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 Another Random Document on
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The Project Gutenberg eBook of The Romance
of War; or, The Highlanders in Spain, Volume 1
(of 3)
 This ebook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United
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eBook.

Title: The Romance of War; or, The Highlanders in Spain, Volume

1 (of 3)

Creator: James Grant

Release date: June 15, 2017 [eBook #54918]

Language: English

Credits: Produced by Al Haines

*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE ROMANCE OF

WAR; OR, THE HIGHLANDERS IN SPAIN, VOLUME 1 (OF 3) ***
THE ROMANCE OF WAR:
OR,
THE HIGHLANDERS IN SPAIN

BY
JAMES GRANT, ESQ.
Late 62nd Regiment.

"In the garb of old Gaul, with the fire of old Rome,
From the heath-covered mountains of Scotia we come;
Our loud-sounding pipe breathes the true martial strain,
And our hearts still the old Scottish valour retain."
Lt.-Gen. Erskine.

IN THREE VOLUMES.
VOL. I.

LONDON:
HENRY COLBURN, PUBLISHER,
GREAT MARLBOROUGH STREET.
1846.
 LONDON:
PRINTED BY MAURICE AND CO., HOWFORD BUILDINGS,
FENCHURCH STREET.

PREFACE.

Notwithstanding the numerous volumes which have been given to

the public relative to the glorious operations of the British Army, for
rescuing Portugal and Spain from the grasp of the invader, the Author
of this work flatters himself that it will not be found deficient in
novelty or interest. He acknowledges that, according to precedent,
scenes and incidents have been introduced into it which are purely
imaginary, and whether he ought to apologize for these, or to make a
merit of them, he must leave his readers to decide, according to their
individual tastes and predilections.
It will need no great sagacity to discriminate between this
portion and the veritable historical and military details, the result of
the experience of one,[*] who had the honour of serving in that
gallant corps to which these volumes more especially relate, during
the whole of its brilliant course of service in the Peninsula, and who
participated in all the proud feelings which arose when contemplating
the triumphant career of an army, whose deeds and victories are
unsurpassed in the annals of war.

[*] A near relation of the author.

Most of the military operations, and many of the characters, will be
familiar to the survivors of the second division, and brother-officers
will recognise many old associates in the convivialities of the mess-
table, and in the perils of the battle-field. The names of others
belong to history, and with them the political or military reader will
be already acquainted.
It is impossible for a writer to speak of his own productions,
without exposing himself to imputations of either egotism or affected
modesty; the Author therefore will merely add, that he trusts that
most readers may discover something to attract in these volumes,
which depict from the life the stirring events and all the romance of
warfare, with the various lights and shades of military service, the
principal characters being members of one of those brave regiments,
which, from their striking garb, national feelings, romantic
sentiments, and esprit de corps, are essentially different from the
generality of our troops of the line.

EDINBURGH,

Nov. 1846.

CONTENTS
Chapter

I. Introductory
II. Interviews
 III. A True Highlander
IV. The Departure
V. Edinburgh Castle
VI. Foreign Service
VII. Merida
VIII. An Adventure
IX. Donna Catalina
X. Flirtation
XI. Alice Lisle.—News from Home
XII. The Condé
XIII. The Duel
XIV. Muleteers
XV. The Banditti
XVI. A Siege
XVII. A Meeting

THE ROMANCE OF WAR.

CHAPTER I.
INTRODUCTORY.

"Still linger in our northern clime

Some remnants of the good old time;
And still within our valleys here
 We hold the kindred title dear;
Even though perchance its far-fetched claim,
To Southron ear, sounds empty name;
For course of blood, our proverbs deem,
Is warmer than the mountain stream."
Marmion, canto vi.

