Chapter IX: Part 9

Already had he fled for some miles along the rocky and wooded faces of those mountains which arise from the northern side of Loch Ness, stopping from time to time for a few seconds on some knoll-top, to inhale the western zephyrs that blew on him with refreshing coolness from the wilds of Invergarry. But his exertions were so great and so long protracted, that even these his native breezes ceased to afford sufficient renovation to his wearied lungs and beating temples. He felt himself growing fainter and fainter, and this, too, when his pursuers, many of whom had but recently joined in the chase, were every minute gaining upon him more and more. Yet still he laboured on until even the very mountains seemed to conspire with his enemies against him. His path became reduced to a narrow and confined track, by the crags which towered above him on one hand, and the precipices that stooped sheer down into the loch on the other. All chance of escape seemed now to have departed from him. In his despair he flung a hasty glance over the waves that danced below him, and, as he did so, he descried a little boat about half-way across the sheet of water, with two or three individuals in it employed in fishing. The shouts of the MacKenzies now pressed closer and closer upon him. Like a stricken stag, he took his desperate resolve, and scrambling down to a pointed cliff that jutted out into vacancy over a deep and still part of the lake, he stood for a short time to breathe on its giddy brink. The yells of his enemies rent the air as they rushed wildly onwards to secure their prey, whilst the hound gave forth his deep bass to complete their terrific music. They were almost upon him. He cast his eyes once more downwards, then clasped his arms tightly over his breast, drew in one full draught of breath; and as the MacKenzies were clambering hurriedly along the dangerous path with their eyes fixed eagerly and intently upon his figure, they were astonished and confounded to perceive Allan of Lundy's well-known scarlet jacket shooting like a falling star through some fifty or sixty feet of air into the profound below! So perfectly had he preserved his perpendicular position during his descent, that he entered the water like an iron rod, so as scarcely to produce a ripple; and the simple action of stretching out his arms having instantly brought him like a cork to the surface, he was seen breasting his way towards the distant boat, with a vigour only to be accounted for from the circumstance, that the action he now used had brought a fresh set of muscles into play. Several random shots were fired at him by the MacKenzies but unsuccessfully; and he was soon beyond the reach of their bullets.

Grouped upon the point whence he had thus so miraculously sprung stood his panting and toilworn pursuers, wondering at this extraordinary effort of his desperation; whilst the disappointed sleuth-hound continued to rouse the echoes with his prolonged howlings. And now they eagerly watched the fate of him whom they not unnaturally believed to have escaped from their weapons only to be drowned in the unfathomable depths of the loch. For the little boat was still far from him, much farther than any strong swimmer could well hope to reach; and although he swam stoutly enough at first, they began to perceive that he was striking out more and more heavily, as if death was fast shackling his powerful sinews.

But now again, to their grievous disappointment, they saw that those in the boat had perceived him, and were pulling lustily towards him.

It happened that the owner of the boat was no other than Fraser of Foyers, who had come out from his own place near the celebrated waterfall of that name, on the south side of the lake, to waste a few idle hours in fishing. He was the staunch ally of the MacDonell; and although he was at a considerable distance from the spot at the time, the meteor descent of the red jacket had struck his eyes so forcibly, that he immediately suspected that something had befallen Allan of Lundy, whose garment he guessed it to be. Having ordered his men to row in the proper direction, he soon began to recognise the red speck forcing its way through the water, and leaving a long line of wake behind it, while the hostile tartans that waved from the verge of the cliff, and the echoes that were awakened by the baying of the hound and the shouts of the men, told him enough of the story to induce him and his rowers to strain every nerve to save the gallant captain of Glengarry. And great as were their exertions, they were no more than were necessary for effecting their object; for they reached him as he was on the eve of sinking from very exhaustion. Fraser of Foyers had no sooner saved his friend, than he stood up in his boat and gave three hearty cheers, and then hoisting his tiny white sail, he availed himself of a favourable breeze, and bore away for the upper end of the lake, whilst the MacKenzies followed it with their eyes, and continued to pour out maledictions upon it, till it was lost in the yellow haze of the sunset in the western distance.

The captain of the MacDonells returned to Invergarry Castle, to brood over the dire, though dear-bought revenge he had reaped in this terrible raid. His heart was especially filled with savage joy whilst ruminating on the dreadful death which he had bestowed on him who had killed his cousin Angus MacDonell. But these triumphant thoughts soon gave way before that ideal phantom of Hector of Beauly, which never ceased to haunt his fevered imagination, and which exhibited the last despairing, yet resolute look of that bold man, ere Allan of Lundy had cut the only remaining hold he had of earth, and sent him, as it were, into the very bowels of the infernal regions. Nor did the cries which arose from the burning church of Killychrist ever leave his ears.

But few of the MacDonells who partook of this expedition survived with their leader. Even those who went round by the Bridge of Inverness did not escape; and it was somewhat remarkable that they died by a fate worthy of those who had been engaged in so cruel an expedition. Having been overcome with fatigue, they stopped to refresh themselves in a house of public entertainment near Torbreck, where they supposed that they were beyond all risk of further attack. But they were woefully mistaken; for MacKenzie of Redcastle having followed them thither with his party, suddenly surrounded them, and burned every one of them to death.

FEUDAL HEROES.

