The wilder part of the glen ended in a fine pass, where the hills towered almost straight up from the river, and the pines threw so deep a shadow, that for a few yards it was impossible to see the road. Just beyond, the mountains retreated to right and left, and through a short and level tract of meadow-land, road and stream made their way down to the shores of the loch. Ahead of me I could see its broad bosom glancing in the moonlight, and the great snow-clad mountains beyond it. As the improved condition of the road now made rapid progression easier, I gave the pony his head, and he went along in a style that promised soon to land me at my destination.
There was only one thing that troubled me—the haunted bridge. Once past it, and I should thoroughly enjoy my moonlight ride. I do not know whether it was the thought of the ghost-stories with which we had beguiled the hours after dinner, and which now kept recurring to my mind in spite of all effort to the contrary, or whether it was the solemn and impressive scenery I had passed through in the glen, that had unstrung me; but the nearer I drew to the bridge the more uncomfortable I felt regarding it. It was not exactly fear, but a vague presentiment of evil—the Highland blood asserting itself. I could not get rid of the sensation. I tried to hum and to whistle, but the forced merriment soon died a natural death. I was now on the loneliest part of the road. From the bottom of the glen as far as the bridge—about three miles—there was not a single cottage; and more than a mile on the other side of it lay a scattered hamlet. The moon, too, which had hitherto befriended me, now threatened to withdraw its light; and where clumps of trees overhung the road the darkness was deep. The pony carried me along bravely—he knew he was going home; and in a short time a turn in the road showed me, some distance ahead, a ribbon of white high upon the dark hillside. It was the stream that ran beneath the fatal bridge.
Better get out of this as soon as possible, I thought; and with voice and stick I encouraged the pony to increased speed. On we went! The roar of the haunted stream was loud and near now; the gloom increased as we plunged deeper into the wood that filled its basin; in another minute the bridge would be far behind, when, without the least warning, the pony shied to one side and then stood stock still, quivering all over. The shock all but sent me flying over its head; but by an effort I kept my seat. I had not far to look for the cause of the beast’s fright. Not a dozen yards away were the dimly seen parapets of the bridge; and on one of them crouched an object that froze me with terror. There are some moments in which the events of a lifetime pass in review; there are some glances in which an infinity of detail can be taken in quicker than eye can close. This was one of them. I do not suppose that my eye rested on the object of my terror for more than a second; but in that brief space I saw what seemed like the upper part of a distorted human body, hunchbacked and without legs, with a face that glowed with the red light of fire! I can laugh now, when I think of my fright; but at the moment, I remember getting the pony into motion somehow with stick, bridle, and voice, and speeding across the bridge like a thunderbolt, crouching down, Tam o’ Shanter-like, and momentarily expecting to feel the grip of a clammy hand on my neck! Hard, hard we galloped through the hamlet I have mentioned; nor did I slacken the pace until the lights of my abode had gleamed through the plantation, and we were safe and sound in the stable-yard.
To make a really good ghost-story, my narrative should go no further; but the sequel has still to be told. I invented an excuse to appease the curiosity of my friends, who naturally were anxious to know what had sent us home in such a fashion—the pony in a lather, and myself with a scared, unintelligible expression. I did not want to tell the real story until I had made some effort to unravel it. With this end in view, I started on foot soon after breakfast for the house I had dined at, intending to make a thorough examination of the bridge and the course of the stream on my way, and to question some of the cottagers in the hamlet. I was saved the trouble, however. I had not gone much more than a mile, when I perceived coming along the road towards me a sturdy pedlar, with a fur cap on his head, and a pack of very large dimensions fastened on his broad shoulders. Such fellows are very commonly met with in the outlying districts of the Highlands, where they do a roaring trade in ribbons, sham jewellery, and smallwares, besides carrying a fund of gossip from place to place. In the specimen of the class now before me I was not long in recognising the ghost of the haunted bridge, and in hailing him I was soon in possession of the whole story. ‘Yes; he was the man that was sitting on the brig about eleven o’clock; and was I the gentleman that rode past as if all the witches in the countryside were at his heels? Faith, it was a proper fright I had given him.’
‘But tell me,’ I asked, ‘what on earth were you doing there at such a time of night?’
‘Weel, sir, I was very late of gettin’ across the ferry; and it was a langer step than I had thocht doon to the village; and I had had a guid walk the day already, and was tired-like. The brig was kind o’ handy for a rest; so I just sat doon on the dike and had a bit smoke o’ the pipe. Losh, sir, when ye cam scourin’ past, I thocht it was the deil himsel’; but then I just thocht that it was mysel’ sitting in the shadow that had frighted your beastie, and it had run awa’ wi’ you like. And when I cam the length o’ the village, I just had to creep into a bit shed; and wi’ my pack and some straw I soon made a bed.’
So here was the whole story. The deep shadow on the bridge had prevented me from seeing the sitter’s legs; the heavy knapsack had given him a humpback; the fur cap and the glow of the pipe accounted for the fiery countenance. With mutual explanations we parted—he to push his sales in the villages beyond; I, to hurry on to the house in the glen, whose inmates at first evinced the liveliest interest in the over-night episode—an interest, however, which waned to disappointment as I proceeded to explain how the ghost was laid. I may mention that I omitted the ‘scourin’ past’ portion of the adventure. How they will chaff me when they read this!
FAIRYLAND IN MIDSUMMER.
Shall I tell you how one day