"LIBRARY 
 
 OF THE 
 U N IVLRSITY 
 Of ILLI NO\S 
 
 W\99d 
 
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 5"*^ <£ 
 

D ARIEN; 
 
 Oil, 
 
 THE MERCHANT PRINCE. 
 
 A HISTORICAL ROMANCE. 
 
 BY 
 
 ELIOT WARBURTON, 
 
 AUTHOR OF 
 
 'THE CRESCENT AND THE CROSS," "MEMOIRS OF PRINCE 
 RUPERT AND THE CAVALIERS," " REGINALD HASTINGS," 
 
 &c, &c. 
 
 IN THREE VOLUMES. 
 
 VOL. I. 
 
 LONDON : 
 COLBURN AND CO., PUBLISHERS, 
 
 13, GREAT MARLBOROUGH STREET. 
 1852. 
 
LONDON : 
 
 PRINTED BY WILLIAM TYLER, 
 
 BOLT-COURT. 
 
V. J 
 
 TO 
 
 MY FRIENDS ON 
 
 N. 
 
 JO 
 
 TWEED AND YARROW; 
 
 THIS WORK IS INSCRIBED 
 
 IN GRATEFUL MEMORY OF A SUMMER PASSED 
 
 IN THEIR RENOWNED AND HOSPITABLE 
 B O R D E R-L A N D. 
 
 BY 
 
 
 
 THE AUTHOR. 
 
Digitized by the Internet Archive 
 
 in 2010 with funding from 
 
 University of Illinois Urbana-Champaign 
 
 http://www.archive.org/details/darienormerchant01warb 
 
TO THE EDITOR. 
 
 Tibbie Siiiells's, St. Mary's Loch, 
 20th August, 1851. 
 
 Dear * * * 
 
 From most of the various countries 
 to which my vagrant propensities, from 
 time to time, have led me, I have des- 
 patched to you some such bulky MSS. 
 as accompanies this note. I began to 
 fear, however, that Scotland, my present 
 scene of wanderings, would prove a blank 
 in this respect, — for into whatever period 
 of its fertile history I looked, I found that 
 its best interests had been already illus- 
 trated by the unapproachable beauty and 
 fidelity of Scott's narrations. Though far 
 from indulging in the presumptuous ambi- 
 
 VOL. I. B 
 
2 TO THE EDITOR. 
 
 tion of following in his steps, I was anxious 
 to find some subject on which I might at 
 t exercise the humble office of a com- 
 piler, — some task which, connected with 
 Scottish history, would supply an object 
 for my leisure hours and an interest in the 
 surrounding scenery, — affording hereafter a 
 pleasant memorial of the time I had 
 passed there. 
 
 Such were my aspirations when I left 
 London ; but no sooner had I pitched my 
 tent on Scottish ground, and entered into 
 the enjoyment of its scenery, its sports, its 
 genial and generous hospitality, than my 
 studious resolutions be^an to melt away 
 with alarming rapidity. My idleness and 
 self-reproach daily increased, but a pas- 
 sion for the mountain and the stream grew 
 in like proportion ; and I might have 
 recrossed the Border witl: a blank note- 
 book, had it not been for an adventure 
 which at once recalled my vow, and gave 
 me an oppportunity of performing it. 
 That is, if I can venture to say that I 
 hare performed it. 
 
TO THE EDITOR. 3 
 
 For when I consider the uncalled-for 
 attentions that I have paid to grouse, par- 
 tridges, and the salmonidse, during the 
 past autumn, and when I contemplate the 
 immense mass of documents I have had 
 to arrange, and the wide and tangled 
 series of events from which I have endea- 
 voured to elicit something like a consistent 
 story, — I feel how much I must trust to 
 the courteous reader's indulgence, and to 
 the keen critic's generous forbearance. I 
 can only hope to obtain from the kindest of 
 both these classes the flat of my highland 
 friend concerning my performance, — ". I am 
 a plain man, and I plainly tell you, I wad 
 I had placed my materials in abler hands ; 
 but I am sure you have writ honestly and 
 dune your best." 
 
 With this ambiguous apology for many 
 errors, I take my leave, and remain, dear 
 Mr. Editor, 
 
 Yours as of old, 
 Viator, 
 
INTRODUCTORY CHAPTER. 
 
 The wanderer then resolved 
 To pass the remnant of his days untask'd 
 With needless services, from hardship free. 
 His calling laid aside, he lived at ease. 
 * * Vigorous in health, of hopeful spirits, undamp'd 
 By worldly-mindedness or cank'rous care ; 
 Observant, studious, thoughtful, and refresh* d 
 By knowledge gather' d up from day to day. 
 
 Wordsworth. 
 
 Lieutenant M'Gregor served for many 
 years in a gallant highland regiment. He 
 had followed the colour's over the world, 
 and seen Australia's sun shining on their 
 honoured emblazonry at the moment 
 when " the lassie that he lo'ed " was 
 nestling on her midnight pillow in Old 
 Scotland. She slept more calmly, in a 
 narrower bed, before her highlander re- 
 
INTR0DUCT0R1' CHAPTER. O 
 
 turned to claim her for his bride. Mean- 
 while, he had had his triumphs in the field, 
 and had risen from the ranks on glory's 
 crimson steps to the eminence of a lieu- 
 tenancy. But his dearly-won honours had 
 been so associated with his dead love, that 
 all their value seemed buried in her grave. 
 He sold his commission ; and in resuming 
 the dress of a civilian he resumed also his 
 native dialect, which had been long 
 painfully suppressed at the mess-table. 
 The purchase of an annuity with the 
 produce of his commission secured to 
 him an ample supply for all his simple 
 wants, and left him besides a wide margin 
 for the charities in which his brave old 
 heart delighted. 
 
 Among strangers who might arrogate 
 superiority, the veteran assumed a sort of 
 defensive stiffness of demeanour, but to 
 those of humbler manner or condition he 
 was exceedingly urbane and gentle. As 
 he sat at the door of the inns (in which he 
 passed most of his life when away from 
 the highlands), children would instinc- 
 
6 INTRODUCTORY CHAPTER. 
 
 tively draw near to him and climb his 
 knee. To him the house-dog would 
 first apply for scraps at dinner, however 
 numerous the guests. Him the landlady 
 never overcharged, and the chambermaid 
 always gave a pleased look at parting, 
 however moderate her guerdon. Dining 
 his thirty years of service, all his relatives 
 and old friends had died ; he was alone in 
 the world, but he seemed to diffuse 
 amongst mankind the native kindliness 
 which no family ties remained to claim. 
 The Lieutenant took up his head-quarters 
 in the old cottage where he was born. His 
 kind chief had allowed him to purchase 
 its humble walls, and adjoining heath- 
 covered hill, for a mere nominal sum ; and 
 he was thus enabled to consider himself as 
 one of the few landed proprietors in his 
 county. A few score pounds repaired and 
 furnished his cottage, and fenced in his 
 garden on two sides, the remaining two 
 being otherwise guarded, — one by the 
 cottage and its steading, the other by the 
 mountain stream. A bed and chair, and 
 
INTRODUCTORY CHAPTER. 7 
 
 small table, with a shaving-glass, about 
 the size of a watch, hung up against the 
 window-shutter, composed his chamber 
 furniture. A couple of chairs,, a small 
 round oak table, and a glass cupboard 
 containing stuffed birds and foreign fishes, 
 sufficed for his sitting-room. In the 
 recesses on each side the fire-place were 
 two sets of shelves ; one of these contained 
 a Bible, whose leaves looked like old bank- 
 notes, so thumbed and thin were they ; 
 not only for the sake of the Divine words 
 they bore, l)ut for that of his old mother, 
 whose parting gift long ago had been 
 this treasured volume. In this old book's 
 good company were about a dozen other 
 volumes, such as " The Pilgrim's Pro- 
 gress," " The Christian Warrior," and 
 u The Lives of Scottish Worthies." Over 
 the fire-place hung an old musket, and a 
 claymore with which his grandfather had 
 hewn his way through Sassenachs from 
 the battle of Culloden ; that claymore was 
 the veteran's only heir-loom, except an 
 old chest full of older papers. On the 
 
b INTRODUCTORY CHAPTER. 
 
 wall opposite the fire were suspended two 
 fishing-rods, dingy in hue, but in the best 
 condition. The chest, with huge iron hasps 
 and a padlock, stood in the only window, 
 and with the addition of a few bottles, 
 pewter plates and dishes, and such like 
 necessaries, completed the inventory of the 
 highlander's household goods. 
 
 In this " Ebenezer," as he called it. 
 Lieutenant McGregor had made his resi- 
 dence for about twelve months after he had 
 abandoned military life. During that time. 
 while he employed himself in repairing and 
 embellishing the cottage that would have 
 been his wedded home, (for his Efrle too 
 had belonged to humble life,) he mourned 
 as a widower. On Sunday, he walked 
 more than a Sabbath-day's journey to the 
 kirk which she had used to attend, and 
 when service was ended, he would sit him 
 down for an hour by the grassy grave, and 
 rest where all that was mortal of his lost 
 love rested too. 
 
 After his year's mourning, he wandered 
 away from his cottage ; and this habit, 
 
INTRODUCTORY CHAPTER. 9 
 
 once begun, was never interrupted. Every 
 autumn, however, when the anniversary of 
 his lost Effie's death returned, he also re- 
 turned to his native hills, and for a month or 
 two pursued, in public, such sport as the 
 stream and loch yield to the angler ; in 
 private, Heaven only and he knew how he 
 occupied himself in his lonely shieling. 
 
 The veteran was about sixty when I first 
 became acquainted with him. His appear- 
 ance afforded an illustration of his life, 
 strongly marked like everything else about 
 him. His military bearing, which he could 
 not quite disguise, added to a naturally 
 commanding height. His hair was par- 
 tially gray, some parts of it being quite 
 white, whilst other parts were scarcely griz- 
 zled. His hat was of a fashion peculiar to 
 himself; as one may often observe how 
 singularly hats do seem to adapt themselves 
 to their wearers' character : it had a low 
 crown and a very broad brim ; but so far 
 was it from the slouch generally attendant 
 on such configuration, that it betokened, 
 by its rigidity, a vivid recollection of having' 
 
10 INTRODUCTORY CHAPTER. 
 
 served under the Duke of Kent's rectangular 
 regime. A shooting-jacket of dark velveteen, 
 with a waistcoat of Sutherland tartan, bottle- 
 coloured breeches, and long gaiters, formed 
 his dress invariably, except on Sundays : 
 then a formal suit of black became him 
 well, and transformed him into the likeness 
 of a minister with an easy benefice, or 
 rather, perhaps, of a military chaplain. 
 Such was McGregor's costume in England 
 and in the lowlands ; in the highlands he 
 always wore his native kilted garb. 
 
 It was during one of his autumnal vifi 
 to his highland home, that I made the 
 acquaintance of this personage. I had 
 been fishing in one of the fine mountain 
 lochs in Sutherlandshire ; but the day be- 
 coming too calm and bright for the still 
 water, I resolved to follow the stream that 
 flowed from it, and to take up my night's 
 quarters at some village, that was sure to 
 occur by such a stream in the vale below. 
 
 As I was descending the mountain, cast- 
 ing my line carelessly from time to time, 
 I came unexpectedly upon a pool, in 
 
INTRODUCTORY CHAPTER. 11 
 
 which the stream seemed to rest itself 
 before proceeding in its hasty descent. As 
 I moved round this water, to get advantage 
 of the wind, a small cottage caught my eye. 
 It had an appearance of trimness and care 
 that contrasted curiously with the wild 
 scenery in which it lay. All round were 
 healthy hills, piled in wave-like confusion, 
 and varied only by three or four small tarns, 
 flashing like gold amid the dark purple 
 heather: while on the north, the moun- 
 tains towered upward to Ben Crurig ; to 
 the south, they fell away into a range of 
 lesser hills that excluded all view of the 
 wide vale beyond. The cottage walls 
 and porch were covered with some hardy 
 parasite, trained by no woman's hand or 
 taste, for its branches stuck out stiffly and 
 formally, like a standard pear-tree. The 
 little garden exhibited the same formal and 
 precise taste, — if taste it could be called. 
 The beds lay in hollow squares ; columns 
 of vegetables, and platoons of gooseberries, 
 occupied the centre ; three or four apple- 
 trees stood for picquets, and the whole 
 
JZ INTRODUCTORY CHAPTER. 
 
 party, with the exception of an awkward 
 squad of cabbages, seemed to stand at 
 " 'tention." 
 
 I perceived at once that the tempting- 
 looking pool had been artificially formed ; 
 so reeling up my line, I proceeded below 
 the little hermitage, where I might feel free 
 of trespass. I could not help turning round 
 to examine the cottage again, however. 
 Close by, the pool foamed over its artificial 
 obstruction in a pretty cascade, and then 
 ran smoothly by the garden. The bed of 
 the stream was planted with the broad- 
 leaved water-weed that fishes love, and the 
 water seemed literally alive with trout. 
 They were so tame, that, as I walked along 
 the bank, they remained playing on the 
 surface, forming there a coruscation of 
 purple, and brown, and gold, beautiful to 
 look upon. A few hundred yards lower 
 down the stream was another small but 
 deep pool of great promise, and my fly had 
 scarcely fallen upon its surface, when all 
 my attention was concentrated on a mighty 
 fish, "the monarch of the brook," which was 
 
INTRODUCTORY CHAPTER. 13 
 
 Deriding my rod to the butt, and lashing 
 the water into foam with his broad tail. 
 While I looked about with some perplexity, 
 (for the banks were all steep, and the outlet 
 from the pool was by a precipitous fall,) I 
 heard a deep, earnest voice behind me 
 exclaiming, " Haud him gently; he's but 
 lightly heukit ; now draw his head doon 
 stream, and ye maun e'en try the fa' wi' 
 him. Weel dune ! Now ye hae clear water 
 and fair play, the twa o' ye. Now fish — 
 now man ! " the voice continued, half 
 mocking, half in earnest : " Weel loupt 
 specklebackit ! I thought ye had brak 
 his haud. Weel humoured, stranger ; ye 
 hae a gentle hand. It's a' up wi' him 
 now ; slant him intill the gravel." As he 
 spoke, I drew my exhausted prize softly on 
 a shallow, where it was instantly seized in 
 the nervous grip of a large bony hand, and 
 the next moment lay panting on the heath. 
 I had now time to look round, and I beheld 
 Lieutenant McGregor, even such as I have 
 attempted to describe him. His attention 
 was fixed upon the fish, whose beauty and 
 
14 INTRODUCTORY CHAPTER. 
 
 high condition he was well able to appre- 
 ciate. 
 
 " I kenned him weel," he soliloquized ; 
 {f but I didna think he was sae big. Four 
 pund an' mair ! The best troot I hae seen 
 the saison. I thought at first he was a 
 fish." * 
 
 A less interesting incident than this 
 would have served for an introduction to 
 a Scot's hospitality in any part of the world, 
 much more upon his native mountain, in 
 the sight of his home. Before long I was 
 seated in the cottage, my large trout smok- 
 ing on a pewter platter, flanked by a dish 
 of broiled grouse, and a bowl of mealy 
 potatoes, that Tipperary might envy. We 
 applied ourselves to these dishes with so 
 exemplary an appetite that we talked but 
 little. After a while, however, the eatables 
 were transferred to an old crone, who lived 
 in a sort of back kitchen, and formed my 
 new friend's sole establishment. Then with 
 a gusto, in itself a provocative to thirst, 
 
 * In Scotland salmon are fish par excellence : the inferior 
 members of the salmon tribe are merely trout, cvc. 
 
INTRODUCTORY CHAPTER. 15 
 
 McGregor mixed a bowl of whisky punch 
 of such flavour and potency,, that our inti- 
 macy grew therefrom with wonderful ra- 
 pidity. Before that bowl was finished, we 
 were deep in each other's confidence ; and 
 so far from displaying what is called 
 national reserve, my host had told me 
 almost as much about himself as I have 
 ever learned since. Indeed, his heart was 
 unusually open ; I believe it was the 
 first time that he had ever entertained 
 a stranger under his own roof-tree, and 
 that was an exciting sensation : he was 
 *proud of my praise of his mountain and 
 his favourite stream ; he had been long 
 living quite alone, and, added to all this, 
 the punch was strong, and his general 
 habits were abstemious. For these reasons, 
 it was with some difficulty that I escaped a 
 second bowl of the glowing Glenlivet ; but 
 I found it quite impossible to refuse 
 remaining in the cottage that night. I had 
 some misgivings as to my host having to 
 sleep on his parlour-kitchen floor, but into 
 
16 INTRODUCTORY CHAPTER. 
 
 that arrangement I thought it was better 
 not to inquire too closely. 
 
 The highlander then proposed we should 
 take a stroll upon the mountain, and see 
 the sun setting, "which/' he observed, 
 "was gay glorious in thae pairts, zcluui ye 
 culd see it ; " for he admitted that even at 
 noon-day the sun was rather a phenomenon 
 in that land of mist. 
 
 " But then, ye see," he added, with a 
 sportsman's apology for his climate, " the 
 saumonts are na ower fond of het water, 
 and the less sun, the mair saumont — a glide 
 exchange ; to say nae thing o' the grouse 
 and ptarmigan and deer, that lo'es the 
 mysteries o' gloomy hills as well as Ossian 
 himsel'." 
 
 So saying, my host led the way along the 
 brow of his own pathless hill at a pace that 
 taxed my best energies, as well as vanity, 
 to keep up with. I had no breath to spare 
 for conversation, but the highlander con- 
 tinued to speak with a volubility to which 
 in after times, I looked back with surprise ; 
 
INTRODUCTORY CHAPTER. 17 
 
 his general habit in the Lowlands being 
 silent and sententious. But he had now a 
 guest of his own to talk to, and a stranger 
 to enlighten. 
 
 He halted on a hillock about half a mile 
 from the cottage ; it appeared to be a 
 mound of loose stones, and was vividly 
 green with long grass and nettles, though 
 all round, as far as we could see, was 
 purple heath. I soon discovered that it 
 was the base of some ruined tower, the rest 
 of which had fallen in small fragments into 
 the precipice which yawned on two sides of 
 the spot that we occupied. I observed to 
 him that it was a strong position. 
 
 "Aye!" exclaimed my host, proudly; 
 "it's pritty strong, and it's a' my ain, 
 frae here till the cabin, and a bit ayont. 
 A' my ain ; and purchased by the sweat 
 and bluid of this puir body, and by the 
 gude will of Providence and my lord 
 duke. 
 
 " It 's no unlike the fortunes o' my 
 family," he added, after a pause ; " be- 
 ginning wi' this braw castle," (he stamped 
 
 c 
 
18 INTRODUCTORY CHAPTER. 
 
 his foot upon the mouldering ruins, and 
 no doubt in imagination saw stately 
 towers as aspiring as the sentiment that 
 kindled in his eyes,) "beginning wi' this 
 castle, whar my forefathers wonned lang 
 syne, and just ending wi' the puir cottage 
 that has sheltered my mither when a bride, 
 and her son's gray hairs when a worn-out 
 auld soger." 
 
 I wish I could convey a picture of the 
 fine old man, as his form, cast in the 
 largest heroic mould, stood flushed with 
 the setting sunlight, and distended by the 
 proud thoughts that those crumbling stones 
 had conjured up. He gazed long and 
 silently upon the glorious landscape spread 
 far and wide beneath us ; and then his 
 countenance gradually assumed a softer 
 expression, as his pride of blood passed 
 away and became merged in admira- 
 tion of the splendid view that filled his 
 eyes. 
 
