Wilson's Tales of the Borders and of Scotland Volume XVII Part 5

"Come from thy langsettle, jolly Kate Webster," continued he of the red cravat, "and let us, as thou wert wont to say, have a little laughing and drinking deray in this last night of the old year. I see, by the very mouths thou makest, thy throat is as dry as a dander, and, by and by, may set fire to my red liquor. Ha! I love a jolly gossip for a tosspot; for she gives more speech, and takes more liquor, than your 'breeked' steers that drink down the words, and drown them in the throat. Nothing drowns a woman's speech. It strengthens and improves in ale or whisky as if it were its natural element. Come open thy word-mill, Kate, and pour in the red grist, la.s.s."

"The soopleness o' his tongue has been long kent," whispered Kitty to Meg Johnston.

"Ay, an' lang felt," replied Meg, in a suppressed tone. "Our sins are naething but a coil o't. When, in G.o.d's name, will he tak flight? I canna stand this muckle langer."

"Three times have I warded off a swarf," said Kitty. "The gouch o' his breath comes owre me like the reek o' a snuffed-out candle. Will the men no interfere?"

"Marion Webster," said the stranger, as if unconscious of the fear he was producing, "did I not, sweet queen, dance a jolly fandango with thee, last Halloween, to the rondeau of love--

"'Return the hamewart airt agane, And byde quhair thou wast wont to be-- Thou art ane fule to suffer paine, For love of her that loves not thee.'

And wilt thou not pledge thy old friend in a half flask--the maiden's b.u.mper?"

"I hae nae objections," replied the sprightly Marion, and took up the flask.

The company looked on in amazement and terror. The flame would rise on the application of the liquor to her lips, and doubtless little more of Marion Webster would be seen on the face of this lower world. While Marion still held the flask in her hand, the sound of carriage wheels was heard. The vehicle seemed to halt at Wat Webster's door. The door opened with a bang.

Marion had not time to drink off her "spark," and, still holding the flask, went to the door to see who had so unceremoniously opened it; he of the red cravat, taking up his bottle, followed with a long stride. A sudden exclamation was heard from Marion; the sound of the shutting of the door of a carriage followed; then came Jehu's "hap-away," with three loud cracks of a whip, and all was ended by the rolling of rapid wheels, lost in a moment in the distance.

Wat Webster, who had hitherto been chained to his seat, now started up; and, clasping his hands in his agony, e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed, that "Marion was off in a flame o' fire." The fact scarcely required mention--alas! too evident to all the company--that the greatest beauty of Christ's Kirk was away in the talons of the great Enemy of all good; and the evidence within the walls of the house was not greater than what was afforded by the watching crowd without. The carriage, which was entirely black, and not unlike a hea.r.s.e, was seen to come in by the east end of the town, driving with a furious career, the driver (dressed also in black) impelling, with a long whip, the black horses, from whose hoofs sparks of fire were seen to fly; and neither house nor man seeming to claim his attention, until he arrived at the house of Wat Webster, where he of the red cravat was known to be. Many followed the carriage, and many remained at a distance to see who the victim was that was destined to be carried off in the strangers' vehicle; for, that the coach was brought there for no other purpose than to carry off one who could command in an instant a chariot of fire, seemed reasonably to be entirely out of the question. Marion Webster, the beloved of the village, was seen to enter, followed by the stranger; and, as the coach flew off, a loud wail burst from the stricken hearts of the villagers, expressive at once of their fear and of the intense pity they felt for the fate of one so much beloved, and whose crimes, much less than theirs, merited so dreadful a punishment as that she should be carried off to the regions of sorrow.

The evidence, within and without the house, met, and, by the force of sympathetic similarity, mixed in an instant, carrying away in their course, like floating straws, the strongest doubts that remained in the mind of the most sceptical man in Christ's Kirk, of the hapless daughter of Wat Webster having been carried off by the Devil. The town was in the greatest commotion; terror and pity were painted on every face; but the feelings of the public held small proportion, indeed, to the agony which overtook Wat Webster and his wife, whose only child she was, as well as their pride, and that of every one in the whole town. Wat, who saw no use in flying after Sathan--an individual of known locomotive powers--lay extended on the floor of his cottage, cursing his fate, and bewailing the condition of his lovely daughter, whose entry into Pandemonium, and first scream produced by the burning lake, were as distinct in his eye and ear as ever was his morning porridge, when they boiled and bubbled by the heat of the fire. But Kitty was up and out, with a mighty crowd or tail in attendance, flying up and down in every direction, to see if any burning trace could be had of her beloved Marion; for she declared that, if she only got "the dander o' her body to bury in Christ's Kirk," she would be thankful to heaven for the gift, and try to moderate her grief. But no "dander" was to be seen. It was by much too evident that Marion Webster would never more be seen on earth; and, what might naturally add to the grief of her friends, they had no chance of seeing her again in the world to come, unless at the expense of a _condemnation_--a dear pa.s.sport to see an old friend. Such a night was never seen in Christ's Kirk as that on which Marion Webster was carried off by his Sathanic Majesty.

