Lindigo, the White Woman

Front matter

LINDIGO,

THE WHITE-WOMAN;

OR,

Chapter I

LINDIGO.

CHAPTER I.

AN AWKWARD INTRODUCTION.

"Plague the fish,—not another cast shall I make,—better feast my eyes on this grand scenery." These were the words which escaped from the lips of an unsuccessful angler, on the river Linn, in the western Highlands, one calm summer morning. Then tossing his rod on the bank, he stepped up towards the end of the old wooden bridge which spanned that noble stream, where it discharges itself in the head of Loch Linn.

The young sportsmen thus unceremoniously presented to the reader, was apparently a stranger in those parts, judging from his garb, and the visible admiration he manifested in beholding the surrounding prospect. His handsome figure and noble bearing proved him at once to be some young scion of the English aristocracy.

The magnificent scenery which presented itself to his view was truly sufficient to enrapture the mind, and calculated to revert youthful and elevated thoughts like his to many romantic tales and scenes associated with the Highlands, often read of, but never before now experienced in their true effect.

The winding Linn, which meandered slowly through the glen, glittered over its pebbly bed, and exhausted its sparkling waters in the head of the estuary, lay at his feet. The hills and mountains, rising gradually on both sides like waves, cast their frowning shadows on the bosom of Loch Linn. On the south side rose Ben Mòr, towering above the rest, and as if looking over with contempt on its insignificant rival Ben Veg, which held it station on the north side; both appearing like gigantic sentinels weighing over the peaceful scenery below.

Loch Linn lay in sweet repose, disturbed only an occasional splash from the silvery trout and salmon, manifesting their impatience to ascend the tempting stream by leaping in the air, and falling back again into their limpid element.

The numerous islets which studded the distance swarmed with seafowls, sending up their chorus to welcome the morning sun, in conjunction with the feathery warblers which inhabited the plantations on both sides.

About a mile from the bridge, on each side of Loch Linn, were situated two elegant mansions, whose dazzling windows, white walls, gables, and blue slated roofs, stood in bold relief amidst the dark green foliage of the orchard trees around them.

Extending further along the margin of the estuary, lay extensive meadows and fields of corn, enclosed by secure hedges, proving the comfort and affluence of their respective owners.

Both farms were laid out on the same plan, and as if each proprietor strove to excel his neighbour in improving and developing to the utmost extent the resources of his extensive property.

Large herds of sheep and cattle were browsing over the meadows and sides of the hills and glens, with their young gambolling by their side,—and enjoying their delicious morsels of green herbage, moistened by the morning dew. The milch cows giving vent to their impatience in supplying their young with their liquid burdens, by an unceasing lowing, whose melodious echo resounded through hills and dales, added to the sweet ditties of the dairy maids, all contributing to entrance the soul of the stranger, and fancying himself transported to some fairy land.

While his mind was thus intoxicated with the effects of such charming novelties, and as if to complete the scene, his eye caught sight of a female form emerging from among the labyrinth of shrubs and bushes which fringed the borders of the gravel walk leading from the mansion on the north side, and apparently coming towards the bridge where he stood.

Anxious to have a nearer view of the sylph-like figure which tripped along, now and then bending to pluck a choice flower from each side, and fearing his presence might prevent her approach, he hid himself behind a hazel bush by the end of the bridge. Thus, in perfect security from being observed by any person coming nigh, he awaited with a beating heart, creating many lovely images in his own mind to correspond with the Highland maiden now fast approaching, and who, as he anticipated, on coming to the bridge halted within a few paces of his ambush. But what must have been his surprise and admiration in beholding in her a far lovelier and more beautiful creature than his wildest imagination could form, and rivalling the heroine of Loch Katrine—"The Lady of the Lake"—of which his own peculiar situation, and the similarity of both cases reminded him. The following lines of the famous Scottish poet, which were so applicable to the fairy form before him, flew to his memory:—

And ne'er did Grecian chisel trace A Nymph, a Naiad, or a Grace, Of finer form, or lovelier face; What though the sun with ardent frown, Had slightly tinged her cheek with brown; The sportive toil, which short and light, Had dyed her glowing hues so bright; Served too in hastier swell to show, Short glimpses of a breast of snow; What though no rule of courtly grace To measured mood had trained her pace; A foot more light, a step more true, Ne'er from the heath-flower dashed the dew; E'en the slight hairbell raised its head, Elastic from her airy tread; What though upon her speech there hung The accents of the mountain tongue, Those silvery sounds, so soft, so dear, The listener held his breath to hear!"

