by Walter Scott
CHAPTER VIII
So the red Indian, by Ontario's side, Nursed hardy on the brindled panther's hide, As fades his swarthy race, with anguish sees The white man's cottage rise beneath the trees; He leaves the shelter of his native wood, He leaves the murmur of Ohio's flood, And forward rushing in indignant grief, Where never foot has trod the fallen leaf, He bends his course where twilight reigns sublime. O'er forests silent since the birth of time.
SCENES OF INFANCY.
In tracing the rise and progress of the Scottish Maroon war, we mustnot omit to mention that years had rolled on, and that little HarryBertram, one of the hardiest and most lively children that ever made asword and grenadier's cap of rushes, now approached his fifth revolvingbirthday. A hardihood of disposition, which early developed itself,made him already a little wanderer; he was well acquainted with everypatch of lea ground and dingle around Ellangowan, and could tell in hisbroken language upon what baulks grew the bonniest flowers, and whatcopse had the ripest nuts. He repeatedly terrified his attendants byclambering about the ruins of the old castle, and had more than oncemade a stolen excursion as far as the gipsy hamlet.
On these occasions he was generally brought back by Meg Merrilies, who,though she could not be prevailed upon to enter the Place of Ellangowanafter her nephew had been given up to the press-gang, did notapparently extend her resentment to the child. On the contrary, sheoften contrived to waylay him in his walks, sing him a gipsy song, givehim a ride upon her jackass, and thrust into his pocket a piece ofgingerbread or a red-cheeked apple. This woman's ancient attachment tothe family, repelled and checked in every other direction, seemed torejoice in having some object on which it could yet repose and expanditself. She prophesied a hundred times, 'that young Mr. Harry would bethe pride o' the family, and there hadna been sic a sprout frae theauld aik since the death of Arthur Mac-Dingawaie, that was killed inthe battle o' the Bloody Bay; as for the present stick, it was good fornothing but fire-wood.' On one occasion, when the child was ill, shelay all night below the window, chanting a rhyme which she believedsovereign as a febrifuge, and could neither be prevailed upon to enterthe house nor to leave the station she had chosen till she was informedthat the crisis was over.
The affection of this woman became matter of suspicion, not indeed tothe Laird, who was never hasty in suspecting evil, but to his wife, whohad indifferent health and poor spirits. She was now far advanced in asecond pregnancy, and, as she could not walk abroad herself, and thewoman who attended upon Harry was young and thoughtless, she prayedDominie Sampson to undertake the task of watching the boy in hisrambles, when he should not be otherwise accompanied. The Dominie lovedhis young charge, and was enraptured with his own success in havingalready brought him so far in his learning as to spell words of threesyllables. The idea of this early prodigy of erudition being carriedoff by the gipsies, like a second Adam Smith,[Footnote: The father ofEconomical Philosophy was, when a child, actually carried off bygipsies, and remained some hours in their possession.] was not to betolerated; and accordingly, though the charge was contrary to all hishabits of life, he readily undertook it, and might be seen stalkingabout with a mathematical problem in his head, and his eye upon a childof five years old, whose rambles led him into a hundred awkwardsituations. Twice was the Dominie chased by a cross-grained cow, oncehe fell into the brook crossing at the stepping-stones, and anothertime was bogged up to the middle in the slough of Lochend, inattempting to gather a water-lily for the young Laird. It was theopinion of the village matrons who relieved Sampson on the latteroccasion, 'that the Laird might as weel trust the care o' his bairn toa potatoe bogle'; but the good Dominie bore all his disasters withgravity and serenity equally imperturbable. 'Pro-di-gi-ous!' was theonly ejaculation they ever extorted from the much-enduring man.
