A Book For The Young by Sarah French

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Patrick, who, with national keen-sightedness, saw the internal working
which his wife's home appeal had created, now came forward, and said,
"Oh, yer honour, if as how I dare be so bowld as jist to ax you this
wan'st, to take compassion on us; may be, next time, we could go
together, and if Norah was but wid me, what do I care where I goes.
Here's Jem O'Connor wouldn't mind going in my stead, and he's neither
wife, as I have, nor childer, like your honour to part from." Jem
O'Conner now came forward and testified his readiness to go all the
world over to serve a comrade.

Words could but poorly convey an idea of the looks of the anxious
couple, as they watched the varying countenance of the Captain. The
situation of the soldier and his wife touched him to the quick, and
the appeal proved irresistible. Jem O'Connor was permitted to go
instead of Pat. Morgan, who, triumphantly led off his wife, both of
them invoking blessings on his head, whose humanity had thus spared
them the pangs of separation.

I stood, perhaps, twenty minutes musing on the scenes that had just
been passing before me and was returning, to retrace my steps to the
inn breakfast, when I noticed a wretched looking woman, with a baby in
her arms. She was walking very fast, towards the water's edge, where
the boats were still waiting to take the last of the soldiers on board
ship. She had an anxious, nay, a despairing look as she looked around,
as I judged, for the Captain, who was not to be seen.

Hushing her little one, whose piteous cry would almost have made one
think it was uttered in sympathy with its mother's distress. Casting
one more despairing glance, she was, apparently, about to retrace her
weary steps with a look that completely baffles description, when her
eye fell on a boat returning from the vessel, which that moment neared
the water's edge, and she saw Captain Ormsby jump out. Hastily going
up to him, she exclaimed, in a tone that seemed almost to forbid
comfort.

"Oh, Sir, I am ashamed to be so troublesome, indeed I am, and I fear
to ask you if I have any chance this time?"

"Why Kitty, my good girl, had you asked me that question half, nay, a
quarter of an hour ago, I could not have given you any hope, but I can
now put you in place of Timothy Brennan's wife, who has just altered
her mind."

"Sergeant Browne," cried he, "here is Hewson's wife, who went out in
the 'Boyne.' Do the best you can for her, she can take Hetty Brennan's
place." Joyfully did Kitty Hewson step into the boat, beckoning to a
lad who was holding a small deal box, which he placed beside her; but
she seemed as if she could hardly believe herself about to follow her
husband, till actually on board.

The worthy Captain was, indeed, to be envied such a disposition to
lessen the aggregate of human misery, by entering into their feelings.
In how very short a space (three hours) had he the power of cheering
the desponding hearts of several fellow creatures, without either
detriment to the service, or swerving, in the least, from his duty.

THE EXECUTION OF MONTROSE.

This Narrative is supposed to be addressed by an aged Highlander to
his Grandson shortly before the battle of Killiecrankie.

Come hither, Evan Cameron,--
Come stand beside my knee;
I hear the river roaring down
Towards the wintry sea.
There's shouting on the mountain side;
There's war within the blast;
Old faces look upon me,
Old forms go riding past.
I hear the pibrock wailing
Amidst the din of fight,
And my dim spirit wakes again
Upon the verge of night.

'Twas I, that led the Highland host
Through wild Lochaber's snows,
What time the plaided clans came down
To battle with Montrose.
I've told thee how the South'rons fell
Beneath his broad claymore,
And how he smote the Campbell clan
By Inverlocky's shore.
I've told thee how we swept Dundee
And tamed the Lindsay's pride;
But never have I told thee yet
How the great Marquis died.

A traitor sold him to his foes:
Oh, deed of deathless shame!
I charge thee, boy, if e'er thou meet
With one of Assynt's name,
Be it upon the mountain side,
Or yet within the glen,
Stand he in martial gear alone,
Or backed by armed men;
Face him as thou wouldst face a man
That wronged thy sire's renown;
Remember of what blood thou art,
And strike the caitiff down

They brought him to the watergate
Hard bound, with hempen span.
As though they held a lion there,
And not a 'fenceless man:
They set him high upon a cart,
The hangman rode below,
They drew his hands behind his back
And bared his noble brow.
Then as a hound is slipped from leash
They cheered the common throng,
And blew the note with yell and shout
And bade him pass along.

