Young Lochinvar. A tale of the Border country

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Crown 8vo., cloth extra, with Frontispiece, 3s. 6d. BASILE THE JESTER: A ROMANCE OF THE DAYS OF MARY QUEEN OF SCOTS. By J. E. MUDDOCK. THE TIMES. •The struggles of Renaud on the brink of crime are well indicated -the black, electrk air ofthe time makes itself felt, and if Mr. Muddock is not a Scott, nor a Dumas, he may challenge James Grant for pride of place. THE BOOKMAN. 'A story of the days of Mary Queen of Scots ; touching and romantic, and, of course, very loyal to the beautiful and unhappy Queen.' THE ACADEMY. ' The author has taken pains to represent truthfully and effectively the life and times of Mary Queen of Scots, the Court intrigues of the period, the plots and counter-plots ofthe nobles.' THE WESTMINSTER BUDGET. • Mr Muddock has made a reputation as a writer of historical romances. . . .

We are grateful for his reasonable portrait of Queen Mary, whom he does not depict as an unspotted saint. Indeed, his history is unusually accurate.' THE DAILY CHRONICLE. • Like all Mr. Muddock's stories, " Basile the Jester " is crammed with moving incident.' THE STAR. ' Mr. Muddock has a vigorous imagination, and embellishes history in an interest ing manner.' __. b T_THll?CA/2_72\rT THE NEWSAGENT. • His books possess the safe quality of being always thoroughly readable. In " Basile the Jester " he has made, to some extent, a new departure, and it ought to rank as one of his most popular novels.' THE ARBROA TH HERALD. " Basile the Jester " is altogether a powerful work.' BY THE SAME AUTHOR. STORIES WEIRD AND WONDERFUL. Post 8vo., illustrated boards, 2s. ; cloth, 2S. 6d. THE DEAD MAN'S SECRET.

With Frontispiece by F. Barnard. Post 8vo., picture boards, 2s. FROM THE BOSOM OF THE DEEP. Post 8vo., illustrated boards, 2s. MAID MARIAN AND ROBIN HOOD With 12 illustrations by Stanley Wood. Crown 8vo., cloth extra, 3s. 6d. London: CHATTO & WlNDUS, 110& m St. Martin's Lane. A TALE OF THE BORDER COUNTRY BY J. E. MUDDOCK AUTHOR OF 'STORIES WEIRD AND WONDERFUL,' ' MAID MARIAN AND ROBIN HOOD,' 'THE DEAD MAN'S SECRET,' ' BASILE THE JESTER,' ETC. LONDON CH ATTO & WlNDUS CONTENTS CHAPTER sJ AGE I. INTRODUCES YOUNG JLOCHINVAR, JAMIE THE OX, AND BROOKIE THE WHISTLER - - 1 II. ' IN LOCHWOOD's HALLS WERE REVELRY AND SONG ' 9 III. WHAT BROOKIE SAW - - - 20 IV. FRESH ARRIVALS - - - -27 V. SMOULDERING FIRE - - - -34 VI. THE SONG AND ITS RESULTS - - - 41 VII. BROOKIE MAKES A PROPOSITION - - - 47 VIII. THE TWO MAIDS THE CHALLENGE - -55 IX.

Chapter I. Introduces Young Lochin'vak, Jamie The Ox, And Urookie The Whistler

It was a July morning in the olden time, and along one of the roughly-made roads that ran from the west to the east in the wild Border country — known as the Debatable Ground between Scotland and England — a young man, mounted on a superb mare, was riding in an indolent way, as though both he and his beast thought that a siesta under some of the trees would be more agreeable, for the day was hot and the road dusty. The rider was Young Lochinvar, Laird of Lochinvar, and chief of that ilk, and as wild, as handsome, and as daring a young fellow as the Border country could furnish. Gifted by Nature with a superb figure and perfect health, his handsome face beamed with self-contentment and happiness. His dress was costly, and his long riding-boots of tanned leather, with vandyked tops lined with crimson, were evidently of foreign make, probably Flemish.

