It was upon a dark and lowering afternoon, the 30th day of October, one thousand six hundred and--the day preceding The Eve of All-Hallows, when the Rev. Doctor M'Kenzie, at that time Chaplain to his Grace the Duke of Tyrconnel, and who had been for some time in the ancient realm of Scotland, on a visit to his kind relatives and friends in that hospitable land, had formed a resolution to depart for the shores of Ireland, to meet his noble patron. When, in pursuance of this intention, he embarked on board "The William Wallace of Ayr," the sails of the vessel were unfurled, and the signal-flag was seen streaming from the pendant of the main-top-gallant, all giving true and significant indications that the sea-worthy vessel was upon the eve of sailing, and her destination was known to be for the northern coast of Ireland.

Torrents of rain had showered down during the entire of the day, as is not unusual at that advanced autumnal period; these were accompanied with loud peals of thunder, while continuous sheets of lightning illumined and flashed throughout the darkly tinted horizon, which were succeeded by frequent squalls of wind, that at intervals dying suddenly away, served but to make the returning roaring blast the more tremendous and disheartening.

The vessel was to have sailed at the full tide, but this measure was entirely prevented by the strong and continued recurrence of the storm, which blew with such pertinacious force and opposition that "The William Wallace of Ayr" lay close to its anchors all that afternoon, the whole of the night, and during the next succeeding day. About nine o'clock, however, of the evening of the thirty-first, The Eve of All-Hallows, the storm to every appearance had wholly abated, and preparations accordingly were commenced for the ship to sail, without any further delay, as bound on its destination. At that point of time the Reverend Chaplain, Doctor M'Kenzie, and his servant, were the only passengers on board. "All hands unmoor!" was now loudly and manfully rung forth by the crew; and all matters having been duly arranged for setting sail, while the wind blowing fresh and fair, the ponderous anchor was raised from its oozy bed.

The reader may well imagine, from all these previous preparations, that the vessel and crew were on the point of sailing; when, hark! the hoarse exclaiming "halloo!" and the clattering hoofs of horsemen in full gallop, were heard sounding sullenly on the ear, and next loudly thundering their deep echoes through the hollow and deserted streets of Ayr, which rivetted the sailor to the deck, and at once, as if by magic influence, paralyzed and arrested his motions. The rapid progress of the strangers exciting the curiosity of the sailors, called forth in a no less degree the astonishment of the quiet and peaceable burghers of the good and loyal town of Ayr, who were then about to retire to repose. Two horsemen now advanced, their wearied steeds pressed onward with the utmost velocity; who halting for the instant at the brig of Ayr, inquired with breathless and hurried anxiety, if a boat did not there await in readiness to convey passengers on board "The William Wallace?" But the boat was gone! The few sailors, however, or fishermen, who loitered on the quay, said in reply, that they had gude reason to ken that the Bonnie Wullie had not slipped cables, sic warstling winds had blown sic a hurricane, that the gude and bonnie ship was unco snug in harbour.

The strangers now dashed desperately onward, as if life or death were staked upon the attainment of their object. The vessel was not yet under way when they arrived on the beach, their panting steeds besmeared with blood and foam, and nearly exhausted by fatigue.

The principal personage attracted the gaze of every eye, so noble and martial was his mien; a tall, graceful, and commanding figure, whose whole appearance bespoke the undaunted warrior; his firm step, and manly air, and sinewy arm, boldly told that he knew well how to wield the falchion in the doubtful fight; while his intrepid eye blazed forth the talisman of feats in arms and war, and nobly indicating how oft it had flashed defiance and death upon the daring foe.

"From gory selle and reeling steed

Sprung the fierce horseman with a bound,

And reeking from some recent deed,

He dash'd his carbine on the ground." [1]

He was enveloped in a plaid, and wore a Highland bonnet, richly surmounted with plumes; the stranger was nearly breathless from fatigue and the rapidity of his flight, for such it seemed to be; added to which the pallid brow and glaring eye-balls, gave strong and powerful demonstrations that there existed some other more influential, though latent source-perchance, it was of sorrow! which affected him even still more than bodily fatigue. But still these might have been only mere suspicions, suggestions probably unjustly awakened at the interesting moment, from the lateness of the hour, the hasty, embarrassed approach of the stranger; and added to all this, his impatience and manifest anxiety to embark. It might be assumed that "the sum and front" of all amounted to no more than this. What then of the extraordinary or the marvellous could by possibility attach to circumstances that doubtless any individual, placed in similar situations, must unavoidably have felt, and betrayed a strong and equal portion of awkwardness and embarrassment to have encountered?

