld family in the county, neverthought, till within these twa score o' years, of evening themselvestill the Ellangowans. Wow, woman, the Bertrams of Ellangowan are theauld Dingawaies lang syne. There is a sang about ane o' them marrying adaughter of the King of Man; it begins--
Blythe Bertram's ta'en him ower the faem, To wed a wife, and bring her hame--
I daur say Mr. Skreigh can sing us the ballant.'
'Gudewife,' said Skreigh, gathering up his mouth, and sipping his tiffof brandy punch with great solemnity, 'our talents were gien us toother use than to sing daft auld sangs sae near the Sabbath day.'
'Hout fie, Mr. Skreigh; I'se warrant I hae heard you sing a blythe sangon Saturday at e'en before now. But as for the chaise, Deacon, it hasnabeen out of the coach-house since Mrs. Bertram died, that's sixteen orseventeen years sin syne. Jock Jabos is away wi' a chaise of mine forthem; I wonder he's no come back. It's pit mirk; but there's no an illturn on the road but twa, and the brigg ower Warroch burn is safeeneugh, if he haud to the right side. But then there's Heavieside Brae,that's just a murder for post-cattle; but Jock kens the road brawly.'
A loud rapping was heard at the door.
'That's no them. I dinna hear the wheels. Grizzel, ye limmer, gang tothe door.'
'It's a single gentleman,' whined out Grizzel; 'maun I take him intothe parlour?'
'Foul be in your feet, then; it'll be some English rider. Comingwithout a servant at this time o' night! Has the hostler ta'en thehorse? Ye may light a spunk o' fire in the red room.'
'I wish, ma'am,' said the traveller, entering the kitchen, 'you wouldgive me leave to warm myself here, for the night is very cold.'
His appearance, voice, and manner produced an instantaneous effect inhis favour. He was a handsome, tall, thin figure, dressed in black, asappeared when he laid aside his riding-coat; his age might be betweenforty and fifty; his cast of features grave and interesting, and hisair somewhat military. Every point of his appearance and addressbespoke the gentleman. Long habit had given Mrs. Mac-Candlish an acutetact in ascertaining the quality of her visitors, and proportioning herreception accordingly:--
To every guest the appropriate speech was made, And every duty with distinction paid; Respectful, easy, pleasant, or polite-- 'Your honour's servant!' 'Mister Smith, good-night.'
On the present occasion she was low in her courtesy and profuse in herapologies. The stranger begged his horse might be attended to: she wentout herself to school the hostler.
'There was never a prettier bit o' horse-flesh in the stable o' theGordon Arms,' said the man, which information increased the landlady'srespect for the rider. Finding, on her return, that the strangerdeclined to go into another apartment (which, indeed, she allowed,would be but cold and smoky till the fire bleezed up), she installedher guest hospitably by the fireside, and offered what refreshment herhouse afforded.
'A cup of your tea, ma'am, if you will favour me.'
Mrs. Mac-Candlish bustled about, reinforced her teapot with hyson, andproceeded in her duties with her best grace. 'We have a very niceparlour, sir, and everything very agreeable for gentlefolks; but it'sbespoke the night for a gentleman and his daughter that are going toleave this part of the country; ane of my chaises is gane for them, andwill be back forthwith. They're no sae weel in the warld as they havebeen; but we're a' subject to ups and downs in this life, as yourhonour must needs ken,--but is not the tobacco-reek disagreeable toyour honour?'
'By no means, ma'am; I am an old campaigner, and perfectly used to it.Will you permit me to make some inquiries about a family in thisneighbourhood?'
The sound of wheels was now heard, and the landlady hurried to the doorto receive her expected guests; but returned in an instant, followed bythe postilion. 'No, they canna come at no rate, the Laird's sae ill.'
'But God help them,' said the landlady, 'the morn's the term, the verylast day they can bide in the house; a' thing's to be roupit.'
'Weel, but they can come at no rate, I tell ye; Mr. Bertram canna bemoved.'
'What Mr. Bertram?' said the stranger; 'not Mr. Bertram of Ellangowan,I hope?'
'Just e'en that same, sir; and if ye be a friend o' his, ye have comeat a time when he's sair bested.'
'I have been abroad for many years,--is his health so much deranged?'
'Ay, and his affairs an' a',' said the Deacon; 'the creditors haveentered into possession o' the estate, and it's for sale; and some thatmade the maist by him--I name nae names, but Mrs. Mac-Candlish kens whaI mean (the landlady shook her head significantly)--they're sairest onhim e'en now. I have a sma' matter due myself, but I would rather havelost it than gane to turn the auld man out of his house, and him justdying.'
'Ay, but,' said the parish clerk, 'Factor Glossin wants to get rid ofthe auld Laird, and drive on the sale, for fear the heir-male shouldcast up upon them; for I have heard say, if there was an heir-male theycouldna sell the es
tate for auld Ellangowan's debt.'
'He had a son born a good many years ago,' said the stranger; 'he isdead, I suppose?'
'Nae man can say for that,' answered the clerk mysteriously.