At his belt he wore a dagger in a magnificently embroidered velvet sheath, and a narrow Toledo sword hung at his side, while from the holsters of his saddle the butt ends of pistols protruded. In these exciting times it was necessary that a man should be well armed ; and more than that, that he should know how to use his arms. And Lochinvar gave one the impression that he would prove a formidable adversary. Light of heart he certainly was, and gay of spirits too, for some times he whistled to beguile the time, and anon he broke into snatches of song, while his mare ambled along at a lazy pace ; but her quivering nostrils, her keen eyes, and clean-cut limbs showed that she had mettle and fire in her. She was, in truth, a splendid beast, and her long legs, her thin flanks and arching neck indicated that she was capable of tremendous speed if called upon to show her powers.

Lochinvar was accompanied by one servant, who, how ever had lagged some distance behind, and seemed to be sleeping on his horse, a powerful nag, full of muscle and sinew— as, indeed, it needed to be to carry its rider, who, as the saying is, was as broad as he was long. This man, who was familiarly known as Jamie the Ox, on account of his bulk and strength, was one of Lochinvar's most devoted servitors, although he was generally supposed to be somewhat dull-witted ; and it was said by those who were acquainted with him that if Jamie wasn't fighting or drinking he was sleeping, for they were the only three things he could do. His bulky frame and enormous girth of waist certainly seemed to proclaim him an excellent trencherman, while his broad, flat face, with its expanding nose and bead-like eyes, was somewhat characteristic of dull wits and a phlegmatic temperament.

But Jamie the Ox bore upon his bulky body many a scar — the result of wounds received in foray and fray. And though he had an inordinate appetite for beer and meat, it is doubtful if he didn't love a raid across the Border better. There was nothing in the wide world that stirred Jamie's blood INTRODUCES YOUNG LOCHINVAR, ETC. 3 and aroused him to energy like a tulzie with the English men, for Jamie bore an unconquerable hatred for the Saxon, and he was ready at any time to risk his life if he could only work mischief on the objects of his hatred. The only weapon that ever he fought with was a ponderous sword of great weight and length, and Jamie wielded this weapon with such skill and power that if he could only get within striking distance of his foes he scattered them like chaff'. Jamie was Young Lochinvar's body-servant, and accompanied him wherever he went, and would most readily have sacrificed his life to save that of his master.

Of course he was a privileged retainer, and was allowed to do and say things that would not have been tolerated in anyone else occupying a menial position. For some time master and man continued their indolent pace, the man seeming to slumber on his horse, and the master whistling blithely, or trolling out snatches of love songs of his own composition, for he had the gift of poetry, and it was said that he could extemporize the most ex quisite songs without the slightest reflection. The morning, which had broken in cloudless splendour, was now far advanced towards noon, and over the face of the blue sky a haze was spreading itself, while in the east black clouds were gathering. Lochinvar noticed these signs, and called to his servant : ' Ho, Jamie, waken and stir yourself. AVe needs must quicken our pace, for, an I be a judge of signs, there is a storm a-brewing.' With an ugh and a snort, Jamie started from his somnolent condition, and drawing his great sword, he gave it a flourish, dug his spurs into his horse, so that his beast leapt forward with tremendous strides, while Jamie rent the air with the cry : ' The Saxons ! the Saxons !

Hi, ho ! up and at 'em !' ' Hoot, ye daftie !' roared Lochinvar. ' Who spoke of Saxons ? As Jamie suddenly reined in his horse until he almost forced it on to its haunches, he said : ' Hech, man, I must have been sleeping, for I thought you cried, " Hi and awa ower the Border !" ' ' Your brains have surely got into your stomach,' answered Lochinvar with a laugh. ' I said that a storm was brewing, and that we must needs quicken our pace.' 'No, master, my brains are in my heid, and there's naething in my stomach but dust and wind, for it's lang syne I broke my fast, and my tongue's as dry as a burnt sod.' ' Well, give rein,' answered his master. ' We are but a league from Lochmaben, and Lochmaben's beer is famed all over the Border.' ' That do I know, good master. Therefore, set the pace, and I'll follow though the Evil One himself was between us.' ' Ho for it, then !' exclaimed Lochinvar, with a laugh ; ' and the devil take the hindermost.' And so, in a whirlwind of dust, master and man sped onward as fast as their steeds could carry them, and did not draw rein until panting, hot, and white with dust, they reached the pretty little village of Lochmaben, that nestled round the head of the loch.