In the Highlands of Perthshire a deadly feud had existed, from time

immemorial, between the Lisles of Inchavon and the Stuarts of
Lochisla. In the days when the arm of the law was weak, the
proprietors had often headed their kinsmen and followers in
encounters with the sword, and for the last time during the
memorable civil war of 1745-6. But between the heads of the
families, towards the latter end of the last century, (the period when
our tale commences,) although the era of feudal ideas and outrages
had passed away, the spirit of transmitted hatred, proud rivalry and
revenge, lurked behind, and a feeling of most cordial enmity existed
between Stuart and Lisle, who were ever engaged in vexatious law-
suits on the most frivolous pretences, and constantly endeavouring to
cross each other's interests and intentions,—quarrelling at public
meetings,—voting on opposite sides,—prosecuting for trespasses,
and opposing each other every where, "as if the world was not wide
enough for them both;" and on one occasion a duel would have
ensued but for the timely interference of the sheriff.
Sir Allan Lisle of Inchavon, a man of a quiet and most
benevolent disposition, was heartily tired of the trouble given him by
the petty jealousy of his neighbour Stuart, a proud and irritable
Highlander, who would never stoop to reconciliation with a family
whom his father (a grim duinhe-wassal of the old school) had ever
declared to him were the hereditary foes of his race. The reader may
consider it singular that such antiquated prejudices should exist so
lately as the end of the last century; but it must be remembered that
the march of intellect has not made such strides in the north country
as it has done in the Lowlands, and many of the inhabitants of
Perthshire will recognise a character well known to them, under the
name of Mr. Stuart.
It must also be remembered, that he was the son of a man who
had beheld the standard of the Stuarts unfurled in Glenfinan, and
had exercised despotic power over his own vassals when the feudal
system existed in its full force, before the act of the British
parliament abolished the feudal jurisdictions throughout Scotland,
and absolved the unwilling Highlanders from allegiance to their
chiefs.
Sir Allan Lisle (who was M.P. for a neighbouring county) was in
every respect a man of superior attainments to Stuart,—being a
scholar, the master of many modern accomplishments, and having
made the grand tour. To save himself further annoyance, he would
gladly have extended the right hand of fellowship to his stubborn
neighbour, but pride forbade him to make the first advances.
The residence of this intractable Gael was a square tower,
overgrown with masses of ivy, and bearing outwardly, and almost
inwardly, the same appearance as when James the Fifth visited it
once when on a hunting excursion. The walls were enormously thick;
the grated windows were small and irregular; a corbelled battlement
surmounted the top, from the stone bartizan of which the standard
of the owner was, on great days, hoisted with much formality by
Donald Iverach, the old piper, or Evan his son, two important
personages in the household of the little tower.
This primitive fortalice was perched upon a projecting craig,
which overhung the loch of Isla, a small but beautiful sheet of water,
having in its centre an islet with the ruins of a chapel. The light-
green birch and black sepulchral pine, flourishing wild and thickly,
grew close to the edge of the loch, and cast their dark shadows upon
its generally unruffled surface. Around, the hills rose lofty,
precipitous, and abrupt from the margin of the lake; some were
covered with foliage to the summit, and others, bare and bleak,
covered only with the whin bush or purple heather, where the red roe
and the black cock roved wild and free; while, dimly seen in the
distance, rose the misty crest of Benmore, (nearly four thousand feet
above the level of the sea,) the highest mountain, save one, in
Perthshire.
A little clachan, or hamlet, consisting of about twenty green
thatched cottages clustered together, with kail-yards behind,
occupied the foot of the ascent leading to the tower; these were
inhabited by the tenants, farm-servants, and herdsmen of Stuart.
