The Eve of All-Hallows.

by Matthew Weld Hartstonge.

VOL. I.

CHAPTER I.

Tollimur in coelum curvato gurgite, et idem Subducta ad manes imos descendimus unda.

Ter scopuli clamorem inter cava saxa dedere; Ter spumam elisam, et rorantia vidimus astra.

VIRG. ae. l. III.

Lay her aloof, the sea grows dangerous: How it spits against the clouds! how it capers, And how the fiery element frights it back!

There be devils dancing in the air, I think.

_The Sea Voyage._--FLETCHER.

It was upon a dark and lowering afternoon, the 30th day of October, one thousand six hundred and ---- the day preceding _The Eve of All-Hallows_, when the Rev. Doctor M'Kenzie, at that time Chaplain to his Grace the Duke of Tyrconnel, and who had been for some time in the ancient realm of Scotland, on a visit to his kind relatives and friends in that hospitable land, had formed a resolution to depart for the sh.o.r.es of Ireland, to meet his n.o.ble patron. When, in pursuance of this intention, he embarked on board "The William Wallace of Ayr," the sails of the vessel were unfurled, and the signal-flag was seen streaming from the pendant of the main-top-gallant, all giving true and significant indications that the sea-worthy vessel was upon the eve of sailing, and her destination was known to be for the northern coast of Ireland.

Torrents of rain had showered down during the entire of the day, as is not unusual at that advanced autumnal period; these were accompanied with loud peals of thunder, while continuous sheets of lightning illumined and flashed throughout the darkly tinted horizon, which were succeeded by frequent squalls of wind, that at intervals dying suddenly away, served but to make the returning roaring blast the more tremendous and disheartening.

The vessel was to have sailed at the full tide, but this measure was entirely prevented by the strong and continued recurrence of the storm, which blew with such pertinacious force and opposition that "The William Wallace of Ayr" lay close to its anchors all that afternoon, the whole of the night, and during the next succeeding day. About nine o'clock, however, of the evening of the thirty-first, _The Eve of All-Hallows_, the storm to every appearance had wholly abated, and preparations accordingly were commenced for the ship to sail, without any further delay, as bound on its destination. At that point of time the Reverend Chaplain, Doctor M'Kenzie, and his servant, were the only pa.s.sengers on board. "All hands unmoor!" was now loudly and manfully rung forth by the crew; and all matters having been duly arranged for setting sail, while the wind blowing fresh and fair, the ponderous anchor was raised from its oozy bed.

The reader may well imagine, from all these previous preparations, that the vessel and crew were on the point of sailing; when, hark! the hoa.r.s.e exclaiming "halloo!" and the clattering hoofs of hors.e.m.e.n in full gallop, were heard sounding sullenly on the ear, and next loudly thundering their deep echoes through the hollow and deserted streets of Ayr, which rivetted the sailor to the deck, and at once, as if by magic influence, paralyzed and arrested his motions. The rapid progress of the strangers exciting the curiosity of the sailors, called forth in a no less degree the astonishment of the quiet and peaceable burghers of the good and loyal town of Ayr, who were then about to retire to repose. Two hors.e.m.e.n now advanced, their wearied steeds pressed onward with the utmost velocity; who halting for the instant at the brig of Ayr, inquired with breathless and hurried anxiety, if a boat did not there await in readiness to convey pa.s.sengers on board "The William Wallace?"

But the boat was gone! The few sailors, however, or fishermen, who loitered on the quay, said in reply, that they had gude reason to ken that the Bonnie Wullie had not slipped cables, sic warstling winds had blown sic a hurricane, that the gude and bonnie ship was unco snug in harbour.

The strangers now dashed desperately onward, as if life or death were staked upon the attainment of their object. The vessel was not yet under way when they arrived on the beach, their panting steeds besmeared with blood and foam, and nearly exhausted by fatigue.

The princ.i.p.al personage attracted the gaze of every eye, so n.o.ble and martial was his mien; a tall, graceful, and commanding figure, whose whole appearance bespoke the undaunted warrior; his firm step, and manly air, and sinewy arm, boldly told that he knew well how to wield the falchion in the doubtful fight; while his intrepid eye blazed forth the talisman of feats in arms and war, and n.o.bly indicating how oft it had flashed defiance and death upon the daring foe.

"From gory selle and reeling steed Sprung the fierce horseman with a bound, And reeking from some recent deed, He dash'd his carbine on the ground."[1]

[1] Ballad, by Sir Walter Scott.