 "Behold!" he exclaimed, in a voice 
 from which passion, and, strange to say, 
 almost all national accent was banished ; 
 
INTRODUCTORY CHAPTER. 19 
 
 " behold how the sun, the apostle of 
 light, is sinking softly and meekly, though 
 crowned with preternatural glory, into 
 the crimsoned sea. His light is shining 
 not for himself, but for the earth, so dark- 
 some and so dead without his rays. Be- 
 hold how many a loch and mountain 
 gleam and gloom through the evening mist, 
 as sunset invests them with rich gold and 
 purple ! Now he is gone ; deep masses of 
 indistinct shadow close over the silvering 
 sea : and now, but for the rosy light that 
 lingers on the sky and on Ben Laighal's 
 brow, no trace remains of the Life-giver — 
 the Creator's delegate. He is gone; yet 
 nature mourns him not ; earth and ocean, 
 man, bird, beast, and insect, secure in the 
 faith that he will rise to-morrow ; rise, with 
 all his infinite effects, at the very moment 
 which, if delayed, would cost the life of 
 myriad- myriads of rejoicing creatures. 
 How weak and faltering is our voluntary 
 faith compared with that which is instinc- 
 tive ! Yet is the moral sequence of events 
 as consistent and as certain as those of 
 
 c 2 
 
20 INTRODUCTORY CHAPTER. 
 
 night and day. Rebellious children as we 
 are, we love, like our first parents, to stake 
 the chances of sraa' events against the cer- 
 tainty of great ones. The devil takes care 
 to keep the bad chances just alive ; but 
 how greatly we are losers in the long run, 
 we hourly feel — and shall feel far more 
 when this life at the last shall thus close 
 over us." 
 
 The Highlander became silent, and his 
 eyes fell from their elevated gaze upon the 
 ruins of the tower at his feet. He almost- 
 seemed to spurn them, as he turned and 
 strode away across the darkening heath. 
 The various hues of his tartan were now 
 blended into one deep shade, and the 
 stately form of the man looked colossal, 
 relieved against the evening sky. 
 
 Neither of us spoke until we re-entered 
 the cottage, which looked dark and dreary 
 enough. The old crone, who alone served 
 my host, returned every afternoon before 
 the hour of warlocks to her own shieling, 
 two miles away ; and the silence and lone- 
 liness to which ray highland friend had to 
 
INTRODUCTORY CHAPTER. 21 
 
 retire each evening struck me as almost 
 appalling. But custom and his own native 
 hardihood of soul, rendered him indifferent 
 to such things. With ready hands he now 
 lighted a fire of peat, which soon blazed up 
 cheerily, diffusing light and warmth, and a 
 chuckling, well-pleased sort of sound, that 
 contrasted charmingly with the outer cold 
 and darkness, and the wailing of the wind 
 over the mountain; for the ruder the 
 shelter the more one appreciates it. The 
 highlander did not trouble himself to lay 
 a cloth on his deal table, but it was soon 
 otherwise covered with a stout piece of 
 cheese, barley bannocks, fresh butter, sugar, 
 drinking-horns, a corpulent blue bottle, and 
 an empty jug, ornamented with a portrait 
 of the Duke of Sutherland. 
 
 In making all these hospitable little pre- 
 parations, my host displayed almost boyish 
 activity and zeal, talking at the same time 
 volubly in his northern dialect — so^that I 
 could scarcely reconcile him to my imagi- 
 nation as the same person whose solemn 
 
22 INTRODUCTORY CHAPTER. 
 
 mien and sonorous words had impressed me 
 on the mountain side. 
 
 " Dinna fash yoursel'," he exclaimed, 
 as I tried to assist in boiling the kettle, 
 " wi' thae things. Youth wad aye be trying 
 to make water ower het, like itsel', afore 
 its time ; maist likely spiling baith. Ow ! 
 if inanimate things war as wayward and 
 capricious as human minds, the warld 
 wad na long haud thegither. If I expose 
 water to a certain heat, it 'ill bile ; if I let 
 a stane drap, it will fa' straight ; if I plant 
 a kail it will grow (wi' Divine permission); 
 ■ — but if I say to puir human natur' (my 
 neebor' or my ain seP) ' Come, do me this 
 justice ;' or ' Flee that temptation ;' or even 
 ' Walk straight to your ain desire,' it 's lang 
 odds if my bidding's dune. A thousand 
 sheep wi' ae impulse will seek shelter 
 fra a coming storm, and ten thousand fish 
 will migrate to the saut water wi' ae 
 mind; — but pit a thousand, or a hundred, 
 or ten, o' human kind, to do a business 
 thegither, and they '11 tak' every ane a dif- 
 
INTRODUCTORY CHAPTER. 23 
 
 ferent counsel ; — if there be not ane strong 
 mind, or ane strong will among 'era, to 
 drive the ithers afore him his ain gait. 
 I could tell a waeful story o' the conse- 
 quence o' sic rebellious spirit, that ruined 
 my fathers, and me, and mony a man 
 else, and well nigh all Scotland beside, 
 far awa', ower in America." 
 
 So spoke my host, with a volubility 
 almost uninterrupted even by his supper. 
 When that simple meal was ended, and 
 our respective horns of toddy were steam- 
 ing before us, I begged the highlander to 
 tell me the " waeful story" he had alluded 
 to. He waved his hand deprecatingly, and 
 replied : — 
 
 " Na, na ! its ower lang a tale for the 
 e'ening. Its a buikful ; and I wad hae ye 
 see the sun rise, since ye joyed to see him 
 set ; and the morn will be clear ; sae we '11 
 jist hae a crack about ane anither, and 
 gang to our resting." 
 
 To all this I gladly acceded, especially 
 as my own brief story afforded little but 
 a blank, and I was very anxious to learn 
 
24 INTRODUCTORY CHAPTER. 
 
 something of my singular host ; who at 
 one time declaimed in plain English, though 
 somewhat grandiloquent ; and at others 
 spoke like a native shepherd. I there- 
 fore filled my glass, told my tale, and 
 cautiously sipped my toddy, while my 
 stalwart friend swallowed his vehemently. 
 When I wound up five minutes' biography 
 with the events of the day, and the mo- 
 tives that had led me to Ben Laighal, — 
 namely, a desire to see something of true 
 highland scenery, and, if possible, of true 
 highland life, he took up the discourse : 
 
 " For hieland life, it's simple eneugh in 
 externals. A childhood o' laneliness, and 
 sma' share o' delights but what the happy 
 heart finds in heaven abuve and earth 
 beneath, as God made them ; wi' the stars, 
 and the flowers, and the burnie : and then, 
 a manhood o' sma' hope, and muckle hard- 
 ship, whiles lichtened now and then wi' 
 a happening shot at a deer, or a warstle 
 wi' a saumont — (but there's little o' that 
 now) : and an auld age o' sma' creatur 
 comforts, but kindly reverence, and siclike 
 
INTRODUCTORY CHAPTER. 25 
 
 cherishing as the puir can gie. But if 
 ye wad ken the inner life o' a hieland 
 man, ye must e'en live it; and, therefore, 
 no Sassenach man can ever ken what is 
 joy and what is sorrow in the mountain 
 shielin'. ' The heart ' there, as well as 
 in the land o' the patriarchs, ' kens its ain 
 bitterness, and nae stranger intermeddleth 
 wi' its joy.'" 
 
 " But," I objected, " such a life cannot 
 have been yours. You speak and act 
 like a man of cultivation and experience 
 in the world." 
 
 "Aye — do I?" rejoined my Highlander, 
 not displeased. 
 
 " Weel, weel, — I was born, though not 
 bred, a gentleman ; and, as far as my sma' 
 light enabled me, I never wranged my 
 gentle bluid. My great grandsire was a laird 
 in thae pairts ; and his, and his father's, 
 was the auld house I showed ye the e'en. 
 Though there's no eneugh left o' it now 
 for a corbie craw to nest in, it was ance 
 braw and big, as my father tauld me ; 
 and I culd tell ye the very boundaries 
 
26 INTRODUCTORY CHAPTER. 
 
 o' the court and kail yard, and whar we 
 keepit the kye afore sheep was ever seen 
 on these hills, drivin' awa' the red deer 
 wi' their ghastly bleatings, and their pale 
 faces. 
 
 " Weel, my great grandsire now and then, 
 as I think just for diversion, tuk a drove 
 or two of his mountain cattle to the Low- 
 lands, and o'er the Borders; and in ane 
 0' his wanderings, he tuk to wife a Graeme 
 o' Trailflatt, wha was cousin to the famous 
 Paterson. Just then, Scotland was all a 
 flame wi' the colonization o' Darien in 
 America, and my great grandsire, like the 
 rest, caught fire at the scheme, and pit 
 the whole heart of his fortin' till it. I 
 dinna blame him though, for he meant 
 weel, and it was a grand thought, and wad 
 hae glorified auld Scotland amang the 
 nations, and hae filled our sporrans wi 
 gude gold beside. But it was not sae to 
 be. The Disposer willed otherways, and 
 my great grandsire and many others was 
 ruined; and though I ha' nae doot his 
 heart was a tough ane, they say it clean 
 
INTRODUCTORY CHAPTER. 27 
 
 brak' when he had to give up possession 
 of his auld house, and saw the stranger's 
 kye driven on till 4iis native hills. His 
 son listed for a soger, but tuk the other 
 side in Forty-five, and focht his way out 
 of Culloden only to die, leaving my father 
 a mere bairn ; he wandered homewards 
 till the hielands, and fand the auld house 
 in ruins, and the hill-side as bare as it was 
 at creation ; but he got leave to build this 
 bit shieling, which I had the gude fortin' 
 to buy clean out, wit' the hill-side, when 
 I gave up the army. I sauld my pension 
 to buy it, though I might have rented it 
 at a mere trifle." 
 
 [The rest of my host's little history I have 
 already narrated. It was only by slow 
 degrees that I learned more than he had 
 at first thus told me.] 
 
 " But now ; its time to gang to rest, to 
 be awake betimes ; and, if its no' displeasing, 
 we'll jist read a composing chapter v of the 
 guid Buik, and gang thankfully to rest." 
 
 So saying, the highlander took down the 
 well-worn Bible from its shelf, and, after a 
 
28 INTRODUCTORY CHAPTER. 
 
 few minutes' thoughtful silence, he read the 
 beautiful twenty-seventh Psalm in a deep 
 and solemn voice that showed how deeply 
 his unsophisticated heart appreciated those 
 ancient, but ever applicable words. When 
 he had done, he began, unconsciously, as it 
 seemed, to "improve upon it," after the 
 Presbyterian fashion ; and it was impossible 
 not to feel touched by his earnest and 
 solemn mode of treating his subject. Some- 
 what too metaphorical it might be ; but 
 his style of illustration was borrowed from 
 the book he had most studied ; and what 
 struck me as remarkable, his native dialect 
 was for the most part laid aside during his 
 lecture. 
 
 The next morning, long before sunrise, 
 we were wading through the mountain 
 heather ; morning's freshest breezes blow- 
 ing merrily round us ; the song of the 
 soaring lark, the crow of the startled 
 grouse, the scream of the curlew, and the 
 roar of the distant sea, making a plea- 
 sant chorus. My host strode rapidly on, 
 leaving me little time to admire the wide 
 
INTRODUCTORY CHAPTER. 29 
 
 scenery below, or breath to express my ad- 
 miration of it. At length, to my great re- 
 lief, we reached the highest point of Ben 
 Laighal, marked by a crumbling cairn. 
 The misty view at first was very limited, 
 but it became superb when the sun burst 
 over the mountains that bound Glen Ullie ; 
 his beams instantly converted the mist into 
 a prismatic lens, through which the wide- 
 spread and varied country below glowed 
 like one of Turner's glorified landscapes. 
 Close beneath us was a mountain, darkly 
 wooded to the summit, from which an 
 eagle was slowly rising from her nest : on 
 the east, the mountain sloped in glistening 
 emerald green to the shores of its own lake, 
 which shone like gold where it was not 
 subdued into purple by the reflection of the 
 heathery hill beyond : north and west a 
 succession of precipitous rocks and gloomy 
 ravines stretched in savage grandeur to the 
 sea. The woods and glades q£, Tongue 
 Castle presented the only memorial of the 
 subduing hand of man ; all else wore an 
 aspect of primeval solitude and wildness. 
 
30 INTRODUCTORY CHAPTER. 
 
 The Highlander gazed on the magnificent 
 view around him with a proud and affec- 
 tionate look, until all other feelings seemed 
 to become absorbed in devout admiration. 
 He uncovered his head as if he stood in a 
 holy place, and remained for a long time in 
 silence, which I did not care to break : he 
 seemed 
 
 " Rapt into still communion that transcends 
 The imperfect offices of prayer and praise ; 
 His mind was a thanksgiving to the Power 
 That made him, — it was blessedness and love." 
 
 At length he spoke in his usual tone, as 
 he flung himself down on the rich heather. 
 
 " There 's aye something," he said, " in 
 these lofty places, that leads our thoughts far 
 awa'. A mountain top will be a place for 
 meditation whether we will or no. No for 
 meditation on our ain small lot and its great 
 vanities, but on matters wide and various as 
 the prospects that fill our e'en. Elijah on 
 Mount Carmel, and that unfortunate Ba- 
 laam on the hills of Moab, saw visions that 
 wad hae been unco hard to see on a puir 
 level plain. But of a' the ////inspired anes, I 
 think that Balboa, when first he saw the 
 
INTRODUCTORY CHAPTER. 31 
 
 great Southern Ocean burst upon his sicht, 
 maun hae had the most glorious vision, — a 
 vision of things that could no be uttered ; 
 a visible, vague, prophetic glory, — a good 
 that was to come upon the earth in latter 
 days. Nae doot, the avaricious auld 
 trooper understood little eneugh what sub- 
 lime sensation was swelling his mind, and 
 thought it was mere gold — gold — gold ! that 
 fired his fancy with glorious images that 
 he could na shape. But there was some- 
 thing grand, too, in how he hasted down to 
 the New Ocean and rushed in till it, breast 
 high, brandishin' his sword over his head, 
 and shoutin' out, 
 
 ' Inhabitants of two hemispheres ! — 
 Spaniards and Indians, both ! I call ye 
 to witness that I take possession of this 
 part of the Universe for the Crown of 
 Castile. What my arm hath won for that 
 crown, my sword shall defend !' 
 
 " And sae, sure eneugh, for nearly two 
 hundred v years, did the bluidy sword of 
 Spain wave over those countries, and the 
 arm of Spain oppress them sairly. Then 
 
32 INTRODUCTORY CHAPTER. 
 
 went forth our Scots, — pioneers of a new 
 power, that, though quelled for the time, 
 will yet rule those glorious countries wi' 
 righteous justice and gospel law. 
 
 " Methinks I can see, e'en now, from 
 this land-and-sea-commanding height, such 
 shadowy likenesses as things to come cast 
 afore them ; for men's fancies are ofttimes 
 the mould in which a real futurity receives 
 its shape. I can imagine my auld kins- 
 man Paterson, standing upon a peak of 
 Darien, e'en as we stand now upon Ben 
 Laighal, but that his thoughts were doubt- 
 less too big for such utterance. That wide, 
 sky-bounded sea beneath us wad be the 
 great Pacific, in his fancy flecked 
 mony a brave ship, fraught wi' all that 
 is precious amang men, except the ac- 
 cursed slave-freights. Within yon bay 
 wad be the Isthmian city, — the emporium 
 o' the warld ; wi' its sister and friendly 
 rival, New Edinbro', on the eastern side 
 — ower there ayont the hills. And a' 
 thae braes, and glens, and steepy hills, 
 wad be the backbone itsel' o' the isthmus. 
 
INTRODUCTORY CHAPTER. 33 
 
 trampled doon into roads fit for a leddie's 
 powny, by the million feet o' prosperous 
 wayfarers, to and fro travelling circulatin' 
 the gifts o' heaven from the Auld warld 
 to the New. — 
 
 " But it '11 be e'en time for brakfast ; 
 and when we gang back to our bit shieling, 
 if ye care for the grandest scheme that 
 ever entered the uninspired mind o' man, 
 ye shall hae your fill o' the Story o' 
 Darien." 
 
 Up to this time, I knew little of the 
 scheme of colonization upon which the 
 Highlander dwelt with such enthusiasm^ 
 though it had ruined his family. I had had 
 a vague idea, indeed, that about the end 
 of the seventeenth century, Scotland sent 
 out a colony to settle somewhere on the 
 Isthmus of Panama; but all I knew 
 more was that the colony had failed. 
 Now, when the eyes of speculation and 
 enterprise are again turned in ,. that long- 
 forgotten direction, I felt some curiosity to 
 know more about the old scheme. I took 
 
 VOL. I. D 
 
34 INTRODUCTORY CHAPTER. 
 
 a great interest, also, in my new friend, 
 the highlander, — as, I fear, will be too 
 evident from the prolix account I have 
 given of him. As soon, therefore, as our 
 ample but simple breakfast was ended, I 
 inquired with real interest about the Darien 
 scheme, of which he might have been one 
 of the projectors — so earnest and well- 
 informed was he on the theme. 
 
 The old man pointed to the iron-fastened 
 chest which I mentioned as occupying the 
 recess of his only window, and observed, 
 gravely, as he lighted his pipe — 
 
 " That kist, and yon sword of Culloden, 
 are the only things I received from my 
 fathers, except an honest name, and a 
 Strang constitution. The steel tells its 
 ain story ; tho' dinna doot but it wad 
 strike for our bonny Queen this day, as 
 truly and stoutly as ever it focht again' 
 her great grandfather a hundred years garie 
 by. As for the kist, it contains all the 
 story about Darien, in notes and scraps, 
 and diaries, and a sort of life of the Span- 
 
INTRODUCTORY CHAPTER. 35 
 
 iard, the Marchant Prince, as they ca'ed 
 him, wha befrinded Paterson, when a' 
 else but heaven and his hopeful heart had 
 failed him. Ye will also find the few 
 buiks, relatin' to the business that ever 
 was prented — puir meagre things in thirsel, 
 but unco rare. There 's those buiks, and 
 some ithers, a wheen pamphlets, and a lot o' 
 papers, partly originals and partly copies o' 
 manuscripts lately published by Mr. Burton 
 for the Bannatyne Club, from an auld 
 kist discovered by his researches in the 
 Advocates' Library in Edinbro'. In short, 
 ye '11 find amaist everything that can be 
 learned on the subject, lies and a' ; and 
 it wull be ye're ain fault if ye dinna find 
 interest in it." 
 
 To be brief (at last) ; I examined the 
 matter, and I did find such interest in it 
 that during that summer's retirement in 
 Scotland I put together the story that 
 forms the contents of the following 
 volumes. If I should not be so fortunate 
 as to please any other reader, I at least 
 
 d 2 
 
36 INTRODUCTORY CHAPTER. 
 
 succeeded in gratifying my highland friend ; 
 though, as will be seen, he was as far 
 from being satisfied as I was, with the 
 justice rendered to his favorite theme. The 
 domestic incidents, the homely thread on 
 which historic pearls are hung, will seem 
 to many to encumber the narrative ; but 
 others may be reconciled to such matters 
 hy being led, not uselessly, to trace for 
 themselves the probably small springs of 
 great actions ; the almost imperceptible 
 peculiarities of character that shape what 
 are miscalled the fortunes of a man, and 
 through him the destinies of a world. 
 
DARIEN; 
 
 OR/ 
 
 THE MERCHANT PRINCE. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 Long had the crimes of Spain cried out to Heav'n ! 
 At length the measure of offence was full. 
 
 « * * * * 
 
 Inhuman priests with unoffending hlood 
 
 Had stain' d their country; * * * a yoke 
 
 Of iron servitude oppress'd and gall'd 
 
 The children of the soil.— Southey's "Roderick." 
 
 Spain is the country, of all Europe, in 
 which imagination most delights to wander, 
 and on which memory most loves to dwell. 
 Those who know it only by its romantic 
 history and racy literature, can under- 
 stand much of its deep interest ; but those 
 
38 DARIEN, 
 
 alone who have gazed upon its glorious 
 landscapes, and breathed its delicious cli- 
 mate, can fully appreciate the charm it 
 possesses for the mind and body. 
 
 No wonder that, in the adventurous 
 olden time, this favoured land was fiercely 
 fought for, and fiercely defended. No 
 wonder that chivalry was here carried to 
 perfection — that poetry proclaimed its 
 triumphs, — that art, in its finest forms, 
 illustrated them, and that civilization, in 
 its most gorgeous though least consistent 
 form, strove hard to find a shelter there. 
 