It would have made a brave man's heart
Grow sad and sick that day,
To watch the keen malignant eyes
Bent down on that array.
There stood the whig west country lord
In Balcony and Bow;
There sat three gaunt and withered Dames
And daughters in a row,
And every open window
Was full, as full might be,
With black robed covenanting carles,
That goodly sport to see.

And when he came, so pale and wan
He looked, so great and High,
So noble was his manly front,
So calm his steadfast eye,
The rabble rout, forbore to shout,
And each man held his breath,
For well they knew the hero's soul
Was face to face with death.
And then a mournful shuddering
Through all the people crept,
And some that came to scoff at him
Now turned aside and wept.

But onward, always onward,
In silence and in gloom,
The dreary pageant labored
Till it reached the house of doom.
Then first a woman's voice was heard
In jeer and laughter loud,
An angry cry and hiss arose,
From the lips of the angry crowd.
Then as the Graeme looked upward
He saw the bitter smile
Of him who sold his king for gold,
The master fiend Argyle.

The Marquis gazed a moment
And nothing did he say;
But Argyle's cheek grew deadly pale,
And he turned his eyes away.
The painted frail one by his side,
She shook through every limb,
For warlike thunder swept the streets,
And hands were clenched at him,
And a Saxon soldier cried, aloud,
Back coward, from thy place!
For seven long years thou hast not dared
To look him in the face!

Had I been there with sword in hand
And fifty Cameron's by,
That day, through high Dunadin's streets,
Had pealed the Slogan cry
Not all their troops of trampling horse,
Nor might of mailed men;
Nor all the rebels of the South
Had borne us backward then.
Once more his, foot on highland heath
Had trod, as free as air,
Or I and all who bore my name,
Been laid around him there.

It might not be! they placed him next,
Within the solemn hall,
Where once the Scottish kings were throned
Amidst their nobles all.
But there was dust of vulgar feet
On that polluted floor
And perjured traitors filled the place,
Where good men sat before.
With savage glee came there,
To read the murderous doom
And then up rose the great Montrose
In the middle of the room,--

Now by my faith as belted knight,
And by the name I bear,
And by the bright St. Andrew's Cross,
That waves above us there;
Yea, by a greater mightier oath,
And oh! that such should be--
By that dark stream of royal blood,
That lies 'twixt you and me,
I have not sought in battle field
A wreath of such renown,
Or dared to hope my dying day
Would win a martyr's crown.

There is a chamber far away,
Where sleeps the good and brave
But a better place ye have named for me
Than by my fathers grave,
For truth and right 'gainst treason's might
This hand has always striven,
And ye raise it up for a witness still
For the eye of earth and heaven.
Then nail my heart on yonder tower,
Give every town a limb
And God who made, shall gather them;--
I go from you to him!

The morning dawned full darkly,
The rain came flashing down
And the forky streak of lightning's bolt,
Lit up the gloomy town.
The thunders' crashed across the heaven,
The fatal hour was come;
Yet aye broke in with muffled beat
The 'larum of the drum:
There was madness on the earth below,
And anger in the sky,
And young and old and rich and poor
Came forth to see him die.

Oh God! that ghastly gibbet,
How dismal 't is to see,
The great spectral skeleton--
The ladder and the tree.
Hark! hark! the clash of arms
The bells begin to toll,--
He is coming! He is coming!
God have mercy on his soul!
One last long peal of thunder,--
The clouds are cleared away
And the glorious sun once more look'd down
Upon the dazzling day.

He is coming! he is coming!--
Like a bridegroom from his room,
Came the hero, from his prison
To the scaffold and the doom.
There was glory on his forehead,--
There was lustre in his eye,
And he never walked to battle
More proudly than to'die.
There was colour in _his_ visage,
Though the cheeks of all were wan,
And they marvelled as he passed them,
That great and goodly man.

He mounted up the scaffold,
And he turned him to the crowd;
But they dared not trust the people,
So he might not speak aloud.
But he look'd up toward heaven,
And it all was clear and blue,
And in the liquid ether
The eye of God shone through.
Yet a black and murky battlement
Lay resting on the hill,
As though the thunder slept therein,
All else was calm and still.

Then radiant and serene he rose,
And cast his cloak away;
For he had taken his latest look
Of earth and sun and day.

