The Brownie of Bodsbeck, and Other Tales Volume Ii Part 3

"We will try," answered she; "it is perhaps not so bad as it looks--Follow me--you have nothing to fear."

Walter followed; for however much he was affrighted for brownies, and fairies, and dead corpses, and all these awful kind of things, he was no coward among rocks and precipices. They soon reached a little da.s.s in the middle of the linn, or what an Englishman would call a small landing-place. Here she paused till her father reached her, and pointed out to him the singularity of their situation, with the burn roaring far below their feet, and the rock fairly overhanging them above.

"Is it not a romantic and tremendous spot?" said she.

"It is that!" said Walter, "an' I believe you and I are the first that ever stood on it."

"Well, this is the end of our journey," said she; and, turning about, she began to pull at a bush of heath that grew between two rocks.

"What can she be gaun to do wi' the heather?" thought Walter to himself, when instantly a door opened, and showed a cavern that led into the hill. It was a door wattled with green heath, with the tops turned outward so exactly, that it was impossible for any living to know but that it was a bush of natural heath growing in the interstice. "Follow me, my dear father," said she, "you have still nothing to fear;" and so saying she entered swiftly in a stooping posture. Walter followed, but his huge size precluded the possibility of his walking otherwise than on all fours, and in that mode he fairly essayed to follow his mysterious child; but the path winded--his daughter was quite gone--and the door closed behind him, for it was so constructed as to fall to of itself, and as Walter expressed it,--"There was he left gaun boring into the hill like a moudiwort, in utter darkness." The consequence of all this was, that Walter's courage fairly gave way, and, by an awkward retrograde motion, he made all the haste he was able back to the light.

He stood on the shelve of the rock at the door for several minutes in confused consternation, saying to himself, "What in the wide world is com'd o' the wench? I believe she is gane away down into the pit bodily, an' thought to wile me after her; or into the heart o' the hill, to some enchant.i.t cave, amang her brownies, an' fairies, an' hobgoblins. L----d have a care o' me, gin ever I saw the like o' this!" Then losing all patience, he opened the door, set in his head, and bellowed out,--"Hollo, la.s.sie!--What's com'd o' ye? Keatie Laidlaw--Holloa!" He soon heard footsteps approaching, and took shelter behind the door, with his back leaning to the rock, in case of any sudden surprise, but it was only his daughter, who chided him gently for his timidity and want of confidence in her, and asked how he could be frightened to go where a silly girl, his own child, led the way? adding, that if he desired the mystery that had so long involved her fate and behaviour to be cleared up, he behoved to enter and follow her, or to remain in the dark for ever. Thus admonished, Walter again screwed his courage to the sticking-place, and entered in order to explore this mysterious cave, following close to his daughter, who led him all the way by the collar of the coat as he crept. The entrance was long and irregular, and in one place very narrow, the roof being supported here and there by logs of birch and alder. They came at length into the body of the cave, but it was so dimly lighted from above, the vent being purposely made among rough heath, which in part overhung and hid it from view without, that Walter was almost in the middle of it ere ever he was aware, and still creeping on his hands and knees. His daughter at last stopped short, on which he lifted his eyes, and saw indistinctly the boundaries of the cave, and a number of figures standing all around ready to receive him.

The light, as I said, entered straight from above, and striking on the caps and bonnets which they wore on their heads, these shaded their faces, and they appeared to our amazed goodman so many blackamoors, with long s.h.a.ggy beards and locks, and their garments as it were falling from their bodies piece-meal. On the one side, right over against him, stood a coffin, raised a little on two stones; and on the other side, on a couch of rushes, lay two bodies that seemed already dead, or just in the last stage of existence; and, at the upper end, on a kind of wicker chair, sat another pale emaciated figure, with his feet and legs wrapt up in flannel, a napkin about his head, and his body wrapped in an old duffel cloak that had once belonged to Walter himself. Walter's vitals were almost frozen up by the sight,--he uttered a hollow exclamation, something like the beginning of a prayer, and attempted again to make his escape, but he mistook the entrance, and groped against the dark corner of the cavern. His daughter pulled him by the arm, intreating him to stay, and addressing the inmates of that horrid den, she desired them to speak to her father, and explain the circ.u.mstances of their case, for he was still bewildered, and the scene was too much for him to bear.