 But Rome, with her spiritual power, was 
 more than a match for Spain with all her 
 rich endowments. The Pope ruled in the 
 person of her kings ; priests held in their 
 hands the conscience of her people. Never 
 had the Church of the Seven Hills such 
 power over any nation ; never had any 
 nation such a claim upon her blessings ; for 
 Spain was not only obedient but enslaved 
 to her control. In the palace, in the prison, 
 at the death -bed, by the bridal couch, every- 
 
DARIEN. 39 
 
 where, and at all times, the priest was 
 present and predominant. There was the 
 most triumphant career of the Inquisition. 
 There did the Holv Office exercise its func- 
 tions uncontrolled ; there Auto-da-fes were 
 celebrated with the highest pomp, and the 
 Church's rebels perished by thousands in 
 the flames. 
 
 With all these spiritual blessings super- 
 added to her natural gifts, Spain ought 
 surely to have been a perfect paradise. Yet 
 it was not altogether, or, indeed, nearly so ; 
 and what matter there was of congratulation 
 or honest pride, was little referable to the 
 hnperium in imperio which Rome asserted 
 over the souls and bodies of her Spanish 
 slaves. Striking and sad contrasts met 
 the eye two hundred years ago as they 
 do now. Gorgeous cathedrals, encrusted 
 by miserable huts ; whole streets of monas- 
 teries swarming with mendicants ; haughty 
 palaces, surrounded with filth; orange 
 groves, reeking with foul smells. The 
 state of Spain was contemptible in the 
 
40 DARIEX. 
 
 midst of its splendour and its pride, and 
 its moral and political contrasts were equal 
 to those of magnificence and squalor that 
 were ever neighbours to each other. Des- 
 potic power vainly warred against petty 
 rebellions ; the Customs were set at naught 
 by the contrabandist as ; the richest of all 
 nations, as regarded precious metals, was 
 the poorest in real wealth ; and even the 
 terrible power of the Church was frequently 
 evaded by the Jew and the Mahometan. 
 
 Beautiful Granada ! Even at this horn- 
 there is an air of desolation over thy magic 
 scenery, thy snowy heights, thy orange and 
 myrtle groves, thy varied gardens, thy cities 
 and thy palaces ! Even at this horn', with 
 faithful sorrow, thou seemest to feel the 
 loss of the gallant and gifted race, banished 
 by brutal bigotry and murderous despotism 
 from the homes that they adorned and 
 ennobled ! 
 
 In other lands, and even in this England 
 
DARIEN. 41 
 
 of ours, there are relics of splendid fanes 
 and princely palaces, whose ruins alone 
 attest the legends of their bygone glories ; 
 but around such monuments spread fertile 
 fields and prosperous homesteads. Here 
 manly energy and patriot love were never 
 wanting to the soil ; here was no break 
 in the national spirit which once raised 
 strong places for stormy times, and which, 
 when peace was won, diffused innumerable 
 churches, and widely-scattered cottages, 
 for its people ; instead of the cathedral 
 and the fortress, in which they were once 
 concentrated. 
 
 But in Granada there is an abrupt tran- 
 sition from prosperity to prostration evi- 
 dent in all things. The Spaniard was 
 unable to take up the scheme of social 
 life which the Moresco had been forced 
 to abandon ; he would not, if he could, 
 have imitated the act and industry of a 
 heretic people, whom, in his ignorance and 
 pride of heart he scorned ; and so he left 
 the state of his enemy to be an episode in 
 
42 DARIEN. 
 
 Moorish story, — a fragment of national 
 history unequalled in interest, and in mo- 
 numents which attest its truth. 
 
 The few Morescoes who had escaped 
 exile or the sword, under the persecution of 
 Ferdinand the Catholic, clung with despe- 
 rate tenacity to Granada and the adjoining 
 mountains. Some of them did not scruple to 
 obtain contemptuous toleration by a seem- 
 ing apostacy : others, through ingenuity, or 
 bribery, or poverty, acquired the same im- 
 punity without the same degradation. 
 
 Among the latter was the wealthy and 
 once princely house of Ara-Medina. Its 
 representative, towards the close of the 
 seventeenth century, was a merchant, 
 named Alvarez, well-known throughout the 
 commercial world of Europe ; though his 
 very name was almost unheard of in his 
 native land, the fair province of Granada. 
 Yet there, almost within sight of Velez 
 Malaga, was his home. The oriental love 
 of mystery common to all his race, con- 
 spired with motives of security to render 
 
DARIEN. 43 
 
 his seclusion complete. The Retiro, the 
 beauty of whose situation renders it at 
 this day a favourite place of resort, was 
 in the time of our story surrounded by 
 a vast forest, except where it fronted 
 towards the sea. The massive walls that 
 enclosed its wide domain appeared dila- 
 pidated, and were so overgrown with ivy 
 and other parasites, as to be scarcely 
 distinguishable from the jungle that yearly 
 encroached upon them. Granada was 
 never at any time a favourite place of 
 residence among the true Spaniards, and 
 the forest of Malamnia had a peculiarly 
 evil name. This, together with the moul- 
 dering and neglected appearance of the 
 castle, had obtained for it an enviable 
 neglect ; the very existence of such a place 
 was scarcely known to the indolent autho- 
 rities of Granada. 
 
 Yet within those ruinous-looking walls, 
 the Moorish merchant had built himself a 
 palace, whose magnificence was worthy of 
 the palmy days of his people. The old 
 castle had been originally designed for a 
 
44 DARIEN. 
 
 mighty fortress, and contained within its 
 wide circuit paddocks, gardens, ponds, and 
 even vineyards ; everything, in short, that 
 enabled a garrison to hold out a siege for 
 years without communication with the sur- 
 rounding country. To this ruin, Alvarez 
 had been first attracted by its beauty and 
 its deep seclusion. He had purchased the 
 neighbouring forest, and claimed and ob- 
 tained the castle as a valueless appendage 
 to his purchase. Thither, during many 
 years of an active and adventurous life, he 
 often retired to repose ; the charm of a 
 home grew upon him ; he took pleasure 
 in adorning it as if it was a bride. Every 
 vessel that arrived under cover of the night 
 in his secluded bay, was laden with objects 
 of art or luxury, and with crowds of 
 Moorish artificers. And so a new soul, as 
 it were, grew up within the carcass of the 
 still mouldering and melancholy-looking 
 walls that screened their inclosure from 
 every Spanish eye, and even from suspicion. 
 By degrees Alvarez withdrew himself 
 from the mercantile pursuits in which he 
 
DARIEN. 45 
 
 and his father had amassed enormous 
 wealth. Venice, Genoa, and Marseilles no 
 longer hailed his arrival on their shores as 
 a sreat event. His liberal and noble cha- 
 racter alone was remembered among their 
 Merchant-princes. He had vanished from 
 public view, and in the deep retirement of 
 his romantic castle had resumed the studies 
 from which his youth had been reluctantly 
 diverted. 
 
 There Alvarez tried to persuade himself 
 that he was happy ; and the persuasion 
 became stronger when he discovered a long- 
 lost friend and grateful guest in a Moorish 
 scholar, named Reduan, from whom he 
 had been separated since childhood. The 
 career of Reduan had been as strongly 
 marked by misfortune as that of his early 
 friend had been distinguished by success ; 
 and the world-weary scholar now found in 
 the castle of the Retiro a welcome asylum. 
 To him it afforded practically what to 
 Alvarez it was only theoretically, — a philo- 
 sophical retirement. 
 
 For Alvarez, when once he had ex- 
 
46 DARIEN. 
 
 hausted his enthusiasm in preparing his 
 new home, began to find the repose that 
 he had so longed for, a little irksome ; 
 and in truth, his xebec bore him away 
 from the Retiro more frequently than be- 
 came a philosophic hermit. 
 
 His friend Reduan did not remonstrate 
 against a restlessness which appeared as 
 natural to his former habits as it was in- 
 consistent with his present professions. 
 Reduan, for his own part, had been effect- 
 ually weaned by misfortune from a world 
 which seemed to have nothing else in store 
 for him ; but he could easily understand 
 how his friend and patron, upon whom the 
 world had always smiled, should now and 
 then yearn after a little more of that world's 
 gilded troubles and plausible sources of 
 inquietude. Nor was Reduan surprised 
 when, at the close of a summer day, the 
 evening breeze wafted the xebec into the 
 little harbour with a lovely lady on its 
 deck, — and that lady proved to be his 
 patron's bride. 
 
 Donna Rachel was a Jewess, and she 
 
DARIEN. 47 
 
 possessed all the high attributes so much 
 more frequently found in the women than in 
 the men of her Divinely chosen race. High 
 intelligence, and brilliant fancy, and loving 
 thoughts, were all expressed in the deep 
 dark beauty of her eastern eyes, and broad 
 forehead, and full roseate mouth. Her 
 education had not been built on books, 
 nor was it in any way the work of for- 
 mal teachers. Her childhood had passed 
 dreamily away, occupied only in such 
 things* as pleased her fancy for the mo- 
 ment; and though she sang exquisitely, 
 and her countenance varied with every 
 emotion conjured up by the sublime war- 
 hymns or sacred love-songs of her people, 
 she would have found it very difficult to 
 express in prose one idea that inspired her 
 while she sung. 
 
 But, unaccomplished as she was, she pos- 
 sessed a deep indefinable charm, together 
 with quick perceptions, and a^gentle, loving- 
 nature. From the hour of her arrival at 
 the castle it was no longer lonely. She 
 
48 DARIEN. 
 
 had married a husband of her parents' 
 choice ; and to him she had been handed 
 over in a manner that mere Europeans 
 might suppose savoured of slavery. But 
 it was the manner in which Rebecca, and 
 Leah, and Rachel were given away long 
 ago ; and doubtless Jael, and Judith, and 
 other heroines of her race had been simi- 
 larly disposed of. In this case, at least, 
 it appeared to be as wise an arrangement 
 as many Christian marriages, — for Alvarez 
 thenceforth wandered from his home no 
 more. In the course of time a son was 
 born to him, and the measure of his hap- 
 piness seemed fulfilled. 
 
 His boy grew up in the midst of every- 
 thing that could develop his intellect, and 
 in the absence of all that could lead warm 
 youth astray. He was taught to consider 
 the walls of his father's well-secured do- 
 main as the absolute limits of his rani 
 but within this, lie found means to perfect 
 himself in most of the manly exercises. 
 There he learned the old eastern accom- 
 
DARIEN. 49 
 
 plishments ; namely, to " shoot, and ride, and 
 speak the truth." In the castle's capacious 
 library, the books that most charmed the 
 young scholar were tales of adventure, 
 and voyages and travels, to which the con- 
 finement of his life gave greater zest. 
 Above all, the glorious and mournful career 
 of Columbus inflamed his imagination. He 
 dwelt with delight on the great discoverer's 
 vivid pictures of the New World, its beauty, 
 its capabilities, its future destiny. He 
 drank in the inspiration that filled the 
 minds of the old discoverers until it became 
 his own. The hours of his recreation, in- 
 stead of the usual pleasure-dreams that fill 
 boys' fancies, were employed in framing 
 schemes of daring enterprise ; and when he 
 returned to his studies, the same passion 
 directed and warmed them. Navigation, 
 geography, and modern languages were his 
 recreation ; and even arithmetic and ma- 
 thematics, for which the AraH mind has 
 a wonderful aptitude, furnished welcome 
 labour to his vigorous and undistracted 
 
 VOL. I. E 
 
50 DARIEN. 
 
 mind. His father beheld his self-education 
 and its progress with pride and satisfaction, 
 though he often asked himself sadly in 
 what fulfilment the bright promise of his 
 son could end. In Spain, of all countries 
 on the earth, there was no career open to 
 a man of alien faith and blood; and yet, 
 so dear to him was his native country, or 
 rather the spot of it which he occupied, 
 that it never occurred to his mind to 
 change it for another. As years advanced, 
 such a change became more and more im- 
 possible. His retirement became more dear 
 to him ; and, like a thousand others in all 
 parts of the world, he left the bark of his 
 fortunes to float upon the current of destiny 
 which he could not, only because he would 
 not stem. 
 
 When the young Alvarez was about 
 twelve years of age, however, a momentous 
 change took place in the government of 
 Granada. The Viceroy of that province 
 had hitherto been an easy, though avari- 
 cious, old noble ; and the tribute paid 
 
DARIEN. 51 
 
 punctually by Alvarez, together with a 
 handsome present, had secured to his 
 secluded castle the obscurity which was its 
 best shelter from bigotry and avarice. The 
 Viceroy, however, was displaced by some 
 court intrigue, and a creature of the Jesuits 
 was appointed in his stead. One of the 
 accusations brought against the deposed 
 governor was the uncatholic toleration he 
 had exhibited towards heretics, and his suc- 
 cessor was determined that no such crime 
 of leniency should be preferred against his 
 government. 
 
 Granada thenceforth became fearfully 
 agitated. Domiciliary visits invaded homes 
 that had been long sacred to peace ; spies 
 of the Inquisition swarmed over the land, 
 and many of the best and most influential 
 of the Morescoes disappeared from time to 
 time, none knew how, or, if they did, none 
 cared to tell. 
 
 e 2 
 
 x y Of MJ- 
 
52 DARIEX 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 Here didst thou dwell, here schemes of pleasure plan, 
 Beneath yon mountain's ever-beauteous brow ; 
 But now, as though a thing unbless'd by man, 
 Thy fairy dwelling is as lone as thou : 
 Fresh lessons to the unthinking bosom, how 
 Vain are the pleasaunces by life supplied, 
 Swept into wrecks anon by Time's ungentle tide. 
 
 Byron. 
 
 Notwithstanding the vigilance of the 
 new Viceroy ■ of Granada, the castle of 
 Alvarez remained for a long time appa- 
 rently unobserved. Reduan had in the 
 first days of his residence there, perceived 
 the importance that even an hour's defence 
 might prove to his patron's stronghold ; 
 he had therefore gradually collected round 
 its walls a number of his countrymen who 
 
DARIEN. 53 
 
 carried on the not unpopular calling of 
 contrabandistas, and who gladly availed 
 themselves of such a shelter for their 
 families. Reduan had also encouraged 
 them to build a village of huts along 
 the shore ; and the lawless and daring 
 character of its inhabitants rendered the 
 neighbourhood more shunned than ever. 
 To Alvarez, however, as clansmen to 
 their chief, these outlaws adhered with 
 devotion, and kept his secret with proud 
 fidelity. 
 
 It was through the villagers of Mes- 
 quinez, as this Moresco village was then 
 called, that Alvarez and Reduan alone 
 obtained information concerning the external 
 world, — at least of Spain. Once a year, 
 indeed, Reduan visited Granada, to pay 
 taxes and various imposts levied on the 
 forest of the Retiro and a certain property 
 possessed by Alvarez in the Alpuxarra 
 Mountains. As the late change of govern- 
 ment was well known to him, Reduan 
 set forth on his accustomed mission with 
 
54 DARIEN. 
 
 some forebodings, though without personal 
 fear. His disinterested heart was only 
 anxious on account of his friends, the pre- 
 carious tenure of whose happiness he too 
 well understood. 
 
 Arrived in beautiful Granada, and at the 
 Xeneraliffe, the exquisite " pleasure-house/' 
 of El Chico, he had long to wait before 
 he was admitted to the presence of the 
 Viceroy's favourite. Through that fortunate 
 individual all business likely to be profit- 
 able was obliged to find its way before 
 it descended to the actual official to whose 
 department it belonged. At length Reduan 
 was permitted to offer his present and 
 his tribute. Then followed a searching 
 examination, which proved to him that 
 suspicions had been roused concerning his 
 capability to furnish not a larger tax — 
 but a larger present. After long and 
 warily defending himself, Reduan at length 
 offered to pay this fine of his own accord ; 
 but while he admitted that he set a high 
 value on the possessions purporting to be 
 
DARIEN. 55 
 
 his, he endeavoured, and successfully, to 
 divert the official's curiosity from the 
 true quarter. He confessed that his flocks 
 and his Quinta in the Alpuxarras were of 
 increasing value ; but on the other hand, 
 he pleaded the ruinous and worthless state 
 of the Retiro and its forest, which he 
 prayed the governor to have examined, 
 in order to reduce its rent. 
 
 The stratagem succeeded, and when 
 Reduan offered to pay a considerable 
 present on behalf of the really worthless 
 property in the mountains, that which 
 was valuable was neglected. So far the 
 Moresco had managed to escape the civil 
 authorities ; but the report that a wealthy 
 Jew, if not a downright pagan, had been 
 publicly pleading in Granada, could not 
 escape the knowledge of the Inquisition ; 
 its officials seized the man whom the 
 governor had acquitted, and in the dark 
 mysterious dungeons of the Holy Office 
 the faithful Reduan suffered such things 
 
56 DARIEX. 
 
 as have been scarcely ever revealed, or 
 even whispered in open day. 
 
 Meanwhile as time passed on, and his friend 
 returned not to the castle, Alvarez deter- 
 mined to seek him, if it were in the very 
 arms of the Inquisition. It is needless to 
 trace the steps by which fanatic villany 
 worked on the Moresco's noble nature, and 
 induced him to substitute himself for his 
 friend ; but in fine, Reduan was set loose, 
 or rather, was cast out, from the dungeons, 
 apparently broken, bruised, and torn beyond 
 all prospect of surviving ; and Alvarez occu- 
 pied his place in prison. The diabolical 
 ingenuity of the torturers, however, failed 
 to move his stubborn soul, either to con- 
 version or confession. He would not 
 embrace the path to heaven prescribed by 
 means that hell itself might have suff- 
 gested ; he would not even reveal the 
 secret places of his wealth, as that would 
 have directed the search to his far dearer 
 living treasures. 
 
DARIEN. 57 
 
 Suddenly, at last, he died, in the midst 
 of torture which the officials thought he 
 scarcely felt ; so little of his agony did he 
 betray to his tormentors' triumph. 
 
 Meanwhile the Sehora Rachel and her 
 son remained in ignorance of all that 
 happened. A dread suspense, indeed, 
 oppressed them ; but fatalism and consti- 
 tutional firmness prevented the prostration 
 of despair. 
 
 One evening, as was their custom, the 
 Senora and her son were watching, from 
 the highest tower in the castle, each sail 
 that the sunset breeze was wafting along 
 the bright seas beneath them. But, as had 
 been the case for months, the ships all 
 passed by, and stood on for their various 
 destinations, far away. 
 
 The lady of the castle, however, 
 watched them unweariediy, as she lay, in 
 her eastern fashion, upon a pile of cushions 
 in the deep recess of a western window. 
 Her loveliness was scarcely faded, though 
 her son was now a tall stripling, and pre- 
 
58 DARIEN. 
 
 mature shadows generally fall on the morn- 
 ing of an eastern woman's fervid heauty. 
 Her apartment was furnished with all 
 things that could delight and amuse her 
 leisure, but her eyes were regardless of 
 all except the sea on which her hope now, 
 as once her fear, was rested. The window 
 that she looked from, without was time- 
 worn and ivy-tangled, — but within, its deli- 
 cate stone tracery was carefully preserved. 
 The light, green-tinctured by the ivy and 
 jasmine through which it streamed, fell on 
 dark rich carpets of Ispahan or flashed 
 on Venetian mirrors. A blazing fire of 
 fragrant wood rose and fell fitfully in the 
 great fireplace, which was overhung with 
 shirts of mail and Moorish casques — arched 
 above with Damascus blades, fancifully 
 arranged and crossed in imitation of the 
 oriel window, and flanked by Arab lances. 
 