Here there was an ale-house, where wayfarers could get refreshments for themselves and beasts. Jamie sprang from his foam-flecked steed with an agility that did not seem possible in one of his bulk, and he exclaimed to the woman who presented herself at the door as the travellers rode up : ' What ho, guid wife ! beer, beer, quick, an you would save yourself from perdition !' INTRODUCES YOUNG LOCHINVAR, ETC. 5 At this peremptory order the woman disappeared into the house again, but soon reappeared, bearing two huge jacks of ale. At one draught Jamie emptied his, and turned the cup upside down to show that it was empty, and he smacked his lips with satisfaction. The woman opened her eyes in astonishment as .she received back the empty vessel, and she remarked : ' Man, but you must have an awful stomach !' ' Ay, it's like a well,' answered Jamie, ' and it doesna do to let it run dry.

Come, fill the jack again, mistress, for I'd like to taste the quality of your ale, now that I have washed the dust from my thrapple.' The woman did as she was desired, but Jamie disposed of the second supplv more deliberately. When he and his master were thoroughly refreshed, and they had wet the mouths of their horses, they remounted and proceeded on their way, turning now to the north, the road being very little better than a rough hill-track. As they got outside of the village, they found a little crowd gathered round a strange-looking man, who was seated by the way side, and was making most discordant sounds with a long reed, fashioned somewhat like a whistle. 'Good -day to you, my masters,' said the man as the travellers rode up. He was a little, weazened-face man, with a shock head of hair and a ragged, unkempt beard ; while his ill-fitting clothes and travel-stained appearance proclaimed him to be a poor tramp, who probably wandered about the countryside to pick up a living.

With the goodness of heart that was characteristic of him, Lochinvar reined in his horse, and, returning the man's salute, asked him his name and where he came from. 'They ca' me Brookie the Whistler,' was the answer, ' and some folk say I'm daft. But, master, I'm not so daft as these folk think me ;' and Brookie grinned in a very self-confident way, as much as to say, ' Those who would buy me for a fool would get a bad bargain.' ' And where do you live, Brookie ?' asked Lochinvar. ' Well,' answered Brookie slowly, ' sometimes I'm like the crows, and live in the trees, and sometimes I'm like the wild cats, and live in holes ; it depends on the time o' year.' ' But have you no friends ?' ' Oh ay ; Will Laidlaw's a friend o' mine.' ' What ! Will Laidlaw, or Birlin Will, as he's called, of Small Hope Farm, in Eskvalemuir ?' ' Ay, the same.' ' I know Birlin Will, too,' answered Lochinvar. ' He's a fine fellow.' 'Ay, he's that,' said Brookie. ' He sometimes gives me meat and beer, and let's me sleep in his byre.

Ay, he's a fine fellow is Willie Laidlaw.' ' And what's that instrument you have, Brookie ?' asked Lochinvar. ' That's my whistle. I made it mysel'. You see, I'm a born musician, as my mither was before me. Listen.' Here he blew several discordant and shrill notes on his reed, that set all the onlookers roaring with laughter. ' Oh ay, ye may laugh !' remarked Brookie with a sneer; ' stupid folk always laugh at what they don't understand. But I tell ye this, my masters : I'll pipe ye a tune for a flagon of beer, and I'll dance ye a measure in the bargain.' ' Done, Brookie !' cried Lochinvar ; ' I'll give you a flagon of ale and meat to boot.' Brookie sprang up, and, grasping the young man's hand, kissed it. Then, blowing his whistle, he capered about in such a ridiculous and grotesque fashion that his little INTRODUCES YOUNG LOCHINVAR, ETC. 7 audience held their sides, they laughed so much.

But for fully five minutes Brookie kept up his antics, until, thoroughly exhausted, he sank down on the roadside again and panted to get breath. ' Gallantly done,' said Lochinvar, as he took a coin from his purse and placed it in Brookie's hand. And the value of the coin caused Brookie to open his eyes in astonishment, and to smile with gratitude as he said : ' .Man, but ye must be gey rich, or maybe you've been raiding into the Englishman's country lately, like John stone o' Lochwood.' ' What do you know of Johnstone of Lochwood ?' asked Lochinvar. ' I hear folk talk about him.' ' Well, he is a friend of mine,' said Lochinvar, ' and I'm journeying now specially to see him.' At this Brookie sprang up again with delight, and cried : ' Well, he's no friend of mine that I know of, but I'm gaun to see him, too.' ' You are T ' Ay.