But without further interlocution we proceed onward with our tale. The stranger hastily, but urgently, inquired if the vessel would immediately sail? Upon his being answered in the affirmative, and the boat on the instant having been hauled down to take him on board, he promptly flung into it a small valise, which he had carried at his saddle-bow, and instantly springing after it himself, was followed by his attendant. When placed in the boat, he took his station at the stern, where, enveloped in his plaid, he sat immoveably silent, wrapped in gloomy meditation. Upon the stranger's having reached the ship, he still seemed deeply absorbed in thought; the same continued gloom and silence were preserved, while with hurried strides ever and anon he stately paced the deck. At intervals, however, he would suddenly stop, and then he would deeply and intently muse within himself, with folded arms, and dark and lowering brow. Upon his valise was his address written, "Colonel Davidson,--Brigade;" the term or epithet preceding the word "brigade," was torn off, whether by accident or intention did not appear.

All matters on board having been duly arranged and adjusted, while a momentary interval of silence prevailed-"I say," said a sailor, addressing his comrade, "its a fearfu' mirk to-night, which bodes nae gude!"

"Aye, aye!" replied his companion; "but what is still warse, it is Hallowmass; and too weel I ken that the arch-fient, wi' a' the weirds and warlocks, will be abread, and alake! I spae the Bonnie Wullie wull tint the gate! and then we a' maun gang down auld Davie's locker."

"Weel," rejoins the comrade, "it is a donsie night, but I'm nae fasht my cantie carl! whare we a' maun gang togither, a' that's kenspeckle, sae nae mair Claivers!"

"Aye, but I wiss, Sandy," replies the other, "to make a' sicker, that the Deil haed a houd o' the haly man belaw!"

"Whom do you mean?-what holy man below do you speak of?" said Colonel Davidson, the first time that he had noticed aught was going forward.

"A haly auld chiel belaw," rejoined the sailor, "that's boune for Eirin."

"Who--what--how--whom do you call him, friend?"

"I ca' him nae doot Maukeenzie. Pray wha do ye ca' um, your worship?"

"Is the vessel bound for Ireland?"

"Yea it be, anely frae the gate o' the wind, that says nae to it."

Occasional squalls of wind now arose, the compass veered, the wind became adverse; and the storm, or rather hurricane, of the preceding day threatened to return. Under these gloomy presages

"Short time there were for gratulating speech."

Suddenly sounds like the mournful cadence of the plaintive ?olian harp, were heard above the waves; but no shape, no form, was visible, not even in shadowy indistinctness: but solemn musical sounds, wherever they might have proceeded from, and mocking the human voice, only were heard, sad, slow, and solemn, as the choral chant, De mortuis.

THE SPIRIT OF THE STORM.

LOQUITUR.

Where loud tumultuous tempests rave,

And foaming surges daunt the brave;

I mount my storm-swept throne, the wave!

When midnight fiends their vigils keep,

While lightnings rend the mountain's steep,

I, scowling, rise from out the deep!

When hope within each bosom dies,

While heard the drowning seaman's cries,

The raving spirit of the storm, I rise!

Now list! with more than mortal fear,

The dismal dirge which strikes the ear!

THE DIRGE.

Once we held fair Scotland's throne,

Aye, once we claimed that realm our own;

Fuimus, non sumus!

Valorous deeds our claymores crowned,

We ever were true heroes found.

Fuimus, non sumus!

But feuds, dissension, strife arose;

Oppressed by ranks of hostile foes.

Fuimus, non sumus!

Behold! the last of all our race

Is forced to fly his natal place!

He bears the vengeful, fatal knife,

Deep stained by bloody feudal strife!