 On the low table opposite the window 
 where the Senora lay, stood a model of 
 the galley in which Columbus explored 
 the unknown recesses of the ocean ; and 
 
DARIEN. 59 
 
 maps and mathematical instruments and a 
 few books lying round, showed that the 
 chamber was also the favourite resort of 
 the young Alvarez. Through some loop- 
 holes filled with stained glass, you might have 
 looked down upon the court-yard below, 
 with its great fountain, foaming in black 
 marble, supported by four recumbent lions 
 of the same material. The court itself was 
 of tesselated pavement, from which porce- 
 lain steps led into the castle under a great 
 arch. A lofty screen of stone, so delicately 
 wrought as to resemble the work of the 
 loom rather than of the chisel, separated 
 the court-yard from the gardens. There, 
 through the vistas of pomegranate and sweet 
 lemon-trees, gleamed indistinctly flowers 
 innumerable ; especially roses of every 
 hue and fragrance, from those of Sharon and 
 Damascus, to that delicate pale flower of 
 China, which seems impregnated with the 
 breezes that linger among the tea-groves. 
 The garden terraces rose in irregular suc- 
 cession, watered by many fountains and 
 
60 DARIEN. 
 
 playful cascades, which at midnight made 
 pleasant music for the nightingales. Far 
 away, that maze of flowery brilliance 
 became softened by the tender foliage of 
 northern plants, and the rich gloom of 
 orange groves ; then it faded in the dis- 
 tance into the forest, which darkened over 
 the vast wall that surrounded the whole 
 domain. 
 
 The shades of evening had settled over 
 all that charmed " pleasaunce," and the 
 castle, and the silent, anxious watchers in 
 the tower ; when the door of their apart- 
 ment slowly opened, and the mere spectre, 
 as it seemed to be, of Reduan glided in. 
 
 His tale was soon told. Days and 
 weeks passed by before the widow's woe 
 and the son's wild grief subsided into 
 settled sorrow, and a stern thirst for ven- 
 geance. 
 
 Revenge to the young Moresco seemed 
 
 a virtue, — the only filial duty towards his 
 murdered parent that was still in his 
 power to perform. His dark creed had 
 
DARIEN. 61 
 
 never taught him otherwise, and native 
 magnanimity could not reach the sublime 
 height of forgiving more than selfish 
 injuries, which, after all, are the lightliest 
 borne when their first shock is over. Nor 
 did Reduan attempt to stifle that deadly 
 passion for revenge ; he shared it too 
 deeply : but he sought to instil a neces- 
 sity for caution in its execution, lest it 
 might only recoil upon the avenger, 
 and lead to one triumph more for the In- 
 quisitors. 
 
 And so the boy grew up, daily nurtured 
 in hatred towards the Spanish nation; 
 feeding that hatred with the dark history 
 of his people's wrongs, and eagerly pos- 
 sessing himself of all the tragic stories 
 of Spanish conquest, in America, and 
 the infernal cruelties by which their 
 own writers described that conquest as 
 having been achieved.* Thus the atten- 
 
 * See Appendix for some account of Montbara, who, from 
 reading accounts of the Spaniards' cruelties in the West Indies, 
 &c, imbibed a romantic hatred towards the oppressors, and, as a 
 
62 DARIEN. 
 
 tion of the young orphan was further di- 
 rected towards the Spanish Main, and the 
 transatlantic empire, which was destined 
 to be the scene of his future fortunes. 
 
 Meanwhile, except for the mourning 
 hearts within it, all went on in the castle 
 as before the fatal news arrived. At first, 
 Reduan had endeavoured to prevail on 
 the Senora to abandon it for some country 
 where the curse of the Inquisition was less 
 heavy or unknown. But to this the poor 
 lady would not assent. In an eastern 
 woman's eyes her home is almost un- 
 changeable. There she had long been 
 sheltered and cherished ; there she had 
 known content and happiness. Beyond 
 its high and gloomy walls the world 
 seemed to her a mere wilderness — a vast 
 and terrible arena, wherein wrathful and 
 sinful men for ever strove, and where all 
 that was loved and holy was sorely en- 
 dangered. 
 
 buccaneer, fought against the Spaniards with such deadly pur- 
 pose as to obtain the title of " El Externiiuador." 
 
DARIEN. 63 
 
 But to Pteduan's caution as to neces- 
 sity for still deeper obscurity, the lonely 
 widow almost gladly assented. Henceforth 
 the old castle became daily more dark 
 and gloomy, — more swallowed up by the 
 surrounding forest, against whose encroach- 
 ments the hand of labour no longer strove. 
 As the fine exotics faded from the gardens, 
 their place was left vacant ; even the 
 fountains, so delightful to the Moorish 
 eye and ear, became choked up and silent, 
 as if their play of waters was unwelcome 
 in those solemn precincts. 
 
 Still, however, the rich arabesques upon 
 the cornices retained their beauty, as their 
 traces do even now ; still the masterpieces 
 of Velasquez and Murillo graced the walls ; 
 rich carving still swelled in bold relief be- 
 neath the gathering dust, and the cedar and 
 the sandal-wood retained their perfume. As 
 the radiant eyes and vermilion lips of the 
 lady of the castle contrasted with the 
 gloomy weeds she always wore, so enough 
 
64 DARIEN. 
 
 of splendour still remained in her dwelling- 
 place to vindicate its former glories, and to 
 grace its desolation. 
 
DARIEN. 65- 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 — His ambition, 
 Once the vague instinct of his nobleness, 
 Thus temper'd in the glowing furnace fyeat' 
 Of lone repinings and aye present aims 
 Brighten' d to hope and strengthen' d to resolve. 
 
 Guesses at Truth J- 
 
 Our demands on happiness, (or at least., 
 on pleasures,) contract and expand in a 
 wonderful manner, according as they are. 
 indulged in or denied. It would almost 
 seem as if it were but the first spasm of 
 contraction that is painful, and the first 
 sense of expansion that is truly enjoyable. 
 The tradesman is indifferent fo comforts 
 that would be delightful luxuries to the 
 labourer ; the prince is unconscious of en- 
 
 VOL. I. F 
 
66 DARIEN. 
 
 joyments that would be intoxicating to his 
 page. Hence, as is most righteous, the 
 man whose sources of pleasure are most 
 scanty, has the widest range of possible 
 delights ; and he who possesses all that this 
 world can bestow, has a fearfully narrow 
 pinnacle to stand upon, all around him 
 offering only a comparative privation. Here- 
 in is contained an important cause of the 
 balance (more equal than w r e generally 
 believe) between the lot of one individual 
 and another, — between our own former 
 and present state. The serenities that 
 pervade the poor, the bereaved, the exiled, 
 the sick, the dying, are often beyond our 
 comprehension, yet they may be any day 
 within our reach and our experience. 
 
 Few would have been disposed to envy 
 the Senora de Medina ; with her youth and 
 genius, and warm beauty, buried in a life- 
 long seclusion ; with no once henceforth 
 to keep her company in that great and 
 gloomy castle, except her son and his 
 father's gaunt, care-worn friend, whose 
 
DARIEN. 67 
 
 every movement, in its evident pain, re- 
 called all the horrors of the Inquisitional 
 tortures, and their victim, — her murdered 
 husband. Nevertheless, time, with healing 
 on its wings, and custom, with its petrify- 
 ing influences, had removed almost all the 
 pain of her new position, and left to it 
 sufficient tender melancholy to render the 
 prospect of a future life more dear. As 
 one of her own poets says, — (i The moss 
 of contentment outlives the sculpture of 
 pride that it entombs ;" and the widow's 
 happiness, if less vivid than once it was, 
 was now more even and unbroken, and 
 quite satisfied her chastened heart. Her 
 life, indeed, would have been perfectly 
 tranquil, but for her son, — at once her only 
 hope, and her only fear. Little as she 
 knew of the world, she knew that Alvarez 
 could not long be contented to linger out 
 his days with her ; she felt that the home 
 which was to her an asylum and sure 
 refuge, was to him a prison. She therefore 
 taught him to consider his seclusion as 
 
 f 2 
 
68 DARIEX. 
 
 only probationary. She instilled into him 
 her proud conviction of his future great- 
 ness, until he shared in that conviction, 
 and believed that it was at once his duty 
 and his destiny to achieve it. He used his 
 retirement, therefore, as mariners make 
 preparation on a quiet shore for a long 
 and stormy voyage ; and in his prepara - 
 tions he was contented for awhile to forego 
 their object. He accustomed himself, in 
 the midst of luxuries, to ascetic hardships ; 
 and though surrounded by all that could 
 enervate, he trained his limbs to athletic 
 exercises. His greatest energies, however, 
 were bestowed on the large library that 
 had been his learned father's pride. There 
 he sought the best substitute for worldly 
 knowledge, the true elements of power. The 
 sciences are said chiefly to have attracted 
 him, even in his early youth, — especially 
 that of numbers, and the doctrine of the 
 chances, then newly expounded by Huy- 
 srens. The certainties that lie hidden at 
 the bottom of all chance, had a peculiar 
 
DARIEN. 69 
 
 fascination for him, and long afterwards 
 he turned his early studies of that mystery 
 to profitable account. His lighter hours 
 were devoted to history and travels, such 
 as those of Mandeville, Marco Polo, Vasco 
 Gama and Columbus. 
 
 Thus occupied, the young Alvarez found 
 time pass swiftly. Grave and thoughtful 
 even as a child, his natural tendencies were 
 strengthened by his deep sorrow, by his 
 brooding over vengeance, and by the lonely 
 life he led. For his only friend was also 
 his tutor, his father's cotemporary, and 
 now broken down by physical suffering 
 and mental anxiety. His mother, saddened 
 as she was, afforded him the only cheerful 
 companionship that he possessed. She was 
 as yet quite able to fill all the woman de- 
 partment of his feelings, and he loved her 
 with a fond and undivided affection. 
 
 And here I might enter into a disquisition 
 of great length on the comparative advan- 
 tages of public and private education, were 
 it not that my pages may have already suffi- 
 
70 DARIEN. 
 
 cient dryness, and to spare. The results of 
 such a training as that of Alvarez would, of 
 course, vary with the constitution of each 
 character ; but the chief danger of private 
 education is doubtless the fostering of 
 self-love and vanity, and the impairing of 
 self-reliance. Whatever cause Alvarez, in 
 after times, may have had to regret these 
 defects, in his present life there was nothing 
 to call out their exercise or betray their 
 existence. 
 
 Reduan, who was now guardian, tutor, 
 and steward to the widow and the child of 
 his lost friend, became doubly anxious for 
 his charge as the time aproached when he 
 must again appear before the authorities 
 of Granada. He had long lived in hourly 
 fear lest the Holy Office should discover 
 the secret of the Medina palace, yet still 
 he found it impossible to induce the Senora 
 to seek for safety beyond the sea. He 
 thought it necessary, therefore, to take his 
 young pupil to Genoa, where his father had 
 large investments and many friends ; for he 
 
DARIEN. 71 
 
 felt that his own tenure of life was very 
 insecure, and if he were gone, that Alvarez 
 would be as helpless as a child, from his 
 ignorance of the world, and of his own 
 affairs. This being resolved upon, Reduan 
 and Alvarez took their departure from the 
 Mesquinez, in one of the contrabandista's 
 xebecs. 
 
 The boy soon forgot the sorrow of 
 parting from his mother, in the rapturous 
 sense of freedom, as he found himself 
 bounding over the waves for the first time 
 in his life. Even the magnificent country 
 now spread out before him — the purple 
 hills, the snowy mountains of the Sierra 
 Nevada, had for him all the charm of 
 novelty. He gazed with admiration upon 
 the sweeping curves and the bold promon- 
 tories which break that picturesque coast 
 into such variety of beauty ; and sea, and 
 land, and air appeared all teeming with 
 delight to the eyes and heart of the 
 young wanderer. 
 
 And yet his warm heart soon gravitated 
 
72 DAR1EX. 
 
 back to its long-accustomed centre of at- 
 traction. His attention was withdrawn 
 from all the bright world around him, 
 which, to him, was as new and lovely as 
 to Adam at his first creation. His thoughts 
 and sight were soon concentrated on the 
 dark forest, and the mouldering walls within 
 which his mother watched and prayed for 
 him: he would have exchanged all the 
 promise of the future for a renewal of 
 the past, once more to find himself by that 
 mother's side, her only source of happiness 
 and pride : with his departure, both had 
 deserted her, and a fearful change was 
 close at hand. 
 
 But the galley sped on slowly towards 
 the sea, moving along through the shadows 
 cast in sunset by the wooded promontory 
 that formed the northern arm of the bay. 
 Looking for sympathy in his sense of lone- 
 liness, Alvarez sought the eyes of Reduan : 
 they too were fixed on the old castle, but 
 with an expression of alarm and surprise. 
 Suddenly he shouted to the captain of the 
 
DARIEN. 73 
 
 galley to put about,, and return to the 
 shore. The crew started to their oars, the 
 sails were struck, and their little vessel was 
 sweeping rapidly towards the castle, before 
 Alvarez could make his anxious question 
 heard. 
 
 " Look ! look ! " whispered Reduan ; 
 " see you not smoke rising from the Mes- 
 quinez ? Hear you not the sounds of 
 fight ? Nay, it is over now, and all is 
 lost!" 
 
 An interval of intense and agonizing sus- 
 pense followed. The men held their breath 
 as the xebec shot along the hissing waters. 
 She was run ashore in a little creek a short 
 distance from the castle. Reduan leaped 
 ashore after Alvarez, who struggled wildly 
 to rush away from the iron grasp with 
 which he seized him. The crew of the 
 xebec followed eagerly ; they were well- 
 armed, and seemed prepared for any act 
 of daring. But Reduan, with "strong self- 
 control, restrained not only himself but his 
 young charge and his wild countrymen, 
 
74 DARIEN. 
 
 who waited but his word to rush on the 
 invaders of their homes. 
 
 All sounds of strife had ceased. Nothing 
 but some columns of smoke curling quietly 
 up in the evening air, gave token of any 
 disaster. Reduan hastily climbed a cliff 
 that rose almost abruptly from the sea ; 
 he could thence, in the bright moonlight, 
 observe the broad sandy path that led from 
 the castle-gate along the shore. The 
 gates were thrown open, and forth issued 
 a strong body of cavalry, followed by a 
 column of musketeers and spearmen. Many 
 prisoners evidently accompanied them, and 
 in the midst could be perceived a sort of 
 covered chair, such as ladies were then 
 used to go abroad in, and close beside it 
 rode four men in black — familiars of the 
 dreadful Inquisition. 
 
 Reduan saw at a glance what had hap- 
 pened, and how hopeless it was to think 
 of rescue then. He dismissed his crew to 
 seek their own safety as they could ; at 
 the same time he almost dragged Alvarez 
 
DARIEN. 7^> 
 
 Z. 
 
 away with him into a place of concealment, 
 whence, ultimately, they reached the Al- 
 puxarra mountains, the old and inaccessible 
 refuge of the Moors. 
 
76 DARIEN. 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 I was an infant when my mother went 
 
 To see an atheist burnt : she took me there. 
 
 The dark-robed priests were met around the pyre ; 
 
 And as the victim pass'd with dauntless mien, 
 
 Temper' d disdain in his unaltering eyes 
 
 Mix'd with a quiet smile, shone calmly forth. 
 
 The thirsty fire crept round his manly limbs, — 
 
 His resolute eyes were scorch' d to blindness soon. 
 
 His death-pang rent my heart ; the insensate mob 
 
 Utter' d a cry of triumph ; and I wept. 
 
 "Weep not!" my mother cried .... 
 
 Shelley. 
 
 Reduan guessed that the Senora de Me- 
 dina would at first be treated with con- 
 sideration and respect ; and most probably 
 that she would be lon^ detained as a 
 prisoner before her trial was proceeded 
 
DARIEN. 77 
 
 with. He justly judged that the Holy 
 Office would use all its efforts to secure 
 her son ; and until that object was accom- 
 plished, that the mother's life at least 
 was safe. There were sufficient captives 
 of a meaner sort for the torturers to 
 amuse themselves with meanwhile. 
 
 Sustained by these considerations, the 
 faithful Reduan waited patiently in his 
 retreat for news from the Mesquinez, 
 devoting all his attention to soothing and 
 restraining the miserable Alvarez. 
 
 At length one of the crew of the xebec 
 arrived with intelligence of the late event. 
 
 It appeared that the Holy Office had 
 for some time had its eyes upon the 
 castle of the Retiro. The subtlety of its 
 espionage had penetrated even into the 
 lawless village of Mesquinez, and had 
 soon ascertained that wealth, and luxury, 
 and heresy were all lurking within the 
 ruinous walls that had so long preserved 
 their secrets. As soon as it was known 
 that Reduan was making preparations for 
 
78 DARIEN. 
 
 a voyage, immediate steps were taken to 
 secure his galley as it was getting under 
 weigh ; and at the same time to take 
 possession of the mysterious palace in 
 the forest. It was known that the Moorish 
 contrahandistas would fight for then* patron, 
 even against the dreaded officials of the 
 Inquisition, and therefore such a force was 
 despatched to aid them as might defy 
 opposition. Reduan had unconsciously 
 defeated this plan, as far as regarded 
 himself and his young charge. He was 
 one who did not love to have his move- 
 ments known, and he had sailed an hour 
 before the appointed time. The officials 
 of the Inquisition thus baffled in their first 
 design, had also to encounter a resolute 
 defence by the contrahandistas before they 
 could reach the old castle walls. These 
 last were so undefended that they entered 
 without difficulty. The courts, so long 
 silent and secluded, now rang with the 
 tramp of horses and the clash of arms. 
 The familiars strode along the corridors, 
 
DARIEN. 79 
 
 wondering at the splendour and signs of 
 wealth that everywhere met their eyes, the 
 only unmasked part of their cruel and 
 remorseless countenances. At length they 
 burst open the door of the apartment 
 before described, from the window of 
 which the widow had been watching the 
 progress of her son's galley across the bay. 
 The poor lady uttered a shriek of terror as 
 her eyes fell upon the dark figures of the 
 officials, already familiar to her shrinking 
 imagination, but immediately her fear was 
 swallowed up in gratitude for the safety of 
 her child. " He at least," she fondly 
 thought, " may escape his father's, yea, and 
 his mother's dreadful doom!" Thus the 
 helpless lady sustained and comforted her 
 woman's heart ; then meekly she followed 
 her grim guards away for ever from her 
 home ; and the old castle was left to 
 silence and the guardianship of the servants 
 of the Holy Office. 
 
 On hearing this confirmation of his worst 
 fears, Reduan prepared at once to depart 
 
80 DARIEN. 
 
 for Seville, for thither the dread proces- 
 sion of the Inquisition had been traced. 
 The Moorish character and sacred spots of 
 that delightful city had, early in his life, 
 rendered it familiar to him ; and he now 
 hoped, through the agency of powerful 
 friends, to compromise for the Senora 
 Ptachel's safety by the surrender of her 
 unsuspected wealth. 
 
 Then, when left alone among the moun- 
 tains, did Alvarez, for the first time, learn 
 to deplore the retirement and ignorance of 
 the world in which his youth had passed. 
 Though naturally of a most resolute and 
 independent temper, he felt forced to 
 rely entirely upon his tutor in the present 
 great emergency. He had even allowed 
 himself to promise that for one month he 
 would await his return from Seville. 
 
 " So long as thou art at liberty," Reduan 
 had argued, " thy mother will be safe. Thy 
 capture consigns her to destruction as well 
 as to despair for thee." 
 
 Then days and weeks passed by, and the 
 
DARIEN. 81 
 
 son remained in miserable suspense. As 
 the month drew towards its close,, his impa- 
 tience became almost ungovernable. In 
 vain his kind though rugged countrymen 
 strove to amuse his attention with the 
 chase,, or the old games peculiar to their 
 race ; in vain the dark-eyed damsels of the 
 mountains strove to divert his sternly pen- 
 sive thoughts. From earliest dawn to the 
 last gleam of evening light, Alvarez watched 
 from a lofty eminence the path that 
 led to Seville. Whenever a wayfarer ap- 
 peared in sight, he would rush down to 
 meet him, and inquire, with a faltering 
 voice, for the news that never came. 
 
 At length the month expired, and Alvarez 
 was seen no more upon the mountains. 
 Before the daylight dawned, he was already 
 six hours on the road. Disguised in a vine- 
 dresser's humble garb, he strode along to- 
 wards the city with a noble bearing that 
 might have betrayed him anywhere except 
 in Andalusia. He was almost unconscious 
 of all he saw — of everything but his rate of 
 
 VOL. I. G 
 
82 DARIEN. 
 
 progress. The darkness of night, the burn- 
 ing sun, were alike indifferent to him. Sus- 
 tained by the fever at his heart, he scarcely 
 felt nature's claim for rest or food. 
 
