Part 22

"There," said James, "is the kirk o' the Covenanters; and mony a guid sermon has been preached there, in defiance o' the winter's cauld and the summer's heat, and the persecution o' cruel men, that was waur to bide than them baith. In that howe stood the minister, upon a muckle stane that has been lang syne removed; and the congregation sat upon the brae around him. The sentry stood upon this knowe here, at yer richt hand; and it still bears the name o' the Watchman's Tower. His business, as ye'll maybe ken, was to watch for the appearance o' an enemy, and gie warnin to the preacher and his hearers to provide for their safety, by standin to their arms or takin to their heels. Mony a time I picture to mysel the confusion that wad tak place amang the women folk, when a party o' wild dragoons were seen scamperin in this direction. I think I hear the watchman fire his gun, as he rins to the congregation; I think I see the minister faulding up the Word o' God, and descendin to his audience wi' the composed dignity o' ane that has settled his account wi' time, and is prepared to dee for the doctrines he has advanced; then there is the animatin address that he delivers to his little flock, as they gather around him, wi' their swords in their richt hand, and their Bibles in the left; the tears o' their greetin wives, and dochters, and sisters, and sweethearts, fa'in thick as a simmer shower, while they stand tremblin and sabbin, and pleadin wi' their freens to flee frae the dangers o' the comin storm. I think I see them wringin their hands and rivin their hair wi' agony, when their entreaties are answered by the deliberate determination o' the auld, and the fiery resolution o' the young, wi' the fearfu assurance that they will conquer or dee. I think I see that little company o' matrons and maidens retirin slowly frae the scene o' confusion; while aye noo and then some kind-hearted youth, wha convoys and comforts them, fa's oot frae the band, and rins back to the ranks. Then they begin singin a hymn o' praise to the God o' battles, wha is able to withstand the powerfu, and protect the oppressed; and immediately--when the crack o' the guns and the clang o' the swords has convinced them that the deadly wark is indeed begun--they are kneelin doon on the grass, wi' their een turned up to heaven, and sabbin oot wordless prayers for the success and the safety o' their freens; there is that little band o' heroes, noo broken and driven back by superior numbers, noo rallyin around their leader, and returnin to the charge wi' a shout o' triumph that maks a' the hills ring; they are noo ance mair repulsed, and nearly borne down by the heavy onset o' their mair skilfu enemies--and, just as my heart begins to tremble for their sakes, I hear the cheers o' a fresh reinforcement o' countrymen, and see their swords brandishin owre the brae, as they rush down to the assistance o' their freens, wha welcome them to the ranks wi' the inspirin war-cry o' the party, 'God and oor country!' The bluidy persecutors are at last broken and dispersed afore the irresistible charge o' the united _pawtriots_; and, while they are scamperin frae the field wi' mony a toom saddle in their train, the victors are busy, devoutly offerin up thanks to Heaven for the battle they hae won.

"But this is no a', sir. I think I see the women folk returnin to the scene o' strife, to lament owre the dead, and to administer consolation to the deein. There is a puir widow supportin the lifeless head o' her husband--kissin his bluidy lips i' the agonies o' her grief, and strivin to close the gapin wounds, that gie nae mair pain to the body that bears them; a beautifu and an affectionate dochter kneelin by the side o' her expirin parent, twinin her arms around his neck, and droonin wi' her bitter lamentations the deep groans o' the deein man; a band o' sisters are noo endeavourin to bear awa the dead body o' a fair-haired striplin, wha had been the pride o' their family, and the joy o' their hearts; and there is ane there wha, though nae relation to the youth, feels his fate mair deeply than the nearest o' his kin; upon her pale face there is a fearfu struggle between modesty and grief--the last overcomes, and, forgetfu o' the presence o' ony but the dead, she clasps him in her arms, while her breast heaves and sabs like ane wha is suffocatin wi some unutterable feelin! Then there are her neebors, wha never kenned onything o' her affections, till death had divulged them, remarkin, in the language o' Scripture, 'Behold how she loved him!' But, 'deed, sir, I maun hae dune; for ye'll be like to think that I've gane clean daft athegither wi' sae muckle nonsense; and I maun confess, that, when I get on thae auld stories, I haena guid gettin aff them again."