I've heard that when he came out of the English man's country last time he brought a gey queer thing with strings on it that make music when you touch them. I dinna believe much about it, but I'm going to see if it's true. I was telt about it in Ecclefechan yesternight, and says I to mysel', " Brookie, as you are a musician, you should see what kind o' wonderful instrument it is, for maybe you could make one yoursel', and get more money by it than by blowing a whistle." ' ' Well, Brookie,' said Lochinvar, with a pleased smile, ' this wonderful instrument is no myth, I assure you ; and in the Saxon country it is called a guitar. But come, I promise you that you shall see it for yourself, so mount up behind me and let us be off.' Brookie's small eyes opened wider than ever now, and they were filled with an expression of incredulousness. ' Oh, I mean it,' said Lochinvar.

Brookie was silent for a moment or two, then he asked, as he pointed to Jamie : 'Is that paunch-bellied fellow your servant? ' Yes.' ' Then, let me ride with him, good master.' ' Although there is not much of you,' said Lochinvar, with a hearty laugh, 'there is plenty of Jamie the Ox, and I fear his horse would hardly carry the two.1 ' True, true,' remarked Brookie reflectively. ' And so they call him Jamie the Ox. Well, there is enough of him to make an ox, but methinks he has the ears of an ass. They're o'er-lang.' Of course, there was another roar of laughter at this sally, although Jamie himself looked black as thunder. Jerking his horse round, he leaned over and tried to grab Brookie, but the vagrant was too lithe and nimble for him, and with a light bound, that would have done credit to an acrobat, he sprang up behind Lochinvar, who was highly amused.

Then, putting sj}urs to his horse, he galloped away, while the crowd set up a ringing cheer, and the discomfited Jamie had no alternative but to follow his master, but he vowed to himself that when he sot the chance he would wring Brookie's neck for having called him an ass.

Chapter II

' IN LOCHWOOd's HALLS WERE REVELRY AND SONG.' Standing on rising ground, and commanding a full view of the little hamlet of Whamphray, was Lochwood Castle.* At one time the whole of this region had been an extensive oak-forest that had stretched north and south and east and west for many a league. At the period of our story, the greater part of the forest had been cleared away, but a large patch still surrounded the castle. The trees were magnificent specimens of the forest giants. Many of them were of great age, and time and storm had withered and blighted them until they looked weird and witchlike in the gloaming.f Others, again, towered up stately and tall, and interlocked their wide-spreading branches so tightly together that a perpetual twilight reigned beneath. In this forest, which was owned by the powerful chief Lochwood, there was many a cool and shady bower when the summer sun shone over the land.

Flowers grew in profusion in their season, and acres and acres of graceful and nodding ferns spread their greenery like a rare mosaic beneath the trees. The position chosen for the castle was not only one of exceptional beauty, but of strength. From the turrets of the tower a panorama of enchanting splendour could be seen, and it was enlivened in the summer by many a field of golden grain, for when the wild Borderers were not raiding and fighting they cultivated patches of the land. The denseness of the forest rendered it impossible for * Now in ruins, and known as Lochwood Tower. t Many of these oak-trees still stand. horsemen to make their way through it excepting by the single pathway that led to the main entrance. In times of danger this pathway could be blocked with massive trunks of trees, and, moreover, it had been so constructed that it was fully commanded by the tower, and from that coign of 'vantage a deadly fire could have been kept up on anyone rash enough to attempt an attack ; while the attacker, being below, and hemmed in by the trees, would have no chance to reply.