Dominie.--That same Allan with the Red Jacket was surely a terrible chield. I'm thinking that his moral and religious yeddication must have been vurra much neglected.

Clifford (gravely).--I should strongly suspect so.

Dominie.--Something might surely have been made of him by subjeckin him to proper early nuture and restraint.

Clifford.--Aye, there is no saying what might have been made of him if you had had the flogging of him, Mr. Macpherson.

Dominie.--Preserve me, sir! no salary upon yearth could have tempted me to undertake the flagellation of such a birky.

Clifford.--Why, to be sure he might have rebelled a little under the lash; and if he had once run away from you, you would have been somewhat troubled to have caught him again. He would have been a grand fellow for a steeple-chase. He would have beaten the world on foot across a country.

Dominie.--These MacKenzies and MacDonells were fearful chaps. I have many a story about them.

Grant.--I have a few myself; and a legend which a friend gave me of a MacDonell of Glengarry and a Lord Kintail has this moment occurred to me, suggested by its similarity in certain circumstances to part of that to which we have been listening.

Author.--Will you favour us with it?

Clifford.--If he does, it must be by my especial licence. Our friend, Mr. Macpherson, is first in my book. But as I see he has lighted a fresh cigar, and as Grant has smoked his to the stump, he may e'en end it by throwing it into the fire, and commence his tale without further loss of time.

Grant.--I bow to your supreme will.

Clifford.--Pray make it short, if you please, for I begin to be rather sleepy, and I should be sorry to affront you by yawning. Besides, I mean to be up betimes to-morrow to try for a salmon.

GLENGARRY'S REVENGE.

My legend has to do with that very Castle of Eilean Donan with which yours has already made us so well acquainted. The time of the action was about the early part of the seventeenth century, and the great actor in it was a very celebrated MacDonell of Glengarry, whose name I have forgotten, but who is said to have been remarkable for his gigantic figure and Herculean strength. The Lord Kintail of that period was a great favourite with the Court, so that he thereby rose to great power and influence, which he very naturally employed, according to the laudable custom of those days, in humbling his enemies. Amongst these, none bore him a larger share of animosity than his hereditary foes, the MacDonells of Glengarry. It was not in their nature tamely to submit to the dominion which Kintail was permitted to exercise, with comparative impunity, over some of the other clans. On the contrary, they were frequently disposed not only to resist themselves, but they also very often found means to stir up others to resistance, and in this way they sometimes furnished Kintail with specious grounds for accusing them, when all apology for doing so might have been otherwise wanting.

It happened that the chief of Glengarry was on one occasion engaged for some days in a hunting expedition in that range of his own country which surrounds the sea lake of Loch Hourn, already so often mentioned in the last legend. The sun was setting on a mild and beautiful evening, and the breeze was blowing softly from the sea, when, as Glengarry was returning from the chase, attended by a small party of his followers, he espied a couple of galleys standing in towards the very part of the shore where stood the little group of black bothies, that at such times formed his temporary place of encampment. Doubtful whether the approaching vessels might contain friends or foes, he deemed it prudent to put himself and his people into ambush behind some broken ground, where they might lie concealed until they could patiently observe the progress and the motions of those who came, and so judge as to the result.

"Knowest thou the rig of those craft, Alaister More?" demanded Glengarry of his henchman, as they peered together over the black edge of a moss bank, and scanned the approaching sails with earnest eyes. "Whence may they come, thinkest thou?"

"I would not say but they may be Kintail's men," replied Alaister.

"Kintail's men!" exclaimed Glengarry, "what would bring Kintail's men here at this time?"

"I'm not saying that I am just exactly right," replied Alaister, "but I'm thinking it looks like them."

"Curses on them!" said Glengarry bitterly, "they are bold to venture hither while I am here."

"They are so, I'm thinking," said Alaister; "but it may be that they have no guess that Glengarry is here. But, troth, that Kintail holds his head so high now-a-days, that I'm judging his men think themselves free to thrust in their noses just where they like. He's king of the north-west, as a man might say."

"Accursed be his dastard dominion!" said Glengarry, with bitterness of expression; "and shame upon the slavish fools that yield their necks as footstools to his pride. Is't not galling to see it? Is't not galling to see men of wisdom and bravery, such a man as my staunch friend and ally, MacLeod, for instance, yielding so ready an obedience to one whom all should unite to oppose, overthrow, and crush as a common enemy."

"That's very true that you're saying, Glengarry!" observed Alaister; "but I'm thinking that they are not all just blessed with your spirit. If they had been so, I'm judging that the MacCraws could not have been left as they were without help but what they got from you."

"By all that is good, it was our help alone that saved them," cried Glengarry in an animated tone. "Half of them would have been hanged on the gallows-tree but for our interference. The MacKenzies had no reason to pride themselves on the event of that day, nor had we any cause to boast of the zeal of those whom we have been wont to reckon among our allies."

"Troth, you're not wrong there, Glengarry," said Alaister. "So I'm judging that we must even go on to trust to our own MacDonell swords in all time coming; and we have reason to be thankful that their blades are not just made of cabbage stalks."

"Thank God, indeed, that they are made of better metal!" said Glengarry, smiling proudly. "And small as this our party is, would, with all my heart, that these were Kintail's men, with Kintail himself at the head of them!"

