hold any communication with each other in private.--This old man, has he
any children?"

"They have been killed or hanged," answered the Major, "to the number of
a round dozen, as I believe--but he hath left one grand-child, a smart
and hopeful youth, whom I have noted to be never without a pebble in
his plaid-nook, to fling at whatsoever might come in his way; being
a symbol, that, like David, who was accustomed to sling smooth stones
taken from the brook, he may afterwards prove an adventurous warrior."

"That boy, Major Dalgetty," said the Marquis, "I will have to attend
upon my own person. I presume he will have sense enough to keep his name
secret?"

"Your Excellency need not fear that," answered Dalgetty; "these Highland
imps, from the moment they chip the shell--"

"Well," interrupted Montrose, "that boy shall be pledge for the fidelity
of his parent, and if he prove faithful, the child's preferment shall be
his reward.--And now, Major Dalgetty, I will license your departure for
the night; tomorrow you will introduce this MacEagh, under any name or
character he may please to assume. I presume his profession has rendered
him sufficiently expert in all sort of disguises; or we may admit
John of Moidart into our schemes, who has sense, practicability,
and intelligence, and will probably allow this man for a time to be
disguised as one of his followers. For you, Major, my groom of the
chambers will be your quarter-master for this evening."

Major Dalgetty took his leave with a joyful heart greatly elated with
the reception he had met with, and much pleased with the personal
manners of his new General, which, as he explained at great length to
Ranald MacEagh, reminded him in many respects of the demeanour of the
immortal Gustavus Adolphus, the Lion of the North, and Bulwark of the
Protestant Faith.

CHAPTER XVII.

     The march begins in military state,
     And nations on his eyes suspended wait;
     Stern famine guards the solitary coast,
     And winter barricades the realms of frost.
     He comes,--nor want, nor cold, his course delay.
     --VANITY OF HUMAN WISHES.

By break of day Montrose received in his cabin old MacEagh, and
questioned him long and particularly as to the means of approaching the
country of Argyle. He made a note of his answers, which he compared with
those of two of his followers, whom he introduced as the most prudent
and experienced. He found them to correspond in all respects; but, still
unsatisfied where precaution was so necessary, the Marquis compared the
information he had received with that he was able to collect from the
Chiefs who lay most near to the destined scene of invasion, and being in
all respects satisfied of its accuracy, he resolved to proceed in full
reliance upon it.

In one point Montrose changed his mind. Having judged it unfit to take
the boy Kenneth into his own service, lest, in case of his birth being
discovered, it should be resented as an offence by the numerous clans
who entertained a feudal enmity to this devoted family, he requested the
Major to take him in attendance upon himself; and as he accompanied
this request with a handsome DOUCEUR, under pretence of clothing and
equipping the lad, this change was agreeable to all parties.

It was about breakfast-time, when Major Dalgetty, being dismissed by
Montrose, went in quest of his old acquaintances, Lord Menteith and the
M'Aulays, to whom he longed to communicate his own adventures, as
well as to learn from them the particulars of the campaign. It may
be imagined he was received with great glee by men to whom the late
uniformity of their military life had rendered any change of society
an interesting novelty. Allan M'Aulay alone seemed to recoil from his
former acquaintance, although, when challenged by his brother, he could
render no other reason than a reluctance to be familiar with one who
had been so lately in the company of Argyle, and other enemies. Major
Dalgetty was a little alarmed by this sort of instinctive consciousness
which Allan seemed to entertain respecting the society he had been
lately keeping; he was soon satisfied, however, that the perceptions of
the seer in this particular were not infallible.

As Ranald MacEagh was to be placed under Major Dalgetty's protection and
superintendence, it was necessary he should present him to those persons
with whom he was most likely to associate. The dress of the old man had,
in the meantime, been changed from the tartan of his clan to a sort
of clothing peculiar to the men of the distant Isles, resembling a
waistcoat with sleeves, and a petticoat, all made in one piece. This
dress was laced from top to bottom in front, and bore some resemblance
to that called Polonaise, still worn by children in Scotland of the
lower rank. The tartan hose and bonnet completed the dress, which old
men of the last century remembered well to have seen worn by the distant
Islesmen who came to the Earl of Mar's standard in the year 1715.

Major Dalgetty, keeping his eye on Allan as he spoke, introduced Ranald
MacEagh under the fictitious name of Ranald MacGillihuron in Benbecula,
who had escaped with him out of Argyle's prison. He recommended him as
a person skilful in the arts of the harper and the senachie, and by no
means contemptible in the quality of a second-sighted person or seer.
While making this exposition, Major Dalgetty stammered and hesitated in
a way so unlike the usual glib forwardness of his manner, that he could
not have failed to have given suspicion to Allan M'Aulay, had not that
person's whole attention been engaged in steadily perusing the
features of the person thus introduced to him. This steady gaze so much
embarrassed Ranald MacEagh, that his hand was beginning to sink down
towards his dagger, in expectation of a hostile assault, when Allan,
suddenly crossing the floor of the hut, extended his hand to him in the
way of friendly greeting. They sat down side by side, and conversed in
a low mysterious tone of voice. Menteith and Angus M'Aulay were not
surprised at this, for there prevailed among the Highlanders who
pretended to the second-sight, a sort of Freemasonry, which generally
induced them, upon meeting, to hold communication with each other on the
nature and extent of their visionary experiences.

"Does the sight come gloomy upon your spirits?" said Allan to his new
acquaintance.

"As dark as the shadow upon the moon," replied Ranald, "when she is
darkened in her mid-course in heaven, and prophets foretell of evil
times."

"Come hither," said Allan, "come more this way, I would converse with
you apart; for men say that in your distant islands the sight is poured
forth with more clearness and power than upon us, who dwell near the
Sassenach."

While they were plunged into their mystic conference, the two English
cavaliers entered the cabin in the highest possible spirits, and
announced to Angus M'Aulay that orders had been issued that all should
hold themselves in readiness for an immediate march to the westward.
Having delivered themselves of their news with much glee, they paid
their compliments to their old acquaintance Major Dalgetty, whom they
instantly recognised, and enquired after the health of his charger,
Gustavus.

"I humbly thank you, gentlemen," answered the soldier, "Gustavas is
well, though, like his master, somewhat barer on the ribs than when you
offered to relieve me of him at Darnlinvarach; and let me assure you,
that before you have made one or two of those marches which you seem to
contemplate with so much satisfaction in prospect, you will leave, my
good knights, some of your English beef, and probably an English horse
or two, behind you."

Both exclaimed that they cared very little what they found or what they
left, provided the scene changed from dogging up and down Angus and
Aberdeenshire, in pursuit of an enemy who would neither fight nor run
away.

"If such be the case," said Angus M'Aulay, "I must give orders to my
followers, and make provision too for the safe conveyance of Annot Lyle;
for an advance into M'Callum More's country will be a farther and fouler
road than these pinks of Cumbrian knighthood are aware of." So saying,
he left the cabin.

"Annot Lyle!" repeated Dalgetty, "is she following the campaign?"

"Surely," replied Sir Giles Musgrave, his eye glancing slightly from
Lord Menteith to Allan M'Aulay; "we could neither march nor fight,
advance nor retreat, without the influence of the Princess of Harps."

"The Princess of Broadswords and Targets, I say," answered his
companion; "for the Lady of Montrose herself could not be more
courteously waited upon; she has four Highland maidens, and as many
bare-legged gillies, to wait upon her orders."

"And what would you have, gentlemen?" said Allan, turning suddenly from
the Highlander with whom he was in conversation; "would you yourselves
have left an innocent female, the companion of your infancy, to die by
violence, or perish by famine? There is not, by this time, a roof upon
the habitation of my fathers--our crops have been destroyed, and our
cattle have been driven--and you, gentlemen, have to bless God, that,
coming from a milder and more civilized country, you expose only your
own lives in this remorseless war, without apprehension that your
enemies will visit with their vengeance the defenceless pledges you may
have left behind you."

The Englishmen cordially agreed that they had the superiority in this
respect; and the company, now dispersing, went each to his several
charge or occupation.

Allan lingered a moment behind, still questioning the reluctant Ranald
MacEagh upon a point in his supposed visions, by which he was greatly
perplexed. "Repeatedly," he said, "have I had the sight of a Gael, who
seemed to plunge his weapon into the body of Menteith,--of that young
nobleman in the scarlet laced cloak, who has just now left the bothy.
But by no effort, though I have gazed till my eyes were almost fixed
in the sockets, can I discover the face of this Highlander, or even
conjecture who he may be, although his person and air seem familiar to
me." [See Note II.--Wraiths.]

"Have you reversed your own plaid," said Ranald, "according to the rule
of the experienced Seers in such case?"

"I have," answered Allan, speaking low, and shuddering as if with
internal agony.

"And in what guise did the phantom then appear to you?" said Ranald.

"With his plaid also reversed," answered Allan, in the same low and
convulsed tone.

"Then be assured," said Ranald, "that your own hand, and none other,
will do the deed of which you have witnessed the shadow."

"So has my anxious soul a hundred times surmised," replied Allan. "But
it is impossible! Were I to read the record in the eternal book of fate,
I would declare it impossible--we are bound by the ties of blood, and by
a hundred ties more intimate--we have stood side by side in battle,
and our swords have reeked with the blood of the same enemies--it is
IMPOSSIBLE I should harm him!"

"That you WILL do so," answered Ranald, "is certain, though the cause be
hid in the darkness of futurity. You say," he continued, suppressing his
own emotions with difficulty, "that side by side you have pursued your
prey like bloodhounds--have you never seen bloodhounds turn their fangs
against each other, and fight over the body of a throttled deer?"

"It is false!" said M'Aulay, starting up, "these are not the forebodings
of fate, but the temptation of some evil spirit from the bottomless
pit!" So saying, he strode out of the cabin.

"Thou hast it!" said the Son of the Mist, looking after him with an
air of exultation; "the barbed arrow is in thy side! Spirits of the
slaughtered, rejoice! soon shall your murderers' swords be dyed in each
other's blood."

On the succeeding morning all was prepared, and Montrose advanced by
rapid marches up the river Tay, and poured his desultory forces into the
romantic vale around the lake of the same name, which lies at the head
of that river. The inhabitants were Campbells, not indeed the vassals
of Argyle, but of the allied and kindred house of Glenorchy, which
now bears the name of Breadalbane. Being taken by surprise, they were
totally unprepared for resistance, and were compelled to be passive
witnesses of the ravages which took place among their flocks and herds.
Advancing in this manner to the vale of Loch Dochart, and laying waste
the country around him, Montrose reached the most difficult point of his
enterprise.

To a modern army, even with the assistance of the good military road
which now leads up by Teinedrum to the head of Loch Awe, the passage of
these extensive wilds would seem a task of some difficulty. But at this
period, and for long afterwards, there was no road or path whatsoever;
and to add to the difficulty, the mountains were already covered with
snow. It was a sublime scene to look up to them, piled in great masses,
one upon another, the front rank of dazzling whiteness, while those
which arose behind them caught a rosy tint from the setting of a clear
wintry sun. Ben Cruachan, superior in magnitude, and seeming the very
citadel of the Genius of the Region, rose high above the others, showing
his glimmering and scathed peak to the distance of many miles.

The followers of Montrose were men not to be daunted by the sublime, yet
terrible prospect before them. Many of them were of that ancient race
of Highlanders, who not only willingly made their couch in the snow,
but considered it as effeminate luxury to use a snowball for a pillow.
Plunder and revenge lay beyond the frozen mountains which they beheld,
and they did not permit themselves to be daunted by the difficulty of
traversing them. Montrose did not allow their spirits time to subside.
He ordered the pipes to play in the van the ancient pibroch entitled,
"HOGGIL NAM BO," etc. (that is, We come through snow-drift to drive the
prey), the shrilling sounds of which had often struck the vales of the
Lennox with terror. [It is the family-march of the M'Farlanes, a warlike
and predatory clan, who inhabited the western banks of Loch-Lomond.
See WAVERLY, Note XV.] The troops advanced with the nimble alacrity
of mountaineers, and were soon involved in the dangerous pass, through
which Ranald acted as their guide, going before them with a select
party, to track out the way.

The power of man at no time appears more contemptible than when it
is placed in contrast with scenes of natural terror and dignity. The
victorious army of Montrose, whose exploits had struck terror into all
Scotland, when ascending up this terrific pass, seemed a contemptible
handful of stragglers, in the act of being devoured by the jaws of the
mountain, which appeared ready to close upon them. Even Montrose half
repented the boldness of his attempt, as he looked down from the summit
of the first eminence which he attained, upon the scattered condition
of his small army. The difficulty of getting forward was so great, that
considerable gaps began to occur in the line of march, and the distance
between the van, centre, and rear, was each moment increased in a degree
equally incommodious and dangerous. It was with great apprehension that
Montrose looked upon every point of advantage which the hill afforded,
in dread it might be found occupied by an enemy prepared for defence;
and he often afterwards was heard to express his conviction, that had
the passes of Strath-Fillan been defended by two hundred resolute men,
not only would his progress have been effectually stopped, but his army
must have been in danger of being totally cut off. Security, however,
the bane of many a strong country and many a fortress, betrayed, on this
occasion, the district of Argyle to his enemies. The invaders had only
to contend with the natural difficulties of the path, and with the snow,
which, fortunately, had not fallen in any great quantity. The army no
sooner reached the summit of the ridge of hills dividing Argyleshire
from the district of Breadalbane, than they rushed down upon the devoted
vales beneath them with a fury sufficiently expressive of the motives
which had dictated a movement so difficult and hazardous.