Notwithstanding this, however, the castle had borne the brunt of Border warfare, and on one occasion had been surprised by a party of raiding Englishmen creeping through the forest at night. The intruders, however, were soon expelled, and precautions had been taken against anything of the kind happening again. In this secluded stronghold dwelt the renowned Border chief Johnstone and his family. He was a grim old warrior, to whom fighting was as the breath of his nostrils. Sturdy and strong as the giant oaks that surrounded his ancestral dwelling, he was a formidable foe and a daring raider. But he was no less a generous friend to those whom he liked, and he was noted for a high sense of chivalric honour that would not allow him to take a mean advantage, even of an enemy. The village of Whamphray, that nestled in a clearing in the forest, was entirely occupied by his followers, who could retire to the castle in times of danger.

In addition, over fifty picked fighting-men garrisoned the castle, and many a wild raid had they and their chief made into the Saxon's country, and though at times they did get worsted in the fight, and occasionally some of their number left their bones on English soil, the Johnstone men were generally able to give a good account of themselves. The castle itself was filled with spoils of these Border raids, for seldom indeed did Johnstone and his men return without being laden with plunder, and the chief's home was a perfect storehouse of treasures. Johnstone was a tall and exceedingly powerful man, with an eye like an eagle, and endowed with inborn military genius, that had often enabled him with a mere handful of followers to triumph over double their number. Thoroughly inured to hardships, with a frame that seemed capable of enduring almost anything that a man might be called upon to bear, he was a foe that no one could despise.

As a rider he was unexcelled, and the horse that he rode was no less capable of hardship than he himself ; while its speed was such that, owing to the distance it enabled its master to cover in a short time, stories had become current among the superstitious peasantry that Johnstone was in league with the powers of darkness. Utterly without anything like book-learning, this wild Border chief had, nevertheless, acquired a taste for the more refined civilization of the South, and he lived in a way that was somewhat unusual with men of his class. He prided himself, too, on his hospitality, and many a feast and revel did the castle know. He prided himself, further, in never allowing a peaceful stranger to pass his abode without partaking of his hospitality. He had long been a widower, but he had three daughters and two sons, George and Alex, though the latter was a cripple owing to an accident that befell him when a child.

The daughters, however, were graceful and fine young women, especially the youngest, Cecilia, as she was called. She was really a handsome girl, with auburn hair, brown eyes, a good com plexion, and a well-developed figure. Johnstone and Lochinvar had been firm and fast friends for many years, and it was hinted that the old chief was very anxious to secure his friend as a husband for Cecilia. So far, however, Lochinvar, while openly declaring his admiration for the young lady, had kept clear of entangle ment in Love's net. On the day that we find Lochinvar journeying to Loch wood Castle, he was going thither by special invitation of the chief, who was anxious to show his friend some valuable booty he had recently brought back with him from a raid over the Border, during which he had penetrated to the environs of Durham.

Amongst this booty were some musical instruments, including the guitar, which had so excited Brookie's wonderment. But the fact is, the guitar was an unknown instrument in that part of the world, and was, therefore, a cause for curiosity to most people there abouts. Johnstone himself had never seen such a thing before, and in sending the invitation to his friend, he said he was to come and see ' a gey queer thing of strings that were stretched over a hole and gave out musical sounds when struck.' Lochinvar, who had received education, and was an extensive traveller for those times, knew at once what the ' gey queer thing of strings ' was, for he himself owned one, and had learned to play it. As Lochinvar approached the castle, it would have been difficult to have found a more picturesque or a more peace ful scene.

The storm-clouds that had been gathering some time before had passed away, although there were signs that a change of weather was at hand. But now the sky was an Italian blue, and the sun smiled on the landscape, and filled it with light and warmth. The waving corn fields told of man's industry, and the wind as it whispered among the trees seemed to sigh, 'Peace, peace.' Look which way the eye would, it encountered the charms of primitive Nature, which here, unlike the more northern parts of the country, was soft and full of rich colouring. Save for Nature's own sounds — the sighing wind, the rustling trees, the singing birds — there were no other sounds to indicate man's presence. Indeed, it might have been said of the beautiful spot : ' The tide of life, swift always in its course, May run in cities with a brisker force, But nowhere with a current so serene Or half so clear as in this sylvan scene.' Sylvan it was, and full of a restful repose that would have made it difficult for the stranger to imagine that amongst the now silent glades and wooded hills the shouts and cries of defiance of men engaged in deadly struggle were often heard, while the green turf and moss were frequently stained with human blood.