The graceful garb of the Gael was almost uniformly worn by the
men; and the old wives, who in fine weather sat spinning on the turf-
seats at the doors, wore the simple mutch and the varied tartan of
their name. The wife of this Highland castellan had long been dead,
as were their children excepting one son, who was almost the only
near kinsman that Stuart had left.
Ronald was a handsome youth, with a proud dark eye, a
haughty lip, and a bold and fearless heart,—possessing all those
feelings which render the Scottish Highlander a being of a more
elevated and romantic cast than his Lowland neighbours. He was well
aware of the groundless animosity which his father nourished against
Sir Allan Lisle; but as in the course of his lonely rambles, fishing,
shooting, or hunting, he often when a boy encountered the younger
members of the Inchavon family, and as he found them agreeable
companions and playmates, he was far from sharing in the feelings
of his prejudiced father. He found Sir Allan's son, Lewis Lisle, an
obliging and active youth, a perfect sportsman, who could wing a
bird with a single ball, and who knew every corrie and chasm
through which the wandering Isla flowed, and the deep pools where
the best trout were always to be found.
In Alice Lisle Ronald found a pretty and agreeable playmate in
youth, but a still more agreeable companion for a solitary ramble as
they advanced in years; and he discovered in her splendid dark eyes
and glossy black hair charms which he beheld not at home in his
father's mountain tower.
During childhood, when the days passed swiftly and happily, the
brother and sister, of a milder mood than Ronald Stuart, admired the
activity with which he was wont to climb the highest craigs and trees,
swinging himself, with the dexterity of a squirrel, from branch to
branch, or rock to rock, seeking the nests of the eagle or raven, or
flowers that grew in the clefts of Craigonan, to deck the dark curls of
Alice. Still more were they charmed with the peculiarity of his
disposition, which was deeply tinged with the gloomy and romantic,
—a sentiment which exists in the bosom of every Highlander,
imparted by the scenery amidst which he dwells, the lonely hills and
silent shores of his lochs, pathless and solitary heaths, where cairns
and moss-covered stones mark the tombs of departed warriors, pine-
covered hills, frowning rocks, and solitary defiles,—all fraught with
traditions of the past, or tales of mysterious beings who abide in
them. These cause the Gaelic mountaineer to be a sadder and more
thoughtful man than the dwellers in the low country, who inhabit
scenes less grand and majestic.
In the merry laugh and the gentle voice of Alice, Ronald found a
charm to wean him from the tower of Lochisla, and the hours which
he spent in her society, or in watching the windows of her father's
house, were supposed to be spent in search of the black cock and
the fleet roes of Benmore; and many a satirical observation he
endured, in consequence of bringing home an empty game-bag,
after a whole day's absence with his gun.
Ronald enjoyed but little society at the tower. His father, in
consequence of the death of his wife and younger children, and
owing to many severe losses which he had sustained in the course of
his long series of litigations, had become a moody and silent man,
spending his days either in reading, or in solitary rides and rambles.
His voice, which, when he did speak, was authoritative enough and
loud, was seldom heard in the old tower, where the predominant
sounds were the grunting tones of Janet, the aged housekeeper, who
quarrelled continually with Donald Iverach, the piper, whenever the
latter could find time, from his almost constant occupations of piping
and drinking, to enjoy a skirmish with her.
As years crept on, the friendship between the young people
strengthened, and in the breasts of Alice and Ronald Stuart became a
deeper and a more absorbing feeling, binding them "heart to heart
and mind to mind," and each became all the world unto the other. To
them there was something pleasing and even romantic in the strange
secrecy they were necessitated to use; believing that, should their
intercourse ever come to the ears of their parents, effectual means
would be taken to put a stop to it.
 CHAPTER II.
INTERVIEWS.

