Chapter 31

The next few days were spent salmon spearing, and hunting otters on the hills in the neighbourhood. One of the huntsmen, of whom there were a large number out, was a dark-featured man, resembling a gipsy in his appearance; and Brown noticed that whenever he approached him he endeavoured to hide his face. He could not remember, however, having ever seen the man before; but he learned, on asking about him, that he was a stranger in those parts, who had come from the south-west of Scotland, and that his name was Gabriel. Nothing further was known about him at Charlie's Hope.

Brown's visit to Dandie Dinmont was now at an end, and he again took the road for Woodbourne, the residence of Julia Mannering.

He had hired a chaise and horses, but had not gone far on the wild road to Kippletringan when night came on and the snow fell heavily; and shortly after, to make matters worse, the driver missed the way. When the horses were unable to proceed any further, Brown dismounted from the carriage in order to look for a house where he could ask the way; and as he wandered through the plantations which skirted the road, he saw a light in the distance amongst the trees. After traversing a deep and dangerous glen, he reached the house from which the light shone. It was an old and ruinous building. Before approaching the door, he peeped in through an aperture in the ruined wall, and saw in the room inside the figure of a man, stretched on a straw bed, with a blanket thrown over it. He could see that the man was dying. A woman clad in a long cloak was sitting by the bedside, and moistening at times the lips of the man with some liquid. She was singing a low monotonous strain.

She paused in her singing, and Brown heard a few deep groans come from the dying man.

"It will not be," she muttered to herself. "He cannot pass away with that on his mind; I must open the door."

Brown stood before her as she opened the door, and he at once recognised the same gipsy woman whom he had met in the inn a few days before. He noticed, too, that there was a roll of linen about the dying man's head, which was deeply stained with blood.

"Wretched woman, who has done this?" exclaimed Brown.

And the gipsy answered: "They that were permitted;" and she added after a few moments, "He's dead now."

Sounds of voices at a distance were now heard. "They are coming," said she to Brown; "you are a dead man." He was about to rush out, when the gipsy seized him with a strong grasp. "Here," she said, "here, be still, and you are safe; stir not, whatever you see or hear, and nothing shall befall you!"

She made him lie down among a parcel of straw, and covered him carefully; and then resumed her song.

Brown, though a soldier and a brave one, was terrified as he lay in his hiding-place. Peeping out through the straw, he saw five rough-looking men come in who seemed to be gipsies and sailors. They closed round the fire and commenced to drink, holding consultation together in a strange gibberish which he could not altogether understand. Whenever the gipsy woman addressed them, she spoke angrily to them; and more than once she called them murderers; they, however, did not seem to mind her.

They continued drinking and talking for a considerable time, but all that Brown could make out was that there was someone whom they were going to murder. They also referred to a murder committed some twenty years before, in which their dead companion had had a hand.

After some time spent in this way, one of the party went out and brought in a portmanteau, which Brown at once recognised as the one he had left in the chaise. They ripped it open, and after examining the contents, which included all the owner's ready money, with the exception of a trifling sum in his pocket, they divided the whole amongst them. Then they drank more; and it was not until morning that they left the building. When they left, they carried the dead body with them.

No sooner were they well outside, than Meg Merrilies got up from where she had been pretending to be asleep, and told Brown to follow her instantly. Brown obeyed with alacrity, feeling that he was already out of reach of danger when the villains had gone out; but before leaving he took up a cutlass belonging to one of the five, and brought it with him in the belief that he might yet have to fight with them for his life. The snow lay on the ground as he and the gipsy came out, and as he followed her he noticed that she chose the track the men had taken, so that her footprints might not be seen.

After a while, however, she turned from the track, and led the way up a steep and rugged path under the snow-laden trees, and on reaching a place some distance farther on, she pointed out the direction of Kippletringan, and told her companion to make what speed he could. Brown was entirely at a loss to make out the reason the gipsy had for taking such an interest in preserving his life from her comrades; and was even more puzzled by her conduct when she took an old purse from her pocket before parting, and gave it to him.