Fuimus, non sumus![2]

The chant and dirge were audible to the crew, who listened with deep consternation, and were awfully impressed upon the recollection of the Reverend Chaplain.

Every succeeding blast of wind bore increased terror as it swept along, and every startling sound excited suspense and dismay. Again the howling tempest burst forth, and raged with loud and renovated force, what time the stately stranger, or more correctly to speak, Colonel Davidson, in deep apparent despondency, was incontinently observed furiously to pace to and fro the deck, as if in a state of mental aberration. He appeared of more than mortal size to the terrified eyes of the beholders; his action was wild and frantic. At one time he walked with such rapidity as if pursued by an enemy; anon he would suddenly halt, and, folding his arms, gaze upon the troubled deep, which seemed in unison with his troubled mind. Next, loudly he uttered a deep and contrite groan; when having rapidly pushed aside his plaid, he drew forth dirk, sabre, or sword, whatever it might be, which brightly glistened in the lightning flash; and then, with hurried impulse, he at once precipitated it down the side of the vessel into the foaming waves. It sunk with a hissing noise, and its descent was accompanied by a fiend-like laugh, which arose from the billows; while at the moment, in a deep, base, sepulchral tone, the chorus of the dirge again fearfully was chanted from the waves:

Fuimus, Non Sumus!

When this dolefully awful chorus was repeated, the Colonel's countenance assumed the horrible expression of one writhing under intolerable pain, and seeming to undergo the agonizing tortures of the damned! His eye-balls flashed fire, he gnashed his teeth, then clenched his brawny hand, and made a sudden spring, as if in the very act of throwing himself over board. When at the moment his faithful attendant manfully grasped him by the shoulder. The Colonel was seized with a trance, and instantly fell, apparently lifeless, upon the deck. This fainting fit lasted for some time. At length, however, he was heard deeply to respire; then broke forth a hollow moan; a cold and clammy moisture was perceivable on his face and hands. His attendant had him carried down immediately to the cabin, where he was placed in his bed.

The unearthly dirge and chorus, as has been before observed, were long remembered by Doctor M'Kenzie, who was then in bed in the cabin below; and he has been often heard to express his feelings deeply excited upon this awful occasion; and to declare, that to the last expiring moment of his existence, he never could forget the mysterious sounds of that ominous night!

The events, beyond all dispute, were passing strange and fearful; but then all on board "The William Wallace" bore strongly in their remembrance, that this portentously awful night was "The Eve of All-Hallows;" and then they ceased to wonder, while each thought to himself, that

"Hell is empty, and all the devils are here!"

They scarcely had been a few hours at sea, bound on their destined track, when again, with resumed fury, the storm returned. They consequently were obliged to make several tacks, still endeavouring to force their way upon the perilous voyage. The harbour of Ayr is a dangerous one, and to attempt to regain it were to encounter greater danger than what might eventually await the navigators upon the open seas. For a length of time they beat between the isles of Arran and the Firth of Clyde; when at last the wind changing, the breeze blew fair from the north-east, while the staunch vessel proceeded on her watery way. They were now sailing along the deep-indented and romantic coast of Ayrshire, when wearied by the eternal tacking to and fro, the heat and pent-up-air, and all the dull monotony and purgatorial misery of the cabin of a ship, Doctor M'Kenzie ascended the deck, and thence inhaled the invigorating and refreshing breeze, while intently, with admiring gaze, he surveyed the bold and broken masses of those picturesque shores, which had become strongly illuminated by the bright lightning flashes then briskly darting over the wild masses of rock, bank, and brae, and glanced athwart steeple, fort, and tower, o'er lofty peak and promontory; when suddenly again all was immersed in darkness! Yet he perceived that this interesting scene totally failed to attract the stranger's attention, who had returned about the same time on deck that the Reverend Chaplain had done, and continued with persevering pertinacity to pace it, as upon the preceding day.

At that period of time nobly frowned in feudal grandeur those fortresses, castles, towers, and rampires, which then defended the romantic shores of Ayrshire from the sword of the invader, extending their line of defence from Loch-Ryan to the port of Irvine; but which in our own days have become picturesque ruins, festooned with fern, lichen, and ivy, and affording solitary shelter to the owl, bat, and raven.

