Foxholme Hall, and Other Tales

by William Henry Giles Kingston

Just then he heard “Wooed and married and a’” played as well as he could play it (this he only confessed silently to himself, he would on no account have let any one else say so), but on a bagpipe of the softest and moat silvery tone, and soon a band of bright little creatures came from among the green grass and bracken, and stopped directly in his path. All wore the full Highland dress, but the checks in the tartan looked as if made of precious stones, for they sparkled and glittered in the moonlight, till Alaister was almost dazzled by their brilliancy; the red cherry tufts on their bonnets shone with a clear calm light, like glowworms, but as he had never seen one of these, he mentally said “like anything.” The party was headed by a piper, playing on pipes, the bag of which was a bluebell, the chaunter a hedgehog’s bristle, and the ribbons made of dragonflies’ wings. He was followed by the king and queen, who wore beautiful crowns, from which shot rays of variegated light; then came the train of followers, and round the whole ran three Will-of-the-Wisps. These were taller than the rest; from their hands, feet, and eyes came bright flashes like lightning, but their bodies were quite black and very slight.

When they halted in front of Alaister, the piper stopped playing, and even the Will-of-the-Wisps did not run quite so fast; the king and queen stepped forward, and asked who it was who dared to disturb their midnight march through their own domain, but such a hubbub arose amongst their followers that, without waiting for his answer, they turned to inquire into the cause.

This was very soon explained: it was an outburst of rage against the piper Alaister, with eager offers to bring forward proof of misconduct against him. These were immediately accepted, and an old fairy-elf was commanded to speak first.

There was now a dead silence, except when the night wind rustled amongst the birch branches, and bent the waving bracken, or some night bird uttered a wild cry. The old elf stepped forward, and then, by suddenly twisting his legs and arms together, and sinking his head between them, he changed into the cup, with the picture of the real king in the bottom, which stood on the chimney-piece of the room where the wedding feast had been held, and from this cup came a voice which repeated all the scornful words of Alaister against the fairies. When he ceased he resumed his former shape and retired; others were then called forward in his place, and took the form of cups, bowls, toddy ladles, and glosses, each repeating the same tale; but last of all appeared a lovely girl, who changed into the little square looking-glass in a red frame, in which Alaister had from time to time arranged his hair during that evening; and there was his face reflected in it, and it was his own voice which he now heard, and he saw his lips moving so distinctly, that he put up his hand to feel if he were really speaking, but his lips were still, and the loud ringing laugh of the glittering band made him feel so angry, that he tried to move away, but he then found that he was spell-bound, and must remain to be laughed at or ill-treated by his little enemies. Now Alaister was a very sensible man, so when he found that he must stay, he tried to look as if he liked to stay, and when he heard the king command that he should have his wish, and might play on their bagpipes that night, he smiled blandly, and took the little instrument, which looked like a large spider as it lay in the palm of his hand. In an instant it changed, and became as large as his own, which was carried off by one of the Will-of-the-Wisps, to whom he tried to say something civil, but before he could make up his mind what it was to be, the sprite was glancing amongst the trees far away.

Thinking it might be the wisest plan to conciliate the gude fouk, he played his best tunes, and never had they sounded so well, for the tones of the fairy pipe were far softer and sweeter than his own, and the fairies danced so lightly and nimbly, that he forgot it was against his will he had been ordered to play, and was sorry when the king waved his crystal sceptre, and, pointing to the moon, now fast sinking towards the distant hills, commanded his followers to return home. And now, of course, Alaister thought that he was to return home also, but no, he was commanded to follow, and in spite of himself he was obliged to run through the thick wood, down steep banks, and over rocks to the river-side, where a fleet of egg-shells came towards them at the fairies’ call, and each jumping into one, they shoved off, laughing to see how Alaister plunged into the cold water, and how the Will-of-the-Wisps jostled against him in the deepest parts of the stream.

Wet and weary, he at length reached the cave, which seemed to be the home of the party, and where he found many already busily employed in making preparations for a meal.

The cave was hung with the trailing moss, called tod’s-tail, while pieces of rock crystal, cairngorm, and amethyst reflected the light given out by the Will-of-the-Wisps, who suspended themselves like chandeliers from the stalactites which hung from the roof. The floor was thickly strewn with stag-horn moss, which formed a soft and elastic carpet. In the middle of the cave was a large mushroom, round which the fairies were now busy spreading the cloth, woven of the finest gossamer, and arranging the acorn-cups and dishes of delicate meats, which had been prepared during their absence by those who remained at home.

When all was ready, numbers of green beetles ran forward to the table and ranged themselves round it; on these the fairies sat as they feasted.

Never was there a merrier party; they laughed and talked, and pledged each other in bumpers of mountain dew, and sang sweetly while bunches of white hare-bells, which hung from the roof, chimed in as accompaniment.

All this time Alaister had stood looking on, wondering what was to happen to him, and not feeling quite at his ease, for he knew it was a mark of displeasure when the gude fouk ate without offering anything to the mortal who was present, and besides, the younger fairies every now and then made faces at him. At length the feast was ended, and the king called together the oldest of his followers, and retired to some distance from the rest, where, for a time, they held eager consultation. The king then advanced to Alaister and told him that as he had played so well for them that night, they had determined not to change him into a Will-of-the-Wisp, as was the fate of all who spoke ill of them, and who afterwards fell into their power, but they would send him out into the world again, under a ban which would follow him to the end of his life, but which they would leave him to discover. While his sentence was being pronounced, the Will-of-the-Wisps were much agitated, darting about the roof, and giving out streams of pale cold light; the white hare-bells rang mournfully, shaken by a creeping blast which circled round and round; cold drops fell from the roof and trickled feebly down the sides of the cave, while the voices of the elves’ and fairies sounded harsh and shrill.