 At length he came in sight of Seville, 
 half encircled by the Guadalquivir, prover- 
 bial for exquisite beauty. But no sense of 
 beauty, no association with the proud his- 
 tory once enacted on those scenes, had any 
 charm for him, distracted with suspense. 
 Every object or sound that roused a thought 
 spoke to him of his mother and his friend, 
 and of them only. Everything living or 
 moving seemed connected with their fate, — 
 hurrying it on. The solemn bells of the 
 distant churches, as they rose and fell upon 
 the morning breeze — the great banners 
 waving amongst the towers — the crowds 
 that began to gather and hurry towards the 
 city — all seemed part of some great drama, 
 to which the subject of his woe was to fur- 
 nish the chief story. 
 
 And his presentiment was true. He 
 longed, yet feared, to catch the discourse 
 
DAR1EN. 83 
 
 of the moving multitude. It increased as 
 they approached the city, — evidently, on 
 that day, the scene of some high festival. 
 At length the one prevailing sentence struck 
 his ear, and ceased not to vibrate there. 
 "Auto-da-fe" was murmured by the aged, 
 as they panted along the dusty road : " Auto- 
 da-fe" was joyfully pronounced by earnest 
 men, as they pressed forward : " Auto-da- 
 fe" was shouted by boys, as they danced 
 along in glee by their mothers' or their 
 sisters' side : and " Auto-da-fe" was re- 
 echoed b}^ maiden and matron lips. All 
 pressed forward, like faithful children of the 
 Church, full of exultation for her approach- 
 ing triumph, and of glee for their own anti- 
 cipated pleasure. 
 
 Long afterwards, in a distant land, those 
 countenances, inflamed with zeal and joyful 
 anticipation, glared again on the Moresco's 
 memory, when he witnessed the war-dance 
 of the Caribs, as they rejoiced" round cap- 
 tives about to be slain in honour of a 
 demon god. 
 
 g 2 
 
84 DARIEN. 
 
 Alvarez did not suffer himself to believe 
 that this horrible Auto-da-fe could affect 
 those who were dear to him. He relied 
 on his mother's innocence and angel purity 
 with a faith that scorned all doubt. And 
 Reduan, — the self-devoted, the high-souled 
 Reduan, — what could the priests, or their 
 bloody rites, have in common with such 
 a man ? 
 
 But still the young Moresco felt a dread- 
 ful sickness of the heart as he pressed on- 
 wards through the holiday-makers. His 
 eyes had long vainly examined every coun- 
 tenance to seek for some expression of some 
 ruth. At length he observed a dark-skin- 
 ned citizen scowling from the shadow of his 
 doorway on the hurrying crowd. To him 
 the wanderer instinctively drew near, and 
 felt a throb of pleasure as his salutation was 
 answered in the Moorish dialect in a sup- 
 pressed low tone. In a moment more, 
 Alvarez was drawn into the passage, the 
 door was closed, and inquiries were cau- 
 tiously made, and fearlessly answered in a 
 
DARIEN. 85 
 
 forbidden tongue. Then the wanderer was 
 conducted to an inner room, and refresh- 
 ments were respectfully and hospitably 
 pressed upon him ; but in vain. He was 
 still impelled by a burning curiosity to 
 follow the crowd, and to witness the terrible 
 ceremony that attracted them. 
 
 Thirty " atheists/' that is to say, Protest- 
 ants and Jews, he learned, were to be 
 sacrificed to God, as soon as High Mass, 
 was ended. Some of the victims, said to 
 be " penitent," were, in the first instance, to 
 be strangled ; the rest were to be burnt 
 alive ! 
 
 Though still incredulous of this horror, 
 from its apparent impossibility, Alvarez 
 entreated his new-found friend's assistance 
 in guiding him to the scene of the reported 
 tragedy. With the rash candour of a burst- 
 ing heart, he told him his motive — his 
 whole story. The citizen listened with re- 
 spect and deep compassion. 
 
 " On my head be it," he exclaimed ; " thy 
 servant's name is Hamet, a poor silver- 
 smith. I know thy noble house, most ho- 
 
86 DARIEN. 
 
 noured by our people. Thy wishes are my 
 law. I know the way whither thou wouldst 
 go but too well. The blood of my kindred 
 has cried to heaven from its accursed stones 
 ere now ! " 
 
 As the idea that his mother might be 
 amonff the victims about to suffer became 
 familiar to his mind, Alvarez felt a transition 
 from his soul-sickening suspense to one of 
 gloomy pleasure. He prepared himself to 
 perish with her, and, in sharing her death- 
 pangs, to avoid the worse agony of surviv- 
 ing her. Sustained by this resolution, lie 
 once more plunged into the crowd, now 
 accompanied by Hamet. 
 
 As they approached the Plaza de la Lonja, 
 where the scaffold was erected, they found 
 the mob so dense, that they could scarcely 
 penetrate it. By dint of desperate strug- 
 gling, however, the men of business forced 
 their way through the men of pleasure, and 
 at length they stood beside the fearful 
 theatre. The temporary stage consisted 
 of a platform, a hundred feet square, raised 
 about four feet from the ground. At one 
 
DARIEN. 87 
 
 end, a space was railed off for the inquisi- 
 tors, and there, too, was a pulpit for the 
 preacher of the funeral sermon to yet living 
 men. 
 
 A few familiars, dressed in the dark 
 livery of the Holy Office, guarded the 
 steps leading to the platform ; their duty 
 was easy ; notwithstanding the excitement 
 and the pressure elsewhere of the crowd, 
 every one shrank with terror from the very 
 eyes of these ministers of the ^Church's 
 wrath ; those eyes which scarcely seemed 
 human as they rolled about in the black 
 masks that left in mystery all the other 
 features. Close to these men did Alvarez 
 stand for an hour that appeared intermi- 
 nable to his passionate suspense. 
 
 At length, a distant hum was heard 
 among the people ; gradually approaching, 
 it swelled into a sort of gratified roar ; and 
 then at last the straining eyes could dis- 
 cover above the crowd a body of mounted 
 familiars, riding four and four abreast, all 
 masked and in long black garments. These 
 
88 DARIEN. 
 
 were followed by a band of the friars 
 of St. Dominic, to whose direction be- 
 longed the fearful monopoly of these 
 astounding atrocities. Then came "the 
 penitents," those who by the Church's 
 mercy were to be strangled before their 
 bodies were committed to the flames ; 
 many of them, as they were driven along, 
 betrayed m their staggering gait the re- 
 cent torture which had wrung from them 
 sufficient recantation to give the priests a 
 triumph. Behind this wretched band 
 comes another, also clothed in black, with 
 flames of hell painted in vivid colours on 
 the back and breast. But these are not 
 the heroes of the tragedy, for their pic- 
 tured flames pointing downward, show that 
 they have been reprieved from death. By 
 what treason, weakness, or murderous 
 falsehood they have purchased life, Heaven 
 and the inquisitors alone will ever know. 
 
 They pass ; and a shout of execration 
 greets their successors, the destined victims 
 of the Act of Faith. The faces of these 
 
DARIEN. 89 
 
 poor martyrs are uncovered : their dress is 
 hideously grotesque ; some sneering fiend 
 seems to have devised it, in order to 
 detract, if possible, from the sublimity of 
 their martyrdom. A high conical cap on 
 their heads is emblazoned with tongues of 
 flame and fiery serpents ; their robes are 
 ornamented in the same manner, with 
 open-mouthed dogs and grinning devils in 
 addition, which seem to writhe about on the 
 human frames as they totter onward to 
 their doom. Contrasted with their funeral 
 attire, the faces of the martyrs are ghastly 
 pale ; and the torture has left many of 
 them still distorted with the spasms of its 
 dread agony. Yet some of the sufferers 
 bear countenances as placid and resigned 
 as if death had already shrouded them from 
 further cruelty. In their devoted band 
 there are all varieties of age ; stalwart men, 
 and drooping elders, and beardless boys, 
 and female forms as full of loveliness as 
 woe — all bound for the same fiery goal. 
 Each is attended on either side by a Jesuit, 
 
90 DARIEX. 
 
 who will not let the weary soul have rest, 
 but makes continual clamour about 
 repentance and the healing mercy of the 
 Church. 
 
 This group also passes slowly on, with 
 all its horror, visible and imaginative ; and 
 to it succeeds another troop of mounted 
 familiars. Then certain higher officials, fol- 
 lowed by the standard of the Inquisition, a 
 blood-red flag, bearing for its device a cross 
 between a sword and a branch of olive. 
 Finally, the Grand Inquisitor himself ap- 
 proaches, mounted on a " pale horse," and 
 attended by two familiars. 
 
 Every individual belonging to the Holy 
 Office is masked and hooded. The whole 
 procession bears as little of the appearance 
 of humanity as possible. On it moves, 
 beneath God's radiant sunshine, in awful 
 mystery and ghostly silence. 
 
 As it draws near, the most zealous bigots 
 recoil instinctively from its contact ; every 
 voice is hushed, every heart beats hur- 
 riedly ; the whole crowd seems to hold its 
 
DARIEN. 91 
 
 breath ; the sense of triumph is lost in 
 awe. 
 
 If the unconcerned spectators were thus 
 affected, what must have been the feelings 
 of the son, who expected to see in every 
 victim that approached, the pale image of 
 his mother ? It is true that " great suffer- 
 ings have great strength ;" but it is from 
 the numbness that overstraining our facul- 
 ties produces. Alvarez was almost stifled 
 by emotion ; he could neither hear or see 
 distinctly what was passing before him ; a 
 dim sense of incredulity as to its reality — as 
 to the reality of any tiring — was mingled 
 with a desire to wipe away the mist before 
 his eyes. His brain swarmed with fancies 
 that adapted themselves to the various sup- 
 pressed noises in his ear. But he could see 
 literally nothing, while glaring with his 
 large bright eyes on all that moved around 
 him. He seemed only to feel the victims 
 coming ; each faltering footfall was audible, 
 so to speak, upon his heart ; but still his 
 eyes refused their offices. 
 
92 DARIEN. 
 
 Suddenly, as if broken by a spell, his 
 •darkness vanished ; he saw supernaturally 
 irradiated before him the wan but resolute 
 countenance of Reduan, — of his noble- 
 hearted friend, — faithful to the death. For 
 one moment the victim's eyes rested upon 
 his, and were lighted up by a gleam of plea- 
 sure and affection ; but the next, they were 
 withdrawn, fearful of betraying him, and 
 fixed resolutely as before upon the scaffold. 
 Alvarez would have rushed through all 
 the terrible array of the Inquisitors, and 
 clasped that tottering figure, with all its 
 flames and devils, to his heart : but Ha- 
 met, with a strong grasp and suggestion still 
 more powerful, withheld him. Dear to the 
 enthusiastic boy was the stout true heart 
 that beat within yon hideous shroud ; 
 but there was one, far dearer still, who 
 might be yet among the victims that 
 succeeded. 
 
 Thus Alvarez waited, — waited as each sad 
 form passed by, and at length, with a sensa- 
 tion of relief almost painfully exquisite, he 
 
DARIEN. 93 ; 
 
 saw the procession close, and his mother 
 was not there ! 
 
 The procession was soon re-formed on 
 the scaffold. The prisoners, of all descrip- 
 tions, arrayed in one dense mass ; their 
 priestly judges standing apart, and between 
 the two parties a pulpit, from which a 
 Jesuit fulminated the ireful censures of his 
 Church upon her victims ; for most of them,, 
 his words were the last ever to be heard 
 from a minister of religion. Though he 
 preached with all the fiery eloquence of the 
 south, it was probably not appreciated by 
 manv there : his theme was the glories of 
 the Inquisition, the best supporter of the 
 Church, — how grateful its performances 
 were in the sight of Heaven ; how blessed 
 its agency on the earth ; how merciful it 
 was, how potent, how infallible ! 
 
 After a long discourse, by way of pero- 
 ration, the Jesuit read over the names and 
 sentences of those who stood" before him. 
 Then, turning to the chief magistrate, he 
 delivered his victims to his charge : 
 
94 DARIEX. 
 
 " The Holy Office," he added, in a calm 
 benignant voice, "hath' now discharged 
 its duties. The Church delivers these, her 
 rebellious children, over to the arm of this 
 world's law, beseeching that their lives be 
 not endangered and that no blood be 
 shed!" 
 
 A deep-drawn sigh, and an ejaculation 
 of thanksgiving burst from Alvarez, as he 
 heard those words of mercv sounding 
 through the solemn silence. His guardian, 
 Hamet, seized the opportunity to lead him 
 away, and persuaded him to give some 
 repose to his exhausted frame. He assured 
 him that he would do his utmost to obtain 
 an interview with Reduan, and consult with 
 him on what was best to be done. Lulled 
 by these promises, and borne down with 
 the fatigue of long travel and extreme 
 excitement, the young Moresco was fain 
 to retire to his new friend's humble abode, 
 and there in a few minutes, he buried all 
 his sorrows in deep sleep. 
 
 Then Hamet hastened back to the plat- 
 
DARIEN. 95 
 
 form. The soldiery had now laden the 
 victims of- the Inquisition with heavy 
 chains, and were leading them away to the 
 place of punishment, without the city walls. 
 It is unnecessary to say that the Jesuit's 
 recommendation to mercy was a mere 
 form — a cruel lie. The condemned were 
 urged along as rapidly as their condition 
 would permit ; some, unable to walk, had 
 their dislocated forms rudely borne along 
 to the final agony. Hamet's struggles to 
 approach the line of march were at last 
 successful, and caught the eye of Reduan, 
 who had been gazing on the ground in 
 deep abstraction. A well-known secret 
 sign revealed to him that Hamet was one 
 of his own race : during the first pause 
 caused by the fall or fainting of some 
 wretch in front, the Moresco whispered 
 to the Jesuit, who still accompanied him — 
 " I will embrace your faith if you will 
 answer me one question satisfactorily, and 
 first allow me to speak a word to my 
 
96 DARIEN. 
 
 neighbour, that my soul may be more 
 calm?" 
 
 The Jesuit, who believed that the sight 
 of the funeral pyre, which they were now 
 approaching, had converted his penitent, 
 and that he only sought for an excuse to 
 avoid the fiery trial, assented. Hamet, at 
 a look from Reduan, approached. 
 
 " Tell Alvarez to be comforted/' whis- 
 pered the dying man. " Tell him to seek 
 out Edrisi of the Omarad, and to say to 
 him, f The emerald is broke?!.' " 
 
 The silversmith gave one look of intelli- 
 gence and sympathy, and was lost in the 
 crowd, endeavouring to escape the chance 
 of being recognised afterwards by any 
 agent of the Holy Office. Reduan turned 
 then to the Jesuit, whose countenance 
 already wore a triumphant expression — 
 
 u Tell me," said the Moresco ; u are 
 there Jesuits and Inquisitors in that heaven 
 of yours which you offer as the price of 
 my apostacy ?" 
 
DARIEN. 97 
 
 " Unhappy that thou art," exclaimed 
 the priest, " to have, in thy blindness, to 
 ask a question so profane ! Doubtless 
 those true servants of the Church occupy 
 high places in that blessed world." 
 
 " Enough ! " returned Reduan, with a look 
 of scornful defiance ; " I will have none 
 of it. You and yours would make a hell 
 of Paradise. Lead on ! " 
 
 The Jesuit recoiled in horror from his 
 expected penitent ; and though he could' 
 not help regarding with admiration his 
 unsubdued courage, he called aloud for a 
 gag to stop his blasphemy. That instru- 
 ment was close at hand. A Familiar thrust 
 into his mouth a small iron wedge with 
 a band which clasped behind the head,- 
 and the Moresco's voice was hushed for 
 ever. But still with dauntless bearing he 
 moved onwards to the scene of punishment. 
 
 And now that terrible arena is reached, 
 and another roar of exultation rose from 
 the fanatical crowd that thronged the space 
 around it. 
 
 VOL. I. II 
 
98 DARIEN. 
 
 Within that space are thirty tall, stout 
 stakes, each twelve feet high, and each 
 furnished with a rude sort of seat about 
 eight feet from the Ground. These stakes 
 are disposed in two circles, one within the 
 other ; a heap of dried furze and firewood 
 lies piled at the foot of each : in a small 
 brazier, close by, there is a small but very 
 lively fire. The victims, as they arrived, 
 are hurried to their allotted stakes. Ten 
 of them who had professed " penitence," are 
 then quietly, and with horrible sang jroid, 
 strangled by the executioners ; their yet 
 warm corpses then hoisted up and chained 
 on the inner circle of stakes. For the 
 " impenitent " a more prolonged suffering 
 remained. A ladder is placed against each 
 stake, and the victim is compelled to mount 
 it until he reaches the seat, to which he is 
 bound firmly with wet cords, his legs dang- 
 ling downwards towards the faggots. All 
 this occupies a cruelly long time, though 
 many zealous hands assist. At length all 
 the preparations are completed ; and, high 
 
DARIEN. 99 
 
 over the heads of the eager multitude are 
 to be seen the thirty forms of their doomed 
 fellow-creatures — some swaying themselves 
 to and fro, as far as their cords will allow, 
 in agonized suspense ; some proudly, 
 nobly calm ; and some, scarcely more 
 tranquil, — the " penitents," whose sufferings 
 are ended, and whose lifeless heads hang 
 down upon their breasts. 
 
 They formed an awful group — those 
 martyrs, or whatever else they were, ele- 
 vated there ; shined on, as if in mockery, 
 by the calm setting sun ; while their black 
 robes, with the emblazoned flames and 
 devils, wave about in the breeze, and give 
 an appearance of quivering life even to 
 the dead. 
 
 But the people grow impatient, as at a 
 bull-fight, when they thirst for blood and 
 cry for the matador. Fierce fanatic yells 
 salute the victims' ears, and, in a phrase- 
 ology well understood by the frequenters 
 of such scenes, some voices call out to — 
 "Beard them! beard the heretics ! " There- 
 
 h 2 
 
100 DARIEN. 
 
 upon, an executioner seizes a long lance, 
 furnished, at the point, with a hunch of 
 furze dipped in oil. This he lights at the 
 brazier, and then thrusts it, flaming, into 
 the nearest victim's face, pressing the thorny 
 brand so closely to the mouth as almost to 
 stifle the wild shriek for mercy that bursts 
 from the sufferer's lips. 
 
 " Let us see him ! " shout the multitude ; 
 " let us see if the bearding is well done ! " 
 The brand is removed, and, oh God! what 
 a fearful change has been made in thy 
 handiwork by that inquisitorial touch ! So 
 little of the countenance remained, that 
 scorched, and shrivelled, and featureless, 
 it seemed no longer human ; the very 
 organs of the voice were changed ; the 
 wretch's shrieks had settled into a faint, 
 prolonged, and wild unearthly moan ! 
 
 And now the fagots beneath are lighted, 
 and the flames with forked tongues dan 
 up and lick the victim's feet at first, and 
 then his knees, which again contracting 
 in his agony, double up and set fire to the 
 
DARIEN. 
 
 101 
 
 serge upon his breast, which burns moul- 
 deringly but kills not. And at the same 
 time the other fagots are lighted, and 
 thirty fires blaze up at once, and there are 
 sounds most horrible to hear, and dark 
 figures writhing in the flames most horrible 
 to see, and overpowering smells of scorch- 
 ing flesh; and the people are yelling in 
 fierce and frantic glee; and their inquisi- 
 torial priests hold up their hands to heaven 
 and solemnly consign the souls of the 
 departing sufferers to the last— the ghostly 
 enemy of man. 
 
