Read Ebook: Legendary Tales of the Highlands (Volume 3 of 3) A sequel to Highland Rambles by Lauder Thomas Dick Sir

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Ebook has 768 lines and 61783 words, and 16 pages

that is to say, she set fire, not to a city, indeed, but to the whin-bushes, and the flame running inwards, to the tar-barrel, the whole mighty fabric of fuel was instantaneously in such a blaze, that any one might have thought that it was Troy itself that was burning.

"Now," said the Pensassenach, "draw me one of those stone bottles of brandy, and fill me a tasse of it. I drink to those to whom I have dedicated this bonfire--I drink, in the first place, to the health of my brother John, captain in the Royal Regiment, whom I hope soon to see here!" and, putting the cuach to her lips, she sipped a modest lady's share of the contents.

"Come, Bill Dallas," continued she, addressing the travelling merchant, who, tired as he was with his long tramp, had yet sneaked out to secure his share of the liquor, as well as of the fun. "Come, Bill, you must drink next; you have the best right to do so, as the bearer of the good news."

"Weel, here's to Captain John, and wussin' him health, and muckle happiness, and a gude wife till him, wi' plenty o' siller," said the packman, tossing off the full contents of the tasse. "I'm sure there's no a bonnier man, nor a better man, nor a gallanter sodger--eh, beg his honor's pardon, I meant offisher--in the hail land o' the British Isles, be the ither wha he may."

"Well spoken, Bill," cried the lady. "Now, John Smith, come it is your turn next."

"Here's helss, an' mokel o't, to her broder Captain Shon, and mokel gude wifes and gude sillers!" cried John Smith, draining the cuach to the last drop.--"Oich, but she's goot trinks!" added he.

The cup and the toast went round a large and encreasing party; for the bonfire, sending up sharp pointed flames, as if it meditated piercing the very clouds, spread wonder and speculation all over the country far and wide, and brought all manner of idlers, like flies and moths, about it. A considerable space of time, as well as a tolerable quantity of brandy, was expended, before the health had been drank by every one.

"Now," said the Pensassenach, filling the cuach again to the brim, "I drink health and success to his Royal Highness the Duke of Cumberland, and confusion to all his enemies!"--and, kissing the cup merely, she handed it to the packman.

"Weel, mem, here's wussin' that same wi' a' my heart!" cried Mr. Dallas, and off went every drop of his brimmer.

"Now, John," said the Pensassenach, filling the cuach again to the lip, "now, John Smith, it is your turn. Come, man, drink the toast--health and success to the Duke and his brave fellows."

"Na!" said John, turning away as if the cup had contained vinegar or verjuice--"na!--Teel be on her an she do!"

"What do you mean, John?" demanded the Pensassenach in a mingled tone of surprise and displeasure. "Will you refuse to drink my toast?"

"Hoot, man, dinna refuse to drink the leddy's toast," said the packman. "That gude brandy wad wash down ony toast ava, let alane siccan' a grand man, and a hero, like the Duke o' Cummerland.--Od, man, an ye had seen him as I hae seen him, ridin' at the head o' his men, wi' as muckle gold lace and reyal Genowa velvet aboot him as might serve to cover a papish pupit wi', ye wad say he was the grandest man that ever ye seed.--Come, man, drink success till him, and confusion till a' his yennemies!"

"Surely you will not refuse to drink success to that brave army in which my brother John serves?" said the Pensassenach,--"and to that noble and gallant Prince who commands it?"

"She'll no grudge to trink hail bottals till ta helts o' Captain Shon, because she's her broder," said Smith in a positive manner.--"But fint ae drops wull she tak' to wuss ony helts to ta titter man an' his fouks!"

"Tuts, nonsense man," said the packman; "ye're just a reyal guse.--Come awa! drink the Duke's health--the brandy's just parteeklar gude."

"Why should you hesitate?" said his mistress.--"Come, drink the Duke's health."

"Tamm hersell an' she do ony siccan' a sing!" said John Smith doggedly, and with powerful emphasis and action.--"She'll as soon eat ta cuach!"

"What! are you a loyal subject, and refuse to drink the health of the Duke of Cumberland!--the King's own brother!" exclaimed the Pensassenach energetically.

"Ou troth--ou aye,--she be loyals eneugh till her ain Kings," said John, "an' she'll no grudge to trink gallons till her. But for ta titter mans, fod but she's wussin' her nasins ava but a goot clink on ta croon," and with that John walked off, with a countenance so expressive of dissatisfaction and determination, as rendered it evident that it would be quite hopeless to call him back.

"He is an obstinate disloyal mule!" cried the Pensassenach, giving full way to her anger.

"A reyal dour ass as I ever cam' across," said the packman; "an' siccan' reyal fine speerits too. The cheild thought naething o' hammerin' awa' and keepin' a' huss loyal fouk frae our drap drink.--It's weel that he's awa. My certy, I rauken that there's nae ither body here that'll be sae dooms foolish as to refuse that gude brandy, let what toast there may be soomin' on the tap o' the brimmer."

"I trust that that fellow is the only disloyal man about the place," said the Pensassenach.--"If it be otherwise I'll have all such Jacobite knaves turned off this farm. We shall have none other but good loyal subjects here, I promise you, now that the Duke and his gallant army are coming among us."

