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  Chapter the Second.

  In yon lone vale his early youth was bred, Not solitary then--the bugle-horn Of fell Alecto often waked its windings, From where the brook joins the majestic river, To the wild northern bog, the curlew's haunt, Where oozes forth its first and feeble streamlet. OLD PLAY.

  We have said, that most of the feuars dwelt in the village belonging totheir townships. This was not, however, universally the case. A lonelytower, to which the reader must now be introduced, was at least oneexception to the general rule.

  It was of small dimensions, yet larger than those which occurred in thevillage, as intimating that, in case of assault, the proprietor wouldhave to rely upon his own unassisted strength. Two or three miserablehuts, at the foot of the fortalice, held the bondsmen and tenants of thefeuar. The site was a beautiful green knoll, which started up suddenlyin the very throat of a wild and narrow glen, and which, beingsurrounded, except on one side, by the winding of a small stream,afforded a position of considerable strength.

  But the great security of Glendearg, for so the place was called, layin its secluded, and almost hidden situation. To reach the tower, it wasnecessary to travel three miles up the glen, crossing about twenty timesthe little stream, which, winding through the narrow valley, encounteredat every hundred yards the opposition of a rock or precipitous bank onthe one side, which altered its course, and caused it to shoot off in anoblique direction to the other. The hills which ascend on each side ofthis glen are very steep, and rise boldly over the stream, which isthus imprisoned within their barriers. The sides of the glen areimpracticable for horse, and are only to be traversed by means ofthe sheep-paths which lie along their sides. It would not be readilysupposed that a road so hopeless and so difficult could lead to anyhabitation more important than the summer shealing of a shepherd.

  Yet the glen, though lonely, nearly inaccessible, and sterile, was notthen absolutely void of beauty. The turf which covered the small portionof level ground on the sides of the stream, was as close and verdant asif it had occupied the scythes of a hundred gardeners once a-fortnight;and it was garnished with an embroidery of daisies and wild flowers,which the scythes would certainly have destroyed. The little brook, nowconfined betwixt closer limits, now left at large to choose its coursethrough the narrow valley, danced carelessly on from stream to pool,light and unturbid, as that better class of spirits who pass their waythrough life, yielding to insurmountable obstacles, but as far frombeing subdued by them as the sailor who meets by chance with anunfavourable wind, and shapes his course so as to be driven back aslittle as possible.

  The mountains, as they would have been called in England, _Scottice_ thesteep _braes_, rose abruptly over the little glen, here presentingthe gray face of a rock, from which the turf had been peeled by thetorrents, and there displaying patches of wood and copse, which hadescaped the waste of the cattle and the sheep of the feuars, and which,feathering naturally up the beds of empty torrents, or occupying theconcave recesses of the bank, gave at once beauty and variety to thelandscape. Above these scattered woods rose the hill, in barren, butpurple majesty; the dark rich hue, particularly in autumn, contrastingbeautifully with the thickets of oak and birch, the mountain ashes andthorns, the alders and quivering aspens, which checquered and variedthe descent, and not less with the dark-green and velvet turf, whichcomposed the level part of the narrow glen.

  Yet, though thus embellished, the scene could neither be strictly termedsublime nor beautiful, and scarcely even picturesque or striking. Butits extreme solitude pressed on the heart; the traveller felt thatuncertainty whither he was going, or in what so wild a path was toterminate, which, at times, strikes more on the imagination than thegrand features of a show-scene, when you know the exact distance of theinn where your dinner is bespoke, and at the moment preparing. Theseare ideas, however, of a far later age; for at the time we treat of,the picturesque, the beautiful, the sublime, and all their intermediateshades, were ideas absolutely unknown to the inhabitants and occasionalvisitors of Glendearg.

  These had, however, attached to the scene feelings fitting the time. Itsname, signifying the Red Valley, seems to have been derived, not onlyfrom the purple colour of the heath, with which the upper part of therising banks was profusely clothed, but also from the dark red colour ofthe rocks, and of the precipitous earthen banks, which in that countryare called _scaurs_. Another glen, about the head of Ettrick, hasacquired the same name from similar circumstances; and there areprobably more in Scotland to which it has been given.