There, indeed, stood the counterpart of Ellen Douglas, although seemingly not so ripe in years.

For a few moments she remained in the same position, so still that no visible motion of her finely modelled form was perceptible save the heaving of her snow-white bosom which was partially uncovered.

She was clothed in a plain dress of Mackay tartan, with plaid and bonnet of the same material. Her unrivalled fair neck and shoulders were bare, contrasting admirably with her rich brown hair, which fell in natural ringlets round them.

Her rosy cheeks were slightly tinged with brown, giving her a more healthy and interesting appearance. Her large liquid black eyes were shaded with long lashes of the same hue under arched pencilled brows. Her smiling cherry lips were parted, disclosing the most exquisite set of ivory teeth.

Her tiny feet and ankles were encased in white stockings and slippers, which were partly exposed by her holding her skirt from the dew in one hand, while in the other she held a bouquet of flowers.

Gazing intently towards Ben Mòr, from which direction she apparently expected some one, and, not observing the object of her search, she heaved a deep sigh, and, to the stranger's astonishment, murmured audibly in pure English—"Whatever is detaining him?".

The enraptured stranger stood transfixed in his hiding-place, and afraid to breathe lest the beating of his heart should frighten away from his gaze the beautiful creature who now made a move round the bush where he stood, towards the bank of the river where his rod and basket lay, and which she had not noticed until almost treading upon them. On making the discovery she gave a startled scream, and gazed cautiously around, when the stranger made himself visible, and in set terms apologized for not making his appearance before.

The young maid seemed terrified and confused, and made no reply, but began to retrace her steps; when, in so doing, she had to pass close by the stranger to regain the path. Seeing all chance of detaining or engaging her attention vanish, a desperate and inconsiderate resolution seized him, which on maturer consideration he might condemn. Instantly, picking up the flowers which she had dropped in her affright, he held them towards her with a bland smile—remarking—"Unless I am to be honoured by retaining such a beautiful token from so charming a donor, I beg leave to return them." The coy maiden being too confused to return an answer to this gallantry, held out her hand to receive her flowers, when the unprincipled stranger, taking advantage of the opportunity, seized her hand, and suddenly pulled her towards him, then encircling her tapering waist with his other arm, attempted to embrace her.

She shrieked loudly for help, and struggled hard to release herself, but all in vain. That moment her quick ears caught the sounds of well-known strides bounding over the bridge, when she cried imploringly—"Charlie, dear, save me!" The words had hardly escaped her lips, when the stranger was laid his whole length on the sward, and a youthful Highlander held her insensible form in his arms.

This third person who arrived so opportunely on the scene, was a young man nearly of the same height as the stranger, but although apparently younger, had the advantage in symmetry of form. His eagle eyes and fine open countenance showed great courage and daring. His well-developed limbs, dressed in the Highland garb of Royal Stuart tartan, proved great bodily strength and activity. A handsome fowling-piece, and a brace of ptarmigans lay on the ground by his side, over which stood a couple of well-bred pointers.

When the discomfited stranger regained his feet, and perceived the young couple so fondly locked in each others arms, his rage and mortification burst forth in the following words:—"Were it not for that damsel in your arms, I would teach you a lesson which you would not easily forget," and casting his eyes on the game, he added—"who has given you permission to shoot on this estate?" "You cared but little a few minutes ago what insult you would commit on this innocent maiden, and as for my shooting on this estate, it is no business of yours," replied the Highlander defiantly. "We will see," added the stranger, with a malignant look, and seeing no use of retaliating at present, he picked up his rod and basket, muttering future revenge.