She said as she handed it to him: "Many's the alms your house has given Meg and hers." And Brown, as he thanked her for her kindness, asked her how he could repay the money she had given him.

"I have two boons to crave," answered the gipsy, speaking low and hastily: "one is that you will never speak of what you have seen this night; the other, that when I next call for you, be it in church or market, at wedding or at burial, meal-time or fasting, that ye leave everything else and come with me."

"That will do you little good, mother," answered Brown.

"But 'twill do yourself much good," replied Meg Merrilies. "I know what I am asking, and I know it has been the will of God to preserve you in strange dangers, and that I shall be the means to set you in your father's seat again. So give your promise, and mind that you owe your life to me this blessed night."

When Brown had promised, she parted from him, and was soon out of sight.

The young soldier could come to no other conclusion but that the woman was mad; and having in this way solved the mystery to his own satisfaction, he strode quickly on through the wood in search of the highroad to Kippletringan.

He reached the village at length, and engaged a room at the Gordon Arms, a comfortable inn kept by a Mrs. Mac-Candlish. On opening the purse which the gipsy had given him, he was astonished to find that it contained money and jewels worth about a hundred pounds. He accordingly entrusted it to the landlady of the inn for safe keeping.

The day after his arrival at the village of Kippletringan, he determined to see Miss Mannering; and learning that she was likely to be found with a party of skaters on a lake in the neighbourhood, he proceeded in that direction.

The skating party, of whom Julia Mannering was one, consisted of herself and Lucy Bertram, and young Charles Hazlewood, who, as before mentioned, was Miss Bertram's lover. Having spent some time upon the ice, they were returning to Woodbourne through the plantation. Hazlewood, who had a gun with him, had offered his arm to Miss Mannering, who was tired after skating, as they walked towards home. When they had proceeded some little distance in this way, Brown happened to meet them. He was wearing the rough suit in which he had spent the night in the gipsy's house, having been unable to procure a change on account of his portmanteau having been stolen.

Julia Mannering, who had had no intimation that her old lover was in the district, uttered a scream when she suddenly saw him standing before her; and Hazlewood, fancying from the rough appearance of the stranger that he was either a gipsy or a tramp, pointed his gun towards him, and ordered him to keep off.

Brown, in a fit of jealousy, and fearing that the gun might go off, rushed upon Hazlewood and seized the fowling-piece. But in the struggle which ensued between them it was discharged by accident, and young Hazlewood fell to the ground, wounded in the shoulder.

Brown, when he saw what had occurred, became frightened at the thought of the dangers of his position. He bounded over a hedge which divided the footpath from the plantation, and was not heard of again for a considerable time.

On the news of Hazlewood's being wounded getting abroad, the neighbourhood was thrown into a ferment of indignation. All the circumstances of the occurrence were exaggerated. It was universally believed that the attacking party was a smuggler or a gipsy, and that he had attempted in broad daylight to murder the young man. It was stated that the assailant had been seen earlier in the day wearing a smuggler's cutlass; and the purse which had been left at the inn was opened and found to contain property which had been previously stolen. Charles Hazlewood himself, however, continued to protest that the wounding was accidental; while the only person who could give any real account of the mysterious stranger, namely Julia Mannering, for reasons best known to herself, never pretended that she had any idea who he was.

Amongst those who were most active in their endeavours to capture the missing Brown was Glossin, the new Laird of Ellangowan. It was plain, too, that he had some other motive for apprehending him than merely the desire to do his duty as a magistrate of the county, which he had now become.

On returning to his house one day, he was informed that Mac- Guffog, the thief-taker, had made a prisoner, and that he was waiting with him in the kitchen. When the prisoner was introduced to the magistrate's room, Glossin at once recognised that it was Dirck Hatteraick, the smuggler captain.