"I should not be that sorry to see Kintail," said Alaister.

"We should give him a hotter welcome than this cold coast might lead him to look for," said Glengarry.

"We'll not be slow in giving him that same, I'm thinking," said Alaister.

"Stay! dost thou not make out a banner yonder?" demanded Glengarry.

"I'm thinking I do see something like a banner," replied Alaister.

"With this failing light we cannot hope even to guess at the bearing with which it may be charged," said Glengarry, straining his eyes, "but if that be a banner, as I believe it to be, then is there certainly a chief there. Look to your arms, MacDonells, and let us be prepared for what may happen!"

By degrees the galleys drew nearer and nearer; but as the night was falling fast, their forms grew less and less distinct as their bulk swelled in the eyes of the MacDonells, till at last they came looming towards the shore like two dark opaque undefinable masses, which were suddenly reduced, by the displacement of their sails, to about one-fourth part of the size they had grown to. For a time they were rocked to and fro until their keels became fixed in the sand by the receding tide. The dusky figures they contained were then seen pouring out from them, and passing like shadowy spectres across a gleam of light that was reflected on the wet sand from the upper part of the sky; and they showed so formidably in numbers, as to render some short council of war necessary before assaulting them with an inferior force, not from any fear of defeat on the part of him who took this precaution, but dictated by his prudence to prevent all risk of the escape of those whom they were about to attack.

Whilst Glengarry was thus concerting his measures, the strangers were seen moving a body towards the cluster huts, which stood at something less than an hundred yards from the water side, and speedily disappeared within their walls, and lights soon afterwards began to start up within them, as if they were preparing to make themselves comfortable for the night. Glengarry observed this, and in order that he might lull all apprehension of attack, he resolved to give them full time to employ themselves in cookery, or in whatever occupation they might find to be necessary.

The broken ground which concealed the MacDonells discharged a small rill, that ran between the banks of mossy soil, in a diagonal line, and opened on the sand at a point almost opposite to the spot where the two galleys were lying. No sooner was the chief of Glengarry satisfied that the time was come when the assault could be most opportunely made, than he led his handful of men silently down between the hollow banks of the brook, so as to get unperceived between the enemy and their vessels. So far everything went well with them, but as they debouched from the mouth of the water-course, the partial light that gleamed from the upper part of the sky glanced unexpectedly on the blades of their naked claymores, and instantly a loud bugle blast blew shrilly from on board the nearer of the two galleys.

"Dunvegan! Dunvegan!" cried a loud voice from the bothies, after the bugle had ceased.

In an instant their little black heaps gave forth their living contents, some armed, and others with blazing torches of moss-fir, plucked suddenly from the great fires they had kindled.

"'Tis MacLeod!" said Glengarry in a peevish tone, that sufficiently betrayed the disappointment he felt that his well-concerted scheme of attack was thus rendered useless. "'Tis but MacLeod, then, after all!"

"Hoo!" said Alaister, "sure enough it's MacLeod, and no one else. So we'll be supping, I'm thinking, and drinking together like friends, instead of fighting like wild cats."

"Would it had been otherwise!" said Glengarry, "much as I love MacLeod, I would at this moment rather a thousand times have encountered the Lord of Kintail. By the rood, but I was more i' the humour for dealing in blows than pledging in beakers! But since it could not be Kintail, I rejoice that it is MacLeod, for as I could desire no better foe than the one, I can have no worthier friend than the other."

"Both good of their kind surely, I'm thinking," said Alaister.

Nothing could exceed the joy and cordiality of the friends at thus meeting so unexpectedly. The fattest buck of the chase was dragged towards a fire, kindled for culinary purposes in one of the huts, steaks cut from its haunch were added to the fare which MacLeod's people were preparing, and after a hasty and unceremonious meal, the two chiefs retired with some of those in whom they reposed most confidence, into a separate bothy, where they might have leisure for full converse over a cup of wine.

"To what happy accident am I to attribute our meeting thus in Knoidart?" demanded Glengarry.

"If I had not chanced thus to meet you here," said MacLeod, "I should have gone on to Invergarry Castle, as I originally intended. But it is well that I am saved so long a journey."

"Nay, by all that is friendly, that is not well said of you, MacLeod," said Glengarry. "But I shall not be baulked of your visit. We shall break up hence, and set forward thither before to-morrow's dawn. If there be deer on my hills, fish in my streams, steers in my pastures, or wine in my castle-vaults, thou shalt be feasted like a prince as thou art."

"That may not be," said MacLeod, "for this is no time for you to devote to friendship and feasting. Thou knowest not that the object of this voyage of mine was no other than to warn thee of certain wicked plots that are about to be brought to bear against thee."

"What! some evil machinations of the accursed Kintail, I warrant me," said Glengarry.

"Thou hast guessed, and guessed rightly too," replied MacLeod.

"Cowardly villain that he is!" cried Glengarry, "what has he done?"

"Thou knowest that he is in high favour at Court," said MacLeod. "They even talk now of his being made an earl. But be that as it may, he hath somehow or other acquired the means of using the King's ear. And foully doth he misuse it, by pouring poison into it to further his own ambitious and avaricious views, to the injury of the innocent."

"'Tis like the cold-hearted knave," said Glengarry. "But what, I pray thee, hath he said of me?"