Montrose divided his army into three bodies, in order to produce a wider
and more extensive terror, one of which was commanded by the Captain
of Clan Ranald, one intrusted to the leading of Colkitto, and the third
remained under his own direction. He was thus enabled to penetrate the
country of Argyle at three different points. Resistance there was none.
The flight of the shepherds from the hills had first announced in the
peopled districts this formidable irruption, and wherever the clansmen
were summoned out, they were killed, disarmed, and dispersed, by an
enemy who had anticipated their motions. Major Dalgetty, who had been
sent forward against Inverary with the few horse of the army that were
fit for service, managed his matters so well, that he had very nearly
surprised Argyle, as he expressed it, INTER POCULA; and it was only a
rapid flight by water which saved that chief from death or captivity.
But the punishment which Argyle himself escaped fell heavily upon his
country and clan, and the ravages committed by Montrose on that devoted
land, although too consistent with the genius of the country and times,
have been repeatedly and justly quoted as a blot on his actions and
character.

Argyle in the meantime had fled to Edinburgh, to lay his complaints
before the Convention of Estates. To meet the exigence of the moment,
a considerable army was raised under General Baillie, a Presbyterian
officer of skill and fidelity, with whom was joined in command the
celebrated Sir John Urrie, a soldier of fortune like Dalgetty, who had
already changed sides twice during the Civil War, and was destined to
turn his coat a third time before it was ended. Argyle also, burning
with indignation, proceeded to levy his own numerous forces, in order to
avenge himself of his feudal enemy. He established his head-quarters at
Dunbarton, where he was soon joined by a considerable force, consisting
chiefly of his own clansmen and dependants. Being there joined by
Baillie and Urrie, with a very considerable army of regular forces,
he prepared to march into Argyleshire, and chastise the invader of his
paternal territories.

But Montrose, while these two formidable armies were forming a junction,
had been recalled from that ravaged country by the approach of a third,
collected in the north under the Earl of Seaforth, who, after some
hesitation, having embraced the side of the Covenanters, had now,
with the assistance of the veteran garrison of Inverness, formed
a considerable army, with which he threatened Montrose from
Inverness-shire. Enclosed in a wasted and unfriendly country, and
menaced on each side by advancing enemies of superior force, it might
have been supposed that Montrose's destruction was certain. But these
were precisely the circumstances under which the active and enterprising
genius of the Great Marquis was calculated to excite the wonder and
admiration of his friends, the astonishment and terror of his enemies.
As if by magic, he collected his scattered forces from the wasteful
occupation in which they had been engaged; and scarce were they again
united, ere Argyle and his associate generals were informed, that the
royalists, having suddenly disappeared from Argyleshire, had retreated
northwards among the dusky and impenetrable mountains of Lochaber.

The sagacity of the generals opposed to Montrose immediately
conjectured, that it was the purpose of their active antagonist to fight
with, and, if possible, to destroy Seaforth, ere they could come to his
assistance. This occasioned a corresponding change in their operations.
Leaving this chieftain to make the best defence he could, Urrie and
Baillie again separated their forces from those of Argyle; and, having
chiefly horse and Lowland troops under their command, they kept the
southern side of the Grampian ridge, moving along eastward into the
county of Angus, resolving from thence to proceed into Aberdeenshire,
in order to intercept Montrose, if he should attempt to escape in that
direction.

Argyle, with his own levies and other troops, undertook to follow
Montrose's march; so that, in case he should come to action either with
Seaforth, or with Baillie and Urrie, he might be placed between two
fires by this third army, which, at a secure distance, was to hang upon
his rear.

For this purpose, Argyle once more moved towards Inverary, having an
opportunity, at every step, to deplore the severities which the hostile
clans had exercised on his dependants and country. Whatever noble
qualities the Highlanders possessed, and they had many, clemency in
treating a hostile country was not of the number; but even the ravages
of hostile troops combined to swell the number of Argyle's followers.
It is still a Highland proverb, He whose house is burnt must become a
soldier; and hundreds of the inhabitants of these unfortunate valleys
had now no means of maintenance, save by exercising upon others the
severities they had themselves sustained, and no future prospect of
happiness, excepting in the gratification of revenge. His bands were,
therefore, augmented by the very circumstances which had desolated his
country, and Argyle soon found himself at the head of three thousand
determined men, distinguished for activity and courage, and commanded by
gentlemen of his own name, who yielded to none in those qualities. Under
himself, he conferred the principal command upon Sir Duncan Campbell of
Ardenvohr, and another Sir Duncan Campbell of Auchenbreck, [This last
character is historical] an experienced and veteran soldier, whom he had
recalled from the wars of Ireland for this purpose. The cold spirit
of Argyle himself, however, clogged the military councils of his
more intrepid assistants; and it was resolved, notwithstanding their
increased force, to observe the same plan of operations, and to follow
Montrose cautiously, in whatever direction he should march, avoiding an
engagement until an opportunity should occur of falling upon his rear,
while he should be engaged with another enemy in front.

CHAPTER XVIII.

     Piobracht au Donuil-dhu,
     Piobrachet au Donuil,
     Piobrachet agus S'breittach
     Feacht an Innerlochy.

     The war-tune of Donald the Black,
     The war-tune of Black Donald,
     The pipes and the banner
     Are up in the rendezvous of Inverlochy.

The military road connecting the chains of forts, as it is called, and
running in the general line of the present Caledonian Canal, has now
completely opened the great glen, or chasm, extending almost across
the whole island, once doubtless filled by the sea, and still affording
basins for that long line of lakes, by means of which modern art has
united the German and Atlantic Oceans. The paths or tracks by which the
natives traversed this extensive valley, were, in 1645-6, in the same
situation as when they awaked the strain of an Irish engineer officer,
who had been employed in converting them into practicable military
roads, and whose eulogium begins, and, for aught I know, ends, as
follows:

Had you seen but these roads before they were made, You would have held
up your hands and bless'd General Wade.

But, bad as the ordinary paths were, Montrose avoided them, and led
his army, like a herd of wild deer, from mountain to mountain, and from
forest to forest, where his enemies could learn nothing of his motions,
while he acquired the most perfect knowledge respecting theirs from the
friendly clans of Cameron and M'Donnell, whose mountainous districts he
now traversed. Strict orders had been given that Argyle's advance should
be watched, and that all intelligence respecting his motions should be
communicated instantly to the General himself.

It was a moonlight night, and Montrose, worn out by the fatigues of
the day, was laid down to sleep in a miserable shieling. He had only
slumbered two hours, when some one touched his shoulder. He looked up,
and, by the stately form and deep voice, easily recognised the Chief of
the Camerons.

"I have news for you," said that leader, "which is worth while to arise
and listen to."

"M'Ilduy [Mhich-Connel Dhu, the descendant of Black Donald.] can
bring no other," said Montrose, addressing the Chief by his patronymic
title--"are they good or bad?"

"As you may take them," said the Chieftain.

"Are they certain?" demanded Montrose.

"Yes," answered M'Ilduy, "or another messenger should have brought them.
Know that, tired with the task imposed upon me of accompanying that
unhappy Dalgetty and his handful of horse, who detained me for hours
on the march at the pace of a crippled badger, I made a stretch of four
miles with six of my people in the direction of Inverlochy, and there
met with Ian of Glenroy, who had been out for intelligence. Argyle is
moving upon Inverlochy with three thousand chosen men, commanded by the
flower of the sons of Diarmid.--These are my news--they are certain--it
is for you to construe their purport."

"Their purport must be good," answered Montrose, readily and cheerfully;
"the voice of M'Ilduy is ever pleasant in the ears of Montrose, and most
pleasant when it speaks of some brave enterprise at hand--What are our
musters?"

He then called for light, and easily ascertained that a great part of
his followers having, as usual, dispersed to secure their booty, he had
not with him above twelve or fourteen hundred men.

"Not much above a third," said Montrose, pausing, "of Argyle's force,
and Highlanders opposed to Highlanders.--With the blessing of God upon
the royal cause, I would not hesitate were the odds but one to two."

"Then do not hesitate," said Cameron; "for when your trumpets shall
sound to attack M'Callum More, not a man of these glens will remain deaf
to the summons. Glengarry--Keppoch--I myself--would destroy, with
fire and sword, the wretch who should remain behind under any pretence
whatsoever. To-morrow, or the next day, shall be a day of battle to all
who bear the name of M'Donnell or Cameron, whatever be the event."

"It is gallantly said, my noble friend," said Montrose, grasping his
hand, "and I were worse than a coward did I not do justice to such
followers, by entertaining the most indubitable hopes of success. We
will turn back on this M'Callum More, who follows us like a raven to
devour the relics of our army, should we meet braver men who may be able
to break its strength! Let the Chiefs and leaders be called together as
quickly as possible; and you, who have brought us the first news of this
joyful event,--for such it shall be,--you, M'Ilduy, shall bring it to
a joyful issue, by guiding us the best and nearest road against our
enemy."

"That will I willingly do," said M'Ilduy; "if I have shown you paths by
which to retreat through these dusky wilds, with far more readiness will
I teach you how to advance against your foe."

A general bustle now prevailed, and the leaders were everywhere startled
from the rude couches on which they had sought temporary repose.

"I never thought," said Major Dalgetty, when summoned up from a handful
of rugged heather roots, "to have parted from a bed as hard as a
stable-broom with such bad will; but, indubitably, having but one man
of military experience in his army, his Excellency the Marquis may be
vindicated in putting him upon hard duty."

So saying, he repaired to the council, where, notwithstanding his
pedantry, Montrose seemed always to listen to him with considerable
attention; partly because the Major really possessed military knowledge
and experience, and often made suggestions which were found of
advantage, and partly because it relieved the General from the necessity
of deferring entirely to the opinion of the Highland Chiefs, and gave
him additional ground for disputing it when it was not agreeable to
his own. On the present occasion, Dalgetty joyfully acquiesced in the
proposal of marching back and confronting Argyle, which he compared to
the valiant resolution of the great Gustavus, who moved against the
Duke of Bavaria, and enriched his troops by the plunder of that fertile
country, although menaced from the northward by the large army which
Wallenstein had assembled in Bohemia.

The Chiefs of Glengarry, Keppoch, and Lochiel, whose clans, equal
in courage and military fame to any in the Highlands, lay within the
neighbourhood of the scene of action, dispatched the fiery cross through
their vassals, to summon every one who could bear arms to meet the
King's lieutenant, and to join the standards of their respective Chiefs,
as they marched towards Inverlochy. As the order was emphatically given,
it was speedily and willingly obeyed. Their natural love of war, their
zeal for the royal cause,--for they viewed the King in the light of
a chief whom his clansmen had deserted,--as well as their implicit
obedience to their own patriarch, drew in to Montrose's army not only
all in the neighbourhood who were able to bear arms, but some who, in
age at least, might have been esteemed past the use of them. During the
next day's march, which, being directed straight through the mountains
of Lochaber, was unsuspected by the enemy, his forces were augmented by
handfuls of men issuing from each glen, and ranging themselves under
the banners of their respective Chiefs. This was a circumstance highly
inspiriting to the rest of the army, who, by the time they approached
the enemy, found their strength increased considerably more than
one-fourth, as had been prophesied by the valiant leader of the
Camerons.

While Montrose executed this counter-march, Argyle had, at the head of
his gallant army, advanced up the southern side of Loch-Eil, and reached
the river Lochy, which combines that lake with Loch-Lochy. The ancient
Castle of Inverlochy, once, as it is said, a royal fortress, and still,
although dismantled, a place of some strength and consideration, offered
convenient head-quarters, and there was ample room for Argyle's army to
encamp around him in the valley, where the Lochy joins Loch-Eil. Several
barges had attended, loaded with provisions, so that they were in every
respect as well accommodated as such an army wished or expected to be.
Argyle, in council with Auchenbreck and Ardenvohr, expressed his full
confidence that Montrose was now on the brink of destruction; that his
troops must gradually diminish as he moved eastward through such uncouth
paths; that if he went westward, he must encounter Urrie and Baillie;
if northward, fall into the hands of Seaforth; or should he choose any
halting-place, he would expose himself to be attacked by three armies at
once.

"I cannot rejoice in the prospect, my lord," said Auchebreck, "that
James Grahame will be crushed with little assistance of ours. He has
left a heavy account in Argyleshire against him, and I long to reckon
with him drop of blood for drop of blood. I love not the payment of such
debts by third hands."

"You are too scrupulous," said Argyle; "what signifies it by whose
hands the blood of the Grahames is spilt? It is time that of the sons of
Diarmid should cease to flow.--What say you, Ardenvohr?"

"I say, my lord," replied Sir Duncan, "that I think Auchenbreck will
be gratified, and will himself have a personal opportunity of settling
accounts with Montrose for his depredations. Reports have reached our
outposts that the Camerons are assembling their full strength on the
skirts of Ben-Nevis; this must be to join the advance of Montrose, and
not to cover his retreat."

"It must be some scheme of harassing and depredation," said Argyle,
"devised by the inveterate malignity of M'Ilduy, which he terms
loyalty. They can intend no more than an attack on our outposts, or some
annoyance to to-morrow's march."

"I have sent out scouts," said Sir Duncan, "in every direction, to
procure intelligence; and we must soon hear whether they really do
assemble any force, upon what point, or with what purpose."