"And must I leave my native isle—

Fair friendship's eye—affection's smile—
The mountain sport—the angler's wile—
The birch and weeping willow, O!
The Highland glen—the healthy gale—
The gloaming glee—the evening tale—
And must I leave my native vale,
And brave the boisterous billow, O!"
Hogg's Forest Minstrel.

"Alice! my own fair Alice! my hard destiny ordains that I must leave
you," was the sorrowful exclamation of Ronald one evening, as he
joined Alice at their usual place of meeting, a solitary spot on the
banks of the Isla, where the willow and alder bush, overhanging the
steep rocks, swept the dark surface of the stream.
"Leave me! O Ronald, what can you mean?" was the trembling
reply of the fair girl, as she put her arm through his, and gazed
anxiously on the troubled countenance of her lover.
"That I must go—far from you and the bonnie banks of the Isla.
Yes, Alice; but it is only for a short time, I trust. Of the embarrassed
state of my father's affairs, by his long law-suits and other matters, I
have acquainted you already, and it has now become necessary for
me to choose some profession. My choice has been the army: what
other could one, possessing the true spirit of a Highland gentleman,
follow?"
"O Ronald! I ever feared our happiness was too great to last
long. Ah! you must not leave me."
"Alice," replied the young Highlander, his cheek flushing while he
spoke, "our best and bravest men are going forth in thousands to
meet the enemies of our country, drenching in their blood the fatal
Peninsula; and can I remain behind, when so many of my name and
kindred have fallen in the service of the king? Never has the honour
of Scotland been tarnished by the few who have returned, nor lost by
those who have fallen, in every clime, where the British standard has
been unfurled against an enemy. An ensigncy has been promised me
—and in a Highland regiment, wearing the garb, inheriting the spirit
of the Gael, and commanded by a grandson of the great Lochiel; and
I cannot shrink when my father bids me go, although my heart
should almost burst at leaving you behind, my own—own Alice!" and
he pressed to his bosom the agitated girl, who seemed startled at
the vehemence with which he had spoken.
"But hold, Alice," he added, on perceiving tears trembling on her
dark eyelashes; "you must not give way thus. I will return, and all
will yet be well. Only imagine what happiness will then be ours,
should the families be on good terms, and I, perhaps, Sir Ronald
Stewart, and knight of I know not how many orders?"
"Ah, Ronald! but think of how many have left their happy homes
with hearts beating high with hope and pride, and left them never to
return. Did not the three sons of your cousin of Strathonan leave
their bones on the red sands of Egypt? and many more can I name.
Ah! how I tremble to think of the scenes that poor soldiers must
behold,—scenes of which I cannot form even the slightest
conception."
"These are sad forebodings," replied the young man, smiling
tenderly, "and from the lips of one less young and less beautiful than
yourself, might have been considered as omens of mischance. I trust,
however, that I, who have so often shot the swiftest red roes in
Strathisla, slept whole nights on the frozen heather, and know so well
the use of the target and claymore, (thanks to old Iverach,) shall
make no bad soldier or campaigner, and endure the hardships
incident to a military life infinitely better than the fine gentlemen of
the Lowland cities. The proud Cameron who is to command me will, I
am sure, be my friend; he will not forget that his grandsire's life was
saved by mine at Culloden, and he will regard me with the love of
the olden time, for the sake of those that are dead and gone. Oh,
Alice! I could view the bright prospect which is before me with
tumultuous joy, but for the sorrow of leaving you, my white-haired
father, and the bonnie braes and deep corries of Isla. But if with
Heaven's aid I escape, promise, Alice, that when I return you will be
mine,—mine by a dearer title than ever I could call you heretofore."
"Ronald—dearest Ronald! I will love you as I have ever done,"
she said in a soft yet energetic tone; "and I feel a secret voice within
me which tells that the happy anticipations of the past will—will yet
be accomplished." The girl laid her blushing cheek on the shoulder of
the young man, and her dark thick curls, becoming free from the
little cap or bonnet which had confined them, fell over his breast in
disorder.
 At that exciting moment of passion and mental tumult, Ronald's
eye met a human countenance observing them sternly from among
the leaves of the trees that flourished near them. The foliage was
suddenly pushed aside, and Sir Allan Lisle appeared, scanning the
young offenders with a stern glance of displeasure and surprise. He
was a tall thin man, in the prime of life, with a fine countenance
expressive of mildness and benevolence. He wore his hair thickly
powdered, and tied in a queue behind. He carried a heavy hunting-
whip in his hand, which he grasped ominously as he turned his keen
eye alternately from the young man to his trembling daughter, who,
leaning against a tree, covered her face with her handkerchief and
sobbed hysterically. Ronald Stuart stood erect, and returned Sir
Allan's glance as firmly and as proudly as he could, but he felt some
trouble in maintaining his self-possession. His smart blue bonnet had
fallen off, fully revealing his strongly-marked and handsome features,
where Sir Allan read at once that he was a bold youth, with whom
proud looks and hard words would little avail.
"How now, sir!" said he at length. "What am I to understand by
all this? Speak, young gentleman," he added, perceiving that Ronald
was puzzled, "answer me truly: as the father of this imprudent girl, I
am entitled to a reply."
Ronald was about to stammer forth something.
"You are, I believe, the son of Stuart of Lochisla?" interrupted Sir
Allan sternly, "who is far from being a friend to me or mine. How long