"I know not what he may have said of thee," answered MacLeod, "but I know that he must have sorely misreported thee, seeing that through certain channels he hath persuaded his Majesty to arm him with letters of fire and sword and outlawry against thee."

"What said'st thou?" cried Glengarry, choking with his rising anger; "did I hear thee aright? Letters of outlawry, and of fire and sword, put into the hands of MacKenzie of Kintail, to be executed against me! Oh, impossible!"

"What I tell thee is too true," said MacLeod.

"The dastard dare not use them!" cried Glengarry, grinding his teeth from the violence of his rage.

"Backed by the King, as he now is, he may dare do anything," said MacLeod.

"I defy him though he be backed by the King," cried Glengarry in a fury; "aye, and though both were backed by the black monarch of hell? God forgive me for coupling the name of a sovereign whom I would fain love and honour, if he would but let me, with those of MacKenzie of Kintail, and that devil whom he delights to serve."

"Moderate your passion, Glengarry," said MacLeod, "and listen to me quietly, until I put thee in possession of all that is brewing against thee."

"I am calm," said Glengarry.

"It is my duty as a friend of thine to tell thee, then," said MacLeod, "that a meeting is summoned for three days hence at the Castle of Eilean Donan of all those whom Kintail chooses to call the King's friends in these north-western parts, who are called together for the ostensible purpose of giving him counsel how best to put in force those letters against thee, which he affects to be deeply grieved to have been charged with."

"Hypocritical villain!" cried Glengarry.

"I am one of those friends of the King who are thus summoned," said MacLeod, "and my present object was to prove to thee, that although I may be so ranked, I am not the less a friend of thine. I wished to make thee fully aware of the whole state of matters before I go to Eilean Donan to swell, as in regard to my own safety I must needs do, that majority which he looks for to strengthen his hands against thee."

"Thou hast proved thyself a friend indeed," said Glengarry, after ruminating a few seconds. "Thou hast proved thyself to be that old and steady friend of mine which I always have believed, and ever will believe thee to be. And now it is my turn to ask thee, whether thou hast ever found me in one instance to fail thee?"

"Thou hast never failed me, Glengarry," said MacLeod, "and I trust our clans shall be ever linked together like one bundle of rods."

"Aye!" said Glengarry, with a bitter laugh, "a bundle of rods which I trust may one day be well employed in scourging this pitiful tyrant of the north-west. I love thee too much to demand thine open aid at present. But haply thou mayest well enough find some excuse for not going to this meeting thou speakest of. An excuse, mark me, to be sent after the day is past. Thou canst be grievously ill, or anything may serve as an apology, if an apology should be required; for I have friends at Court, too, and I may yet find the means so to bring things into proper joint, as to render apologies more necessary from Kintail than from us. All that I ask of thee then is, that you may not appear at this nefarious assemblage at Eilean Donan."

"MacDonell," replied MacLeod, "I know the risk I run, but I am ready to incur any risk for so old a friend as thou art, especially in a case where the securing aid in arms rather than in council is so evidently the object of Kintail in calling us together. Say no more then; we shall weigh hence for Dunvegan by to-morrow's dawn, and be assured nothing shall drag me thence to be marshalled against thee in any way."

"Thank thee--thank thee!" said Glengarry, cordially shaking MacLeod by the hand. "This is no more than I expected of thy generosity and good faith. Thy kind and friendly information shall not be thrown away upon me. I shall start for Invergarry Castle by to-morrow morning's sunrise. But thou shalt hear from me without fail. And if thy little finger be but brought into jeopardy, thou shalt have my neck to answer for it."

This important conversation between the two chiefs being now ended, they gave themselves up to the enjoyment of that good fellowship and revelry which arose between their two clans. Small was that portion of the time subjected to the rule of night which was by them devoted to slumber, and soon were they both astir each to pursue his separate way; and as the rising sun was glancing on the arms of Glengarry and his people as they wound inland over the muirland hills, they looked back towards Loch Hourn, and beheld the galleys of MacLeod winging their way for Skye, under a favouring land breeze, that seemed to have been begotten by the genial beams of morning, which then poured a flood of brilliant light after them as they flew over the trembling surface of the waters.

The tide was fully up around the little island which gives name to the Castle of Eilean Donan, and the ferry-boat was moored on the landward side of the strait, when the shades of night began to descend upon it, and upon the whole of the surrounding scenery, on the evening of that day which was fixed for the gathering that Lord Kintail had summoned.

"A plague take this MacLeod," said the boatman in Gaelic to his assistant, as they sat glued to their benches, listening with envy to the sounds of mirth that came to their ears from within the castle walls. "A plague upon this MacLeod, who keeps us waiting here in the cold when we might be warming our toes at a blazing fire, and cherishing our noses with a goodly flagon of ale!"

"A plague upon him, with all my heart," echoed the other man. "Is it for him alone that we are condemned to tarry here?"

"Aye, Donald," said the master, "MacLeod is the only man awanting, it seems; and, sure enough, I think there be plenty without him. Hast thou ever before seen such an inpouring of eagles' wings into the Castle of Eilean Donan? There is surely something a-brewing."

"Whatever may be brewing, Master Duncan, we seem to have but little hope of drinking of it," said the man, laughing heartily at his own joke.