We have said quite enough to make it to be understood that Marion Webster did in reality go off in a coach with the stranger who has occupied so much of our attention; but we have (being of Scottish origin) prudently abstained from giving any opinion of our own upon the question of the true character of him of the red cravat. The two drove off together, apparently with much affection, and, after they had got entirely beyond the reach of any supposed followers, they became comparatively easy, and very soon commenced a conversation--an amus.e.m.e.nt never awanting when there is a woman within reach of a person's articulated breath.

"What is the meaning o' a' this, Geordie, man?" said Marion, looking lovingly into the face of the stranger. "Could I no have met ye this night at the Three Sisters--the trees in the wood o' Ballochgray--without your coming to Christ's Kirk, and spreading the fear o' the deil frae town's-end to town's-end? But whar are we journeying to? and what means the carriage?"

The stranger thus accosted by the familiar name by which he was known to the young woman, smiled, and told her to hold her tongue, and resign herself to the pleasure of being carried through the air at the rate of ten miles an hour. The moon was now shining beautifully "owre tower and tree;"

and ever and anon the maiden glanced her blue eye on the "siller-smolt"

scenes through which she pa.s.sed, and then turned to the face of her companion, who seemed to enjoy silently the wonder expressed by her fair face. After rolling on for some time, they came to a road or avenue of tall beech trees, at the end of which appeared an old castle, on which the moonbeams were glancing, and exhibiting in strange forms the turrets with which it was fancifully decorated. The grey owl's scream was borne along on the breeze that met them, and struck on Marion's ear in wild and fitful sounds--inspiring a dread which the presence of her mute lover did little to remove or a.s.suage.

"Is not that Ballochgray Castle?" said Marion, at last--"that fearfu place whar the Baron of Ballochgray haulds his court with the Evil One, on every Halloween night, when the bleak muirs are rife with the bad spirits o' the earth and air. Whar drives the man, Geordie? Oh, tell him to turn awa frae thae auld turrets and skreeching owls. I canna bear the sight o' the ane, or the eerie sound o' the ither."

A smile was again the answer of her companion, and the carriage still drove on to the well-known residence of the young Baron of Ballochgray--a man who, knowing the weakness of his King, James the Third of Scotland, in his love of astrology and divination, and their sister black arts, had, with much address, endeavoured to recommend himself to his sovereign, by a character pre-established in his own castle, for a successful cultivation of the occult sciences. He had long withdrawn himself from the eyes of the world, and even of his own tenants, and shut himself up in his castle, with a due a.s.sortment of death's heads, charts, owls, globes, bones, astrolobes, and vellum chronicles, with a view to the perfection of his hidden knowledge; or, as some thought, with a view to produce such a fame of his character and pursuits as might reach the ears of James, and acquire for him that sway at court for which he sighed more than for real knowledge.

Some alleged that he was a cunning diplomatist, who cared no more for the nostrums of astrology than he did for the dry bones that, while they terrified his servants, had no more virtue in them than sap, and were, with the other furniture of his dark study, collected for the mere purpose of forwarding his ambitious designs upon the weak prince. His true character was supposed to be--what he possessed before he took to his new calling--that of a wild, eccentric, devil-daring man, who loved adventures for their own sake, and worshipped the fair face of the "theekit and tenanted skull" of a bouncing damsel, with far greater enthusiasm and sincerity than he ever did his mortal osteological relics that lay in so much profusion in the recesses of his old castle. But he had, doubtless, so far succeeded in his plans; for he possessed a most unenviable fame for all sort of cantrips and sorceries; and the wandering beggar would rather have solicited a bit of bread from the iron hand of misery itself, than ventured near Ballochgray to ask his awmous.

"I winna gang near that fearfu place, Geordie!" again cried Marion. "What hae ye, a puir hind, to do wi' the Baron o' Ballochgray? Turn, for the sake o' heaven!--turn frae that living grave o' dry banes, an' the weary goul that sits jabbering owre them, by their ain light!"