A beam of light fell o'er him,
Like a glory round the shriven,
And he climbed the lofty ladder,
As it were a path to heaven.
Then came a flash from out the cloud,
And a stunning thunder's roll,
And no man dared to look aloft,
Fear was on every soul.
There was another heavy sound,
A hush!--and then--a groan,
And darkness swept across the sky,--
The work of death was done!

A GHOST STORY, FOR THE YOUNG.

MY DEAR CHARLES--

When I promised to write to you during the holidays, I little thought
I should have so much to put in my letter. I actually fancied it would
be difficult to find enough to fill one sheet; and now I do really
believe two will not be sufficient for all I have to say: but to
commence my story, which you must know, is a real Ghost Story! But to
begin:--

While we were at breakfast the other morning, papa showed mamma an
advertisement in the "Times" newspaper, remarking, at the same time,
that it appeared just the thing he had long wanted; and that he would
go to the Solicitor's and make enquiries, and if it seemed still
eligible, would go immediately and see about it. Upon asking what it
was;

I was told it was an estate in South Wales to be disposed of; on which
was a large commodious dwelling house, which at a trifling expence,
might be converted into a family mansion. It commanded, the paper
said, a picturesque view, with plenty of shooting and fishing.--It
further stated, that on one part of the grounds, were the ruins of a
castle, and a great deal more, in its favor, but you know the glowing
descriptions with which these great London auctioneers always set off
any property they have to dispose of.

Papa had every reason to be satisfied, that it was what he desired; so
it was settled he should start by railway that very evening. And you
may judge how delighted I was when he asked if I should like to
accompany him. You may be sure I did not refuse; so we got ready, and
started by the eight o'clock train.

We travelled all night and arrived at our destination about four next
day. Papa thought I should sleep during the night, but I found it
impossible, for a gentleman, whom we met in the cars, knew the place,
and said so much in favour of it, that I could think of nothing else,
but he admitted there was a drawback, and that a great prejudice
existed against it, which caused no little difficulty in the disposal
of. It was reported to be haunted, and one or two people, who had
bought it, had actually paid money to get off the bargain. Of course,
hearing this, my mind dwelt much on it, though I said nothing, lest I
might be suspected of being afraid. Now, you know, it is not a little,
frightens me at school, but I was greatly puzzled at all I heard, and
determined I would rally my courage. After dinner, we strolled out to
take a look at the proposed purchase. Papa was very much pleased with
all he saw. House, grounds, and prospect were, he said, all he could
wish, and not even the report of a ghost, did he consider, any
disadvantage, but quite the contrary, as he certainly would never else
be able to buy it for double the sum they now asked for it.

By the time we got back to the inn, Mrs. Davis, our landlady, had
learnt the purport of our visit, and we, consequently, found her in
great consternation. We had hardly entered, than she exclaimed:--

"Why surely, Sir, you are not going to buy Castle Hill? Why it is
haunted, as sure as my name is Peggy Davis!"

"Well, my dear madam," said Papa, "haunted or not, such is my present
intention."

"Why, sir, nobody can live there. Don't you know there's a ghost seen
there every night."

"Oh," replied papa, "we shall soon, I think, send the ghost off
packing."

"Send a ghost off packing! really, sir, you must pardon me, but you
are a strange gentleman. Dear! dear! why do you know that four or five
have tried to live there and couldn't, for the ghost wouldn't let 'em.
You may laugh, but it's a real truth, that it drove every mother's son
away; yes not one of them could stay."

"Well, my good Mrs. Davis, we shall soon see whether I can or not; at
any rate I shall try."

"Well you certainly are a stout-hearted gentleman, and you must please
remember, whatever comes of it, I warned you. Why, there was James
Reece, a bold reckless fellow and a very wicked one into the bargain,
who feared nothing nor nobody, agreed, for five pounds to stay the
night, and was never heard of any more, and some go so far as to say,
his ghost has been seen alongside the others once or twice."

"The others," repeated papa, "why you don't mean to say there is more
than one?"

"Yes, sure sir, two or three; but 'tis no use telling you, for I
really think you are unbelieving as a Jew," and away trotted the old
dame, talking to herself as fast as she chatted to papa.

The next morning, after another ineffectual effort from Mrs. Davis, to
persuade him to give it up, papa went and concluded, what appeared to
him, an excellent bargain, with the lawyer, who was too anxious to
serve his employer, not to try and make light of the reports, and not
only this, but to fix papa so, that he could not possibly retract.