"Faith, Master Donald, they may be brewing some browst which neither you nor I would be very eager to drink," replied the master; "I would rather be turning up a creaming cup of the castle ale than have aught to do with any such liquor. But hold, heard ye not the tread of men? Come, loose the rope, and to your oars. That will be MacLeod at last. Who comes there?" cried he, as he dimly perceived a small party of men approaching the spot where the boat lay.

"MacLeod!" cried a voice in reply, and immediately a tall and bulky figure, completely enveloped in an ample plaid, advanced, and after having given some secret directions to his followers, to which the impatient boatmen neither cared nor tried to listen, he stepped solemnly and silently alone into the boat, and was speedily rowed across.

The hall of Eilean Donan was that night crowded beyond all former precedent. The feast was already over, and Lord Kintail was then presiding over the long board, where flowing goblets were circulating among the numerous guests, who were all his friends or allies, or who at least feared to declare themselves to be otherwise. But fully aware of the uncertain materials of which this great assemblage was composed, the chief of the MacKenzies had most prudently intermingled the stoutest and bravest individuals of his own clan among these strangers; and, as was customary in these rude times, each man sat with his drawn dirk sticking upright in the board before him, ready for immediate use, in case of its services being required; and this precaution was the more naturally adopted upon the present occasion, because every one at that table was jealous and doubtful of those sitting to right and left of him.

On a sudden the door of the hall was thrown open, and a huge man strode slowly and erectly into the middle of it. He was muffled up in a large dark plaid, of some nameless tartan; and it was so folded over the under part of his face as completely to conceal it; whilst the upper part of his features was shrouded by the extreme breadth of the bonnet he wore. His appearance produced a sudden lull in the loud talk that was then arising from every mouth, the din of which had been making the vaulted roof to ring again. The name of "MacLeod" ran in whispers around, and Lord Kintail himself having for a moment taken up the notion that had at first so generally seized the company, he signed to his seneschal to usher the stranger towards the upper end of the table where he himself sat, and where a vacant chair on his right hand had been left for the chief of Dunvegan.

The stranger obeyed the invitation, indeed; but he sat not down. He stood erect and motionless for a moment, with all eyes fixed upon him.

"MacLeod!" said the Lord Kintail, half rising to acknowledge his presence by a bow, "thou art late. We tarried for thee till our stomachs overmatched our courtesy. But stay, am I right? art thou MacLeod or not? Come, if thou art MacLeod, why standest thou with thy face concealed? Unfold thyself and be seated; for there are none but friends here."

"I am not MacLeod!" said the stranger, speaking distinctly and deliberately, but in a hollow tone from within the folds of his plaid.

"Who art thou, then, in God's name?" demanded Kintail, with some degree of confusion of manner.

"I am an outlawed MacDonell," replied the stranger.

"A MacDonell!" cried Kintail, with manifest agitation. "What wouldst thou under this roof?"

"I am come to throw myself on thy good faith, Lord Kintail, with the hope that thou mayest be the means of procuring a reversal of the hard sentence which hath been so unjustly passed upon me and my clan."

"I must first know more of thee," said Kintail. "I can give no promise until I know who thou art."

"I said I was a MacDonell," replied the other.

"That is a wide name," said Kintail. "Heaven knows that for the peace of the earth it holds too many that bear that name."

"That may be as men may think," said the stranger, with greater quickness of articulation.

"What MacDonell art thou, then?" demanded Kintail. "Pray, unmuffle thy face."

"One MacDonell is like another," said the stranger carelessly.

"That answer will not serve me," said Kintail. "I must see thy face. And methinks it is a bad sign of thee, that thou shouldst be ashamed to show it."

"Ashamed!" said the stranger, with emphasis--and then, as if commanding himself,--"In times of feud like these," added he, after a pause, "thou canst not ask me to uncover my face before so promiscuous a company as this, where, for aught I know, I may have some sworn and deadly personal enemies, who may seek to do me wrong. But give me thy solemn pledge, Lord Kintail, that I shall suffer no skaith, and then thou shalt see my face."

"I swear to thee before this goodly assemblage," said Kintail, "that whoever thou mayest be, or whatever enemies of thine may be amongst us, thou shalt be skaith-less. Nay, more; for thy brave bearing thou shalt have free assoilzieing from outlawry and all other penalties, be thou whom thou mayest, with one exception alone."

"Whom dost thou except?" demanded the stranger, eagerly advancing his body, but without unveiling his face.

"Glengarry himself," said Lord Kintail.

"By all that is good, Glengarry may well be a proud man by being so distinguished," said the stranger, with great energy both of voice and of action. And then, after a short pause, he made one bold step forward, and throwing wide his plaid, and standing openly confessed before them all, he exclaimed in a voice like thunder,--"I am Glengarry!"

There was one moment of fearful silence, during which all eyes were turned upon the chief of the MacDonells with the fixed stare of people who were utterly confounded. Then was every dirk plucked from the board by the right hand of its owner, and the clash which was thus made among the beakers and flagons was terrific; and the savage looks which each man darted upon his neighbour, in his apprehension of treachery, where each almost fancied that the saving of his own life might depend on the quick dispatching of him who sat next to him, presented a spectacle which might have frozen the blood of the stoutest heart that witnessed it. But ere a stroke was struck, or a single man could leave his place, Glengarry sprang on Kintail with the swiftness of a falcon on its quarry; and ere he could arm himself, he seized his victim with the vice-like gripe of his left hand, and pinned him motionless into his chair, whilst the dirk which he had concealed under his plaid now gleamed in his right hand, with its point within an inch of the MacKenzie's throat.