 The sacrifice is ended ; the last heart of 
 the heretics has ceased to beat; consum 
 mated is the triumph of the Church of 
 Rome ! Reaction from their tragic excite- 
 ment has set in among the people, and the 
 lust of pleasure has succeeded. The mul- 
 titude disperses, they wander away in 
 groups by the lovely banks of the Guadal- 
 quivir; they fling themselves down at 
 the feet of the old cork-trees; the alforja— 
 the wine-skin— is ready at a call; the 
 
102 DARIEN. 
 
 tinkle of the guitar, and the thrill of the 
 rebeck is heard through the pleasant hum 
 of voices ; faint perfumes from the orange 
 groves are borne on the evening breeze, 
 and many a cup of wine is quaffed to wash 
 away the horrible savouriness that has 
 been reeking in their nostrils. Sounds of 
 mirth and revelry echo everywhere, and 
 many a cloaked form is gliding along, side 
 by side with the veiled beauties of Seville. 
 
 Suddenly, what would seem to a stran- 
 ger's eye a miracle, takes place, — a solemn 
 peal of bells arises in multitudinous cho- 
 rus from the distant city. The tones 
 of the blessed Angelus come floating on 
 the ear. At once those varied groups, 
 men, women, and children, start from their 
 wine, or love, or play, and with uncovered 
 heads kneel down upon the ground in 
 humble prayer. Wonderful is human 
 nature, especially in Spain ! 
 
DAKIEN. 
 
 103 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 Mourn, hapless Caledonia, mourn ; 
 Thy peace destroy' d, thy laurels torn! 
 
 Scotland's Tears. 
 
 We turn with horror from such scenes 
 as those by which the Church of Rome 
 strove to maintain her supremacy over the 
 minds and bodies of her Spanish slaves. We 
 would fain repudiate all connection with 
 the nature that submitted to such tyranny, 
 almost as much as with those who made 
 themselves its agents. We feel disposed 
 to turn for relief to our own 
 
 " Inviolate island of the brave and free," 
 
 and exult in the glorious Protest that 
 struck the chains of a sanguinary and 
 
104 DARIEN. 
 
 ruthless superstition from our English souls. 
 But, alas for human nature ! — for that 
 nature which, hovering between fiendish 
 and angelic elements, is ever ready to 
 plunge into the former, and to revel in its 
 darkest depths, until those who resist 
 its impulses stand forth in almost superna- 
 tural brightness of relief. When we con- 
 template the diabolical scenes of persecu- 
 tion that crowd the theatre of history, the 
 victims, laden as they may be with errors 
 of their own, rise into sublime proportions, 
 and attract our sympathies as they repre- 
 sent the nobler qualities of our humanity. 
 
 The men, both real and imaginary, with 
 whom this present story has to do, were 
 born in countries far apart, and as widely 
 contrasted in climate, character, and insti- 
 tutions ; yet they both became exiled in 
 the New World, forced from their several 
 homes by persecution. When I began to 
 trace their respective narratives, this was 
 
DARIEN. 1 05 
 
 to me an unforeseen coincidence. I had 
 no intention of dwelling upon the scenes 
 of horror that were then enacting in Spain 
 and Scotland ; for I feel that the exploits 
 of my buccaneers will seem devoid of 
 ferocious energy when compared with the 
 deeds of the minions of His Most Catholic 
 Majesty Ferdinand, and of James II., De- 
 fender of the Faith. 
 
 They are all passed away now from 
 European experiences ; buccaneers, and 
 man-burning priests, and proselytizing 
 dragoons ; only their accursed memory 
 lives on, immortal as that of their trium- 
 phant victims : their atrocities mark an 
 age of ignorance and moral darkness, to 
 which, by God's blessing, the mind of man 
 can never stoop again. It was by a sure 
 and cunning instinct that those who aimed 
 at despotism, whether spiritual or political, 
 condemned all Education for the People, 
 and its exhalation, public opinion, holding 
 a perpetual tribunal over public men. 
 The village schoolmaster is the true rege- 
 
106 DARIEN. 
 
 nerator of nations, as far as temporal in- 
 fluences can extend. 
 
 And now to our story. We turn from 
 the sunny banks of the Guadalquivir to 
 the shores of the sombre Solway. The 
 former is hurrying the ashes of heretics to 
 the ocean; the latter is reflecting the watch- 
 fires of Drummond's dragoons. James II., 
 in the plenitude of his power, has let loose 
 his fiercest soldiery upon his Scottish 
 people ; or rather he has hounded them on 
 to a persecution more unsparing than even 
 his brother had enforced. His avowed 
 hope is that the fertile counties on the 
 Border may "become desolate." In solitude 
 alone, like the Roman tyrant, he can hope 
 to find peace. War is in every heart ; 
 wherever he has a subject, there he has an 
 enemy. 
 
 The noblest, the best, and the wisest of 
 his Scottish subjects are exiled, or sleeping 
 in bloody graves. The gentry are ruined 
 by fines, a perverted law, and extortions of 
 a licentious soldiery. Every house is filled 
 
DARIEN. 107 
 
 with mourning for what is past, or fear for 
 what is to come. Gibbets are erected in 
 the villages as memorials of the sovereign's 
 power. 
 
 While death and ruin are thus hovering 
 over Scotland's children, the fields look 
 blithesome, and full of fertile promise as in 
 happier times. The irrepressible energies 
 of the farmer have tilled his fields, though 
 he scarcely knows who shall make harvest 
 there. And heaven's gifts are always the 
 same ; and the rivers flow, and the sun 
 shines, and the wild flowers bloom in Esk- 
 dale and Nithsdale, as if there was n<> 
 sorrow, or humiliation, or despair, in the 
 eyes that looked upon them. 
 
 The traveller who now explores the 
 happy Border land, and surveys its peaceful 
 fields, and manful, independent peasantry, 
 can scarcely believe in this episode of their 
 past history. No memorials of it now remain 
 but in the traditions of the people, per- 
 haps in some of the least amiable qualities 
 of their character ; and in names that convey 
 
108 DARIEN. 
 
 but little intimation of their ancient appli- 
 cation. The title of Cameronian, then sig- 
 nifying the most uncompromising enemy 
 of the throne, is now borne by as loyal and 
 gallant a regiment as ever belted on a 
 bayonet. The Presbyterian, who then 
 vainly sought permission to pray with his 
 people upon the mountain side, now ho- 
 nourably enjoys the Regium Donum in his 
 manse. Many a broad acre that was then 
 wild moss or heathery-brae, is now the 
 wheat-field or the green park. There is 
 almost as much improvement in the country 
 as in the sovereign ; as great a difference as 
 between James the Second, and Victoria 
 the First, — whom God defend ! 
 
 On the shore of the Solway there stands 
 one brave old ruin, the castle of Caerlave- 
 rock, that has known but little change in 
 all those changing times. Beneath its walls 
 there stood, in 1685, a village that has long 
 since disappeared ; and the stones of which 
 it was composed lie around, as if they had 
 been applied to no human purpose since 
 
DARIEN. 109 
 
 they fell from tower and battlement long, 
 long ago. Only one remnant of a habita- 
 tion survives, and in that the antiquary can 
 trace all that belonged to the best class of 
 farmers' houses in the time of the Border 
 wars. On the ground-floor there was one 
 large apartment, which served for kitchen 
 and parlour, and, indeed, all the daily pur- 
 poses of life, in a mansion not pretending to 
 the dignity of a spence. Adjoining this 
 apartment, and only separated from it by 
 the huge fire-place, was a sort of dungeon 
 with a vaulted roof, one small window (or 
 rather air-hole), and a door, barely high 
 enough to permit a horse or cow to pass 
 into what was at once their stable, byre, 
 and place of refuge from the weather or the 
 " reiver." Above this rose a square tower, 
 of two stories high ; each story containing 
 one small sleeping apartment, to which you 
 mounted by a narrow winding stair. On 
 the top of the tower were rude "battlements, 
 in keeping with which, all the walls were 
 pierced with narrow loopholes, generally 
 
110 DARIEiN. 
 
 stuffed with hay. The only remaining ac- 
 commodation that the house afforded was 
 a low " cock-loft" over the kitchen, which 
 the maid of all-work shared with the 
 poultry. 
 
 The last personage who inhabited this 
 house, as our legends tell, was an old man, 
 named Tarn Graeme, or Graham. He had 
 been originally a native of the adjoining 
 village, having in early life joined the 
 Covenanters in their invasion of England, 
 under Lesley. It was rumoured, after some 
 time, that he had gone to sea ; but as he 
 had left the puritanical village of Sandilee 
 in disgrace, few inquiries were made about 
 him. When, at last, with a Scot's true 
 instinct, he returned to his native shore, all 
 his kith and kin had long passed away into 
 their graves. He was soon recognized, 
 however, by some of the elders of the vil- 
 lage, though his deeply-bronzed visage, 
 seamed with a deep scar, presented few 
 traces of the red-haired boy who had been 
 the bully of the village-green. 
 
DARIEN. 1 J. 1 
 
 There was something suspicious about 
 Tarn Graeme's appearance altogether. His 
 dress was rich and foreign-looking. His 
 manner was reserved,, even for a Scotch- 
 man, and he maintained a perfect silence as 
 to his past life. But what most excited the 
 curiosity of the villagers, was the beautiful 
 little schooner in which he had arrived, and 
 of which he was evidently owner. Her 
 crew had been only taken in at Bristol, 
 whither they soon returned, without giving 
 any information about their vessel, except 
 that she was the fastest craft that ever 
 swam in British waters. That she was of a 
 strange, outlandish build, was very certain ; 
 " no althegither canny," as some averred. 
 There were marks upon her deck, as if it. 
 had once mounted a swivel gun ; and some 
 dark and ineffaceable stains, such as the 
 vulgar imagine that human blood alone can 
 leave. 
 
 Tarn Graeme, however, careH little then 
 about his neighbours' civilities, and less 
 about their surmises. He only remained 
 
112 DARIEN. 
 
 long enough at his native village to lay up 
 the Bonito as his schooner was called, 
 in security, and then the cedar wood, of 
 which she was principally built, imparted 
 a strange fragrance among the fishy odours 
 that reeked from the herring-boats around 
 her. 
 
 Tarn betook himself straightway to Edin- 
 burgh, where, as Master Graeme, he at- 
 tracted considerable attention by his display 
 of wealth, and his daring play. Gambling 
 was then a passion among the people of 
 pleasure, even in the austere metropolis of 
 Scotland ; and through its introduction, the 
 adventurer obtained easy admission into 
 what were called the best circles. By some 
 means, while his popularity lasted, Tarn 
 contrived to marry a lady who was con- 
 nected with the ancient and honourable 
 family of Torwoodlee. Almost at the same 
 time, however, he lost nearly the whole of 
 his fortune by an unsuccessful speculation, 
 and he was fain to retire to his native vil- 
 lage of Sandilee. There he endeavoured 
 
DARIEN. 113 
 
 to retrieve his fortune by smuggling, and 
 his character by field-preaching : he soon 
 succeeded in acquiring a fair share both of 
 money and reputation. Nevertheless his 
 wife, though good and gentle, and loved by 
 all who knew her, did not seem happy. 
 She soon died, and left behind her an infant 
 daughter, named Alice. 
 
 The rugged old smuggler felt far deeper 
 grief than he appeared to do, for the loss of 
 his meek wife. He became more daring in 
 his contraband enterprises on the sea, con- 
 sumed more whisky at home, and consi- 
 derably intermitted in his self-imposed duty 
 of " holding forth upon the hills." But 
 a better result of his sorrow was his in- 
 creased affection for his lonely child. His 
 patience, though by no means proverbial, 
 was to her inexhaustible, his indulgence 
 unbounded. As she grew up he fondly 
 taught her all the little he knew ; and she 
 learned quickly, for she chose her own time 
 to study. Before she was ten years old, she 
 knew the Old Testament almost by heart, 
 
 VOL. I. I 
 
114 DARIEN. 
 
 and not a little of the New. She was well 
 versed in tales of shipwrecks, the wars 
 of the Jews, and John Knox's opinions on 
 •Church and State. Moreover, she could 
 hold the tiller of the Bonito when under 
 easy sail, mix toddy, mend nets, make 
 pretty ornaments out of sea-shells, and sing- 
 like a little mermaid. 
 
 In the exercise of such accomplishments, 
 Alice Graeme was growing up into woman- 
 hood without suspecting that there was any 
 higher sphere of grace or learning than her 
 own, when her father was summoned away 
 to Bristol. The summons was made by an 
 old friend with whom he had been some- 
 how connected beyond seas ; the friend lay 
 in prison on suspicion of piracy, and it 
 seemed that Tarn's evidence might prove so 
 serviceable that his friendship was invoked 
 by the offer of one hundred pounds sterling. 
 Whether it was friendship or profit, or that 
 other matters induced him to leave Scot- 
 land at that time, it would be difficult to 
 say ; but he determined to accept his 
 
DARtEfl. 115 
 
 friend's offer, and in the meantime sent his 
 daughter to the care of a maiden sister 
 of her mother's, who was living at Annan. 
 
 That good lady had been vehemently 
 opposed to the marriage of her young and 
 blooming sister with old Tarn; but the 
 dead easily obtain the pardon that concerns 
 them not, and the orphan found in her 
 mother's sister a warm welcome. The 
 child's beauty and winning ways, and her 
 very wildness, soon obtained for her own 
 little person all the interest with which her 
 mother's memory at first invested her. She 
 became to her aunt " as the apple of her 
 eye," as a subject, moreover, for many edu- 
 cational experiments which Aunt Maggie 
 had hitherto longed in vain to try on human 
 nature in order to its perfection. The good 
 lady's system, if such it could be called, 
 vibrated between the sternest discipline 
 and unbounded indulgence. No punishment 
 could be too severe for errors, no solace 
 too great to atone for their punishment. 
 
 Alice Graeme became in consequence 
 
 i 2 
 
116 DARIEN. 
 
 more wayward and capricious than ever, 
 and it was a fortunate incorrigibility that 
 induced her aunt at last to send her to a 
 neighbouring school. 
 
 Meanwhile Tarn had returned from 
 Bristol, accompanied by his friend, a 
 broken-down and weary man; whose 
 shaking hand and glassy eye betrayed that 
 he had suffered more from excess than 
 from all the hardship and trial to which his 
 life had been long exposed. During the 
 Cromwellian persecution, while yet a mere 
 boy, he had been transported to Barbadoes 
 as an apprentice. Unable to endure the 
 cruelties to which he was there subjected. 
 he had escaped to one of the neighbouring 
 islands, and after many strange adventures 
 among the Indians, he had at length joined 
 himself to the buccaneers in St. Domingo. 
 Finally, either struck with remorse, or be- 
 lieving that his end was approaching, lie 
 withdrew himself from his wild comrades, 
 and repaired to England with some small 
 savings. But at Bristol, where he landed. 
 
BARIEN. 117 
 
 he had been recognised as a pirate by some 
 English sailors, and thrown into prison. 
 On his trial, Tarn, with a high character for 
 piety and respectability, had appeared in 
 his favour, sworn to an alibi, and brought 
 him off triumphantly in the Bonito, whose 
 skipper he thenceforth became. 
 
 Sandie Partan, as this unhappy man was 
 named, was possessed of some qualities that 
 might have made for him a respectable 
 name under more favourable circumstances. 
 He was fearless and truthful ; though a 
 pirate, he had a sensitive conscience, and 
 though his manner was rough, he had a 
 kind heart beneath it. The fatal habit of 
 intemperance, in which he had at first 
 sought refuge from accusing thoughts, had 
 now overmastered him ; and he had no 
 friend to encourage him to strive against 
 his tempter. Tarn, indeed, prevailed on him 
 to place in his respectable hands all the 
 money that remained to him ; but that 
 venerable smuggler never withheld the 
 
11 8 DARIKN. 
 
 means of getting drank ; these were given 
 for reasons of his own, as well as from a 
 strong sympathy in the indulgence — one of 
 the few that Tarn possessed with anybody. 
 
 Strengthened by the acquisition of this 
 new ally, who was a first-rate seaman, Tain 
 extended the sphere of the Bonito's opera- 
 tions. Her speed caused her to be in great 
 request in those times of political intrigue ; 
 and more than once Tarn received large 
 sums for transporting great personages 
 from the country in which their lives were 
 held in forfeit. 
 
 This was an anxious line of business, 
 however ; and while it lasted, the old smug- 
 gler was well contented to have the care of 
 his daughter off his hands. By degrees, 
 years began to tell upon him ; various in- 
 firmities of his youth, as if watching their 
 opportunity, assumed strength as he grew 
 weak. When they first " lodged a detainer 
 on him," as he expressed it, other diseases 
 poured in their claims. Tarn held out as 
 
DARIEN. 119 
 
 long as lie could, but at last was obliged to 
 confess himself their prisoner, and saw no 
 prospect of release except one, which lie 
 was in no hurry to invoke. 
 
 Then it was that the old man felt what 
 a blessing he possessed in his daughter. 
 Desolate indeed are those who, in old age, 
 have neither children, nor those recollec- 
 tions of worthy acts which are the wor- 
 thiest posterity. 
 
 Alice Graeme was summoned to her 
 uncouth home upon the Solway's shore, 
 just as she was dawning into womanhood. 
 She had to part from many hopes, many 
 sources of enjoyment, and many youthful 
 friends, to say nothing of her benefactress, 
 auld Aunt Maggie. 
 
 When the hour of her departure arrived, 
 two mules, under the care of Partan, drew 
 up at the wicket that led into Aunt Maggie's 
 small trim garden. Partan was very sober, 
 and proportionably gloomy ; "the mule he 
 bestrode, and that which he led, looked 
 desperately hopeless ; they belonged to an 
 
120 DARIEN. 
 
 English carrier, and their ordinary solace, 
 a collar of bells, had, as idle gewgaws, been 
 stripped from their necks for the Puritan's 
 service ; and a gaunt gray mare that bore 
 two fish-panniers for Alice's luggage, looked 
 almost spectral in the dark misty morning. 
 
 When the parting with Aunt Maggie, and 
 the solemn lecture that accompanied it 
 were over, Partan saw the house-door open 
 and two girls approaching slowly, locked 
 arm-in-arm, and lingering in their farewell. 
 Alice had hair as black as midnight, with 
 starry eyes beneath it, of uncertain lustre, 
 that shone or flashed as her chanceful 
 temper was stormy or serene. Her friend 
 was golden-haired and blue-eyed, with a 
 soft dreamy air, and grandly-arched eye- 
 brows, that spoke of sentiment and ro- 
 mance. These two girls had been zealous 
 friends at school, and the contrast between 
 them lent to their intercourse almost all 
 the mental charm of a differing sex. 
 
 As these two fair girls approached, 
 Partan felt himself bewildered with admi- 
 
DARIEN. 121 
 
 ration. Such a vision took by storm, as 
 it were, an imagination that had never been 
 prepared for such assault : there is no 
 one like a sailor to feel the force of beauty. 
 The old pirate perceived some undefined 
 sense of blessedness come over him, and 
 a suddenly awakened faith in heretofore in- 
 credible things. The sunshine that shone 
 upon his heart dispelled that traveller's 
 cloak which many a storm had only folded 
 round more closely. He thrust an extra 
 quid into his mouth, and received his charge 
 with a look of welcome that was almost 
 affectionate. But Alice was too much 
 absorbed in her own emotions to regard 
 those of the rugged sailor on the woe- 
 begone mule. It seemed to her that such 
 a parting with her Isobel must be a final 
 one : nothing less than such a presenti- 
 ment could account for its deep pain. 
 Isobel was the first to speak. 
 
 " Alice ! " she sighed, rather than ex- 
 claimed ; " here you part at once frae 
 girlhood and frae me ! You will, I fear, 
 
122 DARIEN. 
 
 see neither of us again, ever more. You 
 will soon marry some hero or hold adven- 
 turer, who can place a crown of glory on 
 your bright brows. I shall pass away into 
 calm seclusion, seeking to imitate, as nearly 
 as may be without sin, the convent life of 
 the Romanists." 
 
 " Ah, Isobel ! " sighed back Alice ; " you 
 ken weel that it is not in such manner we 
 shall be separated. I am just sinking into 
 the obscurity of a poor village lassie, and 
 maun soon be forgotten ; while for you, 
 Edinburgh, and all the admiration of this 
 bright admirable world wait wi' longing 
 eyes ! " 
 
 O youth ! how enviable are your prophe- 
 cies, compared with their fulfilment ! 
 