In the interview which took place between them, no one else being present, it transpired that Glossin had been a kind of partner with the smuggler at the time of Kennedy's murder and the disappearance of young Harry Bertram. Dirck Hatteraick told him, too, very plainly, that if he was to be condemned he would let the secret out and ruin Glossin. Glossin, who was much terrified at the thought of being discovered, then arranged, like a villain that he was, to imprison Hatteraick for that night in a room in the old castle of Ellangowan, and at the same time give him a small file with which he might rid himself of his handcuffs and escape. During the interview between them, Hatteraick also told the attorney that young Bertram was still alive, and at Kippletringan. Glossin's situation was therefore perilous in the extreme, for the schemes of a life of villainy seemed at once to be crumbling around and about him.

Hatteraick was accordingly then sent to his place of confinement in the old castle.

At midnight Glossin looked out from his bedroom towards the castle, and after watching for some time in an agony of guilty suspense, he saw the dark form of a man, whom he knew to be Hatteraick, drop from the prison window and make his way to the beach, where he succeeded in shoving out a boat which was lying there. In a few minutes after, he had hoisted the sail, and soon disappeared round the Point of Warroch.

Great was the alarm and confusion the next morning when it was discovered that the smuggler had escaped from prison. Constables were sent out in every direction to search for him, and Glossin took care to send them to places where they would be least likely to find him.

In the meantime he himself made his way to a cave by the seashore near the Point of Warroch, where he had arranged with Hatteraick to meet him the day after his escape.

Glossin had never been near this spot since the day on which the unfortunate Kennedy was murdered; and the terrible scene came back to his mind with all its accompaniments of horror as he stealthily approached the cavern. When he reached it and went in, he found Hatteraick in the dark and shivering with cold.

During the conversation that ensued between them he learned from the smuggler what had become of young Bertram after Kennedy's murder. He had been taken to Holland, Hatteraick said, and left with an old merchant named Vanbeest Brown, who took a fancy to the boy and called him by his own name. He had afterwards been sent to India; but the smuggler knew nothing of him from the time he went there. Bertram had, however, been seen, he said, a few days before, among the hills by a gipsy named Gabriel.

Glossin then discovered for the first time that it was young Bertram, in reality, who had wounded Hazlewood. In his terror at the thought of losing his property at Ellangowan if it came to be known that Harry Bertram was alive, yet at all times fertile in every kind of villainous device, Glossin now hit upon a new plan to get rid of the man who stood between him and his peace of mind. By making large promises to Hatteraick he induced the smuggler to agree to come by night, with a large body of his men, to the prison where Bertram would be confined for his attack on Hazlewood, and to break open the doors and carry him off. He said he would have the soldiers withdrawn on some pretence or other, so as to make the rescue more certain; and having completed the details of this desperate and lawless piece of villainy, he went back to Ellangowan.

But it is time to return to Brown, who was now a fugitive from justice in consequence of the unlucky accident of which his rashness had been the cause. He determined to make his way to England, and to wait there until he received letters from friends in his regiment establishing his identity, in possession of which he could again show himself at Kippletringan, and offer to young Hazlewood any explanation or satisfaction he might require. He accordingly took ship for Cumberland. He chanced on board to meet a man whose daughter was at the time in Colonel Mannering's service at Woodbourne and by his means contrived to get a letter delivered to Miss Mannering, in which he begged of her to forgive him for his rash conduct towards Hazlewood. Having landed on the English coast, he wrote to the colonel of his regiment for such testimony of his rank in the army as should place his character as a gentleman and an officer beyond question; and, as he was now reduced to great straits for want of funds, he wrote to his sturdy farmer friend, Dandie Dinmont, for the loan of a little money.

After a delay of some days, he received a short letter from Miss Mannering, in which she upbraided him for his thoughtless conduct, and bade him good-bye, telling him on no account to come back to Woodbourne.

