A Legend of Montrose

S >> Sir Walter Scott >> A Legend of Montrose


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

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

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

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



CHAPTER XXI.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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



CHAPTER XXII.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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