All these were passed by unlooked at and unobserved by the singular and silent stranger; those classic shores of fame, destined in subsequent ages to be immortalized in the ever imperishable song of the tender and inimitable Burns; these scenes, the favourite haunt of his "Tam o' Shanter," the rich and verdant lawns, and the romantic rocky braes of lordly Cassilis. All these delightful scenes were passed by unheeded, for the stranger did not even look to shore, but studiously turned his eyes seaward; and wrapt in deep, moody, mournful meditation, he seemed to rejoice in the bounding billow, and in the roar of the tempest. Not the mighty towering pyramid, of stupendous height, the colossal craig of Ailsa,[3] which now they sailed past, could arrest his eye; nor the fierce wild scream of the osprey, on its summit, could strike his ear, although joined in hoarse, sullen, and dissonant chorus, by myriads of the Solan tribe, that plumaged its surrounding base; while other sea-fowl, like a misty-halo, hovering in mid-air, crowned its conic crest.

The vessel had just shot past Ailsa-Rock, when fiercely the rising tempest blew such a violent gale, that it caused "The William Wallace" to be hurried, with vast impetuosity, through the straits between Fair-Head and the Mull of Cantyre, and then boldly to be at once launched into the Irish Sea.

The storm now raged with such fury, that it was necessary to furl every sail, and to beat about the entire night under bare poles; while the pitchy darkness of the sky, added to the horrors of the storm, made their situation still more alarming and formidable.

The Reverend Chaplain, much fatigued and wearied, thought it advisable to retire below to his hammock; so thought too even the solitary stranger, who, although hitherto he seemed to woo the breeze, and enjoy the storm, yet also thought it prudent to resume his station in the cabin, and descended accordingly.

None now remained upon deck except such of the crew as were upon immediate duty, and who were lashed to the masts; the hatchways were closed down, and the sea, in mountain cataracts, burst over the deck with impetuous roar; while overpowered with fatigue, perhaps too with fear, the passengers fell into a sound sleep. Thus passed away the first tempestuous night of their voyage.

Before the morning watch the wind strangely and perversely changed to the opposite point of the compass, while squall fiercely succeeded squall; and the dawn of day witnessed them coasting, west and by south,

"The storm-swept Orcades," [4]

in a boisterous swollen sea, and beneath a darkened sky. Sorry we are here to have it our duty to narrate that the vessel, probably from the straining of her timbers, unhappily sprung a leak. All hands instantly were at their post, and the crew exerted them-selves to the utmost in closing the chasm, and incessantly, without respite or intermission, plying every pump; and at length their efforts providentially fully succeeded: for what will not determined resolution do, and persevering unabating energy achieve! Relieved from this imminent and impending danger, once more they proceed on their perilous course, amid this fearful warfare of the elements.

The entire of this eventful day the storm raged with unabated fury, the wind continuing still in the same point, and onward tumultuously they were driven by force of wave and wind. Towards night-fall the vessel came close to the Feroe Islands, where it shortly got hemmed in amid a cluster of rocks, not noticed in their charts. The night was pitch-dark. However, after an interval, the clouds partially giving way, the moon, which was nearly full, arose, and afforded a sufficient friendly light for the Captain to ascertain the extent of the danger which he had to encounter. He immediately caused the gunwale to be lightened, by throwing the guns overboard, which effectually raised her, and the waves of the returning tide assisted in extricating the vessel from imminent peril. They at length happily succeeded in clearing the vessel from her jeopardy, and rescuing the crew from impending destruction. Still, however, it was momentarily dreaded that a new leak might break forth, or that the vessel, bulging upon other unknown rocks, might go to pieces, and the sufferers be swallowed up by the treacherous and remorseless deep. These apprehensions continued throughout the entire day.

The storm ere long returned more furious than at its first onset, and soon broadly launched the vessel into the Northern Sea,

"While to the helm unfaithful still she lies."