DARIEN. 123 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 And thou great god of aqua vita? i 
 Wha sways the empire o' this city, 
 (When fou we 're sometimes capernoity,) 
 
 Be thou prepared, 
 To save us frae that black banditti, 
 
 The Royal Guard. 
 
 Ferguson. 
 
 The village of Sandilee was composed 
 chiefly of fisherman's huts ; Tarn Graeme's 
 small " peel/' and a public-house, were the 
 principal exceptions to the mud system of 
 architecture. A common, which was green 
 in summer, with a duck pond in the middle 
 of it, formed the centre round which the 
 hamlet lay grouped. Two or" three houses 
 in one spot, four or five in another, and so 
 on, shared the shelter of a few gaunt trees, 
 
124 DARIEN. 
 
 and possessed a common labyrinth of pig- 
 styes and little kail-yards. 
 
 The common was fringed by the Solway's 
 pebbly shore, which rose steep and high 
 from the water's edge, and yet when the 
 fitful Frith was lashed into anger by the 
 west wind, it would send its foam and spray 
 far and wide over and among the fisher- 
 men's cottages. A rude sort of harbour 
 had been constructed where the Nith flows 
 into the Solway, and in its shelter were 
 drawn up about a dozen fishing-boats, with 
 the hardy little Bonito, who in her old age 
 was as ready for work as ever. 
 
 Such was the scene that Greeted the 
 dark eager eyes of young Alice Graeme, as 
 she rode into her native village, after an 
 absence of many years. Her journey, 
 though beguiled by Sandie Partan's dis- 
 mallest stones, had seemed very tedious. 
 Her imagination had clung to the past, 
 had dwelt upon Isabel, and even upon 
 the kind though stern Aunt Maggie ; it 
 rather shrank from the future. Her recol- 
 
DARIEN. 125 
 
 lections of Caerlaverock were not very 
 brightly tinted; but now, as she found 
 herself entering its weedy lane, she found 
 the reality still less attractive than she had 
 pictured it. The whole place looked 
 smaller, the cottages more mean, the paths 
 more dirty, the Solway more sombre than 
 she had imagined them to be. 
 
 Her father was not at home when she 
 arrived. He was away about some busi- 
 ness at Tinwald, the manor-house belong- 
 ing to the laird of the village, and the small 
 tract of land adjoining it. Wherefore, as 
 soon as the young traveller had changed 
 her travelling-dress^ she set out to meet 
 her parent, still accompanied by Partan, 
 who felt too proud of his charge to relin- 
 quish it prematurely. 
 
 When Alice had last looked upon the 
 old manor-house of Tinwald, its apparent 
 grandeur had filled her childish heart with 
 astonishment. Its tall gables, its flank- 
 ing towers and connecting line of battle- 
 ments, its wide hall-door approached by 
 
126 DARIEN. 
 
 several steps, the dark pine-wood that 
 rose hehind it and stretched away up the 
 hill — all these things had impressed the 
 village child with an idea that very great 
 and precious things must be contained 
 within walls so thick, and precincts alto- 
 gether so extensive. She now smiled at 
 her early fancies, as she recognised their 
 origin in a formal old house with half a 
 dozen narrow windows, exclusive of the 
 glazed loop-holes in the towers. 
 
 A stone bench ran along the walls on 
 either side of the hall-door, and on one 
 of these was seated the old laird himself, 
 a venerable-looking personage, with silver- 
 white hair falling from beneath his wide 
 brimmed hat. On one side of him stood 
 the burly figure of Tarn Graeme in the 
 act of returning a leathern purse into his 
 capacious pocket ; opposite to him, was 
 a comely young man, holding the reins of 
 a horse accoutred for the road, and with 
 hat in hand, evidently taking a respectful 
 but affectionate leave of the old laird. 
 
DARIEN. 127 
 
 Alice and her companion paused by an 
 old hawthorn tree to await her father, and 
 it so happened that this tree was close 
 to the path that the young traveller must 
 take in departing from the manor-house. 
 It stood only about tw r o hundred yards 
 off, and Alice could trace in the dumb 
 show of the neighbouring group all that 
 passed between the young laird and his 
 sire. She saw her own father retire to 
 a respectful distance ; she saw old Tinwald 
 lean forward, as his son, with old-fashioned 
 piety, knelt to receive his blessing ; and 
 then the young man mounted, and rode 
 away slowly, so far as he was followed by 
 his father's eyes ; as soon as he reached 
 the hawthorn tree he was about to start 
 forward at a more rapid pace, when his 
 eyes caught those of Partan. The old 
 sailor advanced respectfully to meet his 
 greeting ; a few words were exchanged, 
 and the traveller passed otfvvard, having 
 made a slight bow of courtesy to Alice, 
 ¥ whom he did not recognise. 
 
128 DARIEN. 
 
 Neither could she trace in that tall, pen- 
 sive man, the features of that boy whom 
 she had known long years before ; who 
 had found her on the shore playing with 
 sea-shells, and had helped her to make 
 a grotto in the rock for her doll ; who had 
 often afterwards sought her out, and given 
 her little presents, and one wondrous book 
 with coloured plates. Since those days, 
 her memory had often reverted to the 
 handsome melancholy boy, but she still 
 thought of him as he then appeared, with 
 long curling hair, a beardless lip, and eyes 
 generally fixed upon a book. 
 
 Partan gazed after his retiring steps, 
 observing, as in soliloquy, — 
 
 " Yon 's a bra' chiel for a' that he' s sae 
 douce like. I hae seen him aboard the 
 Bonito, in a gale o' wind, when the sea 
 was curling in ' green' ower the deck, and 
 the spars bendin' like a whip, and the crags 
 o' Bute unner our lee ; and he wad be 
 as calm and more grave than ye're 
 ain bonny face wad look in kirk time. 
 
DARIEN. 129 
 
 An' it's my opinion lie lo'ed the danger 
 for its ain sake. But here comes your 
 father,, and I doot he has been furnishing 
 mair siller to the auld laird to speed the 
 young ane's travel." 
 
 Alice felt pleased and proud at the sug- 
 gestion ; the natural heart of man, still less 
 of woman, conceives not the mystery of 
 usury ; and the embrace with which she 
 welcomed her father was warmed by 
 respect for his benevolence, and, perhaps, 
 by gratitude for having assisted her early 
 friend. It was assistance dearly purchased, 
 however; for the old laird, who kept the state 
 of his affairs, through mistaken kindness, 
 a secret from his son, had already heavily 
 mortgaged his estate to the crafty smuggler. 
 
 That evening, Tarn's house shone with 
 a look of joy and festivity that it had not 
 worn for many a year. The best of his 
 provision smoked upon the large oak table, 
 the brightest of fires roared fleartily in the 
 chimney, the most venerable bottles of 
 whisky, and mildewed jars of schiedam 
 VOL. i. k 
 
130 DARIEN. 
 
 studded the board. Tarn's tough old heart 
 had been opened at its only tender place, 
 and gave forth its feelings to his weather- 
 beaten visage, which glowed with the novel 
 
 j°y- 
 
 Oh, woman! — whose absence was felt 
 to be a want even in Paradise — how far 
 more necessary is your ministry to fallen 
 man ! He may scoff at you, betray you, 
 trample on your love, — nevertheless, what- 
 ever be his treatment, you rise his guardian 
 , angel still. Whether it be, indeed, your 
 nature that refines ours, and creates a 
 standard of purity and honour, — to which 
 all but fools or villains aspire, though they 
 may never reach it, — or whether it be a 
 fortunate superstition that invests you with 
 such powers, — in either case, you preserve 
 or deliver us from our coarser selves ; 
 you give us somewhat to hope for, some- 
 thing worthily to toil for : be it honour 
 or mere bread that we strive to win, the 
 daughter or the mother, the mistress or 
 the wife comes between us and selfishness, 
 
DARIEN. 13J 
 
 and ennobles our labour. We may be 
 ungrateful for this, among other blessings, 
 and disparage the gentle heart that is 
 nearest ours ; but still, the very worst of 
 us believes in woman in the abstract, and 
 her ideal haunts us as the one earthly 
 object that our souls ever yearn after ! 
 
 It was curious to see poor Alice Graeme 
 sitting at the father's table, agreeably sur- 
 prised at a decorum and propriety that 
 she knew not was of her own creating. 
 Tarn spoke like an elder of the kirk, 
 though such was not always his habit 
 amongst his confidential friends. Swilltap, 
 the publican, w r as either silent or content 
 to echo the opinions of his neighbour. 
 Partan remained heroically sober ; and 
 even Blackbuckit, the captain of a wind- 
 bound collier, did not emit a single oath. 
 And yet, notwithstanding the absence of 
 all the recognised elements of conviviality, 
 never had Tarn's table appeared so cheer- 
 ful, or his smoky rafters re-echoed such 
 merry laughter. Alice was amused by the 
 
 k 2 
 
132 DARIEN. 
 
 novelty of the scene, and excited by her 
 newly assumed importance as the manager 
 of her father's house. She was actually 
 happy at finding herself under her own 
 roof-tree ; and gratified by the kind, proud, 
 manner in which her father received her 
 sprightly sallies. Her high spirits were 
 infectious ; every one brightened up, and 
 even poor Partan half forgot his gloom. 
 
 When Alice retired for the night to her 
 chamber in the tower, however, I do not 
 mean to say that her memory was sufficient 
 to maintain her influence. On the contrary, 
 I fear that the potent spirit, like that in the 
 "Arabian Nights/' unimprisoned from bottle 
 and jar, soon got the better of their deli- 
 verers ; and that in toasting the health of 
 fair Alice, the topers made considerable in- 
 roads on their own. 
 
 Those were times in which hard-drinking 
 was carried to an extent incredible to us, 
 though not perhaps to our grandfathers. 
 Imperfect as are the statistics of the seven- 
 teenth century, they testify to a consump 
 
DARIEN. 133. 
 
 tion of ardent spirits greater than what is 
 now consumed by a tripled population. 
 Civilization and refinement are fatal to the 
 Still ; they create an infinite variety of 
 small interests, and dissipate into a thou- 
 sand channels those violent passions for 
 which savages can only find a vent in 
 debauchery or war. Scotland, however, is 
 geographically, a spirit-loving country, not- 
 withstanding the staid respectability of its 
 inhabitants. A little further north, and 
 alcohol loses much of its effect on the olea- 
 ginous organs of its devotees ; a little 
 further south, and the fiery spirit becomes 
 unfitted to the climate, and unacceptable. 
 Ireland, like Scotland, is in a most trying 
 spirit-latitude, and the misery and the high 
 mettle of its people increase the temptation 
 of the joyous Lethasan dram. Some of us 
 can remember when private stills were ap- 
 pendages as natural to an upland farm as a 
 wine-press to a vineyard, and poor Ceres 
 too often lost caste, and sunk into a Bac- 
 chanalian drab. 
 
134 DARIEN. 
 
 The people of the " western counties," as 
 they were called, passed their lives in times 
 of sore anxiety and cruel excitement. All 
 great national afflictions used, somehow, 
 to produce great intemperance ; and the 
 government of Charles II. — still more that 
 of his bigoted and cruel brother — was 
 afflictive enough to justify any amount 
 of whisky in the eyes of those who sought 
 its dangerous comfort or support. Drum- 
 mond's " Dragonnade " was then in full 
 force in Galloway and the adjoining coun- 
 ties. Hill-preaching was proscribed as one 
 of the deadliest sins against the State ; and 
 not only the preacher, but any of his hearers, 
 were liable to military execution while they 
 fled, and to a drum-head court-martial when 
 they were arrested. Their sentence was 
 decided by officers imbued with the lenity 
 of Lauderdale, and the decorum of the 
 Cossack, in whose school their Drummond 
 and Dalzell had fitly prepared themselves 
 for the service of King James. Their 
 troopers lived at free quarters on the pea- 
 
DARIEN. 135 
 
 santry ; and the slightest resistance to their 
 inordinate desires was punished either with 
 the destruction of their humble cottages, or 
 the infliction of the lash, the boot, or the 
 thumbikin upon their bodies. 
 
 Tarn and his guests, however, had just 
 now forgotten, in conviviality, this and all 
 other sources of vexation, when the tramp 
 of horses was suddenly heard, and the hilt 
 of a sabre almost immediately afterwards 
 thundered at the door. A volley of fierce 
 oaths followed, and Tarn was fain to rise 
 and open to those who thus came to de- 
 mand entrance " in the King's name." A 
 non-commissioned officer, with half-a-score 
 of troopers at his heels, burst in, cast his 
 eyes round the room as if to examine the 
 inmates, and then called to " his scoundrels 
 to begone and look to their horses ; he 
 would see to their quarters by the time 
 they were done stables." 
 
 The sergeant then, moved to suavity and 
 good-humour by the savoury smells that 
 greeted his nostrils, gave Tarn a friendly 
 
136 DARIEN. 
 
 poke in the ribs that sent him spinning to 
 the far corner of the room, damned all his 
 guests for a set of white-livered Puritans, 
 and seizing a bowl of toddy, applied it to 
 the mass of moustache that concealed his 
 mouth. That orifice must have been 
 capacious, or capillary attraction very 
 strong, for, after a brief application, the 
 bowl was laid down in a reversed position 
 without wetting the table. 
 
 " That '11 do well," exclaimed the trooper, 
 approvingly ; " it 's just what my fellows 
 like. You may make a bucket-full of it 
 now, at once, to save time. For you," 
 he added, turning to the guests, " I would 
 advise you to get home, for you '11 find 
 yourselves wanted there." So saying, he 
 pointed to the door, and the fugitive 
 topers could observe there were recent 
 stains of blood upon his gauntlet. That 
 discovery added to their haste, and they 
 withdrew, each to find his house occupied 
 by guests similar to those they had left 
 with their friend Tarn. Partan alone 
 
DARIEN. 137 
 
 lingered about the farmhouse ; he had no 
 particular sleeping-place,, except the fore- 
 castle of the Bonito ; and now, half-sobered 
 by alarm and indignation, he determined, 
 as he said, to keep " a spell of watch." 
 
 The rest of the sergeant's party were 
 soon seated with him at Tarn's table. They 
 told truculent stories with high glee — ad- 
 dressed each other by the name of various 
 fiends, (in derision of the Puritans, who 
 assumed sacred names,) and quickly dis- 
 patched what was left of the interrupted 
 banquet. They then began a deep carouse ; 
 pledging loudly the health of King James, 
 and confusion to all that their host held 
 in veneration. Meanwhile, that personage 
 looked ruefully on from his chimney-corner, 
 thinking, in his (comparative) innocence of 
 heart, that such drinking must soon bring 
 itself to a conclusion. A sudden thought 
 at length seemed to strike Sergeant Blastus, 
 as his comrades called him, — 
 
 " After business," he exclaimed, " we 
 may think of pleasure. What base satis- 
 
138 DARIEN. 
 
 faction it is (after the first bowl or two) 
 to he content with drink alone, when 
 woman's crowning company may be had 
 for asking. Harkye, old cadaverous, I 
 saw a light in your window up there, and 
 could twig there was a pretty figure inside 
 of it. Jump, you old dogfish, and produce 
 her, or, by the soul of the king, I '11 give 
 you three inches of this carving-fork by 
 way of spur." 
 
 Tarn was by no means what could be 
 called a worthy man. On the contrary, 
 in his youth he had seldom lost a chance 
 of committing any pleasant crime, or in his 
 age, of over-reaching ; but he had a stout 
 Scottish heart for all that, which was now 
 sustained by generous whisky, and by the 
 novel sense of a father's responsibility. 
 
 " Young mon," he said, firmly ; " I will 
 not. Ye hae devoured my substance, and 
 set at nought a' the right of a free-born 
 Christian, which I wadna say ye be justified 
 in. But before ye affront my child's hearin' 
 wi' your blaspheming immorality, ye '11 hae 
 
DARIEN. 139 
 
 to trample on her father's corpse." And, 
 so saying, he set his back against the door 
 that led to her apartment. 
 
 The sergeant laughed, contemptuously — 
 " That 's a simpler matter than you think 
 for, old surly," he said, grimly. " But,, 
 come — we 've had enough of that sort of 
 thing this afternoon, and I want to forget 
 it in pleasant company ; so, if you won't 
 do the honours of your house, why, I must 
 help myself." Having thus said, he strode 
 towards the door ; when Tarn called out at 
 the top of his weak voice, — 
 
 " Ailie, child ! pit the double-bars anent 
 your door, and whatever ye hear, I charge 
 ye, on your soul, stir not till morning — 
 
 and " Here he was interrupted by the 
 
 grasp of the sergeant on his throat ; the 
 next moment he was flung under the table, 
 with such force as to render him insensible. 
 The sergeant then ran up the,, stairs, and 
 attempted to force the upper door, but it 
 was proof to his strongest efforts. Alice, 
 meantime, shrieked loudly for assistance 
 
140 DARIEN". 
 
 through her narrow window : but,, alas ! 
 there were similar cries from other houses, 
 and the whole village, now lighted up by the 
 flames of a poor fisherman's thatched cabin, 
 presented the appearance of having been 
 given up to pillage. The baffled sergeant 
 was met by the jeers of his now drunken 
 comrades. Swearing a tremendous oath 
 that he would not be baulked, he snatched a 
 burning fagot from the fire, and applying 
 it to the stairs, called out to Alice to come 
 down quickly, or die the death of a witch, 
 as she was. Already the smoke had 
 entered the poor girl's chamber, and she 
 thought that her last horn* was come ; 
 when, suddenly, the window was dashed 
 in, and Partan's voice called eagerly to 
 her to escape. She did not hesitate ; and 
 the sailor, carrying her in one arm as if 
 she were a little child, let himself quickly 
 down by an old bowsprit, which he had 
 found lying before a fisherman's hut, and 
 had hastily placed against the wall below 
 her window. 
 
DARIEN. 141 
 
 Just then, as the sailor was hesitating 
 which way to fly with his charge, an officer, 
 accompanied by a young man in plain 
 clothes, galloped into the village. A 
 trumpet sounded its loud call, and imme- 
 diately troopers, in various states of 
 inebriety, were seen issuing from the 
 houses round, hastily arranging their dress 
 and accoutrements as they fell into their 
 ranks beside the trumpeter. Great as was 
 the licence of that soldiery at times, their 
 discipline was of the sternest description, 
 for every man well knew that Drum- 
 mond's provost-marshals did their work 
 without appeal. Scorning all other con- 
 trol, their own officers were generally 
 most promptly obeyed by these men. 
 
 The officer who thus summoned his 
 wild followers was a young man, scarcely 
 turned of five-and-twenty. His dress 
 displayed all the richness that the costume 
 of the time permitted, and "was of the 
 peculiar fashion then worn at the Court. 
 His countenance, though now flushed 
 with anger and the light of the burning 
 
142 DARIEN. 
 
 houses, was naturally unused to any dis- 
 play of passion, frank and kind ; but the 
 sight that he then witnessed, — one evidently 
 new to him, — was enough to rouse all that 
 was stern in his nature, even if the young 
 man by his side, who was pale as death, 
 had not eloquently adjured him to restrain 
 their course of ruffian violence. There is 
 something more sad in the wreck of ruin 
 of poor men's homesteads than in the sack 
 of the stateliest houses. The latter have 
 something of the air of a fortress, and in 
 their violation may be something of power 
 overthrown ; but in the ruined village 
 everything pleads for pity, everything seems 
 helpless, hopeless ; the beds, so bare of 
 furniture, flung out upon the road; the 
 naked children, the piteous infirmity of 
 the old, the poor little stock of provisions, 
 the bit of firewood, — all that in daily life 
 lies hidden in sad secresy, now rudely 
 exposed, wasted, jeered at by pampered 
 and bloated bandits, — we dare not call 
 them soldiers. 
 
 The troopers from Tarn's house, as they 
 
DARIEN. 143 
 
 were the most drunken, were the latest to 
 appear, — the sergeant last of all, and in a 
 ferociously bad humour. 
 