"Strike away, gentlemen," said Glengarry calmly; "but if that be your game, I have the first cock!"

The MacKenzies had all risen, it is true. Nay, some of them had even moved a step forward in defence of their chief. But they marked the gigantic figure of Glengarry; and seeing that the iron strength he possessed gave him as much power over Lord Kintail as an ordinary man has over a mere child, and that any movement on their part must instantly seal his doom, each man of them stepped back and paused, and an awful and motionless silence once more reigned for some moments throughout the hall.

"Let any man but stir a finger!" said Glengarry in a calm, slow, yet tremendous voice, "and the fountain of Lord Kintail's life's-blood shall spout forth, till it replenish the goblet of him who sits in the lowest seat at this board! Let not a finger be stirred, and Kintail shall be skaithless."

"What wouldest thou with me, MacDonell?" demanded Kintail, with half-choked utterance, that gave sufficient evidence of the rudeness of that gripe by which his throat was held.

"Thou hast gotten letters of outlawry and of fire and sword against me and against my clan," said Glengarry.

"I have," said Kintail. "They were sent me because of thy rescue of certain men of the MacCraws, declared rebels to the King."

"I ask not how or whence thou hadst them," said Glengarry. "But I would have them instantly produced."

"How shall I produce them, when thou wilt not suffer me nor any one to move?" said Kintail.

"Let thy chaplain there--that unarmed man of peace--let him produce them," said Glengarry.

"Go then, good Colin," said Kintail to the chaplain, "go to yonder cabinet, thou knowest where they lie. Bring them hither."

"This is well!" said Glengarry, clutching the parchments with his armed hand from the trembling ecclesiastic, and thrusting them hastily into his bosom. "So far this is well. Now sit thee down, reverend sir, and forthwith write out a letter from thy lord to the King, fully clearing me and mine in the eyes of his Majesty from all blame, and setting forth in true colours my own loyalty and that of my brave clan. Most cruelly have we been belied, for before these gentlemen I do here swear that, as God shall be my judge, he hath nowhere more faithful subjects."

"Use thy pen as he dictates," said Kintail, "for if he speaks thus, I will freely own he hath been wronged in the false rumours which have been conveyed to me, and through me to his Majesty."

"'Tis honest at least in thee to say so much, Lord Kintail," said Glengarry, "and since thou dost grant me this, thine amanuensis here may as well write me out a short deed pledging thee to the restitution of those lands of mine which were taken from me, by the King's order, on former false statements of delinquency. And be expeditious, dost thou hear, lest thy good lord here may suffer too long from the inconvenience of this awkward posture in which thou art thyself detaining him by thy slow and inexpert clerkship."

"Write as thou art bid, and as expeditiously as may be," said Kintail, sincerely coinciding with Glengarry's last recommendation. Accordingly, the papers were made out exactly as he desired, signed by Kintail, and then placed in the capacious bosom of the MacDonell chief.

"All this is so far well," said Glengarry. "Now swear me solemnly that I shall be permitted to return home without molestation, and that thou wilt faithfully, and truly, and honestly observe all these thine engagements."

"I swear!" said Kintail, "I solemnly swear that thou shalt pass hence and return into thine own country, without a hair of thy head being hurt; and I shall truly and faithfully observe everything I have promised, whether in writing or otherwise."

"Then," said Glengarry, quietly relinquishing his grasp, sheathing his dirk, and coolly seating himself at the board as if nothing had happened; "then let us have one friendly cup ere we part,--I would pledge to thy health and to thy rooftree, my Lord Kintail!" and, saying so, he filled a large goblet of wine and drained it to the bottom, turning it up when he had finished, to show that he had done fair justice to the toast.

"Glengarry!" said Kintail, "thou shalt not find me behind thee in courtesy. Thine to be sure hath been in certain respects somewhat of the roughest to-night, and I must own," continued he, chafing his throat, "that a cup of wine never could come to me more desirably than at this moment, so I now drink to thee as a friend, for enemies though we have ever been, thy gallant courage has won my full applause."

"And I repeat the pledge, and in the same friendly guise, Kintail," said Glengarry taking him by the hand, and squeezing it till this demonstration of his new-born friendship became almost as inconvenient to the chief of the MacKenzies, as the effects of his ancient enmity had so lately been. "And now I must bid you all God-speed in a parting draught,--Slainte!"

"One cup more, Glengarry, to Deoch-an-dorrus!" said Kintail.

"With all my heart," said Glengarry, and this last pledge was a deep one. Again he squeezed Kintail's hand, till he made the tears come into his eyes. "Be assured," said he, "thy letter to the King is in safe hands, my Lord Kintail, for I shall see it delivered myself."

"Lights and an escort there for Glengarry!" cried Lord Kintail; and the bold chief of the MacDonells, bowing courteously around him to all that were assembled in the hall, left them full of wonder at his hardihood, whilst he was marshalled with all due ceremonial and honour to the boat, and ferried across to his impatient people. He found that his little knot of MacDonells, with Alaister More at their head, had been kept so long in a state of anxiety, and they had begun to doubt and to fear so much for his safety, that they were on the very eve of resolving to endeavour to break into the castle, that they might ascertain what had befallen him, or to die in the attempt.