While the young Highlander is restoring his inanimate charge into consciousness, we shall endeavour to enlighten the reader on the several characters who played such a conspicuous part in the above drama; but in order to bring forth more fully the events and circumstances which led to such awkward consequences, we must take him back a short period prior to the commencement of our tale.

About that time, several Highland chiefs, or lairds, became greatly embarrassed, through passing the most of their time in the English metropolis, striving to cope in style and grandeur with the more wealthy noblemen of that kingdom; when they ought to have been living moderately on their estates, attending to their improvement, and studying the comfort of their tenants, on whom they depended for their income. The consequence, therefore, may be anticipated; through heavy mortgages which they were unable to liquidate, the estates were sold to some wealthier purchasers, and, in many instances, to English proprietors. Such had been the case in the instance of the estate on which the above scene took place. Its former proprietor had, of late years, taken up his abode in London, where he contracted enormous debts, and had been compelled to sell his valuable estate, which became the property of the Earl of Saxton, who made the purchase for his son and heir, Lord Lundy, then in his nineteenth year, and the first person presented to the reader; and, who, on coming into possession, started at once to the Highlands with a large circle of friends, to pass the season in shooting and other amusements. So precipitate were their movements, that no one on the estate was aware of their arrival at the castle, or even conscious that the property had changed proprietors.

Kinlocklinn was, at that time, inhabited by two of the wealthiest and most comfortable tenants on the whole estate. The one Mr. Stuart, who lived in the mansion on the south side, and father of Charlie, the young Highlander above referred to, and the other, Mr. McKay, who lived on the north side, and father of Isabella, (or Bella, as she was called), and the heroine of this tale.

Mr. Stuart was one of those noble specimens of ancient Highland gentlemen who are now so rarely met with. His unbounded hospitality and generosity, made him an object of universal veneration and esteem among all classes of society.

He could trace his lineage from the Royal House of his name, whom his ancestors had always upheld until the last struggle of Charles Edward, when they lost their rights to Kinlochlinn, which they held for generations, but since held by them under tenure.

Mr. Stuart was also a distant relation to the unfortunate late laird, whom he served as agent or factor, in consideration of which he held his extensive farm rent free.

Passionately fond of his only son Charles, now eighteen, he spared no means or pains in giving him all the advantages which the best college education could afford; and also furnishing him with all necessaries becoming a thorough gentleman and sportsman; and never before was the liberality of an indulgent and affectionate parent towards a dutiful son more amply rewarded.

Naturally quick and brave, blended with a most honourable and amiable disposition, and possessing great strength and agility according to his years, Charlie Stuart was considered the most successful and accomplished sportsman in his part of the country. Whether on mountain or moor, fishing in a stream or lake, his steady and quick eye made him a leader of all parties. Being a great favourite of the late laird's, he had full liberty to shoot and fish on the estate.

He was also an excellent horseman, his parent furnished him with the best hunter that could be procured, and he was capable of managing the wildest horse with ease.

Mr. Stuart had been a widower ever since his son's birth. His wife had been a very amiable person, and a near relation of Mr. McKay's. Her loss was greatly felt by all her acquaintances, especially by her excellent husband, who could never think of replacing her by marrying another.

Mr. McKay was also a very excellent man, possessing a great share of common sense, and more experienced in worldly affairs than his neighbour, having passed part of his early life in India, where he had a rich brother, and where he accumulated what was considered in the Highlands a fair competency. He married after his arrival from abroad a lady of the McDonalds, with whose brother he became acquainted in the Company's service in India. They had only two children. George, a companion of Charlie Stuart's, and who was then at Oxford through the liberality of his wealthy Indian uncle.

