by Walter Scott
CHAPTER XI ENTER TIME, AS CHORUS I, that please some, try all, 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. The gapis a wide one; yet if the reader's experience in life enables him to lookback on so many years, the space will scarce appear longer in hisrecollection 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 during thischasm in our history, with which it is necessary that the reader shouldbe acquainted.
Mrs. Mac-Candlish, throned in a comfortable easychair lined with blackleather, was regaling herself and a neighbouring gossip or two with a cupof 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 bland fumigationby an occasional sip of brandy and water. Deacon Bearcliff, a man ofgreat importance in the village, combined the indulgence of both parties:he had his pipe and his tea-cup, the latter being laced with a littlespirits. One or two clowns sat at some distance, drinking their twopennyale.
'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 ten pounds,I would book them as readily for it as the first in the country. Do theycome in the auld chaise?'
'I daresay no,' said the precentor; 'for Miss Bertram comes on the whitepowny ilka day to the kirk--and a constant kirk-keeper she is--and it's apleasure to hear her singing the psalms, winsome young thing.'
'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 see hisdaughter 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 themselves tillthe Ellangowans. Wow, woman, the Bertrams of Ellangowan are the auldDingawaies 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 tiff ofbrandy punch with great solemnity, 'our talents were gien us to other usethan 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 safe eneugh,if he haud to the right side. But then there's Heavieside Brae, that'sjust 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 to thedoor.'
'It's a single gentleman,' whined out Grizzel; 'maun I take him into theparlour?'
'Foul be in your feet, then; it'll be some English rider. Coming withouta servant at this time o' night! Has the hostler ta'en the horse? Ye maylight 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 in hisfavour. 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 his airsomewhat military. Every point of his appearance and address bespoke thegentleman. Long habit had given Mrs. Mac-Candlish an acute tact inascertaining the quality of her visitors, and proportioning her receptionaccordingly:--
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 stranger declinedto go into another apartment (which, indeed, she allowed, would be butcold and smoky till the fire bleezed up), she installed her guesthospitably by the fireside, and offered what refreshment her houseafforded.
'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 your honourmust needs ken,--but is not the tobacco-reek disagreeable to yourhonour?'
'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, Ihope?'
'Just e'en that same, sir; and if ye be a friend o' his, ye have come ata 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 wha Imean (the landlady shook her head significantly)--they're sairest on hime'en now. I have a sma' matter due myself, but I would rather have lostit than gane to turn the auld man out of his house, and him just dying.'
'Ay, but,' said the parish clerk, 'Factor Glossin wants to get rid of theauld Laird, and drive on the sale, for fear the heir-male should cast upupon them; for I have heard say, if there was an heir-male they couldnasell the estate for auld Ell
angowan'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 hasna beenheard 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, your honourwad maybe ken Frank Kennedy the Supervisor. He was a heartsome pleasantman, and company for the best gentlemen in the county, and muckle mirthhe's made in this house. I was young then, sir, and newly married toBailie Mac-Candlish, that's dead and gone (a sigh); and muckle fun I'vehad wi' the Supervisor. He was a daft dog. O, an he could hae hauden affthe smugglers a bit! but he was aye venturesome. And so ye see, sir,there was a king's sloop down in Wigton Bay, and Frank Kennedy, hebehoved to have her up to chase Dirk Hatteraick's lugger--ye'll mind DirkHatteraick, Deacon? I daresay ye may have dealt wi' him--(the Deacon gavea sort of acquiescent nod and humph). He was a daring chield, and hefought his ship till she blew up like peelings of ingans; and FrankKennedy, he had been the first man to board, and he was flung like aquarter of a mile off, and fell into the water below the rock at WarrochPoint, that they ca' the Gauger's Loup to this 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 it wasgenerally thought he went on board the vessel alang wi' him, as bairnsare aye forward to be in mischief.'
'No, no,' said the Deacon, 'ye're clean out there, Luckie; for the youngLaird was stown away by a randy gipsy woman they ca'd Meg Merrilies--Imind her looks weel--in revenge for Ellangowan having gar'd her bedrumm'd through Kippletringan for stealing a silver spoon.'
'If ye'll forgieme, Deacon,' said the precentor, 'ye're e'en as far wrangas the gudewife.'