Her companion again smiled; and the man dashed up the avenue, and never stopped till he came to the gate of the castle--over which there were placed two human shank-bones of great length, that were said to have sustained the body of the Baron of Balwearie--that prince of the black art, and the most cunning necromancer that ever drew a circle. The carriage stopped; and two servants, dressed in red doublets, (like garments of fire,) slashed with black, waited at the carriage door, with flambeaux in their hands, to shew the couple into the hall. Out sprang the male first, and then Marion Webster was handed, with great state, and led into the interior of the old castle. She was led direct into the hall, which was lighted up in a very fanciful manner, by means of many skulls arranged round the room, and through the eyes and jaws of which lurid lights streamed all around. Marion was filled with terror as she cast her eyes on these shining monuments of mortality; and had, in her fear, scarcely noticed a man in black, sitting at the end of the room, poring over a black-lettered ma.n.u.script.

"Marion Webster," now said her travelling companion, "behold in your old lover of the Ballochgray Wood the Baron of Ballochgray!"

A scream burst from the choking throat of the terrified damsel, and rung through the old hall.

"Come, love," he continued, "abate thy terrors. My fame is worse than my real character. I have wooed thee for reasons known to myself, and to be known soon to thee. Thou didst love Geordie Dempster; and thy love was weak indeed, if it is to be scared by brainless tongues or tongueless skulls.

Wilt thou consent to be the lady of the Baron of Ballochgray?"

"Geordie! Geordie!" cried the wondering, and yet loving maiden, "if I would willingly wed thee in the grave, wi' death himsel for oor priest, shall I refuse to be yours in a castle o' the livin, filled though it be wi' thae signs o' mortality?"

"Come forth, Father Anthony!" cried the Baron, "and join us by the rules and bands of holy kirk!"

The man in black lifted up his head from the black-letter page; and, having called his witnesses, went through the requisite ceremonies; and Marion Webster became, within a short s.p.a.ce, the lady of Ballochgray.

Next day the Baron took her forth to the green woods, where, as they sauntered among elms many centuries old, and as high as castles, he told her that he had more reasons than other men for having a wife _who could keep a secret_. When he first met her, he was struck with her beauty, but had no more intention than ordinary love adventurers for making her his wife; frequent intercourse had revealed to him a jewel he had never seen in such brightness in the _head gear_ of the n.o.bles of the land--a stern and unflinching regard to the sanction of her word. He quickly resolved to test this in such a manner as would leave no doubt in his mind that a secret-keeping wife he might find in his humble maiden of Ballochgray woods. He had three times visited Christ's Kirk in such a manner as would raise an intense curiosity in the inhabitants as to who he was. Marion had the secret only of his being plain Geordie Dempster; but so firmly and determinedly had she kept it, that, in the very midst of a general belief that he was the Prince of Darkness, she had never even let it be known that she had once seen his face before. So far Marion was enlightened; and it is not improbable that, afterwards, she knew _why_ a secret-keeping wife was so much prized by the Baron of Ballochgray, and why he could serve two purposes--that of love, and fame of supernatural powers--in personating, as he had done, the Prince of Darkness in his visits to Christ's Kirk on the Green. So far, at least, it is certain that Marion never revealed the secret of his pretended astrological acquirements.

For weeks after the marriage, inquiries were made in every quarter for the lost damsel; but, at last, all search and inquiry was given up, and the belief that she was in the place appointed for the wicked had settled down on the minds of the people. One evening a number of cronies were a.s.sembled at the house of the disconsolate parents, and among these were Meg Johnston, Christy Lowrie, Widow Lindsay, and others of the Leslians.

"The will o' the Lord maun be done," said Meg; "but wae's me! there was mony an auld gimmer in Leslie, whose horns are weel marked wi' the lines o'

her evil days, that Clootie might hae taen, afore he cam to the bonnie ewe that had only tasted the first leaves o' her simmer girse. What did Marion Webster ever do in this warld to bring upon her this warst and last o' the evils o' mortals?"

"It's just the like o' her the auld villain likes best," rejoined Christy.

"He doesna gie a doit for a gizzened sinner, wha will fa' into his hands at the lang run without trouble. But the young, the blooming, and the bonny are aye sair beset by temptations; and, heard ye never, Mrs Webster, o'

Marion's meetings at the Three Sisters, sometimes, they say, at the dead hour, wi' some lover that naebody ever kenned."

