"Little monsters!" cried Sweetheart, for the moment forgetting her proper character of witch-wife.

Nevertheless, all in the Kairn of Derncleugh were happy, save Hugh John, who declared that Scott's heroes were always getting put under soft cushions or up the chimney. "You can't really distinguish yourself," he insisted, "in such situations!" And he referred once more to the luck of a certain Mr.

James Hawkins, ship's boy, late of "Treasure Island."

"It's the n.o.bodies that have all the fun--real heroes don't count!" he continued ruefully, as he dusted himself from the bits of straw.

"Wait," said I; "you have not heard the third tale from Guy Mannering. Then there will be lots for you to do!"

"High time!" he answered with awful irony.

THE THIRD TALE FROM "GUY MANNERING"

THE RETURN OF DIRK HATTERAICK

ONE event deeply stirred all Solway-side in the year of Colonel Mannering's arrival at Woodbourne--the smugglers had returned in force, and proved themselves ripe for any desperate act. Their stronghold was as of old, the Isle of Man, from which they could descend in a few hours upon the Solway coasts. Stricter laws and more severe penalties had only rendered them fiercer than of old, and in case of need, they did not hesitate in the least to shed blood.

As of yore also, their leader was the savage Dirk Hatteraick, under whom served a Lieutenant named Brown. One of their first exploits was a daring attack upon the house of Woodbourne, where dwelt Colonel Mannering with his daughter and Lucy Bertram.

It happened thus. Mannering, in company with young Charles Hazlewood, was setting out for a loch some miles away to look at the skaters.

Hazlewood had quite often come to visit the house of Woodbourne since Lucy Bertram went to live there. Suddenly a few men, each leading a laden horse, burst through the bushes, and, pressing straight across the lawn, made for the front door. Mannering hastened to demand what they wanted. They were revenue officers, they said, and as they knew that Colonel Mannering had served in the East, they called upon him in the King's name to protect them and their captures.

To this Mannering instantly agreed. No time was to be lost. The smugglers were hot in pursuit, strongly reinforced. Immediately the goods were piled in the hall. The windows were blocked up with cushions, pillows, and (what caused the Dominie many a groan) great folios out of the library, bound in wood, covered with leather, and studded with brazen bosses like a Highland targe.

While these preparations were being made within the house of Woodbourne the steady earth-shaking beat of a body of hors.e.m.e.n was heard approaching, and in a few minutes a body of thirty mounted men rushed out upon the lawn, brandishing weapons and uttering savage yells. Most of them had their heads tied up in coloured handkerchiefs, while many wore masks by way of disguising themselves.

Finding the mansion in an unexpected state of defence, they halted a moment, as if to take counsel together. But finally one of them, his face all blackened with soot, dismounted and came forward, waving a white cloth in his hand.

Colonel Mannering immediately threw up a window, and asked the smuggler what he wanted.

"We want our goods, of which we have been robbed by these sharks," cried the man with the blackened face, "and we mean to have them. If you give them up, we will go away quietly without harming any one, but if you refuse, then we will burn the house and have the life-blood of every soul under your roof."

This he swore with many horrible and cruel oaths.

"If you do not instantly ride off my lawn," answered Colonel Mannering, "I will fire upon you without any further warning!"

The Amba.s.sador returned to his troop, and no sooner had he told them the Colonel's answer than they rushed forward to the attack with horrid yells. Three volleys were fired, shattering the window-gla.s.s in all directions, but, thanks to the Colonel's preparations, the slugs and bullets rattled harmlessly against his defences. Many of the smugglers now dismounted and advanced with axe and crow-bar to force the front door. It was time for those within to take action.

"Let only Charles Hazlewood and myself shoot!" said the Colonel, "Hazlewood, do you mark the Amba.s.sador. I will take the commander of the rascals--the man on the grey horse, whom they call their Lieutenant!"