It was late ere any tidings were received; but when the moon had arisen,
a considerable bustle in the camp, and a noise immediately after heard
in the castle, announced the arrival of important intelligence. Of the
scouts first dispersed by Ardenvohr, some had returned without being
able to collect anything, save uncertain rumours concerning movements
in the country of the Camerons. It seemed as if the skirts of Ben-Nevis
were sending forth those unaccountable and portentous sounds with which
they sometimes announce the near approach of a storm. Others, whose zeal
carried them farther upon their mission, were entrapped and slain, or
made prisoners, by the inhabitants of the fastnesses into which they
endeavoured to penetrate. At length, on the rapid advance of Montrose's
army, his advanced guard and the outposts of Argyle became aware of each
other's presence, and after exchanging a few musket-shots and arrows,
fell back to their respective main bodies, to convey intelligence and
receive orders.

Sir Duncan Campbell, and Auchenbreck, instantly threw themselves on
horseback, in order to visit the state of the outposts; and Argyle
maintained his character of commander-in-chief with reputation, by
making a respectable arrangement of his forces in the plain, as it was
evident that they might now expect a night alarm, or an attack in the
morning at farthest. Montrose had kept his forces so cautiously within
the defiles of the mountain, that no effort which Auchenbreck or
Ardenvohr thought it prudent to attempt, could ascertain his probable
strength. They were aware, however, that, at the utmost computation, it
must be inferior to their own, and they returned to Argyle to inform
him of the amount of their observations; but that nobleman refused to
believe that Montrose could be in presence himself. He said, "It was
a madness, of which even James Grahame, in his height of presumptuous
frenzy, was incapable; and he doubted not that their march was only
impeded by their ancient enemies, Glencoe, Keppoch, and Glengarry; and
perhaps M'Vourigh, with his M'Phersons, might have assembled a force,
which he knew must be greatly inferior in numbers to his own, and
whom, therefore, he doubted not to disperse by force, or by terms of
capitulation."

The spirit of Argyle's followers was high, breathing vengeance for the
disasters which their country had so lately undergone; and the
night passed in anxious hopes that the morning might dawn upon their
vengeance. The outposts of either army kept a careful watch, and the
soldiers of Argyle slept in the order of battle which they were next day
to occupy.

A pale dawn had scarce begun to tinge the tops of these immense
mountains, when the leaders of both armies prepared for the business of
the day. It was the second of February, 1645-6. The clansmen of Argyle
were arranged in two lines, not far from the angle between the river
and the lake, and made an appearance equally resolute and formidable.
Auchenbreck would willingly have commenced the battle by an attack
on the outposts of the enemy, but Argyle, with more cautious policy,
preferred receiving to making the onset. Signals were soon heard,
that they would not long wait for it in vain. The Campbells could
distinguish, in the gorge of the mountains, the war-tunes of various
clans as they advanced to the onset. That of the Camerons, which bears
the ominous words, addressed to the wolves and ravens, "Come to me, and
I will give you flesh," was loudly re-echoed from their native glens. In
the language of the Highland bards, the war voice of Glengarry was
not silent; and the gathering tunes of other tribes could be plainly
distinguished, as they successively came up to the extremity of the
passes from which they were to descend into the plain.

"You see," said Argyle to his kinsmen, "it is as I said, we have only to
deal with our neighbours; James Grahame has not ventured to show us his
banner."

At this moment there resounded from the gorge of the pass a lively
flourish of trumpets, in that note with which it was the ancient
Scottish fashion to salute the royal standard.

"You may hear, my lord, from yonder signal," said Sir Duncan Campbell,
"that he who pretends to be the King's Lieutenant, must be in person
among these men."

"And has probably horse with him," said Auchenbreck, "which I could not
have anticipated. But shall we look pale for that, my lord, when we have
foes to fight, and wrongs to revenge?"

Argyle was silent, and looked upon his arm, which hung in a sash, owing
to a fall which he had sustained in a preceding march.

"It is true," interrupted Ardenvohr, eagerly, "my Lord of Argyle, you
are disabled from using either sword or pistol; you must retire on board
the galleys--your life is precious to us as a head--your hand cannot be
useful to us as a soldier."

"No," said Argyle, pride contending with irresolution, "it shall never
be said that I fled before Montrose; if I cannot fight, I will at least
die in the midst of my children."

Several other principal Chiefs of the Campbells, with one voice,
conjured and obtested their Chieftain to leave them for that day to the
leading of Ardenvohr and Auchenbreck, and to behold the conflict from a
distance and in safety.--We dare not stigmatize Argyle with poltroonery;
for, though his life was marked by no action of bravery, yet he behaved
with so much composure and dignity in the final and closing scene, that
his conduct upon the present and similar occasions, should be rather
imputed to indecision than to want of courage. But when the small still
voice within a man's own breast, which tells him that his life is of
consequence to himself, is seconded by that of numbers around him, who
assure him that it is of equal advantage to the public, history affords
many examples of men more habitually daring than Argyle, who have
consulted self-preservation when the temptations to it were so
powerfully increased.

"See him on board, if you will, Sir Duncan," said Auchenbreck to his
kinsman; "It must be my duty to prevent this spirit from spreading
farther among us."

So saying, he threw himself among the ranks, entreating, commanding, and
conjuring the soldiers, to remember their ancient fame and their present
superiority; the wrongs they had to revenge, if successful, and the fate
they had to dread, if vanquished; and imparting to every bosom a portion
of the fire which glowed in his own. Slowly, meanwhile, and apparently
with reluctance, Argyle suffered himself to be forced by his officious
kinsmen to the verge of the lake, and was transported on board of a
galley, from the deck of which he surveyed with more safety than credit
the scene which ensued.

Sir Duncan Campbell of Ardenvohr, notwithstanding the urgency of
the occasion, stood with his eyes riveted on the boat which bore his
Chieftain from the field of battle. There were feelings in his bosom
which could not be expressed; for the character of a Chief was that of
a father, and the heart of a clansman durst not dwell upon his failings
with critical severity as upon those of other men. Argyle, too, harsh
and severe to others, was generous and liberal among his kinsmen, and
the noble heart of, Ardenvohr was wrung with bitter anguish, when he
reflected to what interpretation his present conduct might subject him.

"It is better it should be so," said he to himself, devouring his own
emotion; "but--of his line of a hundred sires, I know not one who would
have retired while the banner of Diarmid waved in the wind, in the face
of its most inveterate foes!"

A loud shout now compelled him to turn, and to hasten with all dispatch
to his post, which was on the right flank of Argyle's little army.

The retreat of Argyle had not passed unobserved by his watchful enemy,
who, occupying the superior ground, could mark every circumstance which
passed below. The movement of three or four horsemen to the rear showed
that those who retreated were men of rank.

"They are going," said Dalgetty, "to put their horses out of danger,
like prudent cavaliers. Yonder goes Sir Duncan Campbell, riding a brown
bay gelding, which I had marked for my own second charger."

"You are wrong, Major," said Montrose, with a bitter smile, "they are
saving their precious Chief--Give the signal for assault instantly--send
the word through the ranks.--Gentlemen, noble Chiefs, Glengarry,
Keppoch, M'Vourigh, upon them instantly!--Ride to M'Ilduy, Major
Dalgetty, and tell him to charge as he loves Lochaber--return and bring
our handful of horse to my standard. They shall be placed with the Irish
as a reserve."

CHAPTER XIX.

     As meets a rock a thousand waves, so Inisfail met Lochlin.
     --OSSIAN.

The trumpets and bagpipes, those clamorous harbingers of blood and
death, at once united in the signal for onset, which was replied to
by the cry of more than two thousand warriors, and the echoes of the
mountain glens behind them. Divided into three bodies, or columns,
the Highland followers of Montrose poured from the defiles which had
hitherto concealed them from their enemies, and rushed with the utmost
determination upon the Campbells, who waited their charge with the
greatest firmness. Behind these charging columns marched in line the
Irish, under Colkitto, intended to form the reserve. With them was the
royal standard, and Montrose himself; and on the flanks were about fifty
horse, under Dalgetty, which by wonderful exertions had been kept in
some sort fit for service.

The right column of Royalists was led by Glengarry, the left by Lochiel,
and the centre by the Earl of Menteith, who preferred fighting on foot
in a Highland dress to remaining with the cavalry.

The Highlanders poured on with the proverbial fury of their country,
firing their guns, and discharging their arrows, at a little distance
from the enemy, who received the assault with the most determined
gallantry. Better provided with musketry than their enemies, stationary
also, and therefore taking the more decisive aim, the fire of Argyle's
followers was more destructive than that which they sustained. The royal
clans, perceiving this, rushed to close quarters, and succeeded on two
points in throwing their enemies into disorder. With regular troops
this must have achieved a victory; but here Highlanders were opposed to
Highlanders, and the nature of the weapons, as well as the agility of
those who wielded them, was equal on both sides.

Their strife was accordingly desperate; and the clash of the swords
and axes, as they encountered each other, or rung upon the targets, was
mingled with the short, wild, animating shrieks with which Highlanders
accompany the battle, the dance, or indeed violent exertion of any kind.
Many of the foes opposed were personally acquainted, and sought to match
themselves with each other from motives of hatred, or a more generous
emulation of valour. Neither party would retreat an inch, while the
place of those who fell (and they fell fast on both sides) was eagerly
supplied by others, who thronged to the front of danger. A steam, like
that which arises from a seething cauldron, rose into the thin, cold,
frosty air, and hovered above the combatants.

So stood the fight on the right and the centre, with no immediate
consequence, except mutual wounds and death.

On the right of the Campbells, the Knight of Ardenvohr obtained some
advantage, through his military skill and by strength of numbers. He had
moved forward obliquely the extreme flank of his line at the instant the
Royalists were about to close, so that they sustained a fire at once
on front and in flank, and, despite the utmost efforts of their leader,
were thrown into some confusion. At this instant, Sir Duncan Campbell
gave the word to charge, and thus unexpectedly made the attack at
the very moment he seemed about to receive it. Such a change of
circumstances is always discouraging, and often fatal. But the disorder
was remedied by the advance of the Irish reserve, whose heavy and
sustained fire compelled the Knight of Ardenvohr to forego his
advantage, and content himself with repulsing the enemy. The Marquis
of Montrose, in the meanwhile, availing himself of some scattered birch
trees, as well as of the smoke produced by the close fire of the Irish
musketry, which concealed the operation, called upon Dalgetty to follow
him with the horse, and wheeling round so as to gain the right flank and
even the rear of the enemy, he commanded his six trumpets to sound
the charge. The clang of the cavalry trumpets, and the noise of the
galloping of the horse, produced an effect upon Argyle's right wing
which no other sounds could have impressed them with. The mountaineers
of that period had a superstitious dread of the war-horse, like that
entertained by the Peruvians, and had many strange ideas respecting the
manner in which that animal was trained to combat. When, therefore, they
found their ranks unexpectedly broken, and that the objects of their
greatest terror were suddenly in the midst of them, the panic, in spite
of Sir Duncan's attempts to stop it, became universal. Indeed, the
figure of Major Dalgetty alone, sheathed in impenetrable armour, and
making his horse caracole and bound, so as to give weight to every
blow which he struck, would have been a novelty in itself sufficient to
terrify those who had never seen anything more nearly resembling such
a cavalier, than a SHELTY waddling under a Highlander far bigger than
itself. The repulsed Royalists returned to the charge; the Irish,
keeping their ranks, maintained a fire equally close and destructive.
There was no sustaining the fight longer. Argyle's followers began
to break and fly, most towards the lake, the remainder in different
directions. The defeat of the right wing, of itself decisive, was
rendered irreparable by the death of Auchenbreck, who fell while
endeavouring to restore order.

The Knight of Ardenvohr, with two or three hundred men, all gentlemen of
descent and distinguished gallantry,--for the Campbells are supposed to
have had more gentlemen in their ranks than any of the Highland clans,
endeavoured, with unavailing heroism, to cover the tumultuary retreat
of the common file. Their resolution only proved fatal to themselves,
as they were charged again and again by fresh adversaries, and forced to
separate from each other, until at length their aim seemed only to be to
purchase an honourable death by resisting to the very last.

"Good quarter, Sir Duncan," called out Major Dalgetty, when he
discovered his late host, with one or two others, defending himself
against several Highlanders; and, to enforce his offer, he rode up to
him with his sword uplifted. Sir Duncan's reply was the discharge of a
reserved pistol, which took effect not on the person of the rider, but
on that of his gallant horse, which, shot through the heart, fell dead
under him. Ranald MacEagh, who was one of those who had been pressing
Sir Duncan hard, took the opportunity to cut him down with his
broadsword, as he turned from him in the act of firing the pistol.

Allan M'Aulay came up at this moment. They were, excepting Ranald,
followers of his brother who were engaged on that part of the field,
"Villains!" he said, "which of you has dared to do this, when it was my
positive order that the Knight of Ardenvohr should be taken alive?"

Half-a-dozen of busy hands, which were emulously employed in plundering
the fallen knight, whose arms and accoutrements were of a magnificence
befitting his quality, instantly forbore the occupation, and half the
number of voices exculpated themselves, by laying the blame on the
Skyeman, as they called Ranald MacEagh.

"Dog of an Islander!" said Allan, forgetting, in his wrath, their
prophetic brotherhood, "follow the chase, and harm him no farther,
unless you mean to die by my hand." They were at this moment left almost
alone; for Allan's threats had forced his own clan from the spot, and
all around had pressed onwards toward the lake, carrying before them
noise, terror, and confusion, and leaving behind only the dead and
dying. The moment was tempting to MacEagh's vengeful spirit.--"That I
should die by your hand, red as it is with the blood of my kindred,"
said he, answering the threat of Allan in a tone as menacing as his own,
"is not more likely than that you should fall by mine." With that, he
struck at M'Aulay with such unexpected readiness, that he had scarce
time to intercept the blow with his target.