is it since you have known my daughter? and what am I to
understand from the scene you have acted here?"
"That I love Miss Lisle with the utmost tenderness that one being
is capable of entertaining for another," replied Ronald, his face
suffusing with a crimson glow at the earnest confession. "Sir Allan, if
you have seen what passed just now, you will perceive that I treat
her with that respect and delicacy which the beauties of her mind
and person deserve."
"This is indeed all very fine, sir! and very romantic too; but
rather unexpected—upon my honour rather so," replied the baronet
sarcastically, as he drew the arm of the weeping Alice through his.
"But pray, Master Stuart, how long has this clandestine matter been
carried on? how long have you been acquainted?"
"From our earliest childhood, sir,—indeed I tell you truly,—from
the days in which we used to gather wild flowers and berries
together as little children. We have been ever together; a day has
scarcely elapsed without our seeing each other, and there is not a
dingle of the woods, a dark corrie of the Isla, or a spot on the braes
of Strathonan, where we have not wandered hand in hand, since the
days when Alice was a laughing little girl with flaxen curls until now,
when she is become tall, beautiful, and almost a woman, with
ringlets as black as the wing of the muircock. But your son Lewis will
tell all these things better than I can, as I am rather confused just
now, Sir Allan."
"'Tis very odd this matter has been concealed from me so long,"
said the other, softened by the earnest tone of the young man, who
felt how much depended upon the issue of the present unlooked-for
interview; "and if my ears have not deceived me, I think I heard you
offer marriage to my foolish daughter on your return from
somewhere?"
"It is very true, sir," replied the young man modestly.
"And pray, young sir! what are your pretensions to the hand of
Miss Lisle?"
 "Sir!" ejaculated Ronald, his cheek flushing and his eye sparkling
at the angry inquiry of the other.
"I ask you, Mr Stuart, what are they? Your father I know to be
an almost ruined man, whose estates are deeply dipped and
overwhelmed by bonds, mortgages, and what not. He has moreover
been a deadly enemy to me, and has most unwarrantably——"
"Oh, pray, papa! dear papa!" urged the young lady imploringly.
"Sir Allan Lisle," cried Ronald with a stern tone, while his heart
beat tumultuously, "Lowland lawyers and unlooked-for misfortunes
are, I know, completing our ruin, and the pen and parchment have
made more inroads upon us than ever your ancestors could have
done with all Perthshire at their back; but, truly, it ill becomes a
gentleman of birth and breeding to speak thus slightingly of an old
and honourable Highland family. If my father, inheriting as he does
ancient prejudices, has been hostile to your interests, I, Sir Allan,
never have been so; and the time was once, when a Lisle dared not
have spoken thus tauntingly to a Stuart of the house of Lochisla."
Sir Allan admired the proud and indignant air with which the
youth spoke; but he wished to humble him if possible, and deemed
that irony was a better weapon than anger to meet the fiery young
Highlander with. He gave a sort of tragi-comic start, and was about
to make some sarcastic reply, when his foot caught the root of a
tree; he reeled backward, and fell over the rocky bank into the Isla,
which formed a deep, dark, and noiseless pool below.
A loud and startling cry burst from Alice, as her father suddenly
disappeared from her side.
"Save him, save him, Ronald! Oh, Ronald! if you love me, save
my father!" she cried in accents at once soul-stirring and imploring,
while she threw herself upon her knees, and, not daring to look upon
the stream, covered her eyes with her hands, calling alternately upon
Heaven and her lover, in tones which defy the power of language to
describe, to save her father.
"Dearest Alice, calm yourself; be pacified,—he shall not perish,"
cried Ronald, whose presence of mind had never once forsaken him,
as he cast aside his bonnet and short sporting coat, and gazed over
the bank upon the rapid river running between two abrupt walls of
rock, against the dark sides of which the spray and foam raised by
Sir Allan's struggles was dashed. The latter was beating the water
fruitlessly in the centre of the pool, where it was deep and the
current strong; yet he made no outcry, as if unwilling to add to the
distress which he knew his daughter already experienced.
He bestowed one look of terror and agony on Ronald, who
instantly sprang off the precipitous rock, and swimming round him,
strongly and vigorously in wide circles, caught him warily by the hair,
and holding his head above the surface of the stream, swam down
the current to a spot where the bank was less steep, and with some
exertion landed him safely on the green turf, where he lay long
speechless; while Alice wrung her hands, and wept in an ecstasy of
terror, embracing her father and his preserver by turns. The latter,
who was nothing the worse for his ducking, put on his bonnet and
upper garment with perfect sang froid; but it was some time before
Sir Allan recovered himself so far as to be able to thank his preserver,
who poured down his throat as he lay prostrate the contents of a
metal hunting-flask, which he generally carried about with him filled
with the best brandy, procured, by means unknown, duty free at
Lochisla.
Shortly and emphatically did Sir Allan thank Ronald for the aid he
had rendered, as he must inevitably have perished, being unable to
swim, and having to contend with a strong current, which would
soon have carried him over the high cascade of Corrie-avon. Ronald
inwardly blessed the accident which had rendered Sir Allan so much
his debtor, and wrought such a happy change of sentiment in his
favour. He accompanied Alice and her father to one of the gate-
lodges of Inchavon, and there resisting an earnest invitation to the
house, he returned with all speed home, not ill pleased with the issue
of the day's adventures.