"I just think," said the stranger, "that, if you _had_ lived in the days of the Covenant, you would have been a most inveterate conventicler; and, to confess a truth, had I lived at the same period, I would most likely have been found in the same ranks; for, ere I arrived at that age when men are ashamed to cry, I often wept most heartily over the sufferings of the poor hillmen. But night approaches; and, as I suppose I have a long way to go before I can get a bed, I would thank you to direct me the nearest road to Cupar."

"To Cupar, sir?" said James, in surprise. "Ye dinna surely intend to gang to Cupar this nicht?"

"No," said the stranger; "I only intend to go as far as the first public-house where I can find accommodation for the night; but that will not be just at hand, I believe."

"Atweel no, sir," said James; "for there's no a public-house on the road to Cupar nearer than John Denmill's--and that's at Easter Fernie a' the gate. But John's a queer chap, and he _will_ divert ye, if ye ance get there."

"Well," said the stranger, "a good fire, a good supper, and a jolly landlord, make the best entertainment for a traveller on a winter evening."

Our two friends proceeded for a short distance farther together; and before they parted, James not only gave the young man the best instructions he could with respect to the road, but also invited him to come to his cottage, which was just at hand, and partake of some bread and cheese, assuring him at the same time "that he wad get nae meat on the hill, and that his guidwife wad be as proud as a duchess to hae sic a guest under her roof."

The stranger thanked James most heartily for his kindness, but civilly declined the offered entertainment. They parted with mutual esteem. James went home with his meal, and the stranger went on his way.

By this time the sun had sunk to the verge of the horizon, and the sky, which had been previously clear, began to overcast. A fresh gale, too, sprung up from the east, and blew full in the stranger's face. Night was approaching fast; and he had five miles to travel upon an intricate hilly road, before he could reach any place of shelter. The moon, upon which he had depended for light, now threatened to be of little service; for though she occasionally burst upon his eye through the ragged edges of the driving clouds, it was but a momentary flash, which deepened, instead of dissipating the surrounding darkness. He buttoned his coat, drew his hat closer down upon his head, and made all the speed he could against the tempest, which now blew so violently that it sometimes brought him to a dead stand; and notwithstanding of his perilous circumstances, he could not refrain from laughing at himself, as he struggled with the viewless element which opposed his progress, and whistled defiance to his vengeance.

He at length came to a place where the road divided, and, turning his back to the storm, he stood for a few minutes to recollect the instructions which he had received from his late guide. A number of little lights now caught his eye, twinkling from the cottage windows in the vale below; and as he again proceeded on his way, he could not help looking back, and indulging a momentary feeling of envy over the condition of those who were sitting warm and dry by their own firesides, while he was toiling amid the tempest. The poorest inhabitants of these cottages, thought he, are, for the present, blessed, when compared with me. They possess all the comforts of home, and perhaps do not appreciate their worth, while I am destitute of all but a deep knowledge of the value of what I do not possess.