"Villain!" said Allan, in astonishment, "what means this?"

"I am Ranald of the Mist!" answered the Islesman, repeating the blow;
and with that word, they engaged in close and furious conflict. It
seemed to be decreed, that in Allan M'Aulay had arisen the avenger of
his mother's wrongs upon this wild tribe, as was proved by the issue of
the present, as well as of former combats. After exchanging a few blows,
Ranald MacEagh was prostrated by a deep wound on the skull; and M'Aulay,
setting his foot on him, was about to pass the broadsword through his
body, when the point of the weapon was struck up by a third party,
who suddenly interposed. This was no other than Major Dalgetty, who,
stunned by the fall, and encumbered by the dead body of his horse, had
now recovered his legs and his understanding. "Hold up your sword," said
he to M'Aulay, "and prejudice this person no farther, in respect that
he is here in my safeconduct, and in his Excellency's service; and in
regard that no honourable cavalier is at liberty, by the law martial, to
avenge his own private injuries, FLAGRANTE BELLO, MULTO MAJUS FLAGRANTE
PRAELIO."

"Fool!" said Allan, "stand aside, and dare not to come between the tiger
and his prey!"

But, far from quitting his point, Dalgetty stept across the fallen body
of MacEagh, and gave Allan to understand, that if he called himself
a tiger, he was likely, at present, to find a lion in his path. There
required no more than the gesture and tone of defiance to turn the whole
rage of the military Seer against the person who was opposing the course
of his vengeance, and blows were instantly exchanged without farther
ceremony.

The strife betwixt Allan and MacEagh had been unnoticed by the
stragglers around, for the person of the latter was known to few of
Montrose's followers; but the scuffle betwixt Dalgetty and him, both so
well known, attracted instant attention; and fortunately, among others,
that of Montrose himself, who had come for the purpose of gathering
together his small body of horse, and following the pursuit down
Loch-Eil. Aware of the fatal consequences of dissension in his little
army, he pushed his horse up to the spot, and seeing MacEagh on the
ground, and Dalgetty in the attitude of protecting him against M'Aulay,
his quick apprehension instantly caught the cause of quarrel, and as
instantly devised means to stop it. "For shame," he said, "gentlemen
cavaliers, brawling together in so glorious a field of victory!--Are you
mad? Or are you intoxicated with the glory which you have both this day
gained?"

"It is not my fault, so please your Excellency," said Dalgetty. "I
have been known a BONUS SOCIUS, A BON CAMARADO, in all the services of
Europe; but he that touches a man under my safeguard--"

"And he," said Allan, speaking at the same time, "who dares to bar the
course of my just vengeance--"

"For shame, gentlemen!" again repeated Montrose; "I have other business
for you both,--business of deeper importance than any private quarrel,
which you may easily find a more fitting time to settle. For you, Major
Dalgetty, kneel down."

"Kneel!" said Dalgetty; "I have not learned to obey that word of
command, saving when it is given from the pulpit. In the Swedish
discipline, the front rank do indeed kneel, but only when the regiment
is drawn up six file deep."

"Nevertheless," repeated Montrose,--"kneel down, in the name of King
Charles and of his representative."

When Dalgetty reluctantly obeyed, Montrose struck him lightly on the
neck with the flat of his sword, saying,--"In reward of the gallant
service of this day, and in the name and authority of our Sovereign,
King Charles, I dub thee knight; be brave, loyal, and fortunate. And
now, Sir Dugald Dalgetty, to your duty. Collect what horsemen you can,
and pursue such of the enemy as are flying down the side of the lake. Do
not disperse your force, nor venture too far; but take heed to prevent
their rallying, which very little exertion may do. Mount, then, Sir
Dugald, and do your duty."

"But what shall I mount?" said the new-made chevalier. "Poor Gustavus
sleeps in the bed of honour, like his immortal namesake! and I am made a
knight, a rider, as the High Dutch have it, just when I have not a horse
left to ride upon." [In German, as in Latin, the original meaning of the
word Ritter, corresponding to Eques, is merely a horseman.]

"That shall not be said," answered Montrose, dismounting; "I make you a
present of my own, which has been thought a good one; only, I pray you,
resume the duty you discharge so well."

With many acknowledgments, Sir Dugald mounted the steed so liberally
bestowed upon him; and only beseeching his Excellency to remember that
MacEagh was under his safe-conduct, immediately began to execute the
orders assigned to him, with great zeal and alacrity.

"And you, Allan M'Aulay," said Montrose, addressing the Highlander, who,
leaning his sword-point on the ground, had regarded the ceremony of his
antagonist's knighthood with a sneer of sullen scorn,--"you, who are
superior to the ordinary men led by the paltry motives of plunder, and
pay, and personal distinction,--you, whose deep knowledge renders you so
valuable a counsellor,--is it YOU whom I find striving with a man like
Dalgetty, for the privilege of trampling the remains of life out of so
contemptible an enemy as lies there? Come, my friend, I have other work
for you. This victory, skilfully improved, shall win Seaforth to our
party. It is not disloyalty, but despair of the good cause, that has
induced him to take arms against us. These arms, in this moment of
better augury, he may be brought to unite with ours. I shall send my
gallant friend, Colonel Hay, to him, from this very field of battle,
but he must be united in commission with a Highland gentleman of rank,
befitting that of Seaforth, and of talents and of influence such as
may make an impression upon him. You are not only in every respect
the fittest for this most important mission, but, having no immediate
command, your presence may be more easily spared than that of a Chief
whose following is in the field. You know every pass and glen in
the Highlands, as well as the manners and customs of every tribe. Go
therefore to Hay, on the right wing; he has instructions, and expects
you. You will find him with Glenmorrison's men; be his guide, his
interpreter, and his colleague."

Allan M'Aulay bent on the Marquis a dark and penetrating glance, as
if to ascertain whether this sudden mission was not conferred for some
latent and unexplained purpose. But Montrose, skilful in searching
the motives of others, was an equal adept in concealing his own. He
considered it as of the last consequence, in this moment of enthusiasm
and exalted passion, to remove Allan from the camp for a few days, that
he might provide, as his honour required, for the safety of those
who had acted as his guides, when he trusted the Seer's quarrel with
Dalgetty might be easily made up. Allan, at parting, only recommended
to the Marquis the care of Sir Duncan Campbell, whom Montrose instantly
directed to be conveyed to a place of safety. He took the same
precaution for MacEagh, committing the latter, however, to a party of
the Irish, with directions that he should be taken care of, but that no
Highlander, of any clan, should have access to him.

The Marquis then mounted a led horse, which was held by one of his
attendants, and rode on to view the scene of his victory, which was more
decisive than even his ardent hopes had anticipated. Of Argyle's gallant
army of three thousand men, fully one-half fell in the battle, or in the
flight. They had been chiefly driven back upon that part of the plain
where the river forms an angle with the lake, so that there was no free
opening either for retreat or escape. Several hundreds were forced
into the lake and drowned. Of the survivors, about one-half escaped by
swimming the river, or by an early flight along the left bank of the
lake. The remainder threw themselves into the old Castle of Inverlochy;
but being without either provisions or hopes of relief, they were
obliged to surrender, on condition of being suffered to return to their
homes in peace. Arms, ammunition, standards, and baggage, all became the
prey of the conquerors.

This was the greatest disaster that ever befell the race of Diarmid, as
the Campbells were called in the Highlands; it being generally remarked
that they were as fortunate in the issue of their undertakings, as they
were sagacious in planning, and courageous in executing them. Of the
number slain, nearly five hundred were dunniwassels, or gentlemen
claiming descent from known and respected houses. And, in the opinion
of many of the clan, even this heavy loss was exceeded by the disgrace
arising from the inglorious conduct of their Chief, whose galley weighed
anchor when the day was lost, and sailed down the lake with all the
speed to which sails and oars could impel her.

CHAPTER XX.

     Faint the din of battle bray'd,
     Distant down the hollow wind;
     War and terror fled before,
     Wounds and death remain'd behind.--PENROSE.

Montrose's splendid success over his powerful rival was not attained
without some loss, though not amounting to the tenth of what he
inflicted. The obstinate valour of the Campbells cost the lives of many
brave men of the opposite party; and more were wounded, the Chief of
whom was the brave young Earl of Menteith, who had commanded the centre.
He was but slightly touched, however, and made rather a graceful than
a terrible appearance when he presented to his general the standard of
Argyle, which he had taken from the standard-bearer with his own hand,
and slain him in single combat. Montrose dearly loved his noble kinsman,
in whom there was conspicuous a flash of the generous, romantic,
disinterested chivalry of the old heroic times, entirely different from
the sordid, calculating, and selfish character, which the practice of
entertaining mercenary troops had introduced into most parts of Europe,
and of which degeneracy Scotland, which furnished soldiers of fortune
for the service of almost every nation, had been contaminated with a
more than usual share. Montrose, whose native spirit was congenial,
although experience had taught him how to avail himself of the motives
of others, used to Menteith neither the language of praise nor of
promise, but clasped him to his bosom as he exclaimed, "My gallant
kinsman!" And by this burst of heartfelt applause was Menteith thrilled
with a warmer glow of delight, than if his praises had been recorded in
a report of the action sent directly to the throne of his sovereign.

"Nothing," he said, "my lord, now seems to remain in which I can render
any assistance; permit me to look after a duty of humanity--the Knight
of Ardenvohr, as I am told, is our prisoner, and severely wounded."

"And well he deserves to be so," said Sir Dugald Dalgetty, who came
up to them at that moment with a prodigious addition of acquired
importance, "since he shot my good horse at the time that I was offering
him honourable quarter, which, I must needs say, was done more like an
ignorant Highland cateran, who has not sense enough to erect a sconce
for the protection of his old hurley-house of a castle, than like a
soldier of worth and quality."

"Are we to condole with you then," said Lord Menteith, "upon the loss of
the famed Gustavus?"

"Even so, my lord," answered the soldier, with a deep sigh, "DIEM
CLAUSIT SUPREMUM, as we said at the Mareschal-College of Aberdeen.
Better so than be smothered like a cadger's pony in some flow-moss,
or snow-wreath, which was like to be his fate if this winter campaign
lasted longer. But it has pleased his Excellency" (making an inclination
to Montrose) "to supply his place by the gift of a noble steed, whom
I have taken the freedom to name 'LOYALTY'S REWARD,' in memory of this
celebrated occasion."

"I hope," said the Marquis, "you'll find Loyalty's Reward, since you
call him so, practised in all the duties of the field,--but I must just
hint to you, that at this time, in Scotland, loyalty is more frequently
rewarded with a halter than with a horse."

"Ahem! your Excellency is pleased to be facetious. Loyalty's Reward is
as perfect as Gustavus in all his exercises, and of a far finer figure.
Marry! his social qualities are less cultivated, in respect he has kept
till now inferior company."

"Not meaning his Excellency the General, I hope," said Lord Menteith.
"For shame, Sir Dugald!"

"My lord," answered the knight gravely, "I am incapable to mean anything
so utterly unbecoming. What I asseverate is, that his Excellency, having
the same intercourse with his horse during his exercise, that he hath
with his soldiers when training them, may form and break either to every
feat of war which he chooses to practise, and accordingly that this
noble charger is admirably managed. But as it is the intercourse of
private life that formeth the social character, so I do not apprehend
that of the single soldier to be much polished by the conversation of
the corporal or the sergeant, or that of Loyalty's Reward to have been
much dulcified, or ameliorated, by the society of his Excellency's
grooms, who bestow more oaths, and kicks, and thumps, than kindness or
caresses, upon the animals intrusted to their charge; whereby many a
generous quadruped, rendered as it were misanthropic, manifests during
the rest of his life a greater desire to kick and bite his master, than
to love and to honour him."

"Spoken like an oracle," said Montrose. "Were there an academy for the
education of horses to be annexed to the Mareschal-College of Aberdeen,
Sir Dugald Dalgetty alone should fill the chair."

"Because, being an ass," said Menteith, aside to the General, "there
would be some distant relation between the professor and the students."

"And now, with your Excellency's permission," said the new-made knight,
"I am going to pay my last visit to the remains of my old companion in
arms."

"Not with the purpose of going through the ceremonial of interment?"
said the Marquis, who did not know how far Sir Dugald's enthusiasm might
lead him; "consider our brave fellows themselves will have but a hasty
burial."

"Your Excellency will pardon me," said Dalgetty; "my purpose is less
romantic. I go to divide poor Gustavus's legacy with the fowls of
heaven, leaving the flesh to them, and reserving to myself his hide;
which, in token of affectionate remembrance, I purpose to form into
a cassock and trowsers, after the Tartar fashion, to be worn under my
armour, in respect my nether garments are at present shamefully the
worse of the wear.--Alas! poor Gustavus, why didst thou not live at
least one hour more, to have borne the honoured weight of knighthood
upon thy loins!"

He was now turning away, when the Marquis called after him,--"As you
are not likely to be anticipated in this act of kindness, Sir Dugald,
to your old friend and companion, I trust," said the Marquis, "you will
first assist me, and our principal friends, to discuss some of Argyle's
good cheer, of which we have found abundance in the Castle."

"Most willingly, please your Excellency," said Sir Dugald; "as meat
and mass never hinder work. Nor, indeed, am I afraid that the wolves or
eagles will begin an onslaught on Gustavus to-night, in regard there is
so much better cheer lying all around. But," added he, "as I am to meet
two honourable knights of England, with others of the knightly degree in
your lordship's army, I pray it may be explained to them, that now, and
in future, I claim precedence over them all, in respect of my rank as a
Banneret, dubbed in a field of stricken battle."

