Part 7

She had, besides, a good large kailyard, from which she contrived to support her cow during the winter season. In fact, Elspeth's whole riches consisted in her cow and an only daughter, who, however, was out at service in a neighbouring farm town. This cow and Elspeth were constant companions, and it was difficult to say which was most essential to the other's happiness. The first thing Elspeth did, after her duty to her God, was to attend to Doddy; and the first look Doddy gave over her shoulder was towards the door through which Elspeth was expected to enter. During the fine days of summer, Elspeth might be seen conversing with her cow as with a rational being, whilst Doddy was engaged in plucking, or in ruminating. If Elspeth went for a day from home, Doddy was quite disconsolate, and would roam about the house and park, as if in quest of her companion. In fact, these two sentient beings had become, as it were, essential to each other's happiness. The small circumstance of rationality had been overlooked, and the common instinct of kindly feeling had united them completely. There was just one other inmate of this sequestered apartment--a large, sonsy, gaucy cat. This animal partook in all Elspeth's meals and movements; ceased purring when Elspeth prayed, and went afield and returned at Elspeth's heels like a colly-dog. To be sure, there was a little jealousy on Doddy's side, when pussy seemed to occupy too much attention, for she (_videlicet_ Doddy) would come up and smell at pussy as she sat on Elspeth's knee, and then, shaking her head and snorting, make off quick-step to a distance. Nevertheless, these three--we dare not say this triumvirate, for fear of the etymologists--got on exceedingly well, and with fewer disputations and quarrellings than generally occur amongst the same number of rationals. Elspeth had been married for one single year and fifteen days, as she often mentioned. Her husband had been gardener at Collean, and had been killed on the spot by the fall of a tree, which he was assisting in felling. Jenny, or, as she was familiarly called, Jessy, Wallace was born a few days after this mournful accident, and had been reared with much care and affection. Necessity, however, removed her, at the age of fifteen, from her mother's roof, but to no great distance; and she would frequently come to visit her mother of a Saturday evening, and return next day to her post of duty. Such was the state of things at Blairquhan, in the year of our Lord 1678, when the Highland Host was let loose upon the western district of Scotland, in particular. Bonds! bonds! bonds! were then the order of the day; the proprietor must give bond for his tenantry, the tenantry for their servants, the father and mother for their children, and the brother, even, for his sister. These bonds were certifications to prevent those who were, or were presumed to be, under your authority, from attending conventicles, hill-preachings, and prayer-meetings--in short, from committing any act which could be construed into a resistance to the most despotic and cruel executions that ever vexed an oppressed people. This Highland Host, as it was familiarly called, consisted of an army of half-naked and wholly savage Highlanders of the name and clan of Campbell, from the County of Argyle. Their only object was pillage, their only law the gratification of the lowest propensities, and their only restraint their officers' pleasure. "When the Highlanders went back," says Woodrow, "one would have thought that they had been at the sacking of some besieged town, by their baggage and luggage. They were loaded with spoil; they carried away a great many horses, cows, and no small quantity of goods out of merchant ships. You would have seen them with loads of bedclothes, carpets, men and women's wearing apparel, pots and pans, gridirons, shoes, and other furniture," &c. Such was the nature and character of the Highland Host, which, at the date to which we have referred, overspread, and oppressed, and outraged from Greenock to Galloway, from Lanark to the town of Ayr.