  As our Glendearg did not abound in mortal visitants, superstition, thatit might not be absolutely destitute of inhabitants, had peopledits recesses with beings belonging to another world. The savage andcapricious Brown Man of the Moors, a being which seems the genuinedescendant of the northern dwarfs, was supposed to be seen therefrequently, especially after the autumnal equinox, when the fogs werethick, and objects not easily distinguished. The Scottish fairies, too,a whimsical, irritable, and mischievous tribe, who, though at timescapriciously benevolent, were more frequently adverse to mortals, werealso supposed to have formed a residence in a particularly wildrecess of the glen, of which the real name was, in allusion to thatcircumstance, _Corrie nan Shian_, which, in corrupted Celtic, signifiesthe Hollow of the Fairies. But the neighbours were more cautious inspeaking about this place, and avoided giving it a name, from an ideacommon then throughout all the British and Celtic provinces of Scotland,and still retained in many places, that to speak either good or illof this capricious race of imaginary beings, is to provoke theirresentment, and that secrecy and silence is what they chiefly desirefrom those who may intrude upon their revels, or discover their haunts.

  A mysterious terror was thus attached to the dale, which affordedaccess from the broad valley of the Tweed, up the little glen we havedescribed, to the fortalice called the Tower of Glendearg. Beyond theknoll, where, as we have said, the tower was situated, the hills grewmore steep, and narrowed on the slender brook, so as scarce to leavea footpath; and there the glen terminated in a wild waterfall, where aslender thread of water dashed in a precipitous line of foam over twoor three precipices. Yet farther in the same direction, and above thesesuccessive cataracts, lay a wild and extensive morass, frequented onlyby waterfowl, wide, waste, apparently almost interminable, and servingin a great measure to separate the inhabitants of the glen from thosewho lived to the northward.

  To restless and indefatigable moss-troopers, indeed, these morasses werewell known, and sometimes afforded a retreat. They often rode down theglen--called at this tower--asked and received hospitality--but stillwith a sort of reserve on the part of its more peaceful inhabitants, whoentertained them as a party of North-American Indians might be receivedby a new European settler, as much out of fear as hospitality, whilethe uppermost wish of the landlord is the speedy departure of the savageguests.

  This had not always been the current of feeling in the little valleyand its tower. Simon Glendinning, its former inhabitant, boasted hisconnexion by blood to that ancient family of Glendonwyne, on the westernborder. He used to narrate, at his fireside, in the autumn evenings, thefeats of the family to which he belonged, one of whom fell by the sideof the brave Earl of Douglas at Otterbourne. On these occasions Simonusually held upon his knee an ancient broadsword, which had belonged tohis ancestors before any of the family had consented to accept a fiefunder the peaceful dominion of the monks of St. Mary's. In modern days,Simon might have lived at ease on his own estate, and quietly murmuredagainst the fate that had doomed him to dwell there, and cut off hisaccess to martial renown. But so many opportunities, nay so many callsthere were for him, who in those days spoke big, to make good his wordsby his actions, that Simon Glendinning was soon under the necessity ofmarching with the men of the Halidome, as it was called, of St. Mary's,in that disastrous campaign which was concluded by the battle of Pinkie.

  The Catholic clergy were deeply interested in that national quarrel, the
principal object of which was, to prevent the union of the infant QueenMary, with the son of the heretical Henry VIII. The Monks had called outtheir vassals, under an experienced leader. Many of themselves had takenarms, and marched to the field, under a banner representing a female,supposed to personify the Scottish Church, kneeling in the attitude ofprayer, with the legend, _Afflictae Sponsae ne obliviscaris_. [Footnote:Forget not the afflicted spouse.]

  The Scots, however, in all their wars, had more occasion for goodand cautious generals, than for excitation, whether political orenthusiastic. Their headlong and impatient courage uniformly inducedthem to rush into action without duly weighing either their ownsituation, or that of their enemies, and the inevitable consequence wasfrequent defeat. With the dolorous slaughter of Pinkie we have nothingto do, excepting that, among ten thousand men of low and high degree,Simon Glendinning, of the Tower of Glendearg, bit the dust, no waydisparaging in his death that ancient race from which he claimed hisdescent.