The other child was our heroine, Bella, now in her fifteenth year; her mother died when she was ten. Bella was considered from her infancy one of the sweetest and most affectionate creatures in existence, and gained the love and admiration of all who knew her, possessing every charming quality, added to a rare and extraordinary grace and beauty. Always in the company of George, her brother, and Charlie Stuart from her childhood, and when any innocent disagreement took place between herself and George, Charlie always took her part. No wonder, therefore, she loved him better than her brother. Charlie being naturally warm-hearted and kind, having no brother or sister of his own, concentrated all his affections on this tender flower, whose meek temper coincided so faithfully with his own; consequently the attachment became mutual, and even when grown up there was no alteration in their affections. It almost puzzled themselves how to account for such partiality, for when George left for London, and Charlie for Edinburgh University, Bella could not comprehend how she missed the latter's company more than her own brother's, who had gone to another kingdom. Charlie, on the other hand, wondered how little he cared for the company of the fashionable Edinburgh ladies, when away from his old playmate, Bella McKay. The only conclusion he came to, was that she was an older acquaintance, and called after his own mother. Thus argued these children of nature, never dreaming that something more than friendship was budding in their young hearts, which they themselves were yet ignorant of.

Both families thus stood on the most intimate footing, and regularly visited each other, the only point of dispute between the senior members of the family being a difference in political principles, particularly as to the monarchy; while Mr. Stuart still strenuously advocated the claims of his namesakes, the Stuarts, to the Crown, Mr. McKay supported the House of Hanover, and so strongly had this loyalty taken possession of their hearts, that the one named his son after Charles Edward, while the other named his after King George.

This cross-fencing, however, always ended in a drawn battle, and never in the least interfered with the harmony which existed between the families.

Chapter 2

CHAP. II.

THE FAIRIES SPIRITING AWAY THE VENISON.

We left Charlie Stuart with the fainting form of Bella McKay in his arms, after being insulted by Lord Lundy at the bridge of Linn. The innocent maid, having never before been approached with such improper freedom, particularly by a stranger, became so much alarmed and terrified, and had exerted her powers to such a degree to release herself, that she fell off in a swoon in the arms of her deliverer.

Poor Charlie, never before being placed in such a situation, and ignorant of the proper restoratives for such an emergency, was under the impression that his dear playfellow had for ever bade adieu to this life. He therefore burst forth into an agony of despair, and as if to call her back into life again, gave vent to many endearing lamentations and epithets.

In the midst of this passionate gust, Bella at length awoke as out of a heavy sleep, but was yet too feeble to move or articulate a word. Slowly opening her eyes, and gazing abstractedly in the fond and anxious countenance which bent over her, and as if relapsing into her former insensibility, she closed them again. "Bella, dear, live for me!" moaned her supporter, pressing his burning lips to hers as if to breathe life into them again. The fond pressure revived her instantly, and his last words sounded lovingly in her ear, which at once reminded her of the position she was placed in. Gazing around, she noticed her bosom exposed by a rent in her dress caused in the struggle, and which her supporter was now covering over with her plaid. Conscious shame came to her aid even in the arms of her dear friend, and with some embarrassment she faintly murmured, "I am well now." Noticing her confusion, Charlie helped her to rise. After being placed on her feet again, she gazed cautiously around, and inquired, "Is he gone?" On being satisfied on this point, Charlie offered to accompany her part of the way home, to which she agreed, and took his proffered arm, being still too weak to walk unsupported.

On their way along, in discussing the delicate subject, it was arranged between them that, as no serious harm had taken place, they would keep the whole a perfect secret even from Mr. McKay, her father; having no doubt but the stranger must be one of those bold Englishmen who usually visit the Highlands in the shooting season, and had taken up his abode at the Castle.

Relieving Charlie of her arm, Bella proposed to travel alone home, being within a short distance of the house, fearing her father might suspect something seeing Charlie in her company. Her companion consented reluctantly to this proposition; and, bidding each other silent adieu, their eyes met in a long and affectionate gaze, which sent the warm blood over their handsome faces, infusing pleasant and strange sensations through their young hearts which before this moment they were strangers to, and which gave new life to their souls.

Charlie had hardly left when her father, with an anxious countenance came to meet her, chiding her for keeping breakfast so late; no one, not even Mary Grant knowing what had become of her.