"Ay, ay, dame," said Widow Lindsay; "that's just _his_ way. He comes in the shape o' a young lover, and beguiles the hearts o' young maidens. Ye mind o' bonny Peggy Lorimer o' the town's end, wha never did mair guid after she met a stranger in the woods o' Ballochgray. Ae glance o' his ee, she said, took awa her heart; and, every day after, she pined and pined, and wandered amang the woods till she grew like a wraith, but nae mair o' him did she ever see. I stricked her wi' my ain hands, and sic a corpse I never handled. There wasna a pound o' flesh on her bones; and the carriers at the burial aye said, that there wasna a corpse ava in the coffin. But puir Marion has dreed a waur weird."

"My puir bairn! my puir bairn!" cried the mother. "The folk o' Leslie aye said she wad ride in her carriage, for she was the bonniest la.s.s that ever was seen in Christ's Kirk. But, wear-awins! little kenned they what kind o'

a carriage she wad ride awa in on her marriage night."

"Some folks say, the monks will pray her back again," rejoined Meg; "but, my faith, they'll hae hard work o't. He'll no let her awa without a fearfu tuilzie, Christy."

"She'll never mair be seen on earth, woman," answered Christy. "And, even if she were to be prayed back again, she wad never be the creature she was again. A coal black lire, and singit ee-brees, wadna set her auld lovers in Christ's Kirk in a bleeze again."

"They should watch the smoking field o' Dysart," cried Widow Lindsay. "If she come again ava, it will be through that deil's porch. But what noise is that, Kitty? Didna ye hear the sound o' carriage wheels?"

The party listened attentively; and, to be sure, there was a carriage coming rattling along the street.

"Get out the Latin Bible, Wat!" cried Kitty. "He's maybe coming to tak us awa next."

The listening continued; and when the sounds ceased, as the carriage stopped at the door, and the postilion's whip cracked over the restless horses, a cry of terror rang through the room. Every one shrank into a corner, and muttered prayers mixed with the cries of fear. The door opened.

Every eye was fixed upon it, for no one doubted that their old friend had returned. The Baron of Ballochgray and his lady, dressed in the most gorgeous style, entered the house of the old couple. The sight of the gay visiters made Wat and Kitty's eyes reel; and they screamed again from the fear that the Prince had come back, only in a new doublet, to exhibit to them their _sold_ daughter.

"I beg to introduce thee," said the Baron, "to the lady of Ballochgray--my wedded wife."

Marion, without waiting for an answer, fell upon the neck of her father; and then, in the same manner, she embraced her mother; but it was a long time before the fears of Wat and Kitty were removed. At last, they were persuaded to accompany them on a visit to Ballochgray Castle; and, when they rode off in the chariot, they left behind them the belief that they too were carried off by the "Old One." We cannot pretend to describe the feelings of Wat and his wife when they were introduced into the old castle; but they soon came to see that the Baron of Ballochgray was just "as guid a chiel in his ain castle as ever he was when he acted the Deevil in Christ's Kirk on the Green."

GLEANINGS OF THE COVENANT.

X.--SERGEANT WILSON.

It was early on Monday morning, in the cold month of March, Anno Domini 1683, that the farm-house of Barjarg, in the parish of Keir and county of Dumfries, was surrounded by dragoons. They were in quest of a sergeant of the name of Wilson--a Sergeant Wilson--who had all unexpectedly (for he was a steady man and a good soldier) deserted his colours, and was nowhere to be found. The reason why they had come to Barjarg, was the report which one of Sergeant Wilson's companions in arms had made, that he knew the deserter was in love with Catherine Chalmers, the farmer's fair and only child.

Catherine Chalmers was indeed forthcoming in all her innocence and bloom--but William was nowhere to be found, though they searched most minutely into every hole and corner. Being compelled, at last, to retire without their object--though not without threatening Catherine with the thumbikins, if she persevered in refusing to discover her lover's retreat--the family of Barjarg was once more left to enjoy its wonted quietude and peace. Adjoining to the farm-house of Barjarg, and occupying the ground where the mansion-house now stands, there stood an old tower, containing one habitable apartment; but only occupied as a sleeping room by one of the ploughmen, and the herd boy. There were one or two lumber-garrets besides; but these were seldom entered, as they were understood to contain nothing of any value, besides being dark, and swarming with vermin. Reports of odd noises and fearful apparitions had begun to prevail about the place, and both ploughman and herd were unwilling to continue any longer in a lodgment into which it was their firm persuasion that something "no canny" had entered. Holding this exceedingly cheap, Adam Chalmers, the veteran guidman of Barjarg, agreed to take a night of the old tower, and to set the devil and all his imps at defiance; but it was observed, that he came home next morning thoughtful and out of spirits, agreeing, at once, that n.o.body should, in future, be compelled to sleep in the old tower. He said little of what he had seen or heard, but he shook his head, and seemed to intimate that he knew more than he was at liberty to divulge. Things went on in this manner for some time--reports of noises at unseasonable hours still prevailing, and every one shunning the place after dark--till, one morning before daylight, the whole building was observed to be on fire, surrounded at the same time, as the flames were, by a troop of Grierson's men, with their leader at their head. The scream which Catherine Chalmers uttered when she beheld the flames, but too plainly intimated the state of her mind; nor was her father less composed, but went about, wringing his hands and exclaiming--"Oh! poor Sergeant Wilson! poor Sergeant Wilson!" At this instant, the fire had made its way to the upper apartment, and had thrown light upon a human head and shoulders, which leaned over the decayed battlement. Every one was horror-struck except the inhuman soldiery, who collected around the burning pile, and shouted up their profane and insulting jests, in the face of the poor perishing being, who, from his footing immediately giving way, was precipitated into the flames, and disappeared.