He was enveloped in a plaid, and wore a Highland bonnet, richly surmounted with plumes; the stranger was nearly breathless from fatigue and the rapidity of his flight, for such it seemed to be; added to which the pallid brow and glaring eye-b.a.l.l.s, gave strong and powerful demonstrations that there existed some other more influential, though latent source--perchance, it was of sorrow! which affected him even still more than bodily fatigue. But still these might have been only mere suspicions, suggestions probably unjustly awakened at the interesting moment, from the lateness of the hour, the hasty, embarra.s.sed approach of the stranger; and added to all this, his impatience and manifest anxiety to embark. It might be a.s.sumed that "the sum and front" of all amounted to no more than this. What then of the extraordinary or the marvellous could by possibility attach to circ.u.mstances that doubtless any individual, placed in similar situations, must unavoidably have felt, and betrayed a strong and equal portion of awkwardness and embarra.s.sment to have encountered?

But without further interlocution we proceed onward with our tale. The stranger hastily, but urgently, inquired if the vessel would immediately sail? Upon his being answered in the affirmative, and the boat on the instant having been hauled down to take him on board, he promptly flung into it a small valise, which he had carried at his saddle-bow, and instantly springing after it himself, was followed by his attendant.

When placed in the boat, he took his station at the stern, where, enveloped in his plaid, he sat immoveably silent, wrapped in gloomy meditation. Upon the stranger's having reached the ship, he still seemed deeply absorbed in thought; the same continued gloom and silence were preserved, while with hurried strides ever and anon he stately paced the deck. At intervals, however, he would suddenly stop, and then he would deeply and intently muse within himself, with folded arms, and dark and lowering brow. Upon his valise was his address written, "Colonel Davidson,----Brigade;" the term or epithet preceding the word "brigade," was torn off, whether by accident or intention did not appear.

All matters on board having been duly arranged and adjusted, while a momentary interval of silence prevailed--"I say," said a sailor, addressing his comrade, "its a fearfu' mirk to-night, which bodes nae gude!"

"Aye, aye!" replied his companion; "but what is still wa.r.s.e, it is Hallowma.s.s; and too weel I ken that the arch-fient, wi' a' the weirds and warlocks, will be abread, and alake! I spae the Bonnie Wullie wull tint the gate! and then we a' maun gang down auld Davie's locker."

"Weel," rejoins the comrade, "it is a donsie night, but I'm nae fasht my cantie carl! whare we a' maun gang togither, a' that's kenspeckle, sae nae mair Claivers!"

"Aye, but I wiss, Sandy," replies the other, "to make a' sicker, that the Deil haed a houd o' the haly man belaw!"

"Whom do you mean?--what holy man below do you speak of?" said Colonel Davidson, the first time that he had noticed aught was going forward.

"A haly auld chiel belaw," rejoined the sailor, "that's boune for Eirin."

"Who----what----how----whom do you call him, friend?"

"I ca' him nae doot Maukeenzie. Pray wha do ye ca' um, your worship?"

"Is the vessel bound for Ireland?"

"Yea it be, anely frae the gate o' the wind, that says nae to it."

Occasional squalls of wind now arose, the compa.s.s veered, the wind became adverse; and the storm, or rather hurricane, of the preceding day threatened to return. Under these gloomy presages

"Short time there were for gratulating speech."

Suddenly sounds like the mournful cadence of the plaintive aeolian harp, were heard above the waves; but no shape, no form, was visible, not even in shadowy indistinctness: but solemn musical sounds, wherever they might have proceeded from, and mocking the human voice, only were heard, sad, slow, and solemn, as the choral chant, _De mortuis_.

THE SPIRIT OF THE STORM.

LOQUITUR.

Where loud tumultuous tempests rave, And foaming surges daunt the brave; I mount my storm-swept throne, the wave!

When midnight fiends their vigils keep, While lightnings rend the mountain's steep, I, scowling, rise from out the deep!

When hope within each bosom dies, While heard the drowning seaman's cries, The raving spirit of the storm, I rise!

Now list! with more than mortal fear, The dismal dirge which strikes the ear!

THE DIRGE.

Once we held fair Scotland's throne, Aye, once we claimed that realm our own; Fuimus, non sumus!

Valorous deeds our claymores crowned, We ever were true heroes found.

Fuimus, non sumus!

But feuds, dissension, strife arose; Oppressed by ranks of hostile foes.

Fuimus, non sumus!

Behold! the last of all our race Is forced to fly his natal place!

He bears the vengeful, fatal knife, Deep stained by b.l.o.o.d.y feudal strife!

Fuimus, non sumus![2]

The chant and dirge were audible to the crew, who listened with deep consternation, and were awfully impressed upon the recollection of the Reverend Chaplain.

[2] For the benefit of our fair readers, we venture to translate the Latin chorus to the Dirge; it means, "We have been, and are not!"