Chapter VII: Part 7

I have little to add now, gentlemen, to this true history, except to recount to you a very curious occurrence, that took place soon after Sir Charles Stewart and his lady were married, and comfortably settled at Kilmaichly, and which threatened to interrupt the peacefulness of their lives for a time. A dispute arose between Sir Charles's people and those of the Laird of Ballindalloch, about the march between the farm of Ballanluig, belonging to Kilmaichly, and Craigroy, which was the property of his powerful neighbour. The House of Ballindalloch being likely to prove too strong for him, in a matter which he foresaw must probably be determined by the arm of force, the prudent Sir Charles took the precaution to send a messenger into Athol, to his father's relative, the Laird of Fincastle, craving his aid. To his no small comfort, his petition was readily granted, and Fincastle sent him sixty well-armed men, and a capital piper, to stir up their souls to battle. Sir Charles being now in every respect a match for his opponent, turned out bravely to make good his plea, whilst Ballindalloch came with an equal force to dispute the point. Each of the two parties reached its respective ground at night, with the intent of joining battle by the earliest dawn. That of Sir Charles Stewart took up its position in and about a kiln, whilst Ballindalloch's little army was similarly posted at or near a house at no great distance. Both sides were breathing horrid war, and anticipating dreadful slaughter, when daylight should enable them to see each other, for the night was dark as pitch. Some time before daybreak, the lightning flashed, and a fearful peal of thunder crashed suddenly over their heads, so that every man present was stricken with awe. A water-spout then broke upon the hills, and came down upon them so tremendously, as to produce a roaring noise, as if a sea had been descending upon them. Both sides were appalled, and sinking in terror upon their knees, they remained in that position until the morning dawned. By that time the sky had cleared, and the sun rose smiling, and then it was, that they beheld by his light, that a large and frightful ravine had been cut out between them, by the water-spout, where nothing of the sort had existed before. Both parties felt that Providence had interfered to settle their dispute, and to save the effusion of human blood. Accordingly the two leaders at once agreed, that the ravine thus strangely and miraculously opened, by the sudden descent of this transient torrent, from the hills, should be the march between their properties in all time coming; and thus, they who came to the ground as deadly foes, separated as sworn brethren and allies.

Thus it seemed, that Heaven itself had ruled, that peace should be secured to those who so well merited it, and who so well knew how to enjoy it; and the felicity of Sir Charles Stewart and his lady was complete. Years rolled on, and still the sunshine of their countenances, aye, and the sunshine of the faces of their merry children, would often conjure up an angelic smile of gratitude, upon the pale and pensive features of Alice Asher. Nor were the grateful feelings of this highly favoured family expended in barren expressions, for all around them were loud in praise of their hospitality, benevolence, and charity.

In the course of some generations Kilmaichly fell to an heiress, and the Laird of Ballindalloch having married her, she carried the estate into that family where it now remains.

THE AUTHOR FLOORED.

It is not very easy to tell how we all bestowed ourselves after Serjeant Archy Stewart's story of Tàillear-Crubach, but it was no sooner brought to a close, than each of us proceeded to exert his own ingenuity, in making up a bed for himself. Some things there were indeed resembling beds in an upper room, but those who occupied them were perhaps not much more fortunate than those who chose a dry, and tolerably even corner of the floor, and there disposed of themselves, rolled up in their plaids. My own experience tells me, that sweeter, sounder, or more refreshing repose is nowhere to be enjoyed, than on such a bed as this, especially after fatigue; and the great proof of its excellence, upon the present occasion, was, that five minutes did not elapse, ere we had all succeeded in our courtship of that sleep which our day's walk, and the lateness of the hour, had conspired to make it no very difficult matter for us to woo. Next morning, the roaring of the Aven, now turbid and discoloured, and flowing wide over the haughs, the rain still drizzling on, and the wet air and gloomy sky, and the plashy footing on the meadow where Clifford ventured out to experiment and explore, whilst we stood clustered within the door, with our heads out, to mark his proceedings, very speedily made us draw them back again, with a determined resolution to see a fairer promise of weather, before we should venture to thrust them forth to tempt our fate in travel.

Clifford (mincing his steps on tiptoe through a flock of ducklings rejoicing clamorously in the wet.)--Fine weather for you young gentlemen, indeed! Well, if the day will neither fish nor walk, we may be thankful that we are well provisioned with food both for the body and the mind.

Dominie.--That is a great consolation indeed, Mr. Clifford, and leaves us little to be pitied.

Clifford.--Come, then, let us have breakfast; and, after that, let us resume our sitting of last night, and, since we cannot budge out, let us spend the day rationally, with legends and cigars, at Inchrory.

Author.--Pray, Mr. Serjeant, what is supposed to be the origin of the name of Inchrory?

Sergeant.--Why, sir, the place was so called from a certain Rory Mackenzie of Turfearabrad, or Fairburn, as it is called in modern language, who, about the sixteen hundred or so, was wont to drive great herds of cattle from his place in Ross-shire to the south country markets, by this way up Glen-Aven. His story is a sad one.

Grant.--Pray let us have it, Archy.

Serjeant.--With your leave, sir, I'll rather tell it to you on our way up the glen, when we come near to the place where the cruel deed was done. You will be the better able to understand some of its most important circumstances.

Author.--You are right, Serjeant.

Clifford (taking out his tablets.)--Well, Mr. Serjeant, I'll book you for it, at all events.--Rory Mackenzie of Turfearabrad.

Serjeant.--I'll not forget it, sir. But, in the meanwhile, gentlemen, I may tell you, that as this Rory Mackenzie used to bring his beasts up this glen, which, as I formerly mentioned, was so full of woods at that time as to make an open patch of pasture a thing of great value, he was so tempted by the fineness and richness of the grass on the meadow that lies hereabouts, all produced, as you will naturally see, from the marly matter brought down upon it by the streams from the hill, that he used to make a regular practice of lodging himself and his animals here for some days, in order to rest and refresh them for their journey; and so, at last, the place got its name from him. But there was no house here in his day.

Dominie.--We have vurra great reason to be thankful, Serjeant, that we have so good a house over our heads now, then.

Clifford.--House! why in such weather, a house like this in the wilderness is as good as a palace in a city. Soldier though I be, I by no means envy Rory, the laird of Turfearabrad, his sylvan bivouacks. What think you, Mr. Serjeant?

Serjeant.--Troth, sir, I can lie out when I am obliged to do it. But I am grown old enough now to think, that, in an ill day, the nearer to the fire-side the better, and still better is it in an ill night. What say you to that, Mr. Macpherson?

Dominie.--If my last night's scramble hither, and the deep mud of that filthy peat pot into which I fell, has not convinced me of that truth, Serjeant, I must be a stubborn bubo indeed.

Clifford.--Truth is generally found at the bottom of a well, but to find it, as you seem to have done, at the bottom of a peat pot, is a new discovery, Mr. Macpherson.

Clifford (after all are done with breakfast.)--Come, then, gentlemen, shall we adjourn to the fire, and commence our sitting?

Grant.--Allons!

Author.--Now, my good woman, take away these things, and make the room a little tidy, and then bring us plenty of peats.

Clifford.--Aye, that will do.

Grant.--Who is to be story-teller?

Clifford.--Mr. Macpherson is the man. Now then, Mr. Macpherson, your Serjeant John Smith is the first for duty. He may mount guard as speedily as you please.

Dominie.--He shall obey the captain's orders without a moment's delay.

END OF VOLUME SECOND.