As he advanced, the lights began to disappear. He seemed to have passed beyond the limits of the inhabited country, and nothing was to be seen but an uncertain road before him, and darkness on every side. The storm grew wilder, and the doubtful path, which he had previously pursued, terminated in a number of little tracks, which diverged in all directions among the furze, as if they had been formed by a flock of sheep scattered over the hill in search of their pasture. He tried to retrace his steps, in the supposition that he had taken the wrong road; but a blinding shower of snow came driving with the wind, and concealed every object which might have guided him in his return. He became completely bewildered, and every moment increased his confusion. The snow began to drift; and all the stories that he had ever heard of benighted travellers lost among the hills rushed into his mind with painful distinctness. He began to run in the direction, as he supposed, of the little hamlets which he had passed in the afternoon; but his feet got entangled among the gorse and broom which covered the hill, and he fell several times at full length among the snow. He stood still and listened, with the faint expectation that he might hear some sound which would lead him to the abodes of men. Something tinkled at a distance, between the gusts of the storm, like the ringing of a bell. He immediately shaped his course by the sound, and was glad to hear that it grew louder as he advanced. Though he could not conjecture the purpose of a bell in that deserted region, yet such it certainly was; and, as no bell will ring without motion, he trusted to find some one who would be able to direct him to a place of shelter. But, after he had walked for a considerable time, at his utmost speed, he found himself very little nearer the object of his pursuit, which seemed to retire as fast as he advanced. He again began to run, and soon had the satisfaction to find himself within a very few yards of the sound; but still he could not perceive the object from which it proceeded. The mysterious bellringer seemed to increase his speed, as if he had discovered a pursuer, and determined to elude his grasp.

The stranger was out of breath; he paused to listen. The bell still rung, and still retired, though at a less rapid rate. He had never believed in ghosts nor fairies; but this mysterious phenomenon seemed to confirm his nurse's tales, and make "chimeras true." He was not one, however, who would shrink from phantoms without evidence of their existence.

"Honest, honest, Iago!" said he, quoting Shakspere,

'If that thou be'st a devil, I cannot kill thee.'

But, devil or ghost, I will hunt thee to thy den, and if I can overtake thee, I will tread thee under my feet."

So saying, he renewed the chase, and, in a few minutes, the bell was again jingling at a fearful rate, almost among his feet. He called out to the flying mystery to stop and speak with him. No answer was made; but his words seemed to produce some effect; for in a moment more the bell was off in another direction, tinkling and jingling as loudly as ever.

"You shall not escape me thus," said the stranger, who had quite forgotten his own bewildered condition in his earnestness to discover the cause of this unaccountable noise.

He again turned, and followed the bell with his utmost speed; and, after a long pursuit, and many doublings and windings among the broom, he at length tumbled over some soft body, which rolled among his feet. He grasped it in his arms and listened. The bell had ceased to jingle, and nothing was to be heard but the howling of the wind and the rustling of the drift.

"I have you now, my boy," said the stranger; "and I will bring you to a severe reckoning for all this sport."

"Bae!" cried the terrified bellringer, struggling to escape from the rude grasp which held him.

"Bae!" said the stranger, imitating the voice of the animal. "What a silly pursuit I have been engaged in! But I am glad to find that I am not alone on these wild hills in this wild night."

The young man's knowledge of rural economy convinced him that he had chased from his companions a poor sheep, who had been intrusted with a bell about his neck, as was the custom in many parts of the country, to enable the shepherd to discover his flock in the morning. The adventure of the renowned Don Quixote occurred to his mind, and he could not help laughing at himself even in the midst of his misery.

Both the sheep and the man were completely exhausted, and they lay still together for some time among the snow; but the piercing blast and the gathering drift soon convinced the latter that he must either renew his exertions, or perish with his fleecy companion beneath the accumulating heap. He accordingly started up, and proceeded--he knew not where. His imagination became haunted with the horrors of his condition, and the idea

"Of covered pits unfathomably deep, A dire descent, beyond the reach of frost; Of faithless bogs; of precipices huge, Smoothed up with snow"--

'so paralysed his powers that he could scarcely move. But again

"The thoughts of home Rush'd on his nerves, and call'd their vigour forth."