This hint was not lost on the rest of the company; for whatever their private political opinions might have been, they preferred swallowing the good brandy in peace, let the tasse be prefaced by whatsoever toast the Pensassenach pleased, rather than be martyrs, like John Smith, and risk the loss of the liquor and their places, by any heroic and straightforward declaration of their sentiments. We sometimes see such folk in common life, even at the present time, gentlemen. Many, then, were the toasts of the same character that went round.--Liberally did the Pensassenach make her enlivening eau-de-vie to circulate. The huge bonfire was again and again supplied by the willing revellers. They were wise enough to see that the endurance of the joviality of the night must, in all probability, be measured by that of the fire, and so they laboured and sweated like horses to keep it going. Loud were the shouts, and many were the antic tricks performed around its blazing circle, all of which were to be attributed to the mirth-inspiring spirit. The packman was particularly joyous and hilarious, and his loquacity increased as he became elevated with the liquor. At last the Pensassenach, wishing gradually to wind up the festivities of the night, proposed another toast.

"Now, come," said she, filling the cuach, "Let us drink confusion to the rebels!"

"Hurrah! a capital toast!" cried the packman, whilst his cheer was blindly echoed by the more than half-intoxicated crowd around him.

"Then here I drink it as my most cordial wish," said the Pensassenach, sipping a little of the liquor in token of her earnestness and sincerity.

"Tamm! but she'll rue tat wuss!" cried a hoarse voice, which came from the shadow beyond the circle of the revellers.

"Who spoke?" demanded the Pensassenach, in vain endeavouring to dart her eyes into the impenetrable darkness, by which the bright field of light was surrounded.

"Tamm her, but she'll ken tat soon enough!" replied the same voice; but the Pensassenach could see nothing but a pair of eyes, that, for the fraction of an instant, caught a strong reflection of the red light from the bonfire, glared fearfully at her, and then were gone.

"Lord hae a care o' huss! I wuss that I had had naething ado wi' this matter," exclaimed Mr. Dallas, very much fear-stricken.

"Seize that man, whoever he may be!" cried the Pensassenach. But he was nowhere to be found. All the feeble and unsteady attempts of the drunken people to catch him were thrown away. The Pensassenach was vexed and mortified. The voice was sterner than John Smith's. But she could by no means banish the idea that it was his. She inquired and found that he was no where about the place, and she retired home to her chamber, filled with doubt regarding him, or rather more than half convinced that she nourished a traitor in her house.

Appearances on the following morning were by no means such as to overcome these suspicions.

"Is that you, Morag?" demanded the Pensassenach, as awakened at a later hour than usual by her maid, she started up from that profound sleep, which the extraordinary fatigue and excitement of the previous evening had thrown her into, and began to huddle on such parts of her clothes as lay nearest at hand.

"Aye, Memm, it's me," replied Morag, "Fat wull she be doin' for mulks? Shon Smiss has driven awa a' ta wholl kye lang or it was skreichs o' tay."

"What said you?" demanded the Pensassenach. "John Smith has driven away all our cows! Traitorous thief and robber that he is, I thought as much!"

"Toot na! Shon's nae fiefs nor rubbers neither," replied Morag, in anything but a pleased tone.

"He is a thief and a traitor to boot," cried the enraged Pensassenach.

"He is no fiefs!" rejoined Morag, with great energy, both of voice and of action. "Not a bonn o' him but is as honest as yoursel'."

"I tell you he is a thief, and a traitor; and, for aught I know, an assassin too!" replied the Pensassenach; "and you are an impudent baggage for daring to contradict me."

"She canna stand and hear Shon Smiss misca'ed," exclaimed Morag, bursting into tears of mingled grief and rage, excited by the unextinguishable love for John, which had long secretly possessed her; "an' war she no the mistress," continued Morag, with very violent action, "war she no the mistress, Fod, but she wad pu' tat cockernony aff her head for saying as mockell! But och mercy be aboot huss a'!" cried the girl, darting a look out at the window, and then hurrying away as she spoke; "mercy be aboot huss a'! yonder comes Shon himsel', rinnin' like ony rae-buck!"

"God be merciful to me, can the traitor mean murder!" cried the Pensassenach, hastily shutting, locking, and bolting the chamber door, and, with great exertion moving a chest of drawers against it, whilst her very heart almost ceased to beat, from the terror that fell upon her.

"Far is she, Morag? Is she oot o' her bed? cried John, in a loud and hurried voice, as he came flying up the stair, and began thundering like a madman at the lady's bed-chamber door. "Come, come, let her in direckly!"

"No one can come here," said the lady trembling; "I am not half dressed."

"Dress be tamm!" cried John, furiously; "Come away fast--open ta toor or she be killed!"

"You shall find no entrance here, you murdering blood-thirsty villain, whilst I have power to defend my life," cried the Pensassenach, driven to desperation, and as, with immense labour, she was dragging a heavy trunk of napery across the floor, which she reared on end against the chest of drawers. "Oh, why did MacArthur leave me thus to be murdered?"

"Let her in, or she see her sure murdered," cried John, in a voice of thunder, and kicking terribly at the door.

"God help me, I'm gone!" muttered the Pensassenach, in an agony of fear. "Oh, why did my husband leave me? The door never can stand such kicks as these. I see it yielding. Murder! murder! murder!"

"Tamm her nane sel', but she has no more time for nonsense!" cried John, in a voice that seemed to betoken the climax of fury, and with that he drove the whole weight of his body, with the force of a battering-ram, against the door, forcing it out from its hinges, and tumbling it, and the chest of drawers, and the huge trunk, into the very middle of the room, with a violence that burst them open, and scattered their contents in all directions.

"Villain!" cried the Pensassenach, now suddenly excited to an unnatural boldness by despair of life, and standing with her back to the farther wall, armed with her husband's broad-sword, which she had snatched from the bed-head, and drawn in her own defence, and which she now flourished with great activity and determined resolution, altogether regardless of the imperfect state of her attire. "Villain that you are, come but one step nearer to me, and this sword shall drink your life's blood from your heart."

"Ou fye! ou fye!" cried John, standing considerably abashed at this spectacle; "far got she tat terrible swoord?"

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