Both men fell as the shots rang out. Astonished by this reception, the smugglers retreated, carrying with them their wounded. It was one of these whom Captain Brown saw die in the little ruined keep at Derncleugh the night when he was overtaken in the darkness--indeed, that very namesake of his own, Brown, the mate of Hatteraick's vessel.

There were many who thought that after this Captain Mannering ought to remove his family out of danger. But that gentleman confined himself to taking greater precautions at locking-up time, and insisting that when the ladies went out walking, a gun should be carried by an attendant for their protection.

One day Julia Mannering and Lucy Bertram had gone out with young Charles Hazlewood to visit a small lake much frequented by skaters and curlers, while a servant followed behind with a gun.

It chanced that Lucy, who never kept Hazlewood's arm when she could avoid it, had dropped behind as they were pa.s.sing along a narrow path through a pine plantation. Julia Mannering was therefore alone at Charles Hazlewood's side when Brown suddenly appeared from among the trees, right in their path. He was roughly dressed, and young Hazlewood, taking him for one of the smugglers, and mistaking the meaning of Julia's cry of surprise at seeing her lover, s.n.a.t.c.hed the gun from the servant, and haughtily ordered Brown to stand back so as not to alarm the lady. Brown, piqued at finding Julia on the arm of a stranger, replied as haughtily that he did not require to take lessons from Hazlewood how to behave to any lady. Instantly Charles Hazlewood pointed the gun at his breast. Upon which Brown sprang upon him, and in the struggle the gun went off by accident, and Hazlewood fell to the ground wounded. Brown, anxious not to bring Julia Mannering into the affair, at once sprang over the hedge and disappeared.

[Ill.u.s.tration: "HE was roughly dressed, and young Hazlewood, taking him for one of the smugglers, and mistaking the meaning of Julia's cry of surprise at seeing her lover, s.n.a.t.c.hed the gun from the servant, and haughtily ordered Brown to stand back so as not to alarm the lady."]

Hazlewood's wound was, happily, not serious, and being an honest open young fellow, he was the first to own himself in the wrong. Nothing of importance would have come of the affair, but for the officiousness of Glossin, the new Laird of Ellangowan, who saw in it a way of ingratiating himself with the two powerful families of Mannering and Hazlewood.

Glossin began by questioning the landlady of the hotel where Brown had been staying. Then he tried to draw out the postboy. From them he gathered little, save the fact that a young man named Brown had been staying at the Gordon Arms at Kippletringan. On the day of the accident to Charles Hazlewood, Brown had taken the postboy with him to show him the skating and curling on the pond in the neighbourhood of which the supposed attack had taken place. Jock Jabos, the postboy, however, denied that "the stoutest man in Scotland could take a gun frae him and shoot him wi' it, though he was but a f.e.c.kless little body, fit only for the outside o' a saddle or the fore-end of a post-chaise. Na, nae living man wad venture on the like o' that!"

So Glossin, in order the better to carry out his plans, pretended to believe that Brown was the Lieutenant of the gang which had a.s.saulted the house of Woodbourne.

Much more to the point was the information which was waiting for Glossin on his return to his house of Ellangowan. Mac-Guffog, the county thief-taker, and two of his people were there. With them they had brought a prisoner, whom they had first beguiled into drink, and then easily handcuffed while asleep. Glossin was delighted. He was under a great hope that this might prove to be Brown himself. Instead, he recognised an old acquaintance--no other than Dirk Hatteraick, the smuggler. In the interview which followed, Dirk told Glossin some facts which made him tremble. His possession of Ellangowan was threatened. The true heir, the young lad Harry Bertram, lost on the night of the murder of Frank Kennedy, had not perished as had been supposed. He had been brought up by the princ.i.p.al partner of the Dutch firm to which he had been bound apprentice, sent to the East Indies under the name of Vanbeest Brown, and he was at that very moment upon the coast of Solway--it might be very near to Ellangowan itself.