The masts now became dreadfully shattered from the intensity of the storm. Dangers and difficulties so increased, that all hopes of safety seemed nearly at an end. Upon Providence, nevertheless, still the hapless crew devoutly placed their trust; the Captain, from the very perilous situation in which they were placed, was compelled to try one desperate remedy, namely, to cut away the shrouds, and stay, and with all possible expedition to hew down the mizen-mast. During this awful operation the crew did not conduct them-selves like men without hope, although around them all was danger and despair! They felt, however, fully aware that little less than a miracle could extricate them from the horrors which surrounded them. With instant promptitude having obeyed and executed the orders of their Captain, with bold and skilful celerity they soon lightened the vessel, which bounded with desperate rapidity into the vast and boundless German Ocean: the watery world was now all before them, and Providence their guide!

Once more it was day. Nothing however, worthy of being recorded, occurred at that period, nor during the night.

On the fourth morning a watery sun arose in a hazy sky, they now were close in view of the coast of Austrian-Flanders, with such rapidity, had wind, and tide, and currents impelled them onward. They now proceeded at the surprising rate of twelve knots an hour, the wind and tide conjointly impelling, unassisted by any sail!

On the disastrous afternoon of this day the vessel made a desperate plunge, striking upon a cluster of rocks some leagues distant from land; the shock was so violent that nearly it had split the stern of the gallant ship. Overcome by terror and fatigue, depressed by despair, and more like the dead than the living, they remained awfully wedged in between these dreadful rocks. Eventually, after an interval of suspense and horror, which appeared to all as though it would never end, the force and ascendant power of the buoyant billows heaved the vessel completely over these formidable crags. She was now once more afloat, but her rudder was borne away; and onward she was drifted at the sport and will of the fiercely rolling waves.

Thus rapid was the vessel whirled, the mounting waves every moment dashing in torrents athwart the deck. Again a second shock was encountered. It was then all despair, desperation, madness! But, oh how appalling to every feeling heart was the dreadful cry,

"All's lost! to prayers, to prayers! all's lost!"

Still in this state awfully the vessel rapidly was impelled, and approached more closely to the coast of Austrian-Flanders. But alas! it is our painful lot to record the unhappy fate of "The William Wallace of Ayr;" when approaching Ostend the ill-omened bark struck upon a sand bank, which but too truly is called "Banc-Dangereux;" then her crushing timbers fatally loosened, and, dissevered by the convulsive shock, promiscuously scattered upon the surface of the waves were seen floating the disjoined wreck, shattered spars, divided stores, bales of cargo, &c., along with the mangled corses of the dead, and the struggling bodies of the living, all commingled, and tumultuously undulating upon the agitated billows. But providential it was for the survivors, who, in number, we grieve to state, were but few, that this dreadful catastrophe occurred so closely to the shores of Ostend. Sorry, however, we are to relate that all the crew (except two persons) perished; and that among those who were saved, we have only to count the Captain of the ship, the Mate, the Rev. Doctor M'Kenzie, Colonel Davidson and his servant, these forming the very confined list, we regret to say, of those who survived the terrors of that eventful day.

Impelled by the resistless call of humanity, several boats had put out from the harbour, perceiving the perilous situation of the poor unhappy sufferers; so that when the dread event took place, these were ready and prompt to save the remnant of those who survived what time "The William Wallace"

"Bulg'd at once, and in the deep was lost!"

The humanity of the Flemish sailors was rewarded by preserving the lives of five individuals, as we have already observed, from a watery grave; great manual and unwearied exertions were necessary for success, and the unhappy sufferers were landed in safety upon the quay of Ostend.

Ostend is well known to every intelligent reader as a strong fortified sea-port; but at the period of our narrative it did not appear under the most favourable point of view, from the devastation that had ensued in consequence of the long protracted siege of three years and three months, which it had sustained against the Spaniards, under the command of Spinola,[5] when fifty thousand of the garrison and inhabitants perished in this fatal siege, either by disease or the sword; which losses were severely retaliated and multiplied by the deaths of eighty thousand of the besiegers!