Bella apologised with embarrassment, remarking that she had been tempted, through the fineness of the morning to extend her walk to the bridge, where she had accidentally met Charlie Stuart, who had been shooting ptarmigan in Ben Mor, and, knowing her partiality to the birds, he presented her with a brace, which she now exhibited to her father.

The daughter being a poor adept at dissembling, the practical eye of the parent detected some unconscious confusion in the manner of his usually unreserved child, especially when mentioning the name of Charlie Stuart, who before this she spoke of without the least embarrassment.

Another mystery which attracted his attention was the disarrangement of her hair and dress, particularly the before-mentioned rent in the bosom of her dress, which she endeavoured to hide by wrapping her plaid around her even in such warm weather. However, as she had not mentioned or made any remarks which might throw any light on the cause of his suspicions, and knowing her timidity and purity, he only replied, "Charlie is, indeed, always kind to you, and you ought to be very thankful to him." "Indeed he is, papa; my own brother George could not be more so," added his innocent daughter with such earnestness and enthusiasm which banished at once certain suspicions which for a moment took possession of him, and condemnatory to the unimpeachable character of his young neighbour. He, however, hinted to her never again to ramble about without her maid, for fear of causing the like anxiety.

Bella was glad when they arrived at the house, and quickly slipped up stairs to change her dress and arrange her hair, and in a few minutes she appeared at the breakfast table as if nothing had happened.

"Well Charlie, my boy; back already from Ben Mòr; and, as I live, the best shot in the country coming home empty handed! why I must really make a notch in the gate-post." Such had been the greeting which Charlie received from his father on approaching the house this morning, and which a little confused the young man, on his first time coming home, as his father had remarked, without game.

"I have been indeed almost unsuccessful father, the only game which fell to my lot was a brace of ptarmigan."

"Better than any my son, they are becoming a rarety these days, although I have seen them plentiful enough in Ben Mòr, let me have a look at the poor birds for the sake of old times."

"I am sorry that I am unable to satisfy your curiosity," replied Charlie, colouring, "As I was passing by the bridge, I happened to meet Bella McKay taking a walk, and as she seemed interested in my game, I presented them to her."

"Quite right, my boy," replied the father, whose quick eye detected the confusion and blushing countenance of his son, when mentioning their fair neighbour's name, and longing for the union of both families in a closer tie than friendship. "Bella is indeed a treasure, and happy the young man who will posses such a prize for his wife. By-the-bye Charlie, don't you see a great change in her since you left for the University? Why, she will soon eclipse your fine Edinburgh ladies."

Charlie was not sorry to see an interruption to this panegyric, which, indeed, tallied with his own feelings, for Donald Munroe, his servant, whom he sent early to the post office made his appearance with a package of letters.

Mr. Stuart's exuberance was sadly damped, however by the news which the mail brought that morning, and the disappointment it conveyed to the excellent man weighed ever afterwards heavily on his mind. This was the downfall of his friend and chief, the proprietor whom he so much revered, and whom he never dreamed would be succeeded by an Englishman. The blow which he sustained, was, indeed, severe. His son's best prospects were for ever annihilated, and a noble clan of ancient standing were now deprived of their head. What a stroke to his hopes and expectations! Many a time he belied his far-sighted neighbour, Mr. McKays, prophecy—that their laird would bring himself to beggary. It was now but too true!

Charlie shared in his parent's disappointment, not solely for his own sake, having youth and vigour on his side; but knowing his father's nourished hopes regarding Charlie's own future prospects, and also his ancient clanish principles, and the total extinction of a long line of chieftains.

Among Charlie's correspondence was one epistle which partly dispelled the gloom his father's news had produced, and which brought smiles again to his countenance. The character of the writer may better be judged by inserting his communication, which ran as follows:—

"Glengarry.—My Dear Prince Charlie—Here I am safe and sound, having arrived last night, and determined to be beforehand with you in our correspondence, as I know you have hardly breathed your mountain air as yet.