CHAPTER III.
A TRUE HIGHLANDER.

"Not much his new ally he loved,

Yet when he saw what hap had proved,
He greeted him right heartilie;
He would not waken old debate,
For he was void of rancorous hate,
Though rude, and scant of courtesy."
The Last Minstrel, canto v.

One fine forenoon, a few days after the occurrences related in the
last chapter, a horseman appeared riding along the narrow uneven
road leading by the banks of Lochisla towards the tower. It was Sir
Allan Lisle, who came along at a slow trot, managing his nag with the
ease and grace of a perfect rider, never making use of either whip or
spur, but often drawing in his rein to indulge the pleasure and
curiosity with which he beheld (though accustomed to the splendid
scenery of Perthshire) this secluded spot, which he had never seen
before,—the black and solitary tower, the dark blue waveless loch,
and the wild scenery by which it was surrounded.
As he advanced up the ascent towards the tower, his horse
began to snort, shake its mane, and grow restive, as its ears were
saluted by a noise to which they were unaccustomed.
Donald Iverach, the old piper of the family, (which office his
ancestors had held since the days of Robert the Second, according to
his own account,) was pacing with a stately air to and fro before the
door of the fortalice, with the expanded bag of the piob mhor under
his arm, blowing from its long chaunter and three huge drones "a
tempest of dissonance;" while he measured with regular strides the
length of the barbican or court, at one end of which stood a large
stoup of whisky, (placed on the end of a cask,) to which he applied
himself at every turn of his promenade to wet his whistle.
The piper, though of low stature, was of a powerful, athletic, and
sinewy form, and although nearly sixty, was as fresh as when only
sixteen; his face was rough and purple, from drinking and exposure
to the weather; his huge red whiskers curled round beneath his chin
and grew up to his eyes, which twinkled and glittered beneath their
shaggy brows; a smart blue bonnet set jauntily, very much over the
right eye, gave him a knowing look, and his knees, "which had never
known covering from the day of his birth," where exposed by the kilt
were hairy and rough as the hide of the roe-buck; his plaid waved
behind, and a richly mounted dirk, eighteen inches long, hanging on
his right side, completed his attire.
 Great was the surprise of the Celt when, on turning in his march,
he suddenly beheld Sir Allan Lisle, whom he had not seen since the
last year, when by the laird's orders he had endeavoured, by the
overwhelming noise of his pipe, to drown a speech which the baronet
was addressing to the electors of the county. But what earthly
errand, thought Donald, could bring a Lisle up Strathisla, where one
of the race had not been seen since the father of the present Sir
Allan had beleagured the tower in 1746 with a party of the Scottish
Fusileers. The chaunter fell from the hand of the astonished piper,
and the wind in the bag of his instrument escaped with an appalling
groan.
"My good friend, I am glad you have ceased at last," said Sir
Allan; "I expected every moment that my horse would have thrown
me. This fortress of yours will be secure against cavalry while you are
in it, I dare swear."
"I dinna ken, sir," replied the piper, touching his bonnet
haughtily; "but when pare-leggit gillies and red coats tried it in the
troublesome times, they aye gat the tead man's share o' the deep
loch below."
"Is your master—is Lochisla at home?"
"His honour the laird is within," replied Iverach, as Sir Allan
dismounted and desired him to hold his horse.
"Lochisla's piper will hold nae man's bridle-rein, his honour's
excepted," said the indignant Highlander; "put a common gillie may
do tat. Holloa! Alpin Oig Stuart! Dugald! Evan! come an' hold ta
shentleman's praw sheltie," shouted he, making the old barbican
ring.
"One will do, I dare say," said Sir Allan, smiling as he resigned
his nag to Evan, Iverach's son, a powerful young mountaineer, who
appeared at his father's shout.
Preceded by Donald, Sir Allan ascended the winding staircase of
the tower, and was ushered into the hall, or principal apartment it
contained, the roof of which was a stone arch. At one side yawned a
large fire-place, on the mouldered lintel of which appeared the crest
and badge-flower of the Stuarts,—a thistle, and underneath was the
family motto, "Omne solum forti patria." At each end of the chamber
was a window of moderate size, with a stone mullion in the form of a
cross; one commanded a view of the loch and neighbouring forests
of birch and pine, and the other the distant outline of the high
Benmore. The walls were adorned with apparatus for hunting,