The Laird had by this time determined to make root-and-branch work withthe Maroons of Derncleugh. The old servants shook their heads at hisproposal, and even Dominie Sampson ventured upon an indirectremonstrance. As, however, it was couched in the oracular phrase, 'Nemoveas Camerinam,' neither the allusion, nor the language in which itwas expressed, were calculated for Mr. Bertram's edification, andmatters proceeded against the gipsies in form of law. Every door in thehamlet was chalked by the ground-officer, in token of a formal warningto remove at next term. Still, however, they showed no symptoms eitherof submission or of compliance. At length the term-day, the fatalMartinmas, arrived, and violent measures of ejection were resorted to.A strong posse of peace-officers, sufficient to render all resistancevain, charged the inhabitants to depart by noon; and, as they did notobey, the officers, in terms of their warrant, proceeded to unroof thecottages, and pull down the wretched doors and windows--a summary andeffectual mode of ejection still practised in some remote parts ofScotland when a tenant proves refractory. The gipsies for a time beheldthe work of destruction in sullen silence and inactivity; then setabout saddling and loading their asses, and making preparations fortheir departure. These were soon accomplished, where all had the habitsof wandering Tartars; and they set forth on their journey to seek newsettlements, where their patrons should neither be of the quorum norcustos rotulorum.
Certain qualms of feeling had deterred Ellangowan from attending inperson to see his tenants expelled. He left the executive part of thebusiness to the officers of the law, under the immediate direction ofFrank Kennedy, a supervisor, or riding-officer, belonging to theexcise, who had of late become intimate at the Place, and of whom weshall have more to say in the next chapter. Mr. Bertram himself chosethat day to make a visit to a friend at some distance. But it sohappened, notwithstanding his precautions, that he could not avoidmeeting his late tenants during their retreat from his property.
It was in a hollow way, near the top of a steep ascent, upon the vergeof the Ellangowan estate, that Mr. Bertram met the gipsy procession.Four or five men formed the advanced guard, wrapped in long loosegreat-coats that hid their tall slender figures, as the large slouchedhats, drawn over their brows, concealed their wild features, dark eyes,and swarthy faces. Two of them carried long fowling-pieces, one wore abroadsword without a sheath, and all had the Highland dirk, though theydid not wear that weapon openly or ostentatiously. Behind them followedthe train of laden asses, and small carts or TUMBLERS, as they werecalled in that country, on which were laid the decrepit and thehelpless, the aged and infant part of the exiled community. The womenin their red cloaks and straw hats, the elder children with bare headsand bare feet, and almost naked bodies, had the immediate care of thelittle caravan. The road was narrow, running between two broken banksof sand, and Mr. Bertram's servant rode forward, smacking his whip withan air of authority, and motioning to the drivers to allow free passageto their betters. His signal was unattended to. He then called to themen who lounged idly on before, 'Stand to your beasts' heads, and makeroom for the Laird to pass.'
'He shall have his share of the road,' answered a male gipsy from underhis slouched and large-brimmed hat, and without raising his face, 'andhe shall have nae mair; the highway is as free to our cuddies as to hisgelding.'
The tone of the man being sulky, and even menacing, Mr. Bertram thoughtit best to put his dignity in his pocket, and pass by the processionquietly, on such space as they chose to leave for his accommodation,which was narrow enough. To cover with an appearance of indifferencehis feeling of the want of respect with which he was treated, headdressed one of the men, as he passed him without any show ofgreeting, salute, or recognition--'Giles Baillie,' he said, 'have youheard that your son Gabriel is well?' (The question respected the youngman who had been pressed.)
'If I had heard otherwise,' said the old man, looking up with a sternand menacing countenance, 'you should have heard of it too.' And heplodded on his way, tarrying no further question. [Footnote: Thisanecdote is a literal fact.] When the Laird had pressed on withdifficulty among a crowd of familiar faces, which had on all formeroccasions marked his approach with the reverence due to
that of asuperior being, but in which he now only read hatred and contempt, andhad got clear of the throng, he could not help turning his horse, andlooking back to mark the progress of their march. The group would havebeen an excellent subject for the pencil of Calotte. The van hadalready reached a small and stunted thicket, which was at the bottom ofthe hill, and which gradually hid the line of march until the laststragglers disappeared.