'And what is your edition of the story, sir?' said the stranger, turningto 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 which thesewhiffs formed around him delivered the following legend, having clearedhis voice with one or two hems, and imitating, as near as he could, theeloquence which weekly thundered over his head from the pulpit.
'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 other unhappybodies, in this our country. And the Laird was three years marriedwithout having a family; and he was sae left to himsell, that it wasthought he held ower muckle troking and communing wi' that Meg Merrilies,wha was the maist notorious witch in a' Galloway and Dumfries-shirebaith.'
'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 comes tothe door of the ha' house--the Place of Ellangowan as they ca'd--anancient man, strangely habited, and asked for quarters. His head, and hislegs, and his arms were bare, although it was winter time o' the year,and he had a grey beard three-quarters lang. Weel, he was admitted; andwhen the lady was delivered, he craved to know the very moment of thehour of the birth, and he went out and consulted the stars. And when hecame back he tell'd the Laird that the Evil One wad have power over theknave-bairn that was that night born, and he charged him that the babeshould be bred up in the ways of piety, and that he should aye hae agodly minister at his elbow to pray WI' the bairn and FOR him. And theaged man vanished away, and no man of this country 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 had asgude a pair o' boots as a man need streik on his legs, and gloves too;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 the precentor,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 man camjingling to our door that night the young Laird was born, and my mothersent me, that was a hafflin callant, to show the stranger the gate to thePlace, which, if he had been sic a warlock, he might hae kenn'd himsell,ane wad think; and he was a young, weel-faured, weel-dressed lad, like anEnglishman. And I tell ye he had as gude a hat, and boots, and gloves, asony gentleman need to have. To be sure he DID gie an awesome glance up atthe auld castle, and there WAS some spae-wark gaed on, I aye heard that;but as for his vanishing, I held the stirrup mysell when he gaed away,and he gied me a round half-crown. He was riding on a haick they ca'dSouple Sam, it belanged to the George at Dumfries; it was a blood-baybeast, very ill o' the spavin; I hae seen the beast baith before andsince.'
'Aweel, aweel, Jock,' answered Mr. Skreigh, with a tone of mildsolemnity, 'our accounts differ in no material particulars; but I had noknowledge 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 he hasbeen licensed.'
'Weel, but,' said the precentor, waving his hand, as if eager to retrievethe command of the discourse, 'he waited on the young Laird by night andday. Now it chanced, when the bairn was near five years auld, that theLaird had a sight of his errors, and determined to put these Egyptiansaff his ground, and he caused them to remove; and that Frank Kennedy,that was a rough, swearing fellow, he was sent to turn them off. And hecursed and damned at them, and they swure at him; and that Meg Merrilies,that was the maist powerfu' with the Enemy of Mankind, she as gude assaid she would have him, body and soul, before three days were ower hishead. And I have it from a sure hand, and that's ane wha saw it, andthat's John Wilson, that was the Laird's groom, that Meg appeared to theLaird as he was riding hame from Singleside, over Gibbie's know, andthreatened him wi' what she wad do to his family; but whether it was Meg,or something waur in her likeness, for it seemed bigger than ony mortalcreature, 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 a smuggler,this Kennedy suddenly brake away frae them without ony reason that couldbe descried--ropes nor tows wad not hae held him--and made for the woodof Warroch as fast as his beast could carry him; and by the way he metthe young Laird and his governor, and he snatched up the bairn, andswure, if HE was bewitched, the bairn should have the same luck as him;and the minister followed as fast as he could, and almaist as fast asthem, for he was wonderfully swift of foot, and he saw Meg the witch, orhe
r master in her similitude, rise suddenly out of the ground, andclaught the bairn suddenly out of the ganger's arms; and then herampauged and drew his sword, for ye ken a fie man and a cusser fearsnathe 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 into thekitchen, with 'Make a little room, good people'; when, observing thestranger, he descended at once into the modest and civil domestic, hishat sunk down by his side, and he put a letter into his master's hands.'The family at Ellangowan, sir, are in great distress, and unable toreceive 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 to displayon 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 Colonel Mannering,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. Iwas with him in most of his campaigns.'
'Lord safe us,' said the landlady; 'I must go see what he would have forsupper; 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 of thedevil 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.