"That we will do joyfully," said one, in a strong intelligent voice.

Walter turned his eyes on the speaker, and who was it but the redoubted Brownie of Bodsbeck, so often mentioned before, in all his native deformity; while the thing in the form of a broad bonnet that he wore on his head, kept his features, grey locks and beard, wholly in the shade; and, as he approached Walter, he appeared a being without any definitive form or feature. The latter was now standing on his feet, with his back leaned against the rock that formed the one side of the cave, and breathing so loud, that every whiff sounded in the caverned arches like the rush of the winter wind whistling through the crevices of the cas.e.m.e.nt.

Brownie approached him, followed by others.

"Be not alarmed, goodman," said the creature, in the same solemn and powerful voice; "you see none here but fellow-creatures and Christians--none who will not be happy to bestow on you their blessing, and welcome you as a father."

He stretched forth his hand to take hold of our goodman's. It was bent to his side as by a spasm, and at the same time a volley of breath came forth from his capacious chest with such a rush, that it was actually like the snort of a horse that is frightened in the dark. The Brownie, however, laid hold of it, stiff as it was, and gave it a squeeze and a hearty shake. "You are welcome, sir!" continued the shapeless ma.s.s, "to our dismal habitation. May the G.o.d of Heaven particularly bless you in your _family_ and in all your other concerns!"

The naming of this name dispelled Walter's wild apprehensions like a charm, for though he was no devotee, yet his mind had a strong bias to the superst.i.tions of the country in which he was bred; therefore this benediction, p.r.o.nounced in such a tone of ardour and sublimity of feeling, had a powerful effect on his mind. But the circ.u.mstance that proved the most effective of all, was perhaps the sensible a.s.surance gained by the shaking of hands, that Brownie was really and truly a corporeal being. Walter now held out his hand to all the rest as they came forward one by one, and shook hands heartily with them all, while every one of them blessed him in the name of their Maker or Redeemer.

Walter was still involved in mystery, and all this while he had never uttered a word that any man could make meaning of; and after they had all shook hands with him, he looked at the coffin; then at the figures on the couch; then at the pale wretch on the wicker-seat, and then at the coffin again.

"Let us fully understand one another," said Katharine. "Pray, Brown, be so good as detail the circ.u.mstances of this party as shortly as you can to my father, for, as is natural, he is still perplexed and bewildered."

"You see here before you, sir," said the little hunchbacked figure, "a wretched remnant of that long persecuted, and now nearly annihilated sect, the covenanted reformers of the west of Scotland. We were expelled from our homes, and at last hunted from our native mountains like wolves, for none of our friends durst shelter any of us on their grounds, on pain of death. Even the rest of the persecuted disowned us, and became our adversaries, because our tenets were more stern and severe than theirs; for we acted on the principle of retaliation as far as it lay in our power, holding that to be in consistency with the laws of G.o.d and man; therefore were we expelled from their society, which indeed we disdained.

"We first came to Bodsbeck, where we got shelter for a few weeks. It was there that I was first supposed by the menials, who chanced to see me, to be a Brownie, and that superst.i.tious idea the tenant thought meet to improve for our safety; but on the approach of Lag's people he dismissed us. We then fled to Leithenhall, from whence in a few days we were again compelled to fly; and at last came to this wild, the only place in the south that soldiers had never searched, nor could search with any degree of success. After much labour we completed this cave, throwing the stuff into the torrent below, so that the most minute investigator could not distinguish the smallest difference in the linn, or face of the precipice; and here we deemed we might live for years without being discovered; and here we determined to live, till G.o.d should see fit, in his own good time, to send some relief to his persecuted church in these lands.