"My horse, Alaister!" cried Glengarry, as soon as his foot had touched the shore; and throwing himself into the saddle, he let no grass grow at his heels till he reached the capital, and was presented at Court, where he speedily re-established himself in the good opinion of his sovereign.

LONG YARNS.

Clifford (yawning).--Now, Mr. Macpherson, your story comes next, and if it is but of brevity as reasonable as that which we have now heard,--aw!--aw--I think,--aw-ah-ah-aw!--that in justice to you, we are bound to hear it ere we go to bed--a--aw-aw.

Dominie.--I cannot positively say what my story might measure out to in the hands of ane able story-teller. Some clever chield like Homer, or Virgil, or Sir Walter Scott, for example, any one of whom could spin you a thread as if they were working it off by the hundred ells, with that machine once vurra much used by the Highland wives, called the muckle wheel. But, plain man as I am, you can never expeck me to tell anything but the bare facks. Yet I must not let you yemagine, gentlemen, that there is any fack at all in the foolish fairy story I am now going to tell you.

Clifford.--Why, Mr. Macpherson,--aw--aw--ha! if I have any of my logic left in me at all, I think I can prove that de facto you have no story to tell. As thus:--

You tell nothing but facks.

In your story there is no fack.

Therefore you have nothing to tell.

Quod erat demonstrandum. Ergo, as a corollary, I think we had better--aw--aw--a--go to bed.

Grant.--Very ingeniously made out, Clifford. But we know from experience, that logic and common sense are not always equal to the same thing, and therefore they are not always equal to one another. So, to cut the argument short, I now move that Mr. Macpherson do forthwith begin his story.

Author.--I second the motion.

Clifford.--Well, I shall--aw, aw--light another cigar, and if he does not finish in the smoking of it, I for one shall bowl off to bed.

Grant.--Come then, Mr. Macpherson, pray take the start of him.

THE LEGEND OF THE BUILDING OF BALLINDALLOCH.

As you go down the avenue leading from the bridge to the present house of Ballindalloch, gentlemen, you cross a small rivulet that rushes headlong with a cheerful sound from the wooded banks rising on your right hand, the which, after finding its way under the road through what is commonly called a cundy bridge, throws itself over the rocks directly into the pellucid stream of the Aven, that accompanies you on your left. If you should chance to go down that way, and if you should be tempted to trace that little rill upwards through the wild shrubbery, and among the tangled roots of the venerable oaks and other trees which shoot up everywhere in fantastic shapes from its sides, and by throwing their outstretched arms across its bed here and there, produce a pleasing contrast of checkered light and shade, you will find many a nook amid its mazes which a fanciful yemagination might set apart as a haunt befitting those frisking creatures of the poet's brain, Oberon and Titania, and where the sly tricks and pawky gambols of Puck and the fairy folk might well be played. I think, indeed, that I could almost venture to assert, that no one truly filled with what may be termed the romance of poetry, could well pass a few hours' vigil in the thick retirement of that lovely and sequestered grove, with the full moon piercing through the openings in the canopy of foliage, and shining directly down the little ravine where that musical rill flows, its beams converting the rushing waters into silver, and the dewdrops of every leaf, flower, or blade of grass, on its banks, into diamonds, without looking to come pop upon some tiny fairy palace, or to be charmed by some witching sight or sound, that, for the time at least, may make him forget that he is a mortal. This opinion I venture to pronounce on the mere internal yevidence afforded by the spot itself, as well as by the recollections of my own feelings when I chanced to wander up the place under similar circumstances, with this simple addition, to be sure, that I had been at a wedding that night, and had consequently a small drop of toddy in my head. But be that as it may, the vulgar supposition that it is inhabited by supernatural beings is borne out by the corroborative testimony of very ancient tradition. From time immemorial it has been called the Castle Stripe, and the origin of this name is linked with some old foundations which are still to be seen on the summit of the bank above, the legendary history of which I am now going to tell you.

It is believed that several centuries have passed away since the Laird of Ballindalloch proposed to build himself a castle or peel-tower for his more secure abode in times when the prevalence of private feuds required strength of position and solidity of structure; and having, doubtless, first and foremost sat down, like a sensible man, to count the probable cost of his contemplated edifice, he next, with yespecial prudence, set about considering where he should find the best site to yerect it on; and after a careful examination of his domains, he at last fixed on the vurra spot now occupied by those old foundations I spake of. This place possessed many advantages in his eyes, for, whilst it was itself overlooked by nothing, it not only commanded a pleasant prospect over all the haughs and low grounds of his own property, but it also enjoyed a view of the whole of the lands of Tullochcarron, lying on the opposite side of the Aven; and between that river and the Spey, above their point of junction, and this the good man considered a thing of very great importance at a time when that property was in the hands of another laird, with whom, if there was not then a quarrel, yet nobody could say how soon a quarrel might arise.

This very weighty matter of consideration being thus settled in his own mind, he began his operations with vigour. Numerous bodies of masons and labourers were applied to the work. In a few days the foundations were dug and laid, and several courses of the masonry appeared above ground, and the undertaking seemed to be going on in the most prosperous manner, and perfectly to the laird's satisfaction.