"The devil confound him!" said Montrose, speaking aside; "he has
contrived to set the kiln on fire as fast as I put it out.--'This is
a point, Sir Dugald," said he, gravely addressing him, "which I shall
reserve for his Majesty's express consideration; in my camp, all must
be upon equality, like the Knights of the Round Table; and take their
places as soldiers should, upon the principle of,--first come, first
served."

"Then I shall take care," said Menteith, apart to the Marquis, "that Don
Dugald is not first in place to-day.--Sir Dugald," added he, raising his
voice, "as you say your wardrobe is out of repair, had you not better go
to the enemy's baggage yonder, over which there is a guard placed? I saw
them take out an excellent buff suit, embroidered in front in silk and
silver."

"VOTO A DIOS! as the Spaniard says," exclaimed the Major, "and some
beggarly gilly may get it while I stand prating here!"

The prospect of booty having at once driven out of his head both
Gustavus and the provant, he set spurs to Loyalty's Reward, and rode off
through the field of battle.

"There goes the hound," said Menteith, "breaking the face, and trampling
on the body, of many a better man than himself; and as eager on his
sordid spoil as a vulture that stoops upon carrion. Yet this man the
world calls a soldier--and you, my lord, select him as worthy of the
honours of chivalry, if such they can at this day be termed. You have
made the collar of knighthood the decoration of a mere bloodhound."

"What could I do?" said Montrose. "I had no half-picked bones to give
him, and bribed in some manner he must be,--I cannot follow the chase
alone. Besides, the dog has good qualities."

"If nature has given him such," said Menteith, "habit has converted them
into feelings of intense selfishness. He may be punctilious concerning
his reputation, and brave in the execution of his duty, but it is only
because without these qualities he cannot rise in the service;--nay, his
very benevolence is selfish; he may defend his companion while he can
keep his feet, but the instant he is down, Sir Dugald will be as ready
to ease him of his purse, as he is to convert the skin of Gustavus into
a buff jerkin."

"And yet, if all this were true, cousin," answered Montrose, "there is
something convenient in commanding a soldier, upon whose motives and
springs of action you can calculate to a mathematical certainty. A fine
spirit like yours, my cousin, alive to a thousand sensations to which
this man's is as impervious as his corslet,--it is for such that thy
friend must feel, while he gives his advice." Then, suddenly changing
his tone, he asked Menteith when he had seen Annot Lyle.

The young Earl coloured deeply, and answered, "Not since last
evening,--excepting," he added, with hesitation, "for one moment, about
half an hour before the battle began."

"My dear Menteith," said Montrose, very kindly, "were you one of the gay
cavaliers of Whitehall, who are, in their way, as great self-seekers
as our friend Dalgetty, should I need to plague you with enquiring into
such an amourette as this? it would be an intrigue only to be laughed
at. But this is the land of enchantment, where nets strong as steel are
wrought out of ladies' tresses, and you are exactly the destined knight
to be so fettered. This poor girl is exquisitely beautiful, and has
talents formed to captivate your romantic temper. You cannot think of
injuring her--you cannot think of marrying her?"

"My lord," replied Menteith, "you have repeatedly urged this jest, for
so I trust it is meant, somewhat beyond bounds. Annot Lyle is of unknown
birth,--a captive,--the daughter, probably, of some obscure outlaw; a
dependant on the hospitality of the M'Aulays."

"Do not be angry, Menteith," said the Marquis, interrupting him; "you
love the classics, though not educated at Mareschal-College; and you may
remember how many gallant hearts captive beauty has subdued:--

     Movit Ajacem, Telamone natum,
     Forma captivae dominum Tecmessae.

In a word, I am seriously anxious about this--I should not have time,
perhaps," he added very gravely, "to trouble you with my lectures on the
subject, were your feelings, and those of Annot, alone interested; but
you have a dangerous rival in Allan M'Aulay; and there is no knowing to
what extent he may carry his resentment. It is my duty to tell you that
the King's service may be much prejudiced by dissensions betwixt you."

"My lord," said Menteith, "I know what you mean is kind and friendly; I
hope you will be satisfied when I assure you, that Allan M'Aulay and I
have discussed this circumstance; and that I have explained to him, that
it is utterly remote from my character to entertain dishonourable views
concerning this unprotected female; so, on the other hand, the obscurity
of her birth prevents my thinking of her upon other terms. I will
not disguise from your lordship, what I have not disguised from
M'Aulay,--that if Annot Lyle were born a lady, she should share my name
and rank; as matters stand, it is impossible. This explanation, I
trust, will satisfy your lordship, as it has satisfied a less reasonable
person."

Montrose shrugged his shoulders. "And, like true champions in romance,"
he said, "you have agreed, that you are both to worship the same
mistress, as idolaters do the same image, and that neither shall extend
his pretensions farther?"

"I did not go so far, my lord," answered Menteith--"I only said in
the present circumstances--and there is no prospect of their being
changed,--I could, in duty to myself and family, stand in no relation
to Annot Lyle, but as that of friend or brother--But your lordship must
excuse me; I have," said he, looking at his arm, round which he had tied
his handkerchief, "a slight hurt to attend to."

"A wound?" said Montrose, anxiously; "let me see it.--Alas!" he said, "I
should have heard nothing of this, had I not ventured to tent and sound
another more secret and more rankling one, Menteith; I am sorry for
you--I too have known--But what avails it to awake sorrows which have
long slumbered!"

So saying, he shook hands with his noble kinsman, and walked into the
castle.

Annot Lyle, as was not unusual for females in the Highlands, was
possessed of a slight degree of medical and even surgical skill. It may
readily be believed, that the profession of surgery, or medicine, as a
separate art, was unknown; and the few rude rules which they observed
were intrusted to women, or to the aged, whom constant casualties
afforded too much opportunity of acquiring experience. The care and
attention, accordingly, of Annot Lyle, her attendants, and others acting
under her direction, had made her services extremely useful during this
wild campaign. And most readily had these services been rendered to
friend and foe, wherever they could be most useful. She was now in an
apartment of the castle, anxiously superintending the preparation of
vulnerary herbs, to be applied to the wounded; receiving reports from
different females respecting those under their separate charge, and
distributing what means she had for their relief, when Allan M'Aulay
suddenly entered the apartment. She started, for she had heard that he
had left the camp upon a distant mission; and, however accustomed she
was to the gloom of his countenance, it seemed at present to have even
a darker shade than usual. He stood before her perfectly silent, and she
felt the necessity of being the first to speak.

"I thought," she said, with some effort, "you had already set out."

"My companion awaits me," said Allan; "I go instantly." Yet still he
stood before her, and held her by the arm, with a pressure which, though
insufficient to give her pain, made her sensible of his great personal
strength, his hand closing on her like the gripe of a manacle.

"Shall I take the harp?" she said, in a timid voice; "is--is the shadow
falling upon you?"

Instead of replying, he led her to the window of the apartment, which
commanded a view of the field of the slain, with all its horrors. It was
thick spread with dead and wounded, and the spoilers were busy tearing
the clothes from the victims of war and feudal ambition, with as much
indifference as if they had not been of the same species, and themselves
exposed, perhaps to-morrow, to the same fate.

"Does the sight please you?" said M'Aulay.

"It is hideous!" said Annot, covering her eyes with her hands; "how can
you bid me look upon it?"

"You must be inured to it," said he, "if you remain with this destined
host--you will soon have to search such a field for my brother's
corpse--for Menteith's--for mine---but that will be a more indifferent
task--You do not love me!"

"This is the first time you have taxed me with unkindness," said Annot,
weeping. "You are my brother--my preserver--my protector--and can I then
BUT love you?--But your hour of darkness is approaching, let me fetch my
harp--"

"Remain," said Allan, still holding her fast; "be my visions from heaven
or hell, or from the middle sphere of disembodied spirits--or be they,
as the Saxons hold, but the delusions of an over-heated fancy, they
do not now influence me; I speak the language of the natural, of the
visible world.--You love not me, Annot--you love Menteith--by him you
are beloved again, and Allan is no more to you than one of the corpses
which encumber yonder heath."

It cannot be supposed that this strange speech conveyed any new
information to her who was thus addressed. No woman ever lived who could
not, in the same circumstances, have discerned long since the state of
her lover's mind. But by thus suddenly tearing off the veil, thin as it
was, Allan prepared her to expect consequences violent in proportion to
the enthusiasm of his character. She made an effort to repel the charge
he had stated.

"You forget," she said, "your own worth and nobleness when you insult so
very helpless a being, and one whom fate has thrown so totally into
your power. You know who and what I am, and how impossible it is that
Menteith or you can use language of affection to me, beyond that of
friendship. You know from what unhappy race I have too probably derived
my existence."

"I will not believe it," said Allan, impetuously; "never flowed crystal
drop from a polluted spring."

"Yet the very doubt," pleaded Annot, "should make you forbear to use
this language to me."

"I know," said M'Aulay, "it places a bar between us--but I know also
that it divides you not so inseparably from Menteith.--Hear me, my
beloved Annot!--leave this scene of terrors and danger--go with me to
Kintail--I will place you in the house of the noble Lady of Seaforth--or
you shall be removed in safety to Icolmkill, where some women yet devote
themselves to the worship of God, after the custom of our ancestors."

"You consider not what you ask of me," replied Annot; "to undertake such
a journey under your sole guardianship, were to show me less scrupulous
than maiden ought. I will remain here, Allan--here under the protection
of the noble Montrose; and when his motions next approach the Lowlands,
I will contrive some proper means to relieve you of one, who has, she
knows not how, become an object of dislike to you."

Allan stood as if uncertain whether to give way to sympathy with her
distress, or to anger at her resistance.

"Annot," he said, "you know too well how little your words apply to
my feelings towards you--but you avail yourself of your power, and you
rejoice in my departure, as removing a spy upon your intercourse with
Menteith. But beware both of you," he added, in a stern tone; "for when
was it ever heard that an injury was offered to Allan M'Aulay, for which
he exacted not tenfold vengeance?"

So saying, he pressed her arm forcibly, pulled the bonnet over his
brows, and strode out of the apartment.

CHAPTER XXI.

     --After you're gone,
     I grew acquainted with my heart, and search'd,
     What stirr'd it so.--Alas!  I found it love.
     Yet far from lust, for could I but have lived
     In presence of you, I had had my end.--PHILASTER.

Annot Lyle had now to contemplate the terrible gulf which Allan
M'Aulay's declaration of love and jealousy had made to open around her.
It seemed as if she was tottering on the very brink of destruction, and
was at once deprived of every refuge, and of all human assistance. She
had long been conscious that she loved Menteith dearer than a brother;
indeed, how could it be otherwise, considering their early intimacy, the
personal merit of the young nobleman, his assiduous attentions,--and his
infinite superiority in gentleness of disposition, and grace of manners,
over the race of rude warriors with whom she lived? But her affection
was of that quiet, timid, meditative character, which sought rather a
reflected share in the happiness of the beloved object, than formed
more presumptuous or daring hopes. A little Gaelic song, in which she
expressed her feelings, has been translated by the ingenious and unhappy
Andrew M'Donald; and we willingly transcribe the lines:--

     Wert thou, like me, in life's low vale,
     With thee how blest, that lot I'd share;
     With thee I'd fly wherever gale
     Could waft, or bounding galley bear.
     But parted by severe decree,
     Far different must our fortunes prove;
     May thine be joy--enough for me
     To weep and pray for him I love.

     The pangs this foolish heart must feel,
     When hope shall be forever flown,
     No sullen murmur shall reveal,
     No selfish murmurs ever own.
     Nor will I through life's weary years,
     Like a pale drooping mourner move,
     While I can think my secret tears
     May wound the heart of him I love.

The furious declaration of Allan had destroyed the romantic plan which
she had formed, of nursing in secret her pensive tenderness, without
seeking any other requital. Long before this, she had dreaded Allan, as
much as gratitude, and a sense that he softened towards her a temper so
haughty and so violent, could permit her to do; but now she regarded him
with unalloyed terror, which a perfect knowledge of his disposition, and
of his preceding history, too well authorised her to entertain. Whatever
was in other respects the nobleness of his disposition, he had never
been known to resist the wilfulness of passion,--he walked in the house,
and in the country of his fathers, like a tamed lion, whom no one dared
to contradict, lest they should awaken his natural vehemence of passion.
So many years had elapsed since he had experienced contradiction, or
even expostulation, that probably nothing but the strong good sense,
which, on all points, his mysticism excepted, formed the ground of his
character, prevented his proving an annoyance and terror to the whole
neighbourhood. But Annot had no time to dwell upon her fears, being
interrupted by the entrance of Sir Dugald Dalgetty.

It may well be supposed, that the scenes in which this person had passed
his former life, had not much qualified him to shine in female society.
He himself felt a sort of consciousness that the language of the
barrack, guard-room, and parade, was not proper to entertain ladies.
The only peaceful part of his life had been spent at Mareschal-College,
Aberdeen; and he had forgot the little he had learned there, except the
arts of darning his own hose, and dispatching his commons with unusual
celerity, both which had since been kept in good exercise by the
necessity of frequent practice. Still it was from an imperfect
recollection of what he had acquired during this pacific period, that
he drew his sources of conversation when in company with women; in other
words, his language became pedantic when it ceased to be military.

"Mistress Annot Lyle," said he, upon the present occasion, "I am just
now like the half-pike, or spontoon of Achilles, one end of which could
wound and the other cure--a property belonging neither to Spanish pike,
brown-bill, partizan, halberd, Lochaber-axe, or indeed any other modern
staff-weapon whatever." This compliment he repeated twice; but as Annot
scarce heard him the first time, and did not comprehend him the second,
he was obliged to explain.