But so it was, and even this very spot, now so calm and quiet, had witnessed many a sanguinary scene that had been enacted around Whamphray itself. As Lochinvar and his strange companion and Jamie the Ox approached the castle, the old chief saw them coming, and sallied forth to meet his friend. As he greeted him warmly, he noticed Brookie, and exclaimed : 'Peace be with us, wha's that strange creature you've got behind you ?' ' This is Brookie the Whistler,' answered the young man with a laugh, as he and the vagrant alighted from the horse, which was handed over to the care of a groom. ' Brookie the Whistler !' echoed the old chief. ' In Satan's name, wha's Brookie the Whistler ?' ' Come forward, Brookie,' said Lochinvar, ' and speak for yourself.' The vagrant stepped forward, and, making an obeisance, said : ' Great chief, I am a musician of some repute, but like many another man of genius, alas !

I am poor, and my home is in the fields and on the hillsides. At Ecclefechan I heard that you had brought from the Saxons' country a wonderful instrument that has strings upon it that emit sweet sounds when struck, and so I was journeying hither to crave that I might get a sight of this strange thing ; but being tired, I was amusing some honest people at Lochmaben with my whistle, which I made myself, when this handsome gallant bade me ride with him. And, indeed, it is an honour poor Brookie never had before, and if the noble gentleman would only let me be his servant, I would give my life for him.' ' And so you shall be,' exclaimed Lochinvar, whereupon the vagrant dropped on his knees and kissed the hand of his new master with the most manifest expressions of delight. ' Well, well,' remarked Johnstone, ' so the poor creature's come all this way to see that curious thing !

And so you shall see it, my mannie, and have something for your trouble in coming into the bargain.1 Poor Brookie's eyes sparkled with a new-born joy, and, whipping out his wonderful whistle, he began to blow it, and to skip and hop about in his grotesque way, much to the amusement of the old chief, who remarked to his guest in a low voice : ' Why, the body's daft.' Brookie, however, overheard this, and he sung out : ' Ay, master, lots o' folk tell me I'm daft, but I'm no so daft as some folk I ken.' 'Methinks he's mair knave than fool,' growled Jamie the Ox. 'We'll argue that point anon, Sir Bull Beef,' said Brookie good-naturedly, and making a mock bow. ' Out upon thee for a varlet, and a pestilence seize thee !' exclaimed Jamie, growing very red in the face. ' You called me ass a while agone, and now you dub me Bull Beef.

Have a care, fool, or I'll trounce your scarecrow body until you think the devil's got you.' ' Peace, peace, Jamie !' put in Johnstone. ' You are surely not so thin-skinned that you cannot bear banter.' Jamie mumbled something to himself, and went on to the stables, while the others walked up to the main gate of the castle, where Cecilia stood ready to receive the guest. Of medium height, with a supple and well moulded figure, she looked very charming with the light playing about her braided brown hair, and her pretty face filled with an ill-concealed expression of pleasure as her soft brown eyes met those of Young Lochinvar's. He doffed his plumed cap, took her shapely hand, kissed it, and paid her a compliment, and she said : ' I give you welcome, fair sir, as in truth you know you are ever welcome to my father's halls.' ' Indeed, I know that,' he answered, ' and to be welcomed by your own sweet self makes the welcome doubly sweet.' Cecilia blushed, and partly averted her face as she said prettily : ' You were ever a flatterer, Young Master Lochinvar.' ' Is it flattery to speak the truth ?' he asked. ' No ; not to speak the truth,' she replied. ' Good.

Then wherefore accuse me of flattery ?' ' Because methinks you pay me a compliment that is mere] v words, when you say I make the welcome doubly sweet." ' Cecilia, he said, with quite a serious air, ' what I said was not merely words. It came from my heart.' She turned her beautiful eyes upon him for a moment, then let them droop, and gave vent to a sigh of joy that told only too plainly what exquisite pleasure his words afforded her. Although he must have known that she had long regarded him with admiration, she had been silent on the subject, as he himself had been ; but that day they had both come perilously near to a confession of love. On her part there could be no doubt it was sincere. Those maidenly blushes, that maidenly sigh, told their own tale, and that tale was that she loved him.