"But alas, the worst evil of all awaited us! We subsisted for a considerable time by bringing victuals over night from a great distance, but even the means of obtaining these failed us; so that famine, and the dampness of the air here, we being compelled to lie inactive in the bowels of the earth for days and nights together, brought on us a malignant and pestilential fever. In three days from its first symptoms appearing, one half of our number were lying unable to move, or lift an eye. What could we do? The remnant could not fly, and leave their sick and wounded brethren to perish here unseen. We were unable to carry them away with us, and if we had, we had no place to which we could have conveyed them. We durst not apply to you, for if you had taken pity on us, we knew it would cost you your life, and be the means of bereaving your family of all your well-earned wealth. In this great extremity, as a last resource, I watched an opportunity, and laid our deplorable case before that dear maid your daughter--Forgive these tears, sir; you see every eye around fills at mention of her name--She has been our guardian angel--She has, under Almighty Providence, saved the lives of the whole party before you--has supplied us with food, cordials, and medicines; with beds, and with clothing, all from her own circ.u.mscribed resources.

For us she has braved every danger, and suffered every privation; the dereliction of her parents, and the obloquy of the whole country. That young man, whom you see sitting on the wicker chair there, is my only surviving son of five--he was past hope when she found him--fast posting to the last gaol--her unwearied care and attentions have restored him; he is again in a state of convalescence--O may the Eternal G.o.d reward her for what she has done to him and us!

"Only one out of all the distressed and hopeless party has perished, he whose body lies in that coffin. He was a brave, n.o.ble, and pious youth, and the son of a worthy gentleman. When our dear nurse and physician found your house deserted by all but herself, she took him home to a bed in that house, where she attended him for the last seven days of his life with more than filial care. He expired last night at midnight, amid our prayers and supplications to heaven in his behalf, while that dear saint supported his head in his dying moments, and shed the tear of affliction over his lifeless form. She made the grave-clothes from her own scanty stock of linen--tied her best lawn napkin round the head; and"----

Here Walter could contain himself no longer; he burst out a crying, and sobbed like a child.

"An' has my Keatie done a' this?" cried he, in a loud broken voice--"Has my woman done a' this, an' yet me to suspect her, an' be harsh till her?

I might hae kend her better!" continued he, taking her in his arms, and kissing her cheek again and again. "But she sall hae ten silk gowns, an'

ten satin anes, for the bit linen she has bestowed on sic an occasion, an' a' that she has wared on ye I'll make up to her a hunder an' fifty fauld."

"O my dear father," said she, "you know not what I have suffered for fear of having offended you; for I could not forget that their principles, both civil and religious, were the opposite of yours--that they were on the adverse side to you and my mother, as well as the government of the country."

"Deil care what side they war on, Kate!" cried Walter, in the same vehement voice; "ye hae taen the side o' human nature; the suffering and the humble side, an' the side o' feeling, my woman, that bodes best in a young unexperienced thing to tak. It is better than to do like yon bits o' gillflirts about Edinburgh; poor s.h.i.+lly-shally milk-an'-water things!

Gin ye but saw how they c.o.c.k up their noses at a whig, an' thraw their bits o' gabs; an' downa bide to look at aught, or hear tell o' aught, that isna i' the top fas.h.i.+on. Ye hae done very right, my good la.s.sie--od, I wadna gie ye for the hale o' them, an' they war a' hung in a strap like ingans."

"Then, father, since you approve I am happy. I have no care now save for these two poor fellows on that couch, who are yet far from being out of danger."

"L----d sauf us!" said Walter, turning about, "I thought they had been twa dead corpse. But now, when my een are used to the light o' the place, I see the chaps _are_ living, an' no that unlife-like, as a body may say."

He went up to them, spoke to them kindly, took their wan bleached sinewy hands in his, and said, he feared they were still very ill?

"Better than we have been," was the reply--"Better than we have been, goodman. Thanks to you and yours."

"Dear father," said Katharine, "I think if they were removed down to Chapelhope, to dry comfortable lodgings, and had more regular diet, and better attendance, their health might soon be re-established. Now that you deem the danger over, will you suffer me to have them carried down there?"