On reading it over, he came somehow to the conclusion that Miss Mannering meant the opposite of all she had written, and in this belief he set sail at once for Kippletringan.

After a rough and dangerous voyage by night, he found himself in the morning off the Scottish coast. The weather had now cleared. A woody cape, that stretched into the sea, lay some little distance from the vessel; and, in answer to Brown's inquiries, the boatman told him that it was Warroch Point. Close beside it was the old castle of Ellangowan; and Brown felt a strange longing, as he looked at it, to be put ashore for the purpose of examining it more closely. The boatman readily acceded to his wishes, and landed him on the beach beneath the ruins.

And thus, in complete ignorance of his own real identity, surrounded by dangers, and without the assistance of a friend within the circle of several hundred miles, accused of a heavy crime, and almost penniless, did the weary wanderer, for the first time after an interval of many eventful years, approach the remains of the castle where his ancestors had once dwelt in lordly splendour.

It will have dawned upon the reader before now that the young soldier known to him as Brown was in reality no other than the Harry Bertram who had disappeared on the day when Kennedy was murdered. The name of Brown will consequently be dropped during the remainder of the story, and our hero will be called by his proper appellation--Bertram.

After wandering for some time through the ruined apartments of the castle, he stepped outside, and happened by chance to stand on the very spot where his father--the old Laird of Ellangowan--had died.

Glossin at that moment chanced to be engaged close by with a surveyor, in reference to some building plans connected with an intended addition to his house; and he was just saying to his companion that the whole ruin should be pulled down, when Bertram met him, and said:

"Would you destroy this fine old castle, sir?"

His face, person, and voice were so exactly like those of his father when alive, that Glossin almost believed that the grave had given up its dead.

But after a time he recovered his self-possession, and then set himself to discover if Bertram, whom he recognised, had any knowledge of his own identity. He was much terrified when he heard him repeat some lines of an old song, which he said he had learnt in his childhood:

"The dark shall be light, And the wrong made right, When Bertram's right and Bertram's might Shall meet on ...;"

but, although he could not recall the end of the last line, Glossin thought he knew already a good deal too much about it.

A few of Glossin's men were now seen approaching up the slope, whereupon he immediately assumed a different attitude and tone towards Bertram.

"I believe your name is Brown, sir?" said Glossin.

"And what of that, sir?" replied Bertram.

"Why in that case," said Glossin, "you are my prisoner in the king's name."

After a slight resistance the prisoner was secured, and shortly after was brought before Sir Robert Hazlewood, one of the county magistrates, and accused of maliciously wounding Charles Hazlewood, his son.

In reply to the questions put to him, the prisoner said that he was a captain in a regiment of horse in his Majesty's service, and in a frank, manly way described how the wounding of Charles Hazlewood was merely an accident, for which he expressed a sincere sorrow. When required to give some proof of his rank in the army, he stated that his luggage had been stolen. When asked to say where he had spent the night on which it was taken, his promise to Meg Merrilies came to his mind, and he replied that he must refuse to answer the question. He was then pressed to account for his having worn a smuggler's cutlass; but he also declined to explain that matter. And his answers were equally unsatisfactory when questioned on the subject of the purse which the gipsy had given him.

Having failed to give any explanation of so many suspicious circumstances, the warrant for his committal to gaol was made out, although he stated that Colonel Mannering, whom he had known in India, could, if sent for, give evidence of his character and rank.

The colonel was, however, away from home at the time, and the friendless and unfortunate Bertram was removed to prison, pending Mannering's return.

"And now," said Glossin to himself, "to find Dirck Hatteraick and his people--to get the guard sent off--and then for the grand cast of the dice." And so saying he hastened away to complete with the smuggler captain the villainous plan on which they had previously agreed.