He came to the Inn and dined with us. Poor Mrs. Davis appeared rather
in awe of him; as she never spoke a word, but as she came in and out
with different things, she gave papa some very significant looks; but
always behind Mr. Crawford's back. No sooner had that gentleman left
us, than papa told me, he had made up his mind to take possession of
his new purchase, by passing the night in the haunted house.

Charles you are my most intimate friend; and therefore, I may open my
heart to you, and tell you honestly, (but mind, not a word to the other
boys, when we get back to school) that my heart began to fail me; I
know it ought not, for I had been taught better things, and should not
have suffered myself to have been influenced, by an ignorant old
woman.

There was a bedstead left in one of the rooms, put up by a gentleman
who had nearly bought the place, and who, hearing such dreadful
stories, determined to try and pass a night there, ere he finally
closed:--but people said he heard such strange noises, and saw such
odd sights, that he ran away and never returned; the bed and bedding
had, the country people believed, all vanished at the bidding of the
ghost; indeed, some scrupled not to say, that he had himself been
spirited away. Papa said when _he_ heard it, that most likely he was
ashamed of his cowardice, and that this prevented his going again to
the village.

Papa sent for Mr. Davis, or Griffy Davis, as his wife was pleased to
call him; but the old body herself came, and entreated of papa not to
try and entice him to accompany us; for it seems that papa's cool and
determined manner had made a great impression on Griffy, who, perhaps,
got more sceptical on these matters, on account of it. Mrs. Davis was
so importunate on the subject, that she obtained the desired
assurance, viz., that Griffeth Davis should not be directly or
indirectly tempted to encounter the ghost or ghosts, as the case might
be. The old man soon came, and you would have laughed to see the old
dame's rubicond face, with her large grey eyes, peering over his
shoulder; for, notwithstanding; the promise given, she had some doubts
that he might be induced to try his prowess in the haunted chamber.
Papa asked him if he knew any strong bodied young man whom a good sum
of money would induce to accompany him and stay the night. Griffy
scratched his head, and pondered some short time; till at length, he
said he knew, but one at all likely; they were he said all so plaguey
timerous, or timmersome I believe was the word; but he thought Davy
Evans might go if well paid, if he were certain papa would remain too;
but another doubt was started; Davy had talked of taking some cattle
to a fair some miles off, and might be gone: however, it turned out,
that he was on hand, and agreeable to go, with the understanding, that
he was to have his money, even if papa was conquered by the ghost, or
had to run for his ghostship. This was soon obviated; by papa's
depositing the money in Mrs. Davis' hands; an arrangement that seemed
to give great satisfaction to Davy. The next difficulty was the
bedding necessary, this, as Mrs. Davis never expected to see it again,
had to be paid for. Davy Evans, seemed a stout stalwart fellow, who
had rather a good countenance. Papa who had put the same question
before; again asked, "if he were sure he was not afraid."

"Oh no, sir," said Davy, "not a bit, thank God, I never intentionally
harmed man, woman, or child, or wronged them, that I of, in any way,
and therefore, I may trust in Providence, go wherever I will, and I
certainly ain't afraid of the ghosts up there."

"But your courage may fail you, my friend, at the last."

"There's nothing like trying, sir, I haven't been in these parts long;
and I know there's strange noises to be heard, but then a little noise
breaks no bones and can't hurt me; and as to a ghost, why, seeing its
made of air, that can't do much mischief either, especially to flesh
and blood, can it now?"

"Well, my friend, we'll try the question, however, very soon," said my
father.

I must own, Charles, I again began to feel a little queer, and I think
papa noticed it, for he told me to please myself as to going with him
or staying at the inn. I was nervous, though I felt sure nothing could
really harm me, and then, I recollected, I should always repent, if my
courage failed me, so I said boldly out,

"I shall certainly go with you, papa."

"Very well, my son, but even now, if you had rather stay behind, I do
promise not to reflect on you afterwards, therefore, act just as your
feelings prompt you. I am, myself, so fully persuaded that not
anything supernatural can or will harm us, that I am determined to
find out what can have led to such extraordinary reports."

"But papa, do you not think ghosts are sometimes to be seen?"

"Frederic," said he, "I will not pretend to say what a guilty
conscience or over-heated imagination may have conjured up and
fancied, but as I have neither, I do not expect to see anything
supernatural; but, as I said before, having heard so much about the
mysteries of this place, I think, that even had I not made the
purchase, I should like to find them out."