"Will I no, Kate? My faith, they shall hae the twa best beds i' the house, if Maron an' me should sleep in the barn! An' ye sal hae naething ado but to attend them, an' nurse them late an' aire; an' I'll gar Maron Linton attend them too, an' she'll rhame o'er bladds o' scripture to them, an' they'll soon get aboon this bit dwam. Od, if outher gude fare or drogs will do it, I'll hae them playin' at the pennystane wi' Davie Tait, an' prayin' wi' him at night, in less than twa weeks."

"Goodman," said old Brown, (for this celebrated Brownie was no other than the noted Mr John Brown, the goodman of Caldwell)--"Goodman, well may you be proud this day, and well may you be uplifted in heart on account of your daughter. The more I see and hear of her, the more am I struck with admiration; and I am persuaded of this, that, let your past life have been as it may, the Almighty will bless and prosper you on account of that maid. The sedateness of her counsels, and the qualities of her heart, have utterly astonished me--She has all the strength of mind, and energy of the bravest of men, blent with all the softness, delicacy, and tenderness of femininity--Neither danger nor distress can overpower her mind for a moment--tenderness does it at once. If ever an angel appeared on earth in the form of woman, it is in that of your daughter"--

"I wish ye wad haud your tongue," said Walter, who stood hanging his head, and sobbing aloud. The large tears were not now dropping from his eyes--they were trickling in torrents. "I wish ye wad haud your tongue, an' no mak me ower proud o' her. She's weel eneugh, puir woman----It's a--It's a shame for a great muckle auld fool like me to be booin an'

greetin like a bairn this gate!--but deil tak the doer gin I can help it!--I watna what's ta'en me the day!--She's weel eneugh, puir la.s.sie.

I daresay I never learned her ony ill, but I little wat where she has gotten a' the gude qualities ye brag sae muckle o', unless it hae been frae Heaven in gude earnest; for I wat weel, she has been brought up but in a ramstamphish hamely kind o' way wi' Maron an' me.--But come, come!

let us hae done wi' this fuffing an' blawing o' noses, an' making o' wry faces. Row the twa puir sick lads weel up, an' bring them down in the bed-claes to my house. An' d'ye hear, callants--gudesake get your beards clippit or shaven a wee, an' be something warld like, an' come a' down to Chapelhope; I'll kill the best wedder on the Hermon-Law, an' we shall a' dine heartily thegither for aince; I'll get ower Davie Tait to say the grace, an' we'll be as merry as the times will allow."

They accepted the invitation, with many expressions of grat.i.tude and thankfulness, and the rays of hope once more enlightened the dejected countenances that had so long been overshadowed with the gloom of despair.

"But there's ae thing, callants," said Walter, "that has astonished me, an' I canna help speering. Where got ye the coffin sae readily for the man that died last night?"

"That coffin," said Brown, "was brought here one night by the friends of one of the men whom Clavers caused to be shot on the other side of the ridge there, which you saw. The bodies were buried ere they came; it grew day on them, and they left it; so, for the sake of concealment, we brought it into our cave. It has been useful to us; for when the wretched tinker fell down among us from that gap, while we were at evening wors.h.i.+p, we pinioned him in the dark, and carried him in that chest to your door, thinking he had belonged to your family. That led to a b.l.o.o.d.y business, of which you shall hear anon. And in that coffin, too, we carried off your ungrateful curate so far on his journey, disgraced for ever, to come no more within twenty miles of Chapelhope, on pain of a dreadful death in twenty-four hours thereafter; and I stand warrandice that he shall keep his distance. In it we have now deposited the body of a beloved and virtuous friend, who always foretold this, from its first arrival in our cell.--But he rejoiced in the prospect of his dissolution, and died as he had lived, a faithful and true witness; and his memory shall long be revered by all the just and the good."

CHAPTER V.

I hate long explanations, therefore this chapter shall be very short; there are, however, some parts of the foregoing tale, which require that a few words should be subjoined in elucidation of them.