Upon their landing on terra firma, Colonel Davidson and Doctor M'Kenzie put up their quarters at the old Saint Michael Inn; and there having been refreshed and invigorated by a hearty substantial meal, which fully and essentially answered every purpose of three or four breakfasts, dinners, and suppers, they heartily congratulated each other in a bottle of genuine and veritable Rhenish wine, upon their most miraculous escape from a watery grave! They subsequently retired at an early hour to repose, overcome, as they had been, by their sufferings and fatigue both of body and of mind, to recover, by the renovation of slumber, "kind Nature's gentle restorer," from the lassitude and horrors of this eventful day.

The next morning they arose quite, or nearly, recovered from their past sufferings; however, with the exception of the Reverend Gentleman, who rather somewhat gravely grumbled at the perils which they had passed. Nevertheless, with good seeming appetites, both began a tolerable coup de main et de fourchette upon the breakfast placed before them. Doctor M'Kenzie observed, while he and the Colonel were sipping some admirable coffee, assisted by the agrèments of excellent Flemish bread and eggs, and swallowing con amorè some Malines ham, which, accompanied with a flowing flagon of Louvaine beer, no doubt put the grave and Reverend Gentleman into the following train of thought: "I feel, my dear Sir," said he, "such a decided and unconquerable objection to a sea-voyage, at least for some time to come, from which, although it may be silly in sooth to say I have suffered so much, yet for the present I quite forego my intention of returning to Ireland-I have indeed too much in my recollection the

'Qu?que ipse miserrima vidi,

Et quorum pars magna fui--.'

I therefore purpose to proceed to Aix la Chapelle for the benefit of its waters. Indeed so great is the decided repugnance which I feel to again encounter an aquatic expedition, that in the words of our old classical acquaintance, Ovid, I needs must confess that-

'?quora me terrent, et ponti, tristis imago!'

'The expansive ocean now affrights me,

And sad the mournful aspect of the deep!'

Moreover, gallant Colonel, I must say that I prefer the peaceful scenes of nature and rural life to the war of elements, and the rage of battle!"

"Well spoken, my Reverend Sir, like a peaceful gownsman, and quite becoming the doctrine of that Gospel of which thou art a sacred minister. But as for me, I like the din of battle, the neighing of the noble war-horse, and the battle-stirring trumpet's brazen voice, the groan of death, where contending squadrons commingle in the dreadful shock, chorused by the cheering shout of victory."

The Colonel had just, in an emphatic tone of voice, twice shouted "victory!" and had fiercely made another gallant attack upon the Malines ham, when the door of the apartment was rudely opened, and entered by a party of Gen d'Armes, who immediately proceeded to arrest them as prisoners of war, on suspicion of being spies; and after a short interval they both were led off and escorted to prison, where, attended by the Colonel's servant, for the present we needs must leave them, however reluctant, in durance vile.

* * *

The above Chapter, unquestionably in unison both with the history and chronology of our Tale, should indeed occupy a much more remote station in this our Romance of the days of superstition; but as we felt and considered it of importance, and besides imping too our flight with some portion of epic boldness, we have nobly dared and adventured to dash at once "in medias res;" in the pursuance of which truly magnanimous determination, courteous reader, we shall tell thee fair and softly, yet in candour, that we shall necessarily be obliged (if thou wilt so graciously permit us) to make some retrograde motions in the subsequent chapters.

But, gentle reader, if thou wilt deign to recollect, that once a year even mighty Sol himself, beneath Cancer, the influential sign of the summer solstice, becomes retrograde. When thus we plead such high authority thou wilt not perhaps deny an extension of the same privilege, albeit to a disk, small and insignificant even as ours, undiscernible by the eye of a Brinkley or a Herschell![6]

Permit us then, kind and patient reader, to retrace our steps and story to the early part of this our notable history; then shalt thou learn the birth of our interesting heroine, and become acquainted with personages, characters, and events, connected with our Tale, which we trust thou mayst find to be withal not unpalatable to thy taste; for which favour, and all retrogressions, and progressions, and egressions, (we hope no transgressions!) thanks and health to thee, mild and patient reader! We laud thee for thy gentle forbearance and good humour in having accompanied us thus far in this our long peregrination; wishing, courteous reader, that thou couldst bestow on us the "plaudite" of old Plautus, but without his valete, as we shall meet anon!