But what was the astonishment of the workmen one morning, when, on returning by sunrise to their labour, they discovered that the whole of the newly built walls had disappeared, aye, down to the vurra level of the ground! The poor fellows, as you may guess, were terrified beyond measure. Fain would they have altogether desisted from a work over which, it was perfectly plain, that if some powerful enemy had not the control, some strange and mysterious fatality must certainly hang. But in those days lairds were not men to whom masons, or simple delvers of the ground, could dare to say nay. He of whom I am now telling you was determined to have his own way, and to proceed in spite of what had occurred, and in defiance of what might occur; and having sent round and summoned a great many more workmen in addition to those already employed, he set them to the work with redoubled vigilance, and ere the sun of another day went down, he had raised the walls very nearly to the height which they had reached the previous evening before their most unaccountable disappearance.

But no sooner had the light of a new morning dawned, than it was discovered that the whole work had again disappeared down to the level of the ground. The people were frightened out of their senses. They hardly dared to go near the spot. But the terrors which the very name of the laird carried with it, swallowed up all their other terrors, as the serpent into which the rod of Moses was converted swallowed up all those that sprang from the rods of the magicians of Egypt; and as the laird only became so much the more obstinate from all these mysterious thwartings which he met with, the poor people were obliged to tremble in secret, and immediately to obey his will. The whole country was scoured, and the number of workmen was again very much increased, so that what by cuffing and what by coaxing (means which I find it vurra beneficial to employ by turns to stimulate my own scholars to their tasks), nearly double the usual quantum of work was done before night. But, alas! the next morning's dawn proved that the building of this peel-tower of Ballindalloch continued to be like unto the endless weaving of the web of Penelope, for each succeeding morning saw the work of the previous day annihilated by means which no human being could possibly divine.

"What can be the meaning of all this?" said the laird to Ian Grant, his faithful henchman, vexed out of all patience as he was at last by this most provoking and perplexing affair. "Who can be the author of all this mischief?"

"Troth I cannot say, sir," replied Ian. "The loons at the work think that it is some spite taken up against us by the good people." [3]

"Good people!" cried the laird in a rage. "What mean you by good people? More likely fiends, I wot."

"For the love of the Virgin use better terms, Ballindalloch," replied Ian. "Who knows what ears may be listening to us unseen."

"If I did not know thee to be as brave a fellow as ever handled a broadsword, I would say shame on thee, Ian, for a coward!" cried the laird. "Hark, ye! I would not wilfully anger the good people more than thou wouldst do. But I cannot help thinking that some bad people, some of my unfriends, some secret enemies of mine, of mortal mould, must have, somehow or other, contrived by devilish arts to do me all these ill turns."

"It will be easy to find that out, sir," said Ian, "we have only to plant a good guard all night on the works."

"That was exactly what I was thinking of, Ian," said the laird, "and I was a fool not to have thought of it before. Set the masons to their task again, then, without delay, and see that they be not idle, and take care to have a night-watch ready to mount over the work the moment the sun goes to bed. I'll warrant me we shall find out the scoundrels, or if we do not, we shall at least have the satisfaction of putting a stop to their devilish amusement."

None of Ballindalloch's people, however brave, were very much enamoured of any such duty, however honourable it might have been considered. But his orders were too imperative to be disobeyed, and so some dozen or twain of stout handlers of the old broad-bladed Scottish spear were planted as sentinels to patrol around the walls during the night. These gallant fellows took care to carry with them some cordials to keep their spirits up, and by a liberal use of them, the first two or three dreary hours of darkness passed off with tolerable tranquillity and comfort, and as time wore on, and their courage waxed stronger and stronger, they began to be of the laird's opinion, that however wonderful previous yevents had appeared to be, there had in reality been nothing supernatural in them; and, moreover, whatever might be the nature of the enemy, they were by no means disposed to venture to molest the brave defenders of the new walls.

Full of these convictions, their contempt of all earthly foes increased, as their dread of unearthly enemies subsided; and as there was an ancient and wide-spreading oak-tree growing within about forty or fifty paces of the walls, they thought that they might as well retire beneath the shelter of its shade, as some protection from the descending damps. This they were the more readily induced to do, seeing that from thence they could quite easily observe the approach of any suspicious people who might appear. Nay, they even judged that the cowardly enemy who might otherwise have been scared by observing so stout an armed band about the walls, might now be encouraged to show themselves by their temporary concealment.

"Come away now, Duncan man," said one of these heroes to a comrade, after they had drawn themselves together into a jovial knot, close to the huge trunk of the oak. "Come away, man, with your flask. I'm wondering much whether the juice that is in its body be of the same mettlesome browst, as that which came with so heart-stirring a smack out of the vitals of Tom's leathern bottle."

"Rest its departed spirit, Charley! it was real comfortable and courage-giving stuff," said another.

"By Saint Peter, but that's no worse!" said Charley, tasting it and smacking his lips, "Hah! it went to my very heart's core. Such liquor as this would make a man face the devil."

"Fie! let us not talk of such a person," said Tom. "I hope it is enow, if its potency amounteth even so high, as to make us do our duty against men like ourselves."