"There, let him go," said Grierson, "dog and traitor as he is, let him sink to the lowest pit, there to wait the arrival of his canting and Covenanting spouse, whom we shall now take the liberty of carrying to head-quarters, there to await her sentence, for decoying a king's sworn servant and a sergeant, from his duty and allegiance."

No sooner said than done, was the order of these dreadful times. Catherine Chalmers was placed in one of her father's carts; and, notwithstanding every remonstrance, and an a.s.surance that poor Catherine was now a widow, she was placed betwixt two soldiers, who rode alongside the cart on horseback, and conveyed her to Dumfries, there to stand her trial before the Sheriff, Clavers, and the inhuman Laird of Lag. When arrived at her destination, she was put under lock and key, but allowed more personal liberty than many others who were accused of crimes more heinous in the eyes of the persecutors, than those of which she was merely suspected to be guilty. It so happened, that the quarterly meeting of the court was held in a few days, and the chief witness produced against Catherine Wilson, was a servant maid of her father, who was compelled, very much against her will, to bear evidence to her having seen Sergeant Wilson and her mistress (for Catherine kept her father's house) several times together in the old tower, as well as under a particular tree at the end of the old avenue, and that her mistress had told her that Sergeant Wilson was heartily tired of the service in which he was engaged. Her own father, too, was compelled to confess, that he had had an interview with the sergeant, in the tower, who had confessed to him the marriage, had asked and with difficulty obtained his forgiveness, and that he meditated a departure along with his wife, to some distant place, beyond the reach of his enemies. There was no direct evidence, however, that Catherine had persuaded him to desert, or to vilify the service which he had left; and the court were about to dismiss her _simpliciter_ from the bar, when, to the amazement of all, Catherine rose in her place, and addressed the court to the following purpose:--"And now ye have done your utmost, and I am innocent, in as far as your evidence has gone; but I am NOT INNOCENT--I am deeply guilty, if guilt ye deem it, in this matter. 'Twas I that first awakened poor William's conscience to a sense of his danger, in serving an emissary of Satan; 'twas I that spoke to him of the blood that cries day and night under the Altar; 'twas I that made him tremble--ay, as an aspen leaf, and as some here will yet shake before the Judge of all--when I brought to his recollection the brutal scenes which he had witnessed, and in which he had taken a part; 'twas I that agreed to marry him privately, without my dear father's consent, (whose pardon I have sought on my knees, and whose blessing I have already obtained,) [hereupon her father nodded a.s.sent] provided he would desert, and retire with me, at least for a time, beyond the reach of ye all--ye messengers of evil, sent to scourge a guilty and backsliding race; 'twas I that visited him night after night in that old tower, which you inhumanly set on fire, and in which--O my G.o.d!"----Hereupon she laid hold of the desk before her, and would have dropped to the earth, had not an officer in attendance supported her, and borne her, under the authority of the court, into the open air. She was now, notwithstanding her self-accusation, declared to be at liberty: and immediately, so soon as strength was given her, retired into the house of an acquaintance and relative, where suitable restoratives and refreshments were administered. The house where her friend lived was close upon what is called the Sands of Dumfries, adjoining to the river, which up to this point is navigable, and where boats are generally to be seen. During the night, she disappeared, and, though all search was made at home and everywhere else, she was not heard of. Her father at first took her disappearance sadly to heart; but time seemed to have a remedial effect upon his spirits, and he at length rallied, even into cheerfulness.

Things went on for years and years, very much in the old way at Barjarg.