"I mean," he said, "Mistress Annot Lyle, that having been the means
of an honourable knight receiving a severe wound in this day's
conflict,--he having pistolled, somewhat against the law of arms, my
horse, which was named after the immortal King of Sweden,--I am desirous
of procuring him such solacement as you, madam, can supply, you being
like the heathen god Esculapius" (meaning possibly Apollo), "skilful
not only in song and in music, but in the more noble art of
chirurgery-OPIFERQUE PER ORBEM DICOR."

"If you would have the goodness to explain," said Annot, too sick at
heart to be amused by Sir Dugald's airs of pedantic gallantry.

"That, madam," replied the Knight, "may not be so easy, as I am out
of the habit of construing--but we shall try. DICOR, supply EGO--I
am called,--OPIFER? OPIFER?--I remember SIGNIFER and FURCIFER--but
I believe OPIFER stands in this place for M.D., that is, Doctor of
Physic."

"This is a busy day with us all," said Annot; "will you say at once what
you want with me?"

"Merely," replied Sir Dugald, "that you will visit my brother knight,
and let your maiden bring some medicaments for his wound, which
threatens to be what the learned call a DAMNUM FATALE."

Annot Lyle never lingered in the cause of humanity. She informed herself
hastily of the nature of the injury, and interesting herself for the
dignified old Chief whom she had seen at Darnlinvarach, and whose
presence had so much struck her, she hastened to lose the sense of her
own sorrow for a time, in the attempt to be useful to another.

Sir Dugald with great form ushered Annot Lyle to the chamber of her
patient, in which, to her surprise, she found Lord Menteith. She could
not help blushing deeply at the meeting, but, to hide her confusion,
proceeded instantly to examine the wound of the Knight of Ardenvohr, and
easily satisfied herself that it was beyond her skill to cure it. As
for Sir Dugald, he returned to a large outhouse, on the floor of which,
among other wounded men, was deposited the person of Ranald of the Mist.

"Mine old friend," said the Knight, "as I told you before, I would
willingly do anything to pleasure you, in return for the wound you have
received while under my safe-conduct. I have, therefore, according to
your earnest request, sent Mrs. Annot Lyle to attend upon the wound of
the knight of Ardenvohr, though wherein her doing so should benefit you,
I cannot imagine.--I think you once spoke of some blood relationship
between them; but a soldado, in command and charge like me, has other
things to trouble his head with than Highland genealogies."

And indeed, to do the worthy Major justice, he never enquired after,
listened to, or recollected, the business of other people, unless it
either related to the art military, or was somehow or other connected
with his own interest, in either of which cases his memory was very
tenacious.

"And now, my good friend of the Mist," said he, "can you tell me what
has become of your hopeful grandson, as I have not seen him since he
assisted me to disarm after the action, a negligence which deserveth the
strapado?"

"He is not far from hence," said the wounded outlaw--"lift not your hand
upon him, for he is man enough to pay a yard of leathern scourge with a
foot of tempered steel."

"A most improper vaunt," said Sir Dugald; "but I owe you some favours,
Ranald, and therefore shall let it pass."

"And if you think you owe me anything," said the outlaw, "it is in your
power to requite me by granting me a boon."

"Friend Ranald," answered Dalgetty, "I have read of these boons in silly
story-books, whereby simple knights were drawn into engagements to their
great prejudice; wherefore, Ranald, the more prudent knights of this
day never promise anything until they know that they may keep their
word anent the premises, without any displeasure or incommodement to
themselves. It may be, you would have me engage the female chirurgeon
to visit your wound; though you ought to consider, Ranald, that the
uncleanness of the place where you are deposited may somewhat soil the
gaiety of her garments, concerning the preservation of which, you may
have observed, women are apt to be inordinately solicitous. I lost the
favour of the lady of the Grand Pensionary of Amsterdam, by touching
with the sole of my boot the train of her black velvet gown, which
I mistook for a foot-cloth, it being half the room distant from her
person."

"It is not to bring Annot Lyle hither," answered MacEagh, "but to
transport me into the room where she is in attendance upon the Knight of
Ardenvohr. Somewhat I have to say of the last consequence to them both."

"It is something out of the order of due precedence," said Dalgetty, "to
carry a wounded outlaw into the presence of a knight; knighthood having
been of yore, and being, in some respects, still, the highest military
grade, independent always of commissioned officers, who rank according
to their patents; nevertheless, as your boon, as you call it, is so
slight, I shall not deny compliance with the same." So saying, he
ordered three files of men to transport MacEagh on their shoulders
to Sir Duncan Campbell's apartment, and he himself hastened before
to announce the cause of his being brought thither. But such was the
activity of the soldiers employed, that they followed him close at the
heels, and, entering with their ghastly burden, laid MacEagh on the
floor of the apartment. His features, naturally wild, were now distorted
by pain; his hands and scanty garments stained with his own blood, and
those of others, which no kind hand had wiped away, although the wound
in his side had been secured by a bandage.

"Are you," he said, raising his head painfully towards the couch where
lay stretched his late antagonist, "he whom men call the Knight of
Ardenvohr?"

"The same," answered Sir Duncan,--"what would you with one whose hours
are now numbered?"

"My hours are reduced to minutes," said the outlaw; "the more grace, if
I bestow them in the service of one, whose hand has ever been against
me, as mine has been raised higher against him."

"Thine higher against me!--Crushed worm!" said the Knight, looking down
on his miserable adversary.

"Yes," answered the outlaw, in a firm voice, "my arm hath been highest.
In the deadly contest betwixt us, the wounds I have dealt have been
deepest, though thine have neither been idle nor unfelt.--I am Ranald
MacEagh--I am Ranald of the Mist--the night that I gave thy castle to
the winds in one huge blaze of fire, is now matched with the day in
which you have fallen under the sword of my fathers.--Remember the
injuries thou hast done our tribe--never were such inflicted, save
by one, beside thee. HE, they say, is fated and secure against our
vengeance--a short time will show."

"My Lord Menteith," said Sir Duncan, raising himself out of his bed,
"this is a proclaimed villain, at once the enemy of King and Parliament,
of God and man--one of the outlawed banditti of the Mist; alike the
enemy of your house, of the M'Aulays, and of mine. I trust you will
not suffer moments, which are perhaps my last, to be embittered by his
barbarous triumph."

"He shall have the treatment he merits," said Menteith; "let him be
instantly removed."

Sir Dugald here interposed, and spoke of Ranald's services as a guide,
and his own pledge for his safety; but the high harsh tones of the
outlaw drowned his voice.

"No," said he, "be rack and gibbet the word! let me wither between
heaven and earth, and gorge the hawks and eagles of Ben-Nevis; and so
shall this haughty Knight, and this triumphant Thane, never learn the
secret I alone can impart; a secret which would make Ardenvohr's
heart leap with joy, were he in the death agony, and which the Earl of
Menteith would purchase at the price of his broad earldom.--Come hither,
Annot Lyle," he said, raising himself with unexpected strength; "fear
not the sight of him to whom thou hast clung in infancy. Tell these
proud men, who disdain thee as the issue of mine ancient race, that thou
art no blood of ours,--no daughter of the race of the Mist, but born in
halls as lordly, and cradled on couch as soft, as ever soothed infancy
in their proudest palaces."

"In the name of God," said Menteith, trembling with emotion, "if you
know aught of the birth of this lady, do thy conscience the justice to
disburden it of the secret before departing from this world!"

"And bless my enemies with my dying breath?" said MacEagh, looking at
him malignantly.--"Such are the maxims your priests preach--but when,
or towards whom, do you practise them? Let me know first the worth of my
secret ere I part with it--What would you give, Knight of Ardenvohr, to
know that your superstitious fasts have been vain, and that there still
remains a descendant of your house?--I pause for an answer--without it,
I speak not one word more.

"I could," said Sir Duncan, his voice struggling between the emotions of
doubt, hatred, and anxiety--"I could--but that I know thy race are like
the Great Enemy, liars and murderers from the beginning--but could it be
true thou tellest me, I could almost forgive thee the injuries thou hast
done me."

"Hear it!" said Ranald; "he hath wagered deeply for a son of
Diarmid--And you, gentle Thane--the report of the camp says, that you
would purchase with life and lands the tidings that Annot Lyle was no
daughter of proscription, but of a race noble in your estimation as your
own--Well--It is for no love I tell you--The time has been that I would
have exchanged this secret against liberty; I am now bartering it for
what is dearer than liberty or life.--Annot Lyle is the youngest, the
sole surviving child of the Knight of Ardenvohr, who alone was saved
when all in his halls besides was given to blood and ashes."

"Can this man speak truth?" said Annot Lyle, scarce knowing what she
said; "or is this some strange delusion?"

"Maiden," replied Ranald, "hadst thou dwelt longer with us, thou wouldst
have better learnt to know how to distinguish the accents of truth.
To that Saxon lord, and to the Knight of Ardenvohr, I will yield such
proofs of what I have spoken, that incredulity shall stand convinced.
Meantime, withdraw--I loved thine infancy, I hate not thy youth--no eye
hates the rose in its blossom, though it groweth upon a thorn, and for
thee only do I something regret what is soon to follow. But he that
would avenge him of his foe must not reck though the guiltless be
engaged in the ruin."

"He advises well, Annot," said Lord Menteith; "in God's name retire!
if--if there be aught in this, your meeting with Sir Duncan must be more
prepared for both your sakes."

"I will not part from my father, if I have found one!" said Annot--"I
will not part from him under circumstances so terrible."

"And a father you shall ever find in me," murmured Sir Duncan.

"Then," said Menteith, "I will have MacEagh removed into an adjacent
apartment, and will collect the evidence of his tale myself. Sir Dugald
Dalgetty will give me his attendance and assistance."

"With pleasure, my lord," answered Sir Dugald.--"I will be your
confessor, or assessor--either or both. No one can be so fit, for I had
heard the whole story a month ago at Inverary castle--but onslaughts
like that of Ardenvohr confuse each other in my memory, which is besides
occupied with matters of more importance."

Upon hearing this frank declaration, which was made as they left the
apartment with the wounded man, Lord Menteith darted upon Dalgetty a
look of extreme anger and disdain, to which the self-conceit of the
worthy commander rendered him totally insensible.

CHAPTER XXII.

     I am as free as nature first made man,
     Ere the base laws of servitude began,
     When wild in woods the noble savage ran.
     --CONQUEST OF GRANADA

The Earl of Menteith, as he had undertaken, so he proceeded to
investigate more closely the story told by Ranald of the Mist, which was
corroborated by the examination of his two followers, who had assisted
in the capacity of guides. These declarations he carefully compared with
such circumstances concerning the destruction of his castle and family
as Sir Duncan Campbell was able to supply; and it may be supposed he had
forgotten nothing relating to an event of such terrific importance. It
was of the last consequence to prove that this was no invention of
the outlaw's, for the purpose of passing an impostor as the child and
heiress of Ardenvohr.

Perhaps Menteith, so much interested in believing the tale, was not
altogether the fittest person to be intrusted with the investigation of
its truth; but the examinations of the Children of the Mist were simple,
accurate, and in all respects consistent with each other. A personal
mark was referred to, which was known to have been borne by the infant
child of Sir Duncan, and which appeared upon the left shoulder of Annot
Lyle. It was also well remembered, that when the miserable relics of the
other children had been collected, those of the infant had nowhere
been found. Other circumstances of evidence, which it is unnecessary to
quote, brought the fullest conviction not only to Menteith, but to the
unprejudiced mind of Montrose, that in Annot Lyle, an humble dependant,
distinguished only by beauty and talent, they were in future to respect
the heiress of Ardenvohr.

While Menteith hastened to communicate the result of these enquiries
to the persons most interested, the outlaw demanded to speak with his
grandchild, whom he usually called his son. "He would be found," he
said, "in the outer apartment, in which he himself had been originally
deposited."

Accordingly, the young savage, after a close search, was found lurking
in a corner, coiled up among some rotten straw, and brought to his
grandsire.

"Kenneth," said the old outlaw, "hear the last words of the sire of
thy father. A Saxon soldier, and Allan of the Red-hand, left this camp
within these few hours, to travel to the country to Caberfae. Pursue
them as the bloodhound pursues the hurt deer--swim the lake-climb the
mountain--thread the forest--tarry not until you join them;" and then
the countenance of the lad darkened as his grandfather spoke, and he
laid his hand upon a knife which stuck in the thong of leather that
confined his scanty plaid. "No!" said the old man; "it is not by thy
hand he must fall. They will ask the news from the camp--say to them
that Annot Lyle of the Harp is discovered to be the daughter of Duncan
of Ardenvohr; that the Thane of Menteith is to wed her before the
priest; and that you are sent to bid guests to the bridal. Tarry
not their answer, but vanish like the lightning when the black cloud
swallows it.--And now depart, beloved son of my best beloved! I shall
never more see thy face, nor hear the light sound of thy footstep--yet
tarry an instant and hear my last charge. Remember the fate of our race,
and quit not the ancient manners of the Children of the Mist. We are now
a straggling handful, driven from every vale by the sword of every clan,
who rule in the possessions where their forefathers hewed the wood, and
drew the water for ours. But in the thicket of the wilderness, and in
the mist of the mountain, Kenneth, son of Eracht, keep thou unsoiled the
freedom which I leave thee as a birthright. Barter it not neither for
the rich garment, nor for the stone-roof, nor for the covered board, nor
for the couch of down--on the rock or in the valley, in abundance or in
famine--in the leafy summer, and in the days of the iron winter--Son of
the Mist! be free as thy forefathers. Own no lord--receive no law--take
no hire--give no stipend--build no hut--enclose no pasture--sow no
grain;--let the deer of the mountain be thy flocks and herds--if these
fail thee, prey upon the goods of our oppressors--of the Saxons, and of
such Gael as are Saxons in their souls, valuing herds and flocks more
than honour and freedom. Well for us that they do so--it affords the
broader scope for our revenge. Remember those who have done kindness to
our race, and pay their services with thy blood, should the hour require
it. If a MacIan shall come to thee with the head of the king's son
in his hand, shelter him, though the avenging army of the father were
behind him; for in Glencoe and Ardnamurchan, we have dwelt in peace
in the years that have gone by. The sons of Diarmid--the race of
Darnlinvarach--the riders of Menteith--my curse on thy head, Child of
the Mist, if thou spare one of those names, when the time shall offer
for cutting them off! and it will come anon, for their own swords shall
devour each other, and those who are scattered shall fly to the Mist,
and perish by its Children. Once more, begone--shake the dust from thy
feet against the habitations of men, whether banded together for peace
or for war. Farewell, beloved! and mayst thou die like thy
forefathers, ere infirmity, disease, or age, shall break thy
spirit--Begone!--begone!--live free--requite kindness--avenge the
injuries of thy race!"