His sensations were bitter enough. The race, it is true, which he hadthus summarily dismissed from their ancient place of refuge, was idleand vicious; but had he endeavoured to render them otherwise? They werenot more irregular characters now than they had been while they wereadmitted to consider themselves as a sort of subordinate dependents ofhis family; and ought the mere circumstance of his becoming amagistrate to have made at once such a change in his conduct towardsthem? Some means of reformation ought at least to have been triedbefore sending seven families at once upon the wide world, anddepriving them of a degree of countenance which withheld them at leastfrom atrocious guilt. There was also a natural yearning of heart onparting with so many known and familiar faces; and to this feelingGodfrey Bertram was peculiarly accessible, from the limited qualitiesof his mind, which sought its principal amusements among the pettyobjects around him. As he was about to turn his horse's head to pursuehis journey, Meg Merrilies, who had lagged behind the troop,unexpectedly presented herself.
She was standing upon one of those high precipitous banks which, as webefore noticed, overhung the road, so that she was placed considerablyhigher than Ellangowan, even though he was on horseback; and her tallfigure, relieved against the clear blue sky, seemed almost ofsupernatural stature. We have noticed that there was in her generalattire, or rather in her mode of adjusting it, somewhat of a foreigncostume, artfully adopted perhaps for the purpose of adding to theeffect of her spells and predictions, or perhaps from some traditionalnotions respecting the dress of her ancestors. On this occasion she hada large piece of red cotton cloth rolled about her head in the form ofa turban, from beneath which her dark eyes flashed with uncommonlustre. Her long and tangled black hair fell in elf-locks from thefolds of this singular head-gear. Her attitude was that of a sibyl infrenzy, and she stretched out in her right hand a sapling bough whichseemed just pulled.
'I'll be d--d,' said the groom, 'if she has not been cutting the youngashes in the dukit park!' The Laird made no answer, but continued tolook at the figure which was thus perched above his path.
'Ride your ways,' said the gipsy, 'ride your ways, Laird of Ellangowan;ride your ways, Godfrey Bertram! This day have ye quenched sevensmoking hearths; see if the fire in your ain parlour burn the blytherfor that. Ye have riven the thack off seven cottar houses; look if yourain roof-tree stand the faster. Ye may stable your stirks in theshealings at Derncleugh; see that the hare does not couch on thehearthstane at Ellangowan. Ride your ways, Godfrey Bertram; what do yeglower after our folk for? There's thirty hearts there that wad haewanted bread ere ye had wanted sunkets, and spent their life-blood ereye had scratched your finger. Yes; there's thirty yonder, from the auldwife of an hundred to the babe that was born last week, that ye haveturned out o' their bits o' bields, to sleep with the tod and theblackcock in the muirs! Ride your ways, Ellangowan. Our bairns arehinging at our weary backs; look that your braw cradle at hame be thefairer spread up; not that I am wishing ill to little Harry, or to thebabe that's yet to be born--God forbid--and make them kind to the poor,and better folk than their father! And now, ride e'en your ways; forthese are the last words ye'll ever hear Meg Merrilies speak, and thisis the last reise that I'll ever cut in the bonny woods of Ellangowan.'
So saying, she broke the sapling she held in her hand, and flung itinto the road. Margaret of Anjou, bestowing on her triumphant foes herkeen-edged malediction, could not have turned from them with a gesturemore proudly contemptuous. The Laird was clearing his voice to speak,and thrusting his hand in his pocket to find a half-crown; the gipsywaited neither for his reply nor his donation, but strode down the hillto overtake the caravan.
Ellangowan rode pensively home; and it was remarkable that he did notmention this interview to any of his family. The groom was not soreserved; he told the story at great length to a full audience in thekitchen, and concluded by swearing, that 'if ever the devil spoke bythe mouth of a woman, he had spoken by that of Meg Merrilies thatblessed day.'