'Dead!' said the Deacon, 'I'se warrant him dead lang syne; he hasnabeen heard o' these twenty years or thereby.'
'I wot weel it's no twenty years,' said the landlady; 'it's no abuneseventeen at the outside in this very month. It made an unco noise owera' this country; the bairn disappeared the very day that SupervisorKennedy cam by his end. If ye kenn'd this country lang syne, yourhonour wad maybe ken Frank Kennedy the Supervisor. He was a heartsomepleasant man, and company for the best gentlemen in the county, andmuckle mirth he's made in this house. I was young then, sir, and newlymarried to Bailie Mac-Candlish, that's dead and gone (a sigh); andmuckle fun I've had wi' the Supervisor. He was a daft dog. O, an hecould hae hauden aff the smugglers a bit! but he was aye venturesome.And so ye see, sir, there was a king's sloop down in Wigton Bay, andFrank Kennedy, he behoved to have her up to chase Dirk Hatteraick'slugger--ye'll mind Dirk Hatteraick, Deacon? I daresay ye may have dealtwi' him--(the Deacon gave a sort of acquiescent nod and humph). He wasa daring chield, and he fought his ship till she blew up like peelingsof ingans; and Frank Kennedy, he had been the first man to board, andhe was flung like a quarter of a mile off, and fell into the waterbelow the rock at Warroch Point, that they ca' the Gauger's Loup tothis day.'
'And Mr. Bertram's child,' said the stranger, 'what is all this to him?'
'Ou, sir, the bairn aye held an unco wark wi' the Supervisor; and itwas generally thought he went on board the vessel alang wi' him, asbairns are aye forward to be in mischief.'
'No, no,' said the Deacon, 'ye're clean out there, Luckie; for theyoung Laird was stown away by a randy gipsy woman they ca'd MegMerrilies--I mind her looks weel--in revenge for Ellangowan havinggar'd her be drumm'd through Kippletringan for stealing a silver spoon.'
'If ye'llforgieme, Deacon,' said the precentor, 'ye're e'en as farwrang as the gudewife.'
'And what is your edition of the story, sir?' said the stranger,turning to him with interest.
'That's maybe no sae canny to tell,' said the precentor, with solemnity.
Upon being urged, however, to speak out, he preluded with two or threelarge puffs of tobacco-smoke, and out of the cloudy sanctuary whichthese whiffs formed around him delivered the following legend, havingcleared his voice with one or two hems, and imitating, as near as hecould, the eloquence which weekly thundered over his head from thepulpit.
'What we are now to deliver, my brethren,--hem--hem,--I mean, my goodfriends,--was not done in a corner, and may serve as an answer towitch-advocates, atheists, and misbelievers of all kinds. Ye must knowthat the worshipful Laird of Ellangowan was not so preceese as he mighthave been in clearing his land of witches (concerning whom it is said,"Thou shalt not suffer a witch to live"), nor of those who had familiarspirits, and consulted with divination, and sorcery, and lots, which isthe fashion with the Egyptians, as they ca' themsells, and otherunhappy bodies, in this our country. And the Laird was three yearsmarried without having a family; and he was sae left to himsell, thatit was thought he held ower muckle troking and communing wi' that MegMerrilies, wha was the maist notorious witch in a' Galloway andDumfries-shire baith.'
'Aweel, I wot there's something in that,' said Mrs. Mac-Candlish; 'I'vekenn'd him order her twa glasses o' brandy in this very house.'
'Aweel, gudewife, then the less I lee. Sae the lady was wi' bairn atlast, and in the night when she should have been delivered there comesto the door of the ha' house--the Place of Ellangowan as they ca'd--anancient man, strangely habited, and asked for quarters. His head, andhis legs, and his arms were bare, although it was winter time o' theyear, and he had a grey beard three-quarters lang. Weel, he wasadmitted; and when the lady was delivered, he craved to know the verymoment of the hour of the birth, and he went out and consulted thestars. And when he came back he tell'd the Laird that the Evil One wadhave power over the knave-bairn that was that night born, and hecharged him that the babe should be bred up in the ways of piety, andthat he should aye hae a godly minister at his elbow to pray WI' thebairn and FOR him. And the aged man vanished away, and no man of thiscountry ever saw mair o' him.'
'Now, that will not pass,' said the postilion, who, at a respectfuldistance, was listening to the conversation, 'begging Mr. Skreigh's andthe company's pardon; there was no sae mony hairs on the warlock's faceas there's on Letter-Gae's [Footnote: The precentor is called by AllanRamsay, The letter-gae of haly rhyme.] ain at this moment, and he hadas gude a pair o' boots as a man need streik on his legs, and glovestoo; and I should understand boots by this time, I think.'
'Whisht, Jock,' said the landlady.
'Ay? and what do YE ken o' the matter, friend Jabos?' said theprecentor, contemptuously.