  When the doleful news, which spread terror and mourning through thewhole of Scotland, reached the Tower of Glendearg, the widow ofSimon, Elspeth Brydone by her family name, was alone in that desolatehabitation, excepting a hind or two, alike past martial and agriculturallabour, and the helpless widows and families of those who had fallenwith their master. The feeling of desolation was universal;--but whatavailed it? The monks, their patrons and protectors, were driven fromtheir Abbey by the English forces, who now overran the country, andenforced at least an appearance of submission on the part of theinhabitants. The Protector, Somerset, formed a strong camp among theruins of the ancient Castle of Roxburgh, and compelled the neighbouringcountry to come in, pay tribute, and take assurance from him, as thephrase then went. Indeed, there was no power of resistance remaining;and the few barons, whose high spirit disdained even the appearanceof surrender, could only retreat into the wildest fastnesses of thecountry, leaving their houses and property to the wrath of the English,who detached parties everywhere to distress, by military exaction, thosewhose chiefs had not made their submission. The Abbot and his communityhaving retreated beyond the Forth, their lands were severely forayed,as their sentiments were held peculiarly inimical to the alliance withEngland.

  Amongst the troops detached on this service was a small party, commandedby Stawarth Bolton, a captain in the English army, and full of theblunt and unpretending gallantry and generosity which has so oftendistinguished that nation. Resistance was in vain. Elspeth Brydone, whenshe descried a dozen of horsemen threading their way up the glen, witha man at their head, whose scarlet cloak, bright armour, and dancingplume, proclaimed him a leader, saw no better protection for herselfthan to issue from the iron grate, covered with a long mourningveil, and holding one of her two sons in each hand, to meet theEnglishman--state her deserted condition--place the little tower at hiscommand--and beg for his mercy. She stated, in a few brief words,her intention, and added, "I submit, because I have nae means ofresistance."

  "And I do not ask your submission, mistress, for the same reason,"replied the Englishman. "To be satisfied of your peaceful intentionsis all I ask; and, from what you tell me, there is no reason to doubtthem."

  "At least, sir," said Elspeth Brydone, "take share of what ourspence and our garners afford. Your horses are tired--your folk wantrefreshment."

  "Not a whit--not a whit," answered the honest Englishman; "it shallnever be said we disturbed by carousal the widow of a brave soldier,while she was mourning for her husband.--Comrades, face about.--Yetstay," he added, checking his war-horse, "my parties are out in everydirection; they must have some token that your family are under myassurance of safety.--Here, my little fellow," said he, speaking tothe eldest boy, who might be about nine or ten years old, "lend me thybonnet."

  The child reddened, looked sulky, and hesitated, while the mother,with many a _fye_ and _nay pshaw_, and such sarsenet chidings as tendermothers give to spoiled children, at length succeeded in snatching thebonnet from him, and handing it to the English leader.

  Stawarth Bolton took his embroidered red cross from his barret-cap, andputting it into the loop of the boy's bonnet, said to the mistress, (forthe title of lady was not given to dames of her degree,) "By this token,which all my people will respect, you will be freed from any importunityon the part of our forayers." [Footnote: As gallantry of all times andnations has the same mode of thinking and acting, so it often expressesitself by the same symbols. In the civil war 1745-6, a party ofHighlanders, under a Chieftain of rank, came to Rose Castle, the seat ofthe Bishop of Carlisle, but then occupied by the family of Squire Dacreof Cumberland. They demanded quarters, which of course were not to berefused to armed men of a strange attire and unknown language. But thedomestic represented to the captain of the mountaineers, that the ladyof the mansion had been just delivered of a daughter, and expressed herhope, that, under these circumstances, his party would give as littletrouble as possible. "God forbid," said the gallant chief, "that I ormine should be the means of adding to a lady's inconvenience at such atime. May I request to see the infant?" The child was brought, and theHighlander, taking his cockade out of his bonnet, and pinning it on thechild's breast, "That will be a token," he said, "to any of our peoplewho may come hither, that Donald McDonald of Kinloch-Moidart, has takenthe family of Rose Castle under his protection." The lady who receivedin infancy this gage of Highland protection, is now Mary, Lady Clerkof Pennycuik; and on the 10th of June still wears the cockade which waspinned on her breast, with a white rose as a kindred decoration.] Heplaced it on the boy's head; but it was no sooner there, than the littlefellow, his veins swelling, and his eyes shooting fire through tears,snatched the bonnet from his head, and, ere his mother could interfere,skimmed it into the brook. The other boy ran instantly to fish it outagain, threw it back to his brother, first taking out the cross, which,with great veneration, he kissed and put into his bosom. The Englishmanwas half diverted, half surprised, with the scene.

  "What mean ye by throwing away Saint George's red cross?" said he to theelder boy, in a tone betwixt jest and earnest.