"Not wishing to bother you regarding the parental reception of their hopeful son and heir, I shall pass at once to the more interesting subject, namely, my sporting qualifications. Suffice it that I started early this morning with my Gillean, and made a successful stalking by bringing to earth five boomers, (your humble servant placing three to his credit,) which were got home in good time, skinned, and above all, distributed among the cotters, a point which I am very particular in executing on my annual visit among them.

"Your sober, steady-going fellows would think, of course, their day's sport over, but such is not my motto. To style it scientifically, I only considered this a preliminary arrangement to my future proceedings.

"Aware that great feasting would succeed my liberal supply of venison among the cotters, which would attract all their attention, leaving me a favourable field for the prosecution of my plans. I accordingly set to work with my little tiger Gunna Stailc—Popgun—a little brat of a foundling, who never, I believe, had any parents except fairies, and who had been reared up in our house. This little imp, whom I trained myself, being the veritable mortal fit for my purpose.

"I therefore opened my siege by reconnoitering Mairi Thormaid's dwelling, a sort of half-witch or walking chronicle, whose only profession is to gull the superstitious neighbours with fairy tales, and other terrible anecdotes, in return for which they supply her larder for the year.

"As no notice would be taken of Popgun by his going in or out among the boothies, I sent him to Mairi Thormaid's to report progress, and he soon came back with the favourable intelligence that Mary was in the middle of one of her fairy tales, which she was relating with her usual solemnity to two old crones of her own stamp; and, better than all, that a pot of venison was boiling over the fire, very likely for a feast.

"Furnishing myself in this instance with a hook and line, I ordered Popgun to re-enter the domicile, and under the pretence of warming himself at the fire, to look out for the hook, which I was to lower from the roof, and when an opportunity presented itself to fasten it in the venison, then make his exit unperceived.

"I was not long in gaining the low roof, and as there was no chimney, save a hole for the smoke, or farleus, I lowered my hook under the cover of the smoke, and Popgun was not long finding a chance to hook and make his exit, when I began to haul gradually.

"The effect may be anticipated. Mary had worked herself and listeners to the highest pitch of superstition, relating the powers of the fairies, when some commotion in the pot attracted their attention, and seeing the venison leaving its boiling element and ascending slowly towards the roof, the paralized crones gave one united scream, and in attempting to spring up from their low seats, held by each others skirts, tumbled over the stools on the floor in their hurry. Amidst this screeching and confusion I made my escape safely.

"The next on my list was attacking Alastair Gealtair—Alexr. the coward—nick-named so by his aversion to fire-arms or their reports. It was said of him when young and joining the militia, that he fell as if dead on the first platoon, and ever since he cannot bear a shot fired near him.

"On reconnoitering his boothy, I peeped through an aperture in the window, which was partly filled up with old clothes, and beheld to my satisfaction old Alastair directly opposite, and in the act of discussing a steaming dish of venison. His brawny sunburnt chest, as usual bare, and his better-half taking her seat at the end of the table. I supplied, or armed myself in this instance with an old blunderbuss, selected from the Governor's ancient armoury, and loaded with powder and a fresh piece of deer's liver. Resting my ordnance in the aperture, I took a deliberate aim at the exposed and expansive target, the freckled and carbuncled chest before me, and blazed away. You may guess the effect. The old Gealtair fell back with a terrible groan, exclaiming in Gaelic—Trocair air manam!—Mercy on my soul! When the smoke had cleared away a little, I beheld him lying on his back, on the bed where he had been sitting, as if dead, the liver spattered over his bare chest, and the old wife lamenting over him, wringing her hands and exclaiming—Tha fuil a chri mach! His heart's blood is out! Knowing well that the neighbours would soon be attracted to the scene of battle through her wailing, and that the old fellow was scatheless, save the fright, I withdrew my forces, and beat a hasty retreat to my garrison, where I am now penning my exploits, and which, you must confess, were brilliant, particularly my last sortie. Give us an account of your proceedings, and I shall report progress in return.