"But if you see the ghost, papa, will you then believe in such
things?"

"Wait till, to-morrow, Fred; these are silly suppositions for a
religious well educated boy to make, from whom far better things might
be expected. Now, only reflect a moment, and then ask yourself what
good can these appearances do."

I really now began to be quite ashamed of myself, and thought I was
not only foolish, but wicked, in giving credence to the superstitious
nonsense I had heard.

Mrs. Davis now coming in with some things papa had ordered to take
with him; again ventured to say she hoped he would not repent going to
Castle Hill, adding she would pay every attention to the young
gentleman, meaning myself, in his absence.

"If I am not mistaken, he would rather accompany me Mrs. Davis, he has
been early taught to fear nothing but acting wickedly; and I feel very
sure be will not shrink from passing the night where I do; however he
can please himself."

Mrs. Davis actually looked aghast! and though I again expressed my
readiness and determination to go, I own I was a _little, a very
little_ afraid.

"Well, it must be as you please, I see you are a gentleman not very
soon turned, when you make up your mind to do a thing."

"What time may we expect, this said ghost to visit us. When does it
usually appear?"

"Why, Sir, generally they say from twelve till two; well you may
smile," said she seeing papa unable to control his features, "but its
not once I have warned you, nor twice either."

"You have done so" said papa "and I feel certainly much obliged by
your kind intentions. I always heard the Welsh were superstitious; but
could not have believed they carried it to such an extent as you do in
this neighbourhood."

"It may be so; but you are so very unbelieving. May be you don't
believe in corpse candles."

"Oh yes, when they're lighted I do."

"And ain't they always lighted."

"What do you mean," said papa, "are they not the lights you burn
during the night, while a dead body lies unburied."

"Bless your innocent heart! No. The corpse candies, are seen burning
and moving of themselves, afore people die; coming down the roads from
the houses they live in as a warning."

"A warning for what my dear Mrs. Davis? what earthly purpose can they
answer? have we not warning enough in the daily events of our lives to
impress us with the instability of life, and yet how rarely does death
find us prepared."

"Well, well; you may be as unbelieving as you like, and talk as you
will: I shall always believe when I see a corpse candle, there'll be a
death but just wait till you pass one night in Castle Hill; may be
you'll tell a different story then!"

"The long and the short of the matter, Mrs. Davis is this, I liked the
property, and have bought it; and am determined to reside in it if
God, spares my life. As to the ghost or ghosts, I am well persuaded
that, although some natural causes may render the house and premises
untenable; supernatural ones I am sure have nothing to do with it."

Time passed on and the clock struck eight; the hour fixed on, to leave
the inn, for Castle Hill: when papa brought a large trunk and basket,
which he had tried to fix on Davy's shoulders; but strong as he was,
he was unable to carry them both, he therefore got a wheel barrow, for
the trunk; while papa and I carried the basket between us, and off we
started. A great concourse of people were at the door; many of whom
accompanied us to the foot of the hill, and there left us.

We went in and took up our quarters in the room, in which was the
bedstead and which was considered to be the most constant rendezvous
of the ghost. Davy lighted a good fire and found a table and three
chairs one of which however proved rickety, so Davy had to seat
himself on the trunk. To our surprise we found the bedstead not in the
same place in which we saw it in the morning. This rather, at least so
I thought, astonished papa; however he made no comment on the
circumstance.

Papa had taken care to bring a good supper; He also brought a large
pair of pistols, and we had a blunderbuss, the latter, the property of
our friend Davy. These with a sword he arranged to his own
satisfaction under the pillow, and in about an hour, we sat down to a
good and substantial supper. Davy offered to replace what was left in
the basket but papa jokingly told him to leave it for the ghost. We
now sat for nearly an hour and a half, and except some occasional out
burst of merriment, as Davy told us some droll things, about the
ghost, which were current in the village, we were as still as we well
could be.

At last I got very sleepy, as well I might, for it was nearly twelve
o'clock. Papa made me lie down and said he thought he would do so
himself; not thinking he said, it was necessary to shew so much
courtesy to the ghost, as wait for it. We did not undress. Davy fixed
himself before the, fire and soon gave proof, that he was asleep, by
snoring most loudly.

Mind my dear Charles, in giving you this account, that papa told me
about it afterwards; for I had fallen asleep too.

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