'No muckle, to be sure, Mr. Skreigh, only that I lived within apenny-stane cast o' the head o' the avenue at Ellangowan, when a mancam jingling to our door that night the young Laird was born, and mymother sent me, that was a hafflin callant, to show the stranger thegate to the Place, which, if he had been sic a warlock, he might haekenn'd himsell, ane wad think; and he was a young, weel-faured,weel-dressed lad, like an Englishman. And I tell ye he had as gude ahat, and boots, and gloves, as ony gentleman need to have. To be surehe DID gie an awesome glance up at the auld castle, and there WAS somespae-wark gaed on, I aye heard that; but as for his vanishing, I heldthe stirrup mysell when he gaed away, and he gied me a roundhalf-crown. He was riding on a haick they ca'd Souple Sam, it belangedto the George at Dumfries; it was a blood-bay beast, very ill o' thespavin; I hae seen the beast baith before and since.'
'Aweel, aweel, Jock,' answered Mr. Skreigh, with a tone of mildsolemnity, 'our accounts differ in no material particulars; but I hadno knowledge that ye had seen the man. So ye see, my friends, that thissoothsayer having prognosticated evil to the boy, his father engaged agodly minister to be with him morn and night.'
'Ay, that was him they ca'd Dominie Sampson,' said the postilion.
'He's but a dumb dog that,' observed the Deacon; 'I have heard that henever could preach five words of a sermon endlang, for as lang as hehas been licensed.'
'Weel, but,' said the precentor, waving his hand, as if eager toretrieve the command of the discourse, 'he waited on the young Laird bynight and day. Now it chanced, when the bairn was near five years auld,that the Laird had a sight of his errors, and determined to put theseEgyptians aff his ground, and he caused them to remove; and that FrankKennedy, that was a rough, swearing fellow, he was sent to turn themoff. And he cursed and damned at them, and they swure at him; and thatMeg Merrilies, that was the maist powerfu' with the Enemy of Mankind,she as gude as said she would have him, body and soul, before threedays were ower his head. And I have it from a sure hand, and that's anewha saw it, and that's John Wilson, that was the Laird's groom, thatMeg appeared to the Laird as he was riding hame from Singleside, overGibbie's know, and threatened him wi' what she wad do to his family;but whether it was Meg, or something waur in her likeness, for itseemed bigger than ony mortal creature, John could not say.'
'Aweel,' said the postilion, 'it might be sae, I canna say against it,for I was not in the country at the time; but John Wilson was ablustering kind of chield, without the heart of a sprug.'
'And what was the end of all this?' said the stranger, with someimpatience.
'Ou, the event and upshot of it was, sir,' said the precentor, 'thatwhile they were all looking on, beholding a king's ship chase asmuggler, this Kennedy suddenly brake away frae them without ony reasonthat could be descried--ropes nor tows wad not hae held him--and madefor the wood of Warroch as fast as his beast could carry him; and bythe way he met the young Laird and his governor, and he snatched up thebairn, and swure, if HE was bewitched, the bairn should have the sameluck as him; and the minister followed as fast as he could, and almaistas fast as them, for he was wonderfully swift of foot, and he saw Megthe
witch, or her master in her similitude, rise suddenly out of theground, and claught the bairn suddenly out of the ganger's arms; andthen he rampauged and drew his sword, for ye ken a fie man and a cusserfearsna the deil.'
'I believe that's very true,' said the postilion.
'So, sir, she grippit him, and clodded him like a stane from the slingower the craigs of Warroch Head, where he was found that evening; butwhat became of the babe, frankly I cannot say. But he that was ministerhere then, that's now in a better place, had an opinion that the bairnwas only conveyed to fairy-land for a season.'
The stranger had smiled slightly at some parts of this recital, but erehe could answer the clatter of a horse's hoofs was heard, and a smartservant, handsomely dressed, with a cockade in his hat, bustled intothe kitchen, with 'Make a little room, good people'; when, observingthe stranger, he descended at once into the modest and civil domestic,his hat sunk down by his side, and he put a letter into his master'shands. 'The family at Ellangowan, sir, are in great distress, andunable to receive any visits.'
'I know it,' replied his master. 'And now, madam, if you will have thegoodness to allow me to occupy the parlour you mentioned, as you aredisappointed of your guests--'
'Certainly, sir,' said Mrs. Mac-Candlish, and hastened to light the waywith all the imperative bustle which an active landlady loves todisplay on such occasions.
'Young man,' said the Deacon to the servant, filling a glass, 'ye'll nobe the waur o' this, after your ride.'
'Not a feather, sir; thank ye, your very good health, sir.'
'And wha may your master be, friend?'
'What, the gentleman that was here? that's the famous ColonelMannering, sir, from the East Indies.'
'What, him we read of in the newspapers?'
'Ay, ay, just the same. It was he relieved Cuddieburn, and defendedChingalore, and defeated the great Mahratta chief, Ram Jolli Bundleman.I was with him in most of his campaigns.'
'Lord safe us,' said the landlady; 'I must go see what he would havefor supper; that I should set him down here!'
'O, he likes that all the better, mother. You never saw a plainercreature in your life than our old Colonel; and yet he has a spice ofthe devil in him too.'
The rest of the evening's conversation below stairs tending little toedification, we shall, with the reader's leave, step up to the parlour.