This John Brown was a strenuous and desperate reformer. He was the son of a gentleman by a second marriage, and half-brother to the Laird of Caldwells. He was at the battle of Pentland, with five brave sons at his back, two of whom were slain in the action, and he himself wounded. He was again at Bothwell Bridge with the remaining three, where he was a princ.i.p.al mover of the unhappy commotions in the army that day, owing to his violent irreclaimable principles of retaliation. A little before the rout became general, he was wounded by a musket bullet, which grazed across his back, and deprived him of all power. A dragoon coming up, and seeing him alive, struck him again across the back with his sword, which severed the tendons, and cut him to the bone. His sons had seen him fall, and, knowing the spot precisely, they returned overnight, and finding him still alive, they conveyed him to a place of safety, and afterwards to Glasgow, where he remained concealed in a garret in a friend's house for some months; and, after great sufferings in body and mind, recovered of his wounds; but, for want of surgical a.s.sistance, he was so crooked and bowed down, that his nearest friends could not know him; for in his youth, though short in stature, he was strong and athletic. At length he reached his own home, but found it ransacked and desolate, and learned that his wife was carried to prison, he knew not whether. His powerful eloquence, and wild Cameronian principles, made him much dreaded by the other party; a high reward was offered for apprehending him, so that he was driven to great straits, yet never failed to wreak his vengeance on all of the persecuting party that fell within his power, and he had still a number of adherents.

At length there was one shot in the fields near Kirkconnel that was taken for him, and the promised reward actually paid; on which the particular search after him subsided. His two youngest sons both died for the same cause with the former, but James, his third son, always kept by his father, until taken prisoner by Clavers as he was fis.h.i.+ng one day in Coulter Water. Clavers ordered him to be instantly shot, but the Laird of Coulteralloes being present, interceded for him, and he was detained a prisoner, carried about from place to place, and at length confined in the gaol at Selkirk. By the a.s.sistance of his father and friends he effected his escape, but not before being grievously wounded; and, by reason of the hurts he received, and the fever that attacked them in the cave, when Katharine was first introduced there, he was lying past hope; but, by her unwearied care and attention, he, with others, was so far recovered as to be able to sit up, and walk about a little. He was poor Nanny's own son; and this John was her husband, whom she had long deemed in another and a happier state--No wonder that she was shocked and affrighted when she saw him again in such a form at midnight, and heard him speak in his own natural and peculiar voice.

Their meeting that day at Chapelhope must be left to the imagination; it is impossible for any pen to do it justice.

It is only necessary to add, that Walter seems to have been as much respected and beloved by his acquaintances and domestics, at least as any neighbour or master of the present day, as will appear from the few following remarks. The old session-clerk and precentor at Ettrick said, "It was the luckiest thing that could have happened that he had come home again, for the poor's ladle had been found to be a pund Scots short every Sunday since he and his family had left church." And fat Sandy Cunningham, the conforming clergyman there, a very honest inoffensive man, remarked, "that he was very glad to hear the news, for the goodman always gave the best dinners at the visitations and examinations of any farmer in his parish; and one always felt so comfortable in his house."

Davie Tait said, that "Divine Providence had just been like a stell dike to the goodman. It had bieldit him frae the bitter storm o' the adversary's wrath, an' keepit a' the thunner-bolts o' the wicked frae brikking on his head; that, for his part, he wad sit down on his knees an' thank Heaven, Sunday and Sat.u.r.day, for his return, for he could easily lend his master as muckle siller as wad stock a' Riskinhope ower again, an' there was little doubt but he wad do it." Even old John of the Muchrah remarked, "that it was just as weel that his master was come back, for he had an unco gude e'e amang the sheep when ought was gaun wrang on the hill, an' the ewes wadna win nae mair into the hogg fence o' the Quave Brae, i' the day time at ony rate."

If there are any incidents in this Tale that may still appear a little mysterious, they will all be rendered obvious by turning to a pamphlet, ent.i.tled, A CAMERONIAN'S TALE, or _The Life of John Brown, written by himself_. But any reader of common ingenuity may very easily solve them all.

END OF THE BROWNIE OF BODSBECK.

THE WOOL-GATHERER.