At that instant a lad came out with a lanthorn, and held it up to look at the party. The poet was nearest the door, and the light shone full on him and the rider that was next him. He cast his eyes on that rider,—but one glance was enough to bedim his eye-sight, if not to scare away his reason. It had the appearance of a warrior sheathed in steel, but all encrusted in a sheet of blood. His mouth was wide open, and his jaws hanging down upon his breast, while his head seemed to be cleft asunder. The poet uttered a loud yell of horror, and, flinging himself from his horse on the side opposite to that on which the phantom stood, he fell among the mud and stones at the door, yet ceased not to reiterate his loud cries like one in distraction. Every one jumped from his horse, and hurried in at the door; the man with the lanthorn also fled, and with the noise and uproar the horses galloped off, saddled and bridled as they were. As the guests ran into the hall, every one asked at all the rest what it was? "What is it?" was all that could be heard; all asking the question, but none answering it. Even the people of the house joined in the query, and came all round the strangers, crying, "What is it?—What is it?"—"I do not know—I do not know, Sir—I do not know upon my word."
"The people are all delirious," said the housekeeper:"—Can no one tell us what it was that affrighted you?—St Magdalene be with us! whom have we here?"
This was no other than the poor bard coming toward the light, creeping slowly on all-four, and still groaning as he came.
"Here's the chap that began the fray," said Tam, "you may speer at him. He rather looks as he were at ane mae wi't. For my part, I just did as the rest did,—ran an' cried as loud as I could. When a dust is fairly begun, I think aye the mair stour that is raised the better. I'll try wha will cry loudest again, an ye like,—or rin round the fire wi' ony o' you, or out through the mids o't either, at a pinch."
Tam turned round his long nose to see if his jest had taken, for he always fixed his eyes stedfastly on one object when he spoke; but he found that his jargon had been ill-timed, for no one laughed at it but himself. The rest were gathered round the bard; some pitying, but more like to burst with laughter at his forlorn state. He fetched two or three long-drawn moans, and then raising himself up on his knees, with his eyes fixed on the light, he rolled over, and fainted.
Delany first stooped to support his head, and was soon assisted by every female in the house, while the men only stood and looked on. By bathing his hands and temples with cold water, they soon brought him out of his faint, but not to his right senses. His looks continued wild and unstable, and ever and anon they were turned to the door, as if he expected some other guest to enter. A sober conference at last ensued; and as no one had seen or heard any thing at this last encounter, save the man that was taken ill, who a few moments before had been heard to say there were six of them, all began to agree that he had been seized with some sudden frenzy or delirium; till the lad, who had carried out the light, thrust in his pale face among the rest, and said,—"Na, na, my masters, it is nae for naething that the honest man's gane away in a kink; for, when I held up the bouet, I saw a dead man riding on a horse close at his side. He was berkened wi' blood off at the taes; and his mouth was open, and I saw his tongue hinging out."
It may well be conceived what an icy chillness these words distilled round the heart of every one present. The effect on our travellers was particularly appalling, from the idea that they were haunted by a phantom from which they could not escape. The whole group closed around the fire, and the strangers recounted to the family the singular occurrence of their having lost two of their number by the way, and been pursued and overtaken by a phantom resembling one of them, and that the hideous spectre was, as it seemed, haunting them still. As they all agreed in the same story, it was not of a nature to be disregarded at a period when superstition swayed the hearts of men with irresistible power. The stoutest heart among them was daunted, and no one durst go out to the vaults to look after his master's cattle, nor to take in our travellers' horses, that were left to shift for themselves during the long winter night.
The next morning, between day-light and the sun-rising, the men began to peep abroad, and the first things they observed were some of the horses of our travellers going about in a careless, easy manner. This they looked on as a good omen, knowing that horses were terrified for spirits; and the men joining in a body, they sallied out to reconnoitre. The horses had fared well, for they had fed at the laird's stacks of hay and corn all night; but as the men were going round to see how matters stood, they perceived a phenomenon, that, if it had not been open day-light, would have scared them from the habitation. This was the identical phantom-warrior still sitting unmoved on his horse, that was helping itself full liberally out of one of the laird's corn-ricks. The eye of day expels the films of superstition from the human eye. The men, after a short consultation, ventured to surround the phantom,—to seize his horse,—(who had given full proof that he at least was flesh and blood;)—and, after a good deal of trembling astonishment, they found that he was actually rode by a dead warrior, whose head was cleft asunder, and his whole body, both within and without the harness, encrusted in blood.
The mystery was soon cleared up; but none then knew who he was. It had become customary in that age for warriors, who went to engage others, on horseback, to lock themselves to the saddle, for fear of being borne out of their seats by the spears of their opponents in the encounter. This was the individual trooper who had come foremost in the pursuit of our party, he whom the friar jostled, and whom Charlie, encountering the moment after, had slain; but his suit of armour having kept him nearly upright in his saddle, his horse had run off with him, and followed after those of our travellers, as every horse will do that is let go on a high-way and gets his will.
Glad were our travellers at an eclaircissement so fairly within the bounds of their comprehension; and when the poet saw the gash made in the helmet, he shook his head, and exclaimed, "Ha! well I wot the mighty hand of Charlie has been here!"