fishing, shooting, and sylvan trophies, intermixed with targets,
claymores, Lochaber axes, old muskets, matchlocks, &c.
The furniture was of oak, or old and black mahogany, massive
and much dilapidated, presenting a very different appearance to that
in the splendid modern drawing-room at Inchavon. A few old
portraits hung on the blackened walls, and one in particular, that of a
stern old Highlander, whose white beard flowed over his belted plaid,
seemed to scowl on Sir Allan, who felt considerably embarrassed
when he unexpectedly found himself in the habitation of one, whom
he could not consider otherwise than as his foe.
While awaiting the appearance of the proprietor, whom the piper
was gone to inform of the visit, Sir Allan's eye often wandered to the
portrait above the fire-place, and he remembered that it was the
likeness of the father of the present Stuart, who at the battle of
Falkirk had unhorsed, by a stroke of his broadsword, his (Sir Allan's)
father, then an officer in the army of General Hawley. While Sir Allan
mused over the tales he had heard of the grim Ian Mhor of Lochisla,
the door opened, and Mr. Stuart entered.
 Erect in person, stately in step, and graceful in deportment,
strong and athletic of form, he appeared in every respect the
genuine Highland gentleman. He was upwards of sixty, but his eye
was clear, keen, and bright, and his weather-beaten cheek and
expansive forehead were naturally tinged with a ruddy tint, which
was increased to a flush by the excitement caused at this unlooked-
for visit.
Unlike his servants, who wore the red tartan of their race, he
was attired in the usual dress of a country gentleman, and wore his
silver locks thickly and unnecessarily powdered, and clubbed in a
thick queue behind.
The natural politeness and hospitable feeling of a Highlander
had banished every trace of displeasure from his bold and unwrinkled
brow, and he grasped Sir Allan's hand with a frankness at which the
latter was surprised, as was old Janet the housekeeper, who saw
through the keyhole what passed, though she was unable, in
consequence of her deafness, to hear what was said.
"Be seated, Sir Allan," said Mr. Stuart, bowing politely, though he
felt his stiffness and hauteur rising within him, and endeavoured to
smother it. "To what am I indebted for the honour of this visit?
which, I must have the candour to acknowledge, is most
unexpected."
"Lochisla," replied the other, addressing him in the Scottish
manner by the name of his property, "to the gallantry of your brave
boy, Ronald, but for whose exertions I should at this moment have
been sleeping at the bottom of the Linn at Corrie-avon. I have
deemed it incumbent upon me to visit Lochisla, to return my earnest
thanks personally for the signal service he has rendered to me, and I
regret that the terms on which you—on which we have lived, render,
in your estimation, my visit rather an honour than a pleasure."
A shade crossed the brow of the Highlander, but on hearing the
particulars he congratulated Sir Allan on his escape in a distant and
polite manner, while the twinkle of his bright eyes showed how much
satisfaction he enjoyed at the brave conduct of his son. While Sir
Allan was relating the story, Mr. Stuart placed near him a large silver
liqueur frame, containing six cut-glass bottles, the variously coloured
contents of which sparkled behind their silver labels.
"Come, Sir Allan, fill your glass, and drink to my boy's health:
one does not experience so narrow an escape often, now-a-days at
least. Come, sir, fill your glass,—there is sherry, brandy, port, and the
purer dew of the hills; choose which you please."
"You Stuarts of Lochisla have long borne a name for hospitality,
but it is rather early to taste strong waters,—'tis not meridian yet."
"Our hospitality was greater in the olden time than it is now; but
it is not often that this old hall has within it one of the Lisles of the
Inch, and you must positively drink with me," answered his host,
compelling him to fill his glass from the decanter of purple port.
"Our visits have been fewer, and less friendly, than I trust they
will be for the future. Your health Lochisla," he added, sipping his
wine. "'Tis sixty years and more, I think, since my father came up the
Strath with his followers, when—"
"We will not talk of these matters, Sir Allan," exclaimed Stuart,
on whose features was gathering a stern expression which Sir Allan
saw not, as he sat with his face to a window and looked through his
glass with one eye closed, watching a crumb of the bee's wing
floating on the bright liquor. "They are the last I would wish to think
of when you are my guest."
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