Elspeth Wallace and her daughter were sitting, of a Saturday's night, by the side of a comfortable peat-fire. It was a hard frost, moonlight, and in the month of February. Their supper consisted of boiled sowans, with a small accompaniment, on such occasions, as that of beer and bannock. Elspeth had just got her pipe lighted, and was beginning to weigh the propriety of her daughter accepting of a proposal of marriage, when the door opened, or rather gave way, and in burst "her nane sel," in all the glory of filth and nakedness. There were two figures on the floor, in Highland plaids; but with a very scanty appointment of nether garments. There was no commanding officer present; and these two helpless women were left to the mercy, or rather the merciless pleasure, of these two Highland savages. In vain did Elspeth expostulate, and represent the cruelty of their conduct. They but partially understood what she said, and replied in broken English. Their actions, however, were sufficiently demonstrative: for the one laid hold of the poor girl, who screamed and expostulated in vain; and the other unloosed the cow from the stake, and tying the old helpless woman to the same stake from which they had unloosed the cow, they immediately began their march up the Glen of Blairquhan. Poor Jessie Wallace soon learned that she was destined for the closet of my Lord Airley, then commanding in the district, who had unfortunately seen her, marked her beauty, and destined her to ruin; and that the cow was the price at which the services of these two savages had been procured. It was difficult to say which of these brothers (for brethren they were, not only in iniquity, but by blood) had the more difficult task--he who dragged onwards the camstairy and unwilling brute, or he who half-dragged, half-carried, the resisting and struggling maiden. The Sabine rape was playwork to this. Donald swore, and Archibald cursed; but still the progress which they made was little, and the trouble and labour which they were subjected to were immense. At last matters came to a dead stand: Doddy absolutely refused to march one inch further; and Donald proposed that, since "matters might no better be," they should "slay te prute" at once. So, having secured Jessie's ankles by means of her napkin, and placed her upon a rock in the midst of the mountain stream, with all suitable admonitions respecting the folly of even meditating an escape, Archibald and Donald set to work to carry their deadly purpose into execution on Doddy. But how was this to be effected? Doddy, very unaccountably, as it seemed to her nightly visiters, would neither lead nor drive, nor in any way be art and part in her own destruction. Having held a council of death, and having resolved to carry over the hill as much as they could of Doddy's flesh, they immediately set to work in compassing the means of destruction. But these were not so much at hand as might have been wished. They had neither nail nor hammer, else they would have given Doddy a Sisera exit; nor had they even an ordinary pocket-knife. They were totally destitute of arms, by order of their officer, as their duty was not to kill, but to keep alive--not to conquer, but to spoil. What was to be done? "Deil tak them wha hae nae shifts," says the old proverb; but then it unfortunately adds, "Deil tak them, again, that hae owre mony." So, at the suggestion of Donald, a large water-worn stone was selected from the channel of the burn, and being tied up firmly into the corner or poke of the Highland plaid, it was judged an efficient instrument of death. Doddy, however, observed, and appeared, at least to Jessie, to understand what was going on, and had taken her measures accordingly. There they stood--Donald holding _on_ by the horns, and Archy swinging and aiming, but hesitating, from the instability of the object to be struck, to inflict the fatal blow. Again and again the stone was swung, and the blow was meditated; but again and again did Doddy twist and twine herself almost out of Donald's hands. At last, losing all patience, Archy swung the great stone round his head, which, when in mid-air, took a different direction from that which was intended--or it might be that the error was owing to the sudden wresting of Doddy; but so it was, and of verity, that the stone came ultimately full swing, not upon the forehead of the cow, but upon the temples of Donald, and felled him to the ground.

"Wi' glowering een and lifted hands,"

says Burns,

"Poor Hughoc like a statue stands."

It would be impossible, by any similitude or quotation, to give an accurate picture of Archy Campbell, when he saw Doddy, free as air, taking the bent and crooning defiance, and his own brother lying a corpse at his feet, and all by his own hands. It is needless to say that, in all bosoms, there are sympathies and calls of affection. The trade upon which Donald and Archy were employed was a bad one; but they had great brotherly affection; and it was indeed, as has been repeated to us, an affecting sight to behold Archy's grief on this occasion. He leaned over, he embraced, he kissed his brother, he raised up the dead body to the wind, he braided back the hair, he wiped the foam from the lips, he burst at last into tears, and fell down, apparently lifeless, on his brother's corpse. So deeply has God imprinted himself on our natures, nothing--not even Lauderdale cruelty--could entirely erase his image.

Poor Jessy escaped, in the meantime, to her mother, and was married in the course of a month. The present member of Parliament for the Ayr Burghs is her lineal descendant.

VII.--BONNY MARY GIBSON.

The summer of 168- was wet and ungenial; the little grain which Scotland at that time produced had never ripened, and men and women would shear all day, and carry home the greater part of the thin and scanty upland crop on their backs. The winter was issued in by strange and marvellous reports--men fighting in the air--showers of Highland bonnets--and eclipses of no ordinary occurrence. In fact, the northern lights, which for centuries had disappeared, had again returned, and were viewed by a superstitious people with much dread and amazement. The end of the world was anticipated and confidently predicted, and the soul of man sank within him under the pressure of an awakened conscience. Besides, political events were sufficiently distressing: the battle of Bothwell Brig had been fought and lost by the friends of Presbytery and religious freedom; and strong parties, under the command of demons, denominated Grierson, Johnstone, Douglas, and Clavers, scoured the west country, and Dumfries-shire in particular, making sad and fearful havoc amongst God's covenanted flock. It appeared to many, and to Walter Gibson of Auchincairn in particular, that, what betwixt the pestilence induced by want and bad provisions, and the devastations brought on the earth by the hand of man, life was not only precarious, but a burden. Men rose, went about their wonted employment, and retired again to rest, without a smile, and often without exchanging a word. Young men and young women were seen constantly perusing the Bible, and taking farewell of each other, with the feeling that they were never to meet again. The cattle were driven into the farmer's stores from the outfields, and there bled every three weeks. The blood thus obtained was mixed and boiled with green kail from the yard, and this, with a mere sprinkling of meal, was all the subsistence which could be afforded to master and servant, to guest and beggar. A capacious pot, filled with this supply, stood from morn to night in the farmer's kitchen, with a large horn spoon stuck into the centre of it; and every one who entered helped himself to a heaped spoonful, and retired, making way for a successor. If the summer had been ungenial, the winter was unusually severe. Snow and frost had set in long before Christmas, with awful severity. The sheep were starving and dying by scores on the hills; and the farmer, with his servant band, were employed all day in digging out the half and wholly dead from the snow wreaths. The strength of man failed him; and the very dogs deserted their masters, and lived wild on the hills, feeding on the dead and dying. It was indeed an awful time, and a judgment-like season, unparalleled (unless perhaps by the year '40 of the last century) in the annals of Scotland. Five hundred human beings are said to have perished of hunger merely within the limited district of Dumfries-shire, besides many hundreds whom the plague (for such it was deemed and called) cut off.