  "Because Saint George is a southern saint," said the child, sulkily."Good"--said Stawarth Bolton.--"And what did you mean by taking itout of the brook again, my little fellow?" he demanded of the younger."Because the priest says it is the common sign of salvation to all goodChristians."

  "Why, good again!" said the honest soldier. "I protest unto you,mistress, I envy you these boys. Are they both yours?"

  Stawarth Bolton had reason to put the question, for Halbert Glendinning,the elder of the two, had hair as dark as the raven's plumage, blackeyes, large, bold, and sparkling, that glittered under eyebrows of thesame complexion; a skin deep embrowned, though it could not be termedswarthy, and an air of activity, frankness, and determination, farbeyond his age. On the other hand, Edward, the younger brother, waslight-haired, blue-eyed, and of fairer complexion, in countenance ratherpale, and not exhibiting that rosy hue which colours the sanguine cheekof robust health. Yet the boy had nothing sickly or ill-conditioned inhis look, but was, on the contrary, a fair and handsome child, with asmiling face, and mild, yet cheerful eye.

  The mother glanced a proud motherly glance, first at the one, and thenat the other, ere she answered the Englishman, "Surely, sir, they areboth my children."

  "And by the same father, mistress?" said Stawarth; but, seeing a blushof displeasure arise on her brow, he instantly added, "Nay, I mean nooffence; I would have asked the same question at any of my gossips inmerry Lincoln.--Well, dame, you have two fair boys; I would I couldborrow one, for Dame Bolton and I live childless in our old hall.--Come,little fellows, which of you will go with me?"

  The trembling mother, half-fearing as he spoke, drew the childrentowards her, one with either hand, while they both answered thestranger. "I will not go with you," said Halbert, boldly, "for you area false-hearted Southern; and the Southerns killed my father; and I willwar on you to the death, when I can draw my father's sword."

  "God-a-mercy, my little
levin-bolt," said Stawarth, "the goodly customof deadly feud will never go down in thy day, I presume.--And you, myfine white-head, will you not go with me, to ride a cock-horse?" "No,"said Edward, demurely, "for you are a heretic."

  "Why, God-a-mercy still!" said Stawarth Bolton. "Well, dame, I see Ishall find no recruits for my troop from you; and yet I do envy youthese two little chubby knaves." He sighed a moment, as was visible,in spite of gorget and corslet, and then added, "And yet, my dame and Iwould but quarrel which of the knaves we should like best; for Ishould wish for the black-eyed rogue--and she, I warrant me, for thatblue-eyed, fair-haired darling. Natheless, we must brook our solitarywedlock, and wish joy to those that are more fortunate. SergeantBrittson, do thou remain here till recalled--protect this family, asunder assurance--do them no wrong, and suffer no wrong to be done tothem, as thou wilt answer it.--Dame, Brittson is a married man, old andsteady; feed him on what you will, but give him not over much liquor."

  Dame Glendinning again offered refreshments, but with a faltering voice,and an obvious desire her invitation should not be accepted. The factwas, that, supposing her boys as precious in the eyes of the Englishmanas in her own, (the most ordinary of parental errors,) she was halfafraid, that the admiration he expressed of them in his blunt mannermight end in his actually carrying off one or other of the littledarlings whom he appeared to covet so much. She kept hold of theirhands, therefore, as if her feeble strength could have been of service,had any violence been intended, and saw with joy she could not disguise,the little party of horse countermarch, in order to descend the glen.Her feelings did not escape Bolton: "I forgive you, dame," he said, "forbeing suspicious that an English falcon was hovering over your Scottishmoor-brood. But fear not--those who have fewest children have fewestcares; nor does a wise man covet those of another household. Adieu,dame; when the black-eyed rogue is able to drive a foray from England,teach him to spare women and children, for the sake of Stawarth Bolton."

  "God be with you, gallant Southern!" said Elspeth Glendinning, but nottill he was out of hearing, spurring on his good horse to regain thehead of his party, whose plumage and armour were now glancing andgradually disappearing in the distance, as they winded down the glen.

  "Mother," said the elder boy, "I will not say amen to a prayer for aSouthern."

  "Mother," said the younger, more reverentially, "is it right to pray fora heretic?"

  "The God to whom I pray only knows," answered poor Elspeth; "but thesetwo words, Southern and heretic, have already cost Scotland ten thousandof her best and bravest, and me a husband, and you a father; and,whether blessing or banning, I never wish to hear them more.--Follow meto the Place, sir," she said to Brittson, "and such as we have to offeryou shall be at your disposal."