He now found himself descending the hill-side; but whether it was the same side which he had ascended, or some other, he could not conjecture. By this time the snow had accumulated to a considerable depth in the hollows; and he frequently plunged into it up to the middle before he was aware. He pulled out his watch to try if he could ascertain the hour; but he could not. He tried his voice, in the hope that some one might hear him, and come to his assistance; but his feeble cry died away unanswered upon the blast. His situation was a desperate one, and he resolved to make one desperate effort more for existence. He turned his back to the storm, determined to run before it as far as he was able; and, should he perish, if possible to perish upon his feet. He had not proceeded far, however, when he tumbled over a steep bank, and rolled from hillock to hillock till he reached the bottom of the den in a state of insensibility. When he again recovered, he found himself beneath the storm, stretched among the undrifted snow, which was lying about a foot deep around him, while close by his side a brawling stream was dashing over the large stones which, like him, had rolled down the hill, and rested in the bottom of the glen. "Here," thought the stranger, "I have at last found a place where I may die in peace; and it is, perhaps, better to give up the struggle, then again to rush into the tempest only to perish beneath its pitiless pelting."

What were his religious feelings in the prospect of death we know not; but his home and his friends, the grief which his early fate would occasion, and the melancholy satisfaction which they would derive from bestowing the last rites upon his lifeless remains, were present to his imagination. And, lest they should be deprived of the performance of these sadly-pleasing duties, by the ignorance of those who found him, he pulled out his pocket-book, and endeavoured to write his own name, with the name of his father's farm, and the name of the parish in which it was situated.

While thus engaged, in that

"Hopeless certainty of mind Which makes us feel at length resign'd To _that_ which our foreboding years Presents the worst and last of fears,"

the deep sonorous sound of a well-blown horn fell upon his ears, and roused him to fresh exertions. He had crossed the burn and clambered to the top of the bank before the blast had ceased; and, as he endeavoured to fix the direction of the sound, the horn was again winded. It seemed not to be very distant. Hope invigorated his weary limbs, and he dashed through the opposing wreaths as stoutly as if his toils had been only newly begun. Another blast was blown, and he continued to run upon the sound till it ceased, and it was not again repeated.

He recollected that it was common for the farmers, in many parts of Scotland, to blow a horn at eight o'clock on the winter evenings, for the purpose of warning their servants to attend to the suppering of the horses; and he hoped that, if he could keep to the proper direction, this might lead him to some hospitable farmhouse, where he would soon forget the horrors of the storm before a comfortable fire. He now proceeded more leisurely, striving not to deviate from the course which the horn had induced him to take; and keeping a sharp look-out on all sides, and an intense attention to every sound, in the expectation that some cottage light might twinkle upon his eye, or some human voice reach his ear, in the intervals of the deafening blast. But still he could discover no sight nor sound of man; and the shifting tempest, which attacked him from every direction, soon confounded all his ideas of time and distance. In some places, too, the snow had accumulated in such immense masses, that he could not pass through them; and the circuits which he was obliged to make tended farther to confuse his mind. His spirits again began to sink, and his limbs to falter; and that sluggish indifference which follows the extinction of hope again took possession of his senses. But, while he was dragging himself onward with slow and feeble steps, a new and extraordinary noise broke upon his ear. He stood still and listened; but he could not conjecture the cause of it. It seemed to mingle with, and yet it was different from, the ravings of the storm. It proceeded from one quarter, and remained steadily in one place. There was a mingling of sounds, like the dashing of waves, the rushing of winds, and the jingling of a thousand little bells, accompanied occasionally by a harsh, guttural cry, like that which is emitted by a band of wild geese when disturbed in their "watery haunt."

Though this mysterious noise was more appalling than attractive, and though it promised neither rest nor shelter to the stranger, yet it operated upon his curiosity, and induced him to continue his exertions. The terrific sounds grew louder and louder as he advanced. The clouds of snow, which were every moment dashed into his face, prevented him from seeing more than a few yards before him; and an involuntary shudder passed over his frame, as he thought that he might even now be toppling upon the brink of some dreadful gulf, and that another step might precipitate him into destruction. Something terrible was certainly at hand; but what was the nature of the danger was beyond his powers of conception.

The unaccountable noise, which was now thundering beneath him, resembled most the dashing of a cataract, or the roaring of the ocean, when its far-accumulated waves are broken into foaming madness among hidden rocks. He stood still, and gazed intently in the direction of the sound.