It was on a cold frosty night, with intervals of drifting and falling snow, that a strange apparition made its way into the kitchen of Auchincairn, in the hill district of the Parish of Closeburn. It was naked, emaciated, and extremely feeble, and rolled itself into the langsettle with extreme difficulty. "In the name of God," said Mrs Gibson, "who and what art thou?" But the apparition only stretched out its hand, and pointing to its mouth, signified that it was dumb. Food, such as has been described, was immediately administered; and a glass of French brandy seemed to revive the skeleton greatly. Walter Gibson, and his wife Janet Harkness, were not the persons to deny shelter on such a night and to such an object. Warm blankets and a great peat-fire were resorted to; and the next morning saw the stranger much recovered. But he was manifestly deaf and dumb, and could only converse by signs;--his features, now that they could be clearly marked, were regular, and a superior air marked his movements. He was apparently young; but he refused to make known, by means of writing, his previous history. There he was, and there he seemed disposed to remain; and it was not possible to eject by force a being at once so dependent and so interesting. As he gained strength, he would walk out with an old musket, which hung suspended from the roofing of the kitchen, and return with valuable and acceptable provisions--hares, miresnipes, woodcocks, partridges, and even crows, were welcome visiters in the kitchen of Auchincairn. Without the aid of a dog, and with ammunition which nobody knew how he procured, he contrived to contribute largely to the alleviation of the winter's sufferings. The family, consisting of one daughter about eighteen years of age, a son about twenty-two, and four or five male and female servants, were deeply impressed with the notion that he possessed some unearthly powers, and was actually sent by Heaven for the purpose of preserving them alive during the asperities and deprivations of the famine and the storm. The winter gradually and slowly passed away, and it was succeeded by a spring, and a summer, and a harvest of unusual beauty and productiveness. The stranger was a wanderer in the fields, and in the linns, and in the dark places of the mountains; and it was observed that he had read all the little library of Auchincairn--consisting of Knox's History, "The Holy War," "The Pilgrim's Progress," and a volume of sermons--again and again. He had clearly been well educated, and, as his frame resumed a healthy aspect, he looked every inch a gentleman. Mary Gibson was a kind-hearted, bonny lassie. There were no pretensions to ladyhood about her; but her sweet face beamed with benevolence, and her warm heart beat with goodness and affection. She had all along been most kind and attentive to the poor dumb gentleman (as she called him), for it early struck her that the stranger had been born such. But, all at once, the stranger disappeared; and, though search was made in all his haunts, not a trace of him could be found. It was feared that, in some of his reveries, he had stumbled over the Whiteside Linn; but his body was not to be found. Newspapers, in these days, there were none, at least in Dumfries-shire; and in a month or two the family of Auchincairn seemed to have made up their mind to regard their mysterious visiter in the light of a benevolent messenger of God--in short, of an angel. Into this opinion, however, Mary, it was observed, did not fully enter. But she _said_ little, and _sung_ much, and seemed but little affected by the stranger's departure.

It was in the month of November of this destructive season, that, one morning, long ere daylight, the close of Auchincairn was filled with dragoons. There were fearful oaths, and plunging of swords into bed-covers and wool-sacks, in quest of some one after whom they were searching. At length Walter Gibson and his son were roused from their beds, and placed, half-naked, in the presence of Grierson of Lag, to be interrogated respecting a stranger whom they had sheltered for months past, and whom Grierson described as an enemy to the king and his government. Of this, both son and father declared, and truly, their ignorance; but they were disbelieved, and immediately marched off, under a guard, to Lag Castle, to Dumfries, and ultimately to Edinburgh, there to await a mock trial, for harbouring a traitor. In vain was all remonstrance on the part of the wife and daughter. Resistance was impossible, and tears were regarded as a subject of merriment.