The prison in which Bertram now found himself was a building which adjoined the custom-house, and both were close beside the sea. Mac-Guffog, who has been already mentioned, was at the time the keeper; and a gruff and surly custodian he was, too. Bertram, however, succeeded in procuring from him the luxury of a separate room by promising the keeper a large sum of money. He was accordingly ushered into a small ill-furnished apartment, through the barred windows of which he could get a glimpse of the sea which was dashing sullenly against the outer walls.

As he was reflecting on his miserable situation, his attention was attracted by a loud knocking at the gate of the gaol; and shortly after his little dog Wasp, which he had left in the care of Dandie Dinmont, and Dinmont himself were shown into his room.

Bertram was delighted to have his old friend with him, and in answer to his eager inquiries as to how he came to be in prison, told him about the accident to young Hazlewood, and that he had been mistaken for a smuggler.

Dinmont, on his part, then related how he had come to know of Bertram's being locked up. Gabriel, the huntsman on the moors, he said, had informed him in a mysterious way that Bertram was in gaol, and that he was badly in need of a good friend to stay with him night and day for a day or two. Dinmont added that he had ridden sixty miles that day to come to his assistance.

They were interrupted in their conversation by Mac-Guffog, who told them that it was time for the visitor to leave; but by means of further promises he was induced to allow Dinmont to spend the night in the same room with his friend; and in no longtime after the two occupants of the wretched apartment were fast asleep.

Colonel Mannering, who had been from home for some days, returned to Woodbourne the night of the day on which Bertram had been sent to prison. The morning after his arrival, the dominie, who even after so many years continued to blame himself for the loss of little Harry, made his way, in a spirit of curiosity, to Warroch Point, a place he had never approached since the child had disappeared. As he wandered home again, filled with gloomy recollections of the day of Kennedy's murder, his steps bore him to the neighbourhood of Derncleugh, with its ruined remains of the old gipsy village. The place had for many years had the reputation of being haunted; more especially the tower, or Kaim, of Derncleugh. As he was passing by it, the door suddenly opened, and Meg Merrilies stepped out and stood before him. The dominie, believing she was some sorceress, addressed her in Latin, but the gipsy queen angrily interrupted him.

"Listen, ye fool, to what I tell ye," she said, "or ye'll rue it while there's a limb o' ye hangs together. Tell Colonel Mannering that I know he's seeking me. He knows, and I know, that the blood will be wiped out, and the lost will be found--

And Bertram's right, and Bertram's might, Shall meet on Ellangowan height.

Give him this letter, don't fail, and tell him the time's coming now. Bid him to look at the stars as he looked at them before, and to do what I desire him in the letter."

She then led the frightened dominie by a short cut through the woods for about a quarter of a mile, and on reaching the common told him to stand still.

"Look," she said, "how the setting sun breaks through the cloud that's been darkening the sky all day. See the stream o' light that falls on the old tower of Ellangowan; that's not for nothing. Here I stood," she went on, stretching out her long sinewy arm and clenched hand--"here I stood when I told the last Laird of Ellangowan what was coming on his house, and did that fall to the ground? And here I stand again to bid God prosper the just heir of Ellangowan that will soon be brought to his own. I'll no live to see it, maybe; but there will be many a blithe eye see it though mine be closed. And now, Abel Sampson, as ever ye loved the house of Ellangowan, away with my message to the English colonel as if life and death were upon your haste."

So saying, she turned suddenly from the amazed dominie, who hurried back to Woodbourne, exclaiming as he went, "Prodigious! prodigious! pro-di-gi-ous!"

The kindly interest of Meg Merrilies in the fate of Bertram did not, however, end here.

Shortly after quitting the dominie she met young Hazlewood on the road, and told him, in a mysterious way, that the guard of soldiers had been drawn off from the custom-house, and brought to his father's house, in the expectation of an attack being made upon it that night.

"Nobody means to touch his house," she added; "so send the horsemen back to their post quietly. They will have work to-night; the guns will flash and the swords will glitter in the moonlight."