The storm abated a little in its violence, and he thought he could perceive a black expanse at a little distance stretching out before him. He advanced a few steps nearer it. It was tossing in fearful commotion, and here and there streaked with lines, and dotted with patches of white. It was evidently water; but whether lake, river, or ocean, was all a mystery.

"Can it be possible," thought he, "that the storm has insensibly driven me in the right direction? Do I now stand among the rocks that look down upon the breaker-beaten bay of St Andrews? Or have I returned again to the banks of the Tay? Or can this be the little loch which I passed in the afternoon, and which then lay stretched out in frozen tranquillity beneath me?"

His heart grew sick and his brain dizzy with conjecture. He turned away from the stunning scene with a shiver of despair. A strange sense of torpidity and madness passed along his nerves--it was the confused energy of an active soul, struggling with the numbedness of exhausted nature. The snow seemed to swim around him--his eyes became heavy, and, when he closed them, numberless phantoms seemed to pass before him, like figures in a dream. In this state of drowsy insensibility, he lost for a time all recollection of his sufferings--his blood began to stagnate in his veins, and the icy coldness of death was stealing over his extremities, when a covey of wild ducks swept past, and their short, sharp cries startled him again into consciousness of his condition. When he opened his eyes, a faint light seemed to be glimmering from a hill-side about a hundred yards above him. It was now seen, and now lost, as the clouds of drift passed between him and the place from which it issued. But still it was there; and its dim, shadowy lustre was to him like life to the dead. Hope again returned to his heart, and animation to his limbs; and in a few minutes he had reached the window of a little cottage, which was so completely drifted up with snow on all sides save that on which he stood, that any one might have passed in broad daylight without supposing it to be a human habitation.

The stranger looked in at the window. The fire, which was composed of peats, had been covered up with ashes to prevent them from wasting through the night; but, by this time, the small dust had passed through the grate, and there only remained a little heap of live embers, which cast a sombre glow around the interior of the cottage. The family were in bed. The stranger rapped gently on the window, and then listened for an answer; but nothing stirred. He rapped a little louder, and again listened.

"What's that, Jamie?" said a female voice within.

"Hoch, hoch, hey!" said another, yawning and stretching out his arms from the same box or bed, as if to relieve them from the uneasiness of lying long in one position. It was evident that the voice of the first speaker had awakened the second, without communicating to his mind the purport of the question, which was again repeated.

"What was that Jamie?"

"What was _what_, lassie?" said the wondering husband. "I see naething by ordinar."

"Man," returned the guidwife, "did you no hear yon awfu rattle at the windock? My flesh's a' creepin, for I fear something no canny's aboot the back o' the hoose. It was just like the noise that was heard at Willy Patty's windock last year afore his mither dee'd."

"Havers, lassie; ye've just been dreamin," said the guidman, who was anxious to quiet his partner's fears, though he was not altogether free from some tremours himself.

The stranger gave another rap.

"Hear ye that, then, Jamie?" said the guidwife. "It's no sic a dream, I trow; for that's something awfu."

"Deed is't," said James, who was now convinced that the "rattle" was not quite so terrible as it had been represented; "it's an awfu thing for ony puir body to be oot in sic a nicht as this; but let's be thankfu, Nanny, that we hae a roof to hap oorsels frae the storm, and a door to let a hooseless body in at."

James flung himself around, and disentangled his feet from the bedclothes, with the intention of going immediately to admit the stranger; but, ere he got away from the bedside, his "better half" laid hold of him, and cried out, in great perturbation--

"Stop, Jamie--stop, I beseech ye; and consider weel what ye're aboot; for ye ken that, forby the danger o' robbers and rascals, the evil spirits just delight to range aboot in sic a nicht as this, like roarin lions, seekin wham they may devour; and wha kens what may come owre ye, if ye pit yersel i' their merciment."