"Ay, pipe away there," said the infamous Lag, "and scream and howl your bellyfuls; but it will be long ere such music will reach the ear or soften the heart of my Lord Lauderdale. There is a maiden in Edinburgh, my gentle wood-dove," familiarly grasping Mary Gibson's chin, and squeezing it even to agony--"there is a maiden in Edinburgh more loving, by far, than thou canst be; and to this lady of the sharp tongue and heavy hand shall thy dainty brother soon be wedded. As to the old cock, a new pair of boots and a touch of the thumbikins will probably awaken his recollections and clear his judgment. But march, my lads!--we are wasting time." And the cavalcade rode off, having eaten and drunk all eatables and drinkables in the dwelling.

Mrs Gibson was a person of mild and submissive manners; but there was a strength in her character, which rose with the occasion. She immediately dried up her tears, spoke kindly, and in words of comforting, to her daughter; and, taking her plaid about her shoulders, retired to the barn, where she had long been in the habit of offering up her supplication and thanksgiving to the God of her fathers. When she came forth, after some hours of private communion with herself, she seemed cheered and resolved, and addressed herself to the arrangement of family matters as if nothing particular had happened. In a few days information was conveyed to her that her husband and son had been marched off to Edinburgh, there to await their trial, for the state offence of harbouring a rebel, but really to gratify the resentment of the parish curate, who had taken mortal offence at their nonconformity. Helen Gibson had already resolved in what manner she was to act; and, leaving her daughter to superintend domestic affairs, she set out, like her successor, Jeanie Deans, on foot and unprotected, to Edinburgh, there to visit her husband and son in their confinement, and intercede, should opportunity occur, with the superior and ruling powers, for their life and freedom. As she wandered up the wild path which conducts to Leadhills, it began to snow, and it was with infinite difficulty that she reached the highest town in Scotland, then an insignificant village. Fever was the consequence of this exertion; but, after a few days' rest, she recovered, and, though still feeble, pursued her way. At Biggar, news reached her that four individuals had, a few days before, been executed at the Gallowlee; and she retired to rest with an alarmed and a dispirited mind. The snow having thawed, she pursued her way under the Pentlands next day, and had advanced as far as Brighouse, at the foot of these hills, when, overcome by fatigue, she was compelled to seek for shelter under the excavation of a rock, upon the banks of a mountain torrent, which works its way through rock and over precipice at this place. Being engaged in prayer, she did not observe, for some time, a figure which stood behind her; but what was her surprise, when, on looking around, she recognised at once the well-known countenance of the poor dumb lad! He was now no longer dumb, but immediately informed her that he lived in the neighbourhood; and entreated his former mistress to accompany him home to his habitation. Surprise and astonishment had their play in her bosom--but comfort and something like confidence succeeded; for Mrs Gibson could not help seeing the finger of her God in this matter.

She was conveyed by her guide, now a well-dressed and well-spoken gentleman, to his abode at Pentland Tower--a strongly-built edifice, well fitted for defence, and indicating the antiquity of the family by which it had been possessed. The place was to her a palace, and she looked with amazement on the looking-glasses and pictures which it contained; but, what was of more moment and interest than all other considerations, she learned that King James had fled, and King William had given "liberty to the captive, and the opening of the prison-doors to those who were bound." Nay more, her mysterious landlord informed her, that, having himself just obtained his pardon, he had only returned from skulking about, from place to place, to his paternal inheritance, a few days ago, and that, having heard of her family's misfortunes, occasioned in some measure by himself, he had immediately repaired to Edinburgh, had seen her husband and son, who were actually at that moment in another chamber of the same house, on their return home to Auchincairn. His rencounter with her had undoubtedly been providential, as he had not the slightest idea that she could possibly be in his neighbourhood.

The interview which followed, with all its interesting and fond recognisances, I shall leave to the reader's imagination--only noticing the kindness of the young Laird of Pentland Tower, in consequence of which the father and son were compelled to delay their return to Auchincairn for a few days, in the course of which a chaise one evening drove up to the door, from which alighted, dressed in her newest attire, and in all the pride of beauty and of a gentle nature, Mary Gibson.

The sequel can be easily anticipated. To all but Mary the poor persecuted stranger had been dumb; but to her he had formerly confided the secret of his birth, and his subsequent history; and in places "whar warl saw na," they had again and again sworn truth and fealty to each other. But, having learned that a search was going on in his neighbourhood, the young "Laird of Pentland Tower" had assumed a new disguise, and betaken himself to another locality, from which he was drawn by the blessed change of government already alluded to, as well as by his wish to dignify and adorn, with the name and the honour of wife, "a bonny, virtuous, kind-hearted lassie," who long continued to share and add to his happiness, and to secure the inheritance of Pentland Tower, with its domains, to the name of "Lindsay."

Among the claimants who, a few years ago, contended for the honours of the lordship of Lindsay, I observed a lineal descendant of BONNY MARY GIBSON.

VIII.--THE ESKDALEMUIR STORY.

In the rural retreats of Eskdalemuir, the following narrative still exists in tradition:--