The young savage stooped, and kissed the brow of his dying parent; but
accustomed from infancy to suppress every exterior sign of emotion,
he parted without tear or adieu, and was soon far beyond the limits of
Montrose's camp.

Sir Dugald Dalgetty, who was present during the latter part of this
scene, was very little edified by the conduct of MacEagh upon the
occasion. "I cannot think, my friend Ranald," said he, "that you are in
the best possible road for a dying man. Storms, onslaughts, massacres,
the burning of suburbs, are indeed a soldier's daily work, and are
justified by the necessity of the case, seeing that they are done in the
course of duty; for burning of suburbs, in particular, it may be said
that they are traitors and cut-throats to all fortified towns. Hence it
is plain, that a soldier is a profession peculiarly favoured by Heaven,
seeing that we may hope for salvation, although we daily commit actions
of so great violence. But then, Ranald, in all services of Europe, it is
the custom of the dying soldier not to vaunt him of such doings, or
to recommend them to his fellows; but, on the contrary, to express
contrition for the same, and to repeat, or have repeated to him, some
comfortable prayer; which, if you please, I will intercede with his
Excellency's chaplain to prefer on your account. It is otherwise no
point of my duty to put you in mind of those things; only it may be for
the ease of your conscience to depart more like a Christian, and less
like a Turk, than you seem to be in a fair way of doing."

The only answer of the dying man--(for as such Ranald MacEagh might now
be considered)--was a request to be raised to such a position that he
might obtain a view from the window of the Castle. The deep frost mist,
which had long settled upon the top of the mountains, was now rolling
down each rugged glen and gully, where the craggy ridges showed their
black and irregular outline, like desert islands rising above the ocean
of vapour. "Spirit of the Mist!" said Ranald MacEagh, "called by our
race our father, and our preserver--receive into thy tabernacle of
clouds, when this pang is over, him whom in life thou hast so often
sheltered." So saying, he sunk back into the arms of those who upheld
him, spoke no further word, but turned his face to the wall for a short
space.

"I believe," said Dalgetty, "my friend Ranald will be found in his heart
to be little better than a heathen." And he renewed his proposal
to procure him the assistance of Dr. Wisheart, Montrose's military
chaplain; "a man," said Sir Dugald, "very clever in his exercise, and
who will do execution on your sins in less time than I could smoke a
pipe of tobacco."

"Saxon," said the dying man, "speak to me no more of thy priest--I die
contented. Hadst thou ever an enemy against whom weapons were of no
avail--whom the ball missed, and against whom the arrow shivered, and
whose bare skin was as impenetrable to sword and dirk as thy steel
garment--Heardst thou ever of such a foe?"

"Very frequently, when I served in Germany," replied Sir Dugald. "There
was such a fellow at Ingolstadt; he was proof both against lead and
steel. The soldiers killed him with the buts of their muskets."

"This impassible foe," said Ranald, without regarding the Major's
interruption, "who has the blood dearest to me upon his hands--to this
man I have now bequeathed agony of mind, jealousy, despair, and sudden
death,--or a life more miserable than death itself. Such shall be the
lot of Allan of the Red-hand, when he learns that Annot weds Menteith
and I ask no more than the certainty that it is so, to sweeten my own
bloody end by his hand."

"If that be the case," said the Major, "there's no more to be said; but
I shall take care as few people see you as possible, for I cannot
think your mode of departure can be at all creditable or exemplary to
a Christian army." So saying, he left the apartment, and the Son of the
Mist soon after breathed his last.

Menteith, in the meanwhile, leaving the new-found relations to their
mutual feelings of mingled emotion, was eagerly discussing with Montrose
the consequences of this discovery. "I should now see," said the
Marquis, "even had I not before observed it, that your interest in
this discovery, my dear Menteith, has no small reference to your own
happiness. You love this new-found lady,--your affection is returned. In
point of birth, no exceptions can be made; in every other respect,
her advantages are equal to those which you yourself possess--think,
however, a moment. Sir Duncan is a fanatic--Presbyterian, at least--in
arms against the King; he is only with us in the quality of a prisoner,
and we are, I fear, but at the commencement of a long civil war. Is this
a time, think you, Menteith, for you to make proposals for his heiress?
Or what chance is there that he will now listen to it?"

Passion, an ingenious, as well as an eloquent advocate, supplied the
young nobleman with a thousand answers to these objections. He reminded
Montrose that the Knight of Ardenvohr was neither a bigot in politics
nor religion. He urged his own known and proved zeal for the royal
cause, and hinted that its influence might be extended and strengthened
by his wedding the heiress of Ardenvohr. He pleaded the dangerous state
of Sir Duncan's wound, the risk which must be run by suffering the young
lady to be carried into the country of the Campbells, where, in case of
her father's death, or continued indisposition, she must necessarily
be placed under the guardianship of Argyle, an event fatal to his
(Menteith's) hopes, unless he could stoop to purchase his favour by
abandoning the King's party.

Montrose allowed the force of these arguments, and owned, although the
matter was attended with difficulty, yet it seemed consistent with the
King's service that it should be concluded as speedily as possible.

"I could wish," said he, "that it were all settled in one way or
another, and that this fair Briseis were removed from our camp before
the return of our Highland Achilles, Allan M'Aulay.--I fear some fatal
feud in that quarter, Menteith--and I believe it would be best that Sir
Duncan be dismissed on his parole, and that you accompany him and his
daughter as his escort. The journey can be made chiefly by water, so
will not greatly incommode his wound--and your own, my friend, will be
an honourable excuse for the absence of some time from my camp."

"Never!" said Menteith. "Were I to forfeit the very hope that has so
lately dawned upon me, never will I leave your Excellency's camp while
the royal standard is displayed. I should deserve that this trifling
scratch should gangrene and consume my sword-arm, were I capable
of holding it as an excuse for absence at this crisis of the King's
affairs."

"On this, then, you are determined?" said Montrose.

"As fixed as Ben-Nevis," said the young nobleman.

"You must, then," said Montrose, "lose no time in seeking an explanation
with the Knight of Ardenvohr. If this prove favourable, I will talk
myself with the elder M'Aulay, and we will devise means to employ his
brother at a distance from the army until he shall be reconciled to his
present disappointment. Would to God some vision would descend upon his
imagination fair enough to obliterate all traces of Annot Lyle! That
perhaps you think impossible, Menteith?--Well, each to his service; you
to that of Cupid, and I to that of Mars."

They parted, and in pursuance of the scheme arranged, Menteith, early on
the ensuing morning, sought a private interview with the wounded Knight
of Ardenvohr, and communicated to him his suit for the hand of his
daughter. Of their mutual attachment Sir Duncan was aware, but he was
not prepared for so early a declaration on the part of Menteith. He
said, at first, that he had already, perhaps, indulged too much in
feelings of personal happiness, at a time when his clan had sustained
so great a loss and humiliation, and that he was unwilling, therefore,
farther to consider the advancement of his own house at a period so
calamitous. On the more urgent suit of the noble lover, he requested a
few hours to deliberate and consult with his daughter, upon a question
so highly important.

The result of this interview and deliberation was favourable to
Menteith. Sir Duncan Campbell became fully sensible that the happiness
of his new-found daughter depended upon a union with her lover; and
unless such were now formed, he saw that Argyle would throw a thousand
obstacles in the way of a match in every respect acceptable to himself.
Menteith's private character was so excellent, and such was the rank and
consideration due to his fortune and family, that they outbalanced, in
Sir Duncan's opinion, the difference in their political opinions. Nor
could he have resolved, perhaps, had his own opinion of the match been
less favourable, to decline an opportunity of indulging the new-found
child of his hopes. There was, besides, a feeling of pride which
dictated his determination. To produce the Heiress of Ardenvohr to the
world as one who had been educated a poor dependant and musician in the
family of Darnlinvarach, had something in it that was humiliating. To
introduce her as the betrothed bride, or wedded wife, of the Earl of
Menteith, upon an attachment formed during her obscurity, was a warrant
to the world that she had at all times been worthy of the rank to which
she was elevated.

It was under the influence of these considerations that Sir Duncan
Campbell announced to the lovers his consent that they should be married
in the chapel of the Castle, by Montrose's chaplain, and as privately as
possible. But when Montrose should break up from Inverlochy, for which
orders were expected in the course of a very few days, it was agreed
that the young Countess should depart with her father to his Castle, and
remain there until the circumstances of the nation permitted Menteith to
retire with honour from his present military employment. His resolution
being once taken, Sir Duncan Campbell would not permit the maidenly
scruples of his daughter to delay its execution; and it was therefore
resolved that the bridal should take place the next evening, being the
second after the battle.

CHAPTER XXIII.

     My maid--my blue-eyed maid, he bore away,
     Due to the toils of many a bloody day.--ILLIAD.

It was necessary, for many reasons, that Angus M'Aulay, so long the kind
protector of Annot Lyle, should be made acquainted with the change in
the fortunes of his late protege; and Montrose, as he had undertaken,
communicated to him these remarkable events. With the careless and
cheerful indifference of his character, he expressed much more joy than
wonder at Annot's good fortune; had no doubt whatever she would merit
it, and as she had always been bred in loyal principles, would convey
the whole estate of her grim fanatical father to some honest fellow who
loved the king. "I should have no objection that my brother Allan should
try his chance," added he, "notwithstanding that Sir Duncan Campbell was
the only man who ever charged Darnlinvarach with inhospitality. Annot
Lyle could always charm Allan out of the sullens, and who knows whether
matrimony might not make him more a man of this world?" Montrose
hastened to interrupt the progress of his castle-building, by informing
him that the lady was already wooed and won, and, with her father's
approbation, was almost immediately to be wedded to his kinsman, the
Earl of Menteith; and that in testimony of the high respect due to
M'Aulay, so long the lady's protector, he was now to request his
presence at the ceremony. M'Aulay looked very grave at this intimation,
and drew up his person with the air of one who thought that he had been
neglected.

"He contrived," he said, "that his uniform kind treatment of the young
lady, while so many years under his roof, required something more upon
such an occasion than a bare compliment of ceremony. He might," he
thought, "without arrogance, have expected to have been consulted. He
wished his kinsman of Menteith well, no man could wish him better;
but he must say he thought he had been hasty in this matter. Allan's
sentiments towards the young lady had been pretty well understood, and
he, for one, could not see why the superior pretensions which he
had upon her gratitude should have been set aside, without at least
undergoing some previous discussion."

Montrose, seeing too well where all this pointed, entreated M'Aulay
to be reasonable, and to consider what probability there was that the
Knight of Ardenvohr could be brought to confer the hand of his sole
heiress upon Allan, whose undeniable excellent qualities were mingled
with others, by which they were overclouded in a manner that made all
tremble who approached him.

"My lord," said Angus M'Aulay, "my brother Allan has, as God made us
all, faults as well as merits; but he is the best and bravest man of
your army, be the other who he may, and therefore ill deserved that his
happiness should have been so little consulted by your Excellency--by
his own near kinsman--and by a young person who owes all to him and to
his family."

Montrose in vain endeavoured to place the subject in a different view;
this was the point in which Angus was determined to regard it, and he
was a man of that calibre of understanding, who is incapable of being
convinced when he has once adopted a prejudice. Montrose now assumed
a higher tone, and called upon Angus to take care how he nourished
any sentiments which might be prejudicial to his Majesty's service. He
pointed out to him, that he was peculiarly desirous that Allan's efforts
should not be interrupted in the course of his present mission; "a
mission," he said, "highly honourable for himself, and likely to prove
most advantageous to the King's cause. He expected his brother would
hold no communication with him upon other subjects, nor stir up any
cause of dissension, which might divert his mind from a matter of such
importance."

Angus answered somewhat sulkily, that "he was no makebate, or stirrer-up
of quarrels; he would rather be a peacemaker. His brother knew as well
as most men how to resent his own quarrels--as for Allan's mode of
receiving information, it was generally believed he had other sources
than those of ordinary couriers. He should not be surprised if they saw
him sooner than they expected."

A promise that he would not interfere, was the farthest to which
Montrose could bring this man, thoroughly good-tempered as he was on all
occasions, save when his pride, interest, or prejudices, were interfered
with. And at this point the Marquis was fain to leave the matter for the
present.

