Foxholme Hall, and Other Tales

by William Henry Giles Kingston

The day had been showery; drops sparkled upon the leaves, and pattered down on the boat as she passed beneath the hanging boughs; light clouds were speeding across the clear blue heavens, and as the sun shone out a fairy-like rainbow lay along the hill-side.

With a rustling sound the boat cut through the placid water, and for a time none other broke the silence; the exquisite peace and beauty of the scene cast a spell upon the party who were passengers on board, and, different as were the various tones of mind, one feeling seemed now to pervade the group. During this pause, let us examine the figures composing it.

That active well-formed man, with good sense and merriment in his clear kindly eye, and about his firm mouth, is Arthur Hardy. His early life of laborious self-denial, in support of dependent young brothers and sisters, has been rewarded with success and present prosperity.

The graceful lounging figure beside him, whose handsome features are clouded by such a look of inward dissatisfaction, is Edmund Bayntun, the luxurious and self-indulgent course of whose days lacks the stimulus of any object to rouse his faculties, brighten his eye, and dispel the dreamy gloom now habitual to his manner.

He and Hardy were school-fellows, and have unexpectedly met, to their great mutual pleasure. Edmund has just been introduced to Mrs Arthur Hardy and her pretty and rather romantic little sister, Helen Grey, and has been persuaded to join them in a visit they are about to pay to a hospitable Highland friend, instead of continuing his languid solitary wanderings.

He and Hardy were soon agreeably engaged in talking over early recollections and subsequent events; and the genuine kindness and lively good sense of the whole party tended considerably to overcome Bayntun’s moody feelings, and dissipate the somewhat peevish melancholy in which he usually indulged.

Towards evening Hardy announced that they must prepare to go on shore, as they had reached the nearest available landing-place to Glennaclach, the residence of Mr Stewart. The mountain mists were tinged with glowing gold, and under the shadow of the dark hill-sides the waters of the loch looked grey and cold, when the party stepped into the little boat which came out to meet them. A few passengers of an inferior rank accompanied them, and were heartily welcomed by the men in the boat in their wild Gaelic. Suddenly they all seemed to remember that there were strangers amongst them, and, with a courteousness which might put to the blush many more cultivated societies, continued their conversation in English; and addressing Hardy, as the evident head of the party, volunteered any assistance or information they could give. His plan had been at once to obtain some vehicle to convey them to his friend’s house in Glennaclach, but this he found to be impossible, as the distance was considerable, and part of the road liable to be overflowed by the tide. The only arrangement to be made, therefore, was to pass the night at the little inn near the landing-place, and proceed the following day on their visit. So Edmund Bayntun was condemned to spend the evening in an uncarpeted room, redolent of whisky and tobacco, the fumes of which ascended from the kitchen, where, as their usual rendezvous was occupied, the frequenters of the inn were holding their evening carousal; but the moon shone in a spreading path of silver upon the waters of the loch as the tide came rippling softly and steadily in, and he gazed upon it, and actually felt enjoyment. Soon from the party below rose and swelled a wild and melodious chorus, then a single voice sang alone, and again the chorus joined in, till it was suddenly hushed, and, after a little consultation, the landlord came up to ask, in the peculiarly delicate tone in which the Western Highlanders speak English, whether the ladies were annoyed by the noise below, as it should cease immediately if they wished it. Softened as it was, the effect of the music added much to their enjoyment, and they begged it might not be checked on their account.

Early the next day, in high spirits, and perfectly refreshed, though their accommodation had certainly been of the roughest description, the little party set off up Glennaclach, the gentlemen on foot and the ladies and carpet-bags in a cart full of straw, drawn by a rough wild-eyed pony, led by a Highlander equally so.

“Donald’s but a daft lad, but he knows the road and will guide ye safely, so ye’ll no be troubled with that,” said the mistress of the inn, as she shook up the straw in the cart so as to form cushions for the two ladies.