"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]
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-balls, 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, embarrassed approach of the stranger; and added to all this, his impatience and manifest anxiety to embark. It might be assumed 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 circumstances that doubtless any individual, placed in similar situations, must unavoidably have felt, and betrayed a strong and equal portion of awkwardness and embarrassment 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 warse, it is Hallowmass; 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?"