A more willing guest at the bridal ceremony, certainly a more willing
attendant at the marriage feast, was to be expected in Sir Dugald
Dalgetty, whom Montrose resolved to invite, as having been a confidant
to the circumstances which preceded it. But even Sir Dugald hesitated,
looked on the elbows of his doublet, and the knees of his leather
breeches, and mumbled out a sort of reluctant acquiescence in the
invitation, providing he should find it possible, after consulting with
the noble bridegroom. Montrose was somewhat surprised, but scorning to
testify displeasure, he left Sir Dugald to pursue his own course.

This carried him instantly to the chamber of the bride-groom, who,
amidst the scanty wardrobe which his camp-equipage afforded, was
seeking for such articles as might appear to the best advantage upon the
approaching occasion. Sir Dugald entered, and paid his compliments, with
a very grave face, upon his approaching happiness, which, he said, "he
was very sorry he was prevented from witnessing."

"In plain truth," said he, "I should but disgrace the ceremony, seeing
that I lack a bridal garment. Rents, and open seams, and tatters
at elbows in the apparel of the assistants, might presage a similar
solution of continuity in your matrimonial happiness--and to say truth,
my lord, you yourself must partly have the blame of this disappointment,
in respect you sent me upon a fool's errand to get a buff-coat out of
the booty taken by the Camerons, whereas you might as well have sent me
to fetch a pound of fresh butter out of a black dog's throat. I had no
answer, my lord, but brandished dirks and broadswords, and a sort of
growling and jabbering in what they call their language. For my part, I
believe these Highlanders to be no better than absolute pagans, and have
been much scandalized by the manner in which my acquaintance, Ranald
MacEagh, was pleased to beat his final march, a little while since."

In Menteith's state of mind, disposed to be pleased with everything,
and everybody, the grave complaint of Sir Dugald furnished additional
amusement. He requested his acceptance of a very handsome buff-dress
which was lying on the floor. "I had intended it," he said, "for my own
bridal-garment, as being the least formidable of my warlike equipments,
and I have here no peaceful dress."

Sir Dugald made the necessary apologies--would not by any means
deprive--and so forth, until it happily occurred to him that it was much
more according to military rule that the Earl should be married in his
back and breast pieces, which dress he had seen the bridegroom wear at
the union of Prince Leo of Wittlesbach with the youngest daughter of old
George Frederick, of Saxony, under the auspices of the gallant Gustavus
Adolphus, the Lion of the North, and so forth. The good-natured young
Earl laughed, and acquiesced; and thus having secured at least one merry
face at his bridal, he put on a light and ornamented cuirass, concealed
partly by a velvet coat, and partly by a broad blue silk scarf, which
he wore over his shoulder, agreeably to his rank, and the fashion of the
times.

Everything was now arranged; and it had been settled that, according
to the custom of the country, the bride and bridegroom should not again
meet until they were before the altar. The hour had already struck that
summoned the bridegroom thither, and he only waited in a small anteroom
adjacent to the chapel, for the Marquis, who condescended to act as
bride's-man upon the occasion. Business relating to the army having
suddenly required the Marquis's instant attention, Menteith waited his
return, it may be supposed, in some impatience; and when he heard
the door of the apartment open, he said, laughing, "You are late upon
parade."

"You will find I am too early," said Allan M'Aulay, who burst into the
apartment. "Draw, Menteith, and defend yourself like a man, or die like
a dog!"

"You are mad, Allan!" answered Menteith, astonished alike at his sudden
appearance, and at the unutterable fury of his demeanour. His cheeks
were livid--his eyes started from their sockets--his lips were covered
with foam, and his gestures were those of a demoniac.

"You lie, traitor!" was his frantic reply--"you lie in that, as you lie
in all you have said to me. Your life is a lie!"

"Did I not speak my thoughts when I called you mad," said Menteith,
indignantly, "your own life were a brief one. In what do you charge me
with deceiving you?"

"You told me," answered M'Aulay, "that you would not marry Annot
Lyle!--False traitor!--she now waits you at the altar."

"It is you who speak false," retorted Menteith. "I told you the
obscurity of her birth was the only bar to our union--that is now
removed; and whom do you think yourself, that I should yield up my
pretensions in your favour?"

"Draw then," said M'Aulay; "we understand each other."

"Not now," said Menteith, "and not here. Allan, you know me well--wait
till to-morrow, and you shall have fighting enough."

"This hour--this instant--or never," answered M'Aulay.

"Your triumph shall not go farther than the hour which is stricken.
Menteith, I entreat you by our relationship--by our joint conflicts and
labours--draw your sword, and defend your life!" As he spoke, he seized
the Earl's hand, and wrung it with such frantic earnestness, that his
grasp forced the blood to start under the nails. Menteith threw him off
with violence, exclaiming, "Begone, madman!"

"Then, be the vision accomplished!" said Allan; and, drawing his dirk,
struck with his whole gigantic force at the Earl's bosom. The temper of
the corslet threw the point of the weapon upwards, but a deep wound
took place between the neck and shoulder; and the force of the blow
prostrated the bridegroom on the floor. Montrose entered at one side of
the anteroom. The bridal company, alarmed at the noise, were in equal
apprehension and surprise; but ere Montrose could almost see what had
happened, Allan M'Aulay had rushed past him, and descended the
castle stairs like lightning. "Guards, shut the gate!" exclaimed
Montrose--"Seize him--kill him, if he resists!--He shall die, if he were
my brother!"

But Allan prostrated, with a second blow of his dagger, a sentinel who
was upon duty---traversed the camp like a mountain-deer, though pursued
by all who caught the alarm--threw himself into the river, and, swimming
to the opposite side, was soon lost among the woods. In the course of
the same evening, his brother Angus and his followers left Montrose's
camp, and, taking the road homeward, never again rejoined him.

Of Allan himself it is said, that, in a wonderfully short space after
the deed was committed, he burst into a room in the Castle of Inverary,
where Argyle was sitting in council, and flung on the table his bloody
dirk.

"Is it the blood of James Grahame?" said Argyle, a ghastly expression
of hope mixing with the terror which the sudden apparition naturally
excited.

"It is the blood of his minion," answered M'Aulay--"It is the blood
which I was predestined to shed, though I would rather have spilt my
own."

Having thus spoken, he turned and left the castle, and from that moment
nothing certain is known of his fate. As the boy Kenneth, with three of
the Children of the Mist, were seen soon afterwards to cross Lochfine,
it is supposed they dogged his course, and that he perished by their
hand in some obscure wilderness. Another opinion maintains, that Allan
M'Aulay went abroad and died a monk of the Carthusian order. But nothing
beyond bare presumption could ever be brought in support of either
opinion.

His vengeance was much less complete than he probably fancied; for
Menteith, though so severely wounded as to remain long in a dangerous
state, was, by having adopted Major Dalgetty's fortunate recommendation
of a cuirass as a bridal-garment, happily secured from the worst
consequences of the blow. But his services were lost to Montrose; and it
was thought best, that he should be conveyed with his intended
countess, now truly a mourning bride, and should accompany his wounded
father-in-law to the castle of Sir Duncan at Ardenvohr. Dalgetty
followed them to the water's edge, reminding Menteith of the necessity
of erecting a sconce on Drumsnab to cover his lady's newly-acquired
inheritance.

They performed their voyage in safety, and Menteith was in a few weeks
so well in health, as to be united to Annot in the castle of her father.

The Highlanders were somewhat puzzled to reconcile Menteith's recovery
with the visions of the second sight, and the more experienced Seers
were displeased with him for not having died. But others thought the
credit of the vision sufficiently fulfilled, by the wound inflicted by
the hand, and with the weapon, foretold; and all were of opinion, that
the incident of the ring, with the death's head, related to the death
of the bride's father, who did not survive her marriage many months.
The incredulous held, that all this was idle dreaming, and that Allan's
supposed vision was but a consequence of the private suggestions of his
own passion, which, having long seen in Menteith a rival more beloved
than himself, struggled with his better nature, and impressed upon him,
as it were involuntarily, the idea of killing his competitor.

Menteith did not recover sufficiently to join Montrose during his brief
and glorious career; and when that heroic general disbanded his army and
retired from Scotland, Menteith resolved to adopt the life of privacy,
which he led till the Restoration. After that happy event, he occupied
a situation in the land befitting his rank, lived long, happy alike in
public regard and in domestic affection, and died at a good old age.

Our DRAMATIS PERSONAE have been so limited, that, excepting Montrose,
whose exploits and fate are the theme of history, we have only to
mention Sir Dugald Dalgetty. This gentleman continued, with the most
rigorous punctuality, to discharge his duty, and to receive his pay,
until he was made prisoner, among others, upon the field of Philiphaugh.
He was condemned to share the fate of his fellow-officers upon that
occasion, who were doomed to death rather by denunciations from the
pulpit, than the sentence either of civil or military tribunal; their
blood being considered as a sort of sin-offering to take away the guilt
of the land, and the fate imposed upon the Canaanites, under a special
dispensation, being impiously and cruelly applied to them.

Several Lowland officers, in the service of the Covenanters, interceded
for Dalgetty on this occasion, representing him as a person whose skill
would be useful in their army, and who would be readily induced to
change his service. But on this point they found Sir Dugald unexpectedly
obstinate. He had engaged with the King for a certain term, and,
till that was expired, his principles would not permit any shadow of
changing. The Covenanters, again, understood no such nice distinction,
and he was in the utmost danger of falling a martyr, not to this or that
political principle, but merely to his own strict ideas of a military
enlistment. Fortunately, his friends discovered, by computation, that
there remained but a fortnight to elapse of the engagement he had
formed, and to which, though certain it was never to be renewed, no
power on earth could make him false. With some difficulty they procured
a reprieve for this short space, after which they found him perfectly
willing to come under any engagements they chose to dictate. He entered
the service of the Estates accordingly, and wrought himself forward to
be Major in Gilbert Ker's corps, commonly called the Kirk's Own Regiment
of Horse. Of his farther history we know nothing, until we find him in
possession of his paternal estate of Drumthwacket, which he acquired,
not by the sword, but by a pacific intermarriage with Hannah Strachan,
a matron somewhat stricken in years, the widow of the Aberdeenshire
Covenanter.

Sir Dugald is supposed to have survived the Revolution, as traditions
of no very distant date represent him as cruising about in that country,
very old, very deaf, and very full of interminable stories about the
immortal Gustavus Adolphus, the Lion of the North, and the bulwark of
the Protestant Faith.

*****

READER! THE TALES OF MY LANDLORD ARE NOW FINALLY CLOSED, closed, and
it was my purpose to have addressed thee in the vein of Jedediah
Cleishbotham; but, like Horam the son of Asmar, and all other imaginary
story-tellers, Jedediah has melted into thin air.

Mr. Cleishbotham bore the same resemblance to Ariel, as he at whose
voice he rose doth to the sage Prospero; and yet, so fond are we of the
fictions of our own fancy, that I part with him, and all his imaginary
localities, with idle reluctance. I am aware this is a feeling in which
the reader will little sympathize; but he cannot be more sensible than
I am, that sufficient varieties have now been exhibited of the Scottish
character, to exhaust one individual's powers of observation, and that
to persist would be useless and tedious. I have the vanity to suppose,
that the popularity of these Novels has shown my countrymen, and their
peculiarities, in lights which were new to the Southern reader; and that
many, hitherto indifferent upon the subject, have been induced to read
Scottish history, from the allusions to it in these works of fiction.

I retire from the field, conscious that there remains behind not only a
large harvest, but labourers capable of gathering it in. More than one
writer has of late displayed talents of this description; and if the
present author, himself a phantom, may be permitted to distinguish a
brother, or perhaps a sister shadow, he would mention, in particular,
the author of the very lively work entitled MARRIAGE.

IV. APPENDIX.

No. I

The scarcity of my late friend's poem may be an excuse for adding the
spirited conclusion of Clan Alpin's vow. The Clan Gregor has met in the
ancient church of Balquidder. The head of Drummond-Ernoch is placed on
the altar, covered for a time with the banner of the tribe. The Chief of
the tribe advances to the altar:

     And pausing, on the banner gazed;
     Then cried in scorn, his finger raised,
     "This was the boon of Scotland's king;"
     And, with a quick and angry fling,
     Tossing the pageant screen away,
     The dead man's head before him lay.
     Unmoved he scann'd the visage o'er,
     The clotted locks were dark with gore,
     The features with convulsion grim,
     The eyes contorted, sunk, and dim.
     But unappall'd, in angry mood,
     With lowering brow, unmoved he stood.
     Upon the head his bared right hand
     He laid, the other grasp'd his brand:
     Then kneeling, cried, "To Heaven I swear
     This deed of death I own, and share;
     As truly, fully mine, as though
     This my right hand had dealt the blow:
     Come then, our foeman, one, come all;
     If to revenge this caitiffs fall
     One blade is bared, one bow is drawn,
     Mine everlasting peace I pawn,
     To claim from them, or claim from him,
     In retribution, limb for limb.
     In sudden fray, or open strife,
     This steel shall render life for life."
     He ceased; and at his beckoning nod,
     The clansmen to the altar trod;
     And not a whisper breathed around,
     And nought was heard of mortal sound,
     Save from the clanking arms they bore,
     That rattled on the marble floor;
     And each, as he approach'd in haste,
     Upon the scalp his right hand placed;
     With livid lip, and gather'd brow,
     Each uttered, in his turn, the vow.
     Fierce Malcolm watch'd the passing scene,
     And search'd them through with glances keen;
     Then dash'd a tear-drop from his eye;
     Unhid it came--he knew not why.
     Exulting high, he towering stood:
     "Kinsmen," he cried, "of Alpin's blood,