Glossin saw his hopes wither before his eyes. If the heir should find out his rights, then the fruits of his villany, the estate of Ellangowan itself, must return to its true owner. The lawyer secretly gave Dirk Hatteraick a small file with which to rid himself of his irons, and then bade his captors confine him in the strong-room of the ancient castle.

"The stanchions are falling to pieces with rust," he whispered to Dirk, "the distance to the ground is not twelve feet, and the snow lies thick.

After that, you must steal my boat which lies below in the cove, and wait till I come to you in the cave of the Wood of Warroch!"

So saying, he called the thief-takers in, and made his arrangements.

Glossin could not sleep that night. Eagerly he watched the window of the old castle. He heard the iron bars fall outward upon the rocks with a clinking sound, and feared that all was lost. The light in the window was obscured, and presently he saw a black object drop upon the snow.

Then the little boat put out from the harbour, the wind caught the sail, and she bore away in the direction of Warroch Point.

On the morrow, however, he overwhelmed Mac-Guffog with the full force of his anger for his carelessness in allowing his prisoner to escape. Then he sent his men off in different directions, as fast as they could, to retake Hatteraick--in all directions, that is, except the true one.

Having thus disposed of the thief-takers, he set out for Warroch Head alone. But the marks of his feet in the snow startled him. Any officer, coming upon that trail, would run it up like a bloodhound. So he changed his path, descending the cliff, and making his way cautiously along the sea-beach where the snow did not lie. He pa.s.sed the great boulder which had fallen with Frank Kennedy. It was now all overgrown with mussels and seaweed. The mouth of the cave opened black and dismal before him.

Glossin drew breath before entering such a haunt of iniquity, and recharged his pistols. He was, however, somewhat heartened by the thought that Dirk Hatteraick had nothing to gain by his death. Finally he took courage to push forward, and immediately the voice of Hatteraick came hoa.r.s.e from the back of the cave.

"Donner and hagel! Be'st du?" he growled.

"Are you in the dark?" said Glossin, soothingly.

"Dark? Der deyvel, ay!" retorted Hatteraick, "where should I get a glim?

I am near frozen also! Snow-water and hagel--I could only keep myself warm by tramping up and down this vault and thinking on the merry rouses we used to have here!"

Glossin made a light, and having set down the little lantern which he carried, he gathered together some barrel-staves and driftwood. The flame showed Hatteraick's fierce and bronzed visage as he warmed his sinewy hands at the blaze. He sat with his face thrust forward and actually in the smoke itself, so great had been his agony of cold. When he was a little warmed up, Glossin gave him some cold meat and a flask of strong spirits. Hatteraick eagerly seized upon these, exclaiming, after a long draught, "Ah, that is good--that warms the liver!"

After the liquor and the food had put the smuggler into a somewhat better temper, the two a.s.sociates settled themselves to discuss the project which had brought Glossin to the Cave of the Warroch Point.

Up to the present, Glossin had believed that the Vanbeest Brown who had wounded young Hazlewood was the mate of the smuggling lugger. But now, hearing that this Brown had been shot on the night of the Woodbourne attack, all at once a light broke upon him. The a.s.sailant could be no other than the rightful heir of Ellangowan, Harry Bertram.

"If he is on this coast," he meditated, half to himself, "I can have him arrested as the leader of the attack upon Woodbourne, and also for an a.s.sault upon Charles Hazlewood!"

"But," said Dirk Hatteraick, grimly, "he will be loose again upon you, as soon as he can show himself to carry other colours!"

"True, friend Hatteraick," said Glossin; "still, till that is proved, I can imprison him in the custom-house of Portanferry, where your goods are also stowed. You and your crew can attack the custom-house, regain your cargo, and--"

"Send the heir of Ellangowan to Jericho--or the bottom of the sea!"

cried Hatteraick, with fierce bitterness.

"Nay, I advise no violence," said Glossin, softly, looking at the ground.