 "I knew it," he muttered to his com- 
 rades, as he reluctantly buckled on his 
 sword ; " I knew that wheyfaced courtier 
 was no more fit for us than a cow for a 
 bull-fight. Here's the second time he has 
 
 spoiled our little amusements, but by " 
 
 He was interrupted by a voice of thunder, 
 commanding him to fall in ; but some 
 evil spirit seemed to have taken possession 
 of him : he looked round upon his com- 
 rades, and received a faint cheer for his 
 resistance. 
 
 " Cornet Seignory ! " he exclaimed, " I 
 protest against this interference — against 
 men being thus distur " 
 
 " Fall in ! " was again shouted, in a 
 voice which every man but the sergeant 
 felt was ominous. 
 
 " I tell you, sir," he exclaimed again, 
 "by " He was again interrupted. 
 
 "Seize that mutinous rascal," shouted 
 
144 DARIEN. 
 
 the young officer ; but his men hesitated 
 to obey. 
 
 " Then his blood be on your heads ! " 
 said the cornet solemnly, as he fired his 
 pistol, — and instantly the tall, powerful 
 trooper fell from the stately attitude he 
 had just assumed into a mere heap upon 
 the ground. His fate had been deserved, 
 even in a military point of view, for the 
 drunken troopers had already begun to 
 waver and murmur ; and in such a case 
 mutiny soon spreads. The effect of the 
 sergeant's punishment was instantaneous ; 
 the troop instantly formed into as strict 
 order as was possible in their reeling state. 
 They were struck, not appalled, by their 
 young officer's determination. They had 
 not believed him capable of it, and he rose 
 immensely in their consideration as, with 
 his remaining pistol in his hand he rode 
 slowly along the line, to mark if there 
 were still any waverers. 
 
 Alice gazed on the whole scene with 
 dread and admiration. The young Cornet 
 
DARIEN. 145 
 
 appeared to her school-girl imagination in 
 the light of a hero ; yet the same hurried 
 glance was able to comprehend his com- 
 panion, young Tinwald, in its admiration ; 
 for his self-possession and his self-com- 
 mand seemed to her almost supernatural. 
 Her next impulse was to look round for 
 her father, but he was nowhere to be seen.. 
 Tinwald anticipated her thoughts. He 
 earnestly requested that the troopers 
 might be employed in extinguishing the 
 flames, and he himself rushed into the 
 Peel-house to seek for the old smuggler. 
 He found him slowly coming to his senses, 
 and by the time that the old man was able 
 entirely to recollect himself, the village was 
 restored to some sort of order, and the 
 flames extinguished. The troopers who 
 had refused to arrest their sergeant, then 
 dug for him a hasty grave ; and then 
 all, except a strong patrol, headed by the 
 young cornet himself, were allowed to 
 return to rest in the least obtrusive man- 
 ner they could assume. 
 VOL. i. l 
 
146 DARIEN. 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 Francesca, sweet, innocent maiden! 'tis not that thy young 
 
 cheek is fair, 
 Or thy sun-lighted eyes glance like stars through the curls 
 
 of thy wind-woven hair ; 
 'Tis not for thy rich lips of coral, or even thy white breast 
 
 of snow, 
 That my song shall, recall thee, Francesca ! but more for the 
 
 good heart below. 
 Goodness is beauty's best portion — a dower that no time can 
 
 reduce ! 
 A wand of enchantment and happiness, brightening and 
 
 strengthening with use ! 
 One the long-sighed-for nectar, that earthiness bitterly tinctures 
 
 and taints ; 
 One the fading mirage of the fancy, and one the Elysium it 
 
 paints. 
 
 D. F. McCarthy. 
 
 The next morning, long before the re- 
 veillee sounded, the village was astir, but no 
 one yet attempted to repair their damages. 
 
DARIEN. 147 
 
 Daylight dawned upon a lamentable scene 
 which was then too common to excite 
 much commiseration, though Sir Standon 
 Seignory, the young cornet, was new to 
 such spectacles. Deeply moved by the 
 misery of the poor villagers, he rode from 
 house to house, dispensing out of his purse 
 such liberal comfort, that most of the fisher- 
 men would have welcomed another assault 
 but for the humiliation of it They regarded 
 with astonishment an officer who, though 
 clad in the king's dread livery, appeared to 
 feel pity and sympathy for the people. 
 His own soldiers, had they witnessed their 
 officer's liberality, would have looked upon 
 him with contempt. 
 
 Before long, the troop was mustered and 
 rode away ; their cornet being the last to 
 leave the village, followed by the reserved, 
 but deeply uttered blessings of the people. 
 Young Tinwald accompanied him for a short 
 distance, and expressed his admiration of 
 his conduct very heartily. 
 
 " I have no doubt, however," replied the 
 l 2 
 
148 DARIEN. 
 
 young officer, " that old Drummond will 
 look upon it in a very different light. His 
 favourite expression is, that the mettle of 
 soldiers should never be checked, as it can- 
 not be restored. It may be so. I was set 
 upon this service against my will, and I 
 care not how soon I leave it, if I can do so 
 without dishonour." 
 
 " And may I ask," said Tinwald, " how 
 you, with your gentle, generous feelings, 
 could ever have become engaged in this 
 bloody service, especially as you have a 
 high position, and a large fortune that must 
 make you independent of any favours to be 
 obtained from king or courtiers ? " 
 
 " You know," replied Sir Standon, " that 
 my father was a zealous courtier, and 
 before he died, rejoiced to see me settled, 
 as he thought, in the late king's favour. 
 Somehow, one gets accustomed to like a life 
 of courts, — to think everything outside its 
 sphere insipid. I found some favour with 
 King James, and might have held my ap- 
 pointment in peace ; but one day I hap- 
 
DARIEN. 149 
 
 pened to express my surprise at the 
 extreme measures pursued against this 
 unhappy country. My speech was reported 
 to our king, (whom Heaven preserve !) and 
 his majesty took umbrage at it. The next 
 day I received an order to repair to tjiis 
 my regiment, in which I had long held a 
 commission, though I had never seen it. 
 As it was on actual and somewhat dangerous 
 service, I could not hesitate to join. Last 
 week was my first experience of military 
 life. The day before yesterday I was sent 
 on detached service, in order, I suspect, to 
 try me ; and that poor devil of a sergeant 
 was employed as my bear-leader ; so per- 
 haps I was wrong in visiting his offence so 
 severely. But I felt that I had no help for 
 it ; and besides, he richly deserved such a 
 fate for his unsparing cruelty to a wretched 
 set of Cameronians, whom we were called 
 on yesterday to disperse. I think he cut 
 down half-a-dozen with his own hand, after 
 I had had the recall sounded." 
 
 6 He was most righteously punished, in 
 
150 DARIEN. 
 
 my opinion/' replied Tinwald ; u and if my 
 humble testimony can avail anything, I 
 pray you command me." 
 
 u To say truth/' said the officer, " it 
 would do me no service, though I thank 
 you for your offer. Nay, though contrary, 
 perhaps, to the strict letter of my duty, I 
 will confess to you that your name is on 
 the list of the suspected. You have been 
 6 delated ' of harbouring rebels, and abetting 
 their obstinacy. For the sake of old ac- 
 quaintance, I must conjure you to be 
 cautious about this matter in future, for our 
 rulers are as insatiable in fines as they 
 are ruthless in other respects. With thi s 
 I must bid you God speed, for I have to 
 meet my commanding-officer at Traquair 
 by noon, and I must press on my people to 
 be in time." 
 
 He joined his troop. They moved on 
 rapidly over the hill, across the Lochar 
 Moss, their steel caps and brilliant accou- 
 trements flittering in the morning sun. 
 Tinwald gazed after them, and then, as he 
 
DARIEN. 151 
 
 turned his horse's head towards home, ex- 
 claimed, " Pity that such a brave pageant 
 should suggest nothing but deeds of op- 
 pression that sully their cause, and cruelties 
 that degrade their valour. And yon poor 
 youth, their leader, with his fine but un- 
 stable character, how much he is to be 
 pitied in being condemned to such a 
 service ! " 
 
 Sir Standon Seignory, who was thus 
 compassionated, was a baronet of ancient 
 family and large estates in Yorkshire. He 
 had visited Edinburgh as page to the Duke 
 of York, during that prince's brief but odious 
 government of Scotland. One evening, the 
 page with another of the Duke's attendants, 
 was set upon in the streets of Edinburgh, 
 and had been rescued by Tinwald and 
 some of his young associates at college. 
 Thence sprung an acquaintance which, 
 after a long interruption, had been renewed 
 on the previous day. As "Tinwald was 
 journeying from his father's house, he had 
 met the advancing troop commanded by 
 
152 DARIEX. 
 
 Sir Standon ; the latter had courteously 
 explained his commands to quarter for the 
 night at the old Manor-house, and Tin- 
 wald had consequently returned to do the 
 honours of his home. The uproar in the 
 village had alarmed them just as they were 
 retiring to rest, and hence their sudden ap- 
 pearance in the height of the disturbance. 
 
 On his return to Sandilee, the young 
 laird found the people busily engaged in 
 repairing the disasters of the night before. 
 They wrought cheerfully at their work, 
 especially the fisherman, the flames of 
 whose cottage had lighted up the scene. 
 He now boasted that he had himself set fire 
 to it, rather than endure the insults and 
 sinful language of the troopers, which he 
 feared would bring the rafters down about 
 his ears. " And two hundred pounds 
 Scots" (£10), he added, gleefully, "that 
 the man of sin paid me, will make her a 
 bonnier shieling than she ever was afore." 
 
 Old Tarn was sleeping off his terrors on a 
 temporary bed on his kitchen-table, and his 
 
DARIEN. 153 
 
 daughter was sitting alone on the sea-shore. 
 There she meditated ruefully on what 
 seemed to her like a troubled dream, and 
 wondered whether every night in the coun- 
 try was like the last, and whether people's 
 rest was always broken by such demons, 
 and the disturbance atoned for by such 
 heroes as the cornet and the young laird- 
 How grand they had looked, as the fierce 
 fire-light glared on them, and all the angry 
 faces of the soldiers ! What a story it 
 would all be for Isobel ! 
 
 While thus she was musing, the fatigue 
 of the past night gradually prevailed over 
 her. The waves were murmuring softly 
 and monotonously at her feet ; the soft 
 south wind played upon her cheek, and 
 stirred her tresses gently on her breast. 
 Sleep crept over her senses, and gradually 
 relaxed her attitude into that which har- 
 monized best with her fairy-like figure. 
 Beautiful as a dream herself, she softly 
 entered into the land of dreams. 
 
 The way from the village to the Manor- 
 
154 DARIEN. 
 
 house lay along the shore ; the tramp of 
 Tinwald's horse produced no sound from 
 the silent sand. The rider dismounted, and 
 approached Alice unperceived ; he was at 
 first alarmed on finding her there alone, so 
 pale and still and unconscious. But as he 
 gazed breathlessly on the unexpected 
 vision, he saw with delight a faint colour 
 flushing through the whiteness of her 
 cheek, whether it was the warmth of sleep, 
 or a dim dreamy sense of his presence that 
 brought it there. He bethought him that 
 it was — that it might be — right to watch 
 over her for a little ; perhaps to offer his 
 services, or at least to inquire how it fared 
 with her after her recent escape. While 
 these thoughts were passing through his 
 mind, some strong and subtle spell seemed 
 to steal into his heart. He had never 
 before felt the existence of that organ, 
 except in its beating. He now recognized 
 a sort of aching sense pervading it ; some- 
 thing palpable seemed to press upon it. 
 According to the rigid mode of education 
 
DARIEN. 155 
 
 that then prevailed in the sect to which he 
 belonged, he had been almost as much 
 secluded from female society and presence 
 as if he had been a monk. All the vague 
 intuitive thoughts concerning women that 
 had from time to time visited his imagina- 
 tion, now assumed a visible and most 
 lovely shape. The fascination rushed in 
 upon him at once, like the Solway's tide, 
 breast high. 
 
 Meanwhile the sleeper's rest became 
 troubled ; her spirit became conscious of 
 the presence of the earnestly-gazing eyes 
 that were invisible to her corporeal con- 
 sciousness. Tinwald, with a strong effort, 
 retired softly, and at last rode away, leaving 
 a dream behind him with her, who returned 
 to deep sleep when she felt that nothing 
 but earth and sea and sky were round her. 
 
 The old man was overjoyed to find his son 
 returned ; still more so when he professed 
 himself contented to remain at home, and 
 take care of the household gods. For the 
 lad had been ever prone to rambling, and 
 
156 DARIEN. 
 
 at times had even betrayed longings to visit 
 distant regions of the earth, that in those 
 days appeared to be surrounded by un- 
 speakable dangers. This erratic tendency 
 was " the anely ane thing he ever faulted 
 in douce Willie," in whom he vested all 
 the pride that his old heart could hold. 
 
 And well might he be proud of him ; for 
 Scotland, in all her brave arrav of worthies, 
 boasts no peaceful name more honourable 
 than that of William Paterson. All vulgar 
 fame of him was soon lost in the mis- 
 fortunes that clouded over his bright star ; 
 but the star itself shines on for all eyes that 
 will seek for it, in its own high region of 
 pure and benevolent speculations which 
 float above the world's bewildering and 
 misty atmosphere. 
 
 But it was not for his genius, or his 
 grand conceptions, that the old laird 
 honoured as well as loved his son. It was 
 for the spotless purity of his life, for his 
 high sense of honour, his disinterestedness, 
 his self-control. His learning was ex- 
 
DARIEN. 157 
 
 tensive, but unostentatious and unpretend- 
 ing, as becomes the true dignity of a scholar. 
 His sobriety was such that he was never 
 known to taste any beverage but water,* 
 and yet his energies were indomitable as 
 they were concentrated and calm. The 
 absence of all selfishness seems to have 
 been a positive defect in his character ; it 
 involved the want of that ever-earnest, 
 striving, combative spirit, that " o'ermaster- 
 ing will" so generally essential to the ad- 
 vancement of all worldly interests. 
 
 The personal appearance of this singular 
 man was, as it were, an index of his moral 
 qualities ; tall and upright in figure, with 
 clear blue eyes, a forehead high rather than 
 broad, an energetic nostril, and a grave 
 benevolent-looking mouth. Such was the 
 man who revealed to the poorest and most 
 persecuted nation in Europe the most bril- 
 liant colonial speculation that ever engaged 
 the human mind. 
 
 * See Dalrymple's " Memoirs." 
 
158 DARIEN. 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 Nature never made 
 A heart all marble ; but, in its fissures, sows 
 The wild flower Love ; from whose rich seeds spring forth \ 
 A world of mercies and sweet charities. 
 
 Barry Cornwall. 
 
 Time passed on, and all traces of the 
 trooper's visit to Sandilee had disappeared. 
 Rumours of dark atrocities, such as the 
 execution of the " Christian Carrier " * 
 
 * John Brown, of Lanarkshire, received this appellation from 
 his religious life and irreproachable character. His only crime 
 was non-attendance at the public worship of the Episcopalians. 
 Claverhouse himself found him, as he was at work upon the moor 
 that surrounded his lonely cottage. When examined, he con- 
 fessed the fact of his nonconformity, and Claverhouse ordered 
 his instant execution. The poor fellow knelt, down upon the 
 ground before his own door, and prayed earnestly ; his wife and 
 little child shrieking for mercy at Lis side. For once, even that 
 soldiery shrank from the office of executioners. Claverhouse in a 
 fury drew out his own pistol and shot the " Christian Carrier " 
 dead before his prayer was done. 
 
DARIEN. 159 
 
 and the " Two Margarets/' from time to 
 time reached the village ; but its own re- 
 moteness and insignificant population saved 
 it from such visitations. 
 
 Tarn Graeme had never wholly recovered 
 from the sergeant's rough handling, and 
 now seldom left his house. He withdrew 
 from all active business, and it is believed 
 that his professions of piety were no longer 
 hypocritical. Whether it was the presence 
 of his daughter, or the serious consider- 
 ations engendered by the nearer view of 
 death that produced this change, might be 
 uncertain even to himself. 
 
 But though his outward life became 
 
 The " Two Margarets" were aged, one eighty years, the other 
 only eighteen ; but they had the same constancy. They refused 
 to conform, and were hurried away to the Solway shore, where the 
 tide rises very rapidly. There the older woman was fastened to 
 a stake near low water-mark, and the maiden to one higher up, — 
 so that she saw her old companion first slowly and painfully 
 drown : hut she would not recant. As the water rose to her own 
 knees, and on to her bosom and her throat, she still sung psalms 
 and refused to listen to the voice of those who conj ured her to 
 yield. At length her voice was hushed by the waters. Then, 
 half-drowned, she was dragged on shore and once more offered 
 life, but in vain ; she was still firm, and was flung into the Solway 
 to perish. 
 
160 DARIEN. 
 
 decorous, and his habits of intemperance 
 reformed, the Tempter still retained one 
 strong hold in his heart. The passion of 
 covetousness increased as others lost their 
 strength, and the poor sinner's meditations 
 were shared between future gain and past 
 guilt. Partan had unintentionally increased 
 his craving after gold into a passion. In 
 one of his drunken fits of confidence, he 
 had revealed to the old smuggler that he 
 knew of a certain rich treasure buried by 
 the Spanish Main ; and visions of that trea- 
 sure haunted Tarn's imagination perpe- 
 tually. Indeed, but for this, he would pro- 
 bably have separated himself from Partan 
 altogether, as disreputable, and a bar 
 to his progress in well-doing : for Tarn 
 was selfish even in the most unselfish of 
 all things — his Christian creed. 
 
 Partan, therefore, not only maintained 
 his seat in Tarn's chimney-corner, (though 
 he never darkened the kirk door,) but, 
 unfortunately, was still supplied with an 
 unlimited allowance of his fatal bever 
 
DARIEN 161 
 
 in the hope of eliciting some further reve- 
 lation of his important secret. However, 
 he preserved the most profound silence, 
 saying, when pressed upon the subject, 
 "that it was the deil's treasure laid oop 
 by the deil's men, and wae wad he be 
 that howkit at it now." Moreover, he had 
 made a solemn vow never to cross the 
 seas again, " and sae > there was an end 
 on't." Tarn was of another opinion. 
 
 Meanwhile, young Tinwald had adapted 
 himself to the habits of country life, and 
 divided his time between his favourite 
 studies and the care of his father's farm. 
 The old laird observed this with infinite 
 satisfaction, only chequered by fear that 
 his son would become acquainted with the 
 embarrassment of his estate, and lose heart 
 under such a discovery. His hope had once 
 been that his son would enter into holy 
 orders, and thus secure for himself an 
 independence, as his grandfather, who 
 died Bishop of Glasgow, had done before 
 him. Episcopacy was still the law in 
 VOL. i. m 
 
] 62 DARIEN. 
 
 Scotland, and promised preferment for 
 one so rarely qualified to support it as 
 William Paterson. But the young laird 
 was not thus minded, though some of his 
 meagre biographies have represented him 
 as a preacher. He had too much sympathy 
 with his suffering fellow-countrymen, to 
 join himself to such a body as then dis- 
 graced their sacred calling by persecution ; 
 and so, though a true son of the Church, 
 and, moreover, grandson of a bishop, he 
 preferred retaining his layman's independ- 
 ence. 
 
 Besides all this, the love of travel, — the 
 most unquenchable of loves, — had taken 
 possession of his heart. He pined in the 
 narrow limits of his native parish ; 
 and desired to enter on a wider 
 sphere of observation, with a longing 
 that nothing but filial piety could over 
 come. As he saw more of Alice how- 
 ever, another feeling began to weave round 
 him an almost imperceptible coil, and 
 rendered the air that she breathed, the soil 
 
DARIEN. 163 
 
 that she trod, more endurable — nay, more 
 precious in his eyes. He often found him- 
 self strolling by the sea-shore with Partan, 
 though he no longer made long voyages 
 in the Bonito. He had always listened 
 with avidity to the buccaneer's stories of 
 the distant lands which he so desired to 
 visit, and now he took a greater interest 
 in the old man, because he was almost 
 domiciled with Tarn Graeme's fair daughter. 
 
 In short, the young student was more 
 than half in love, and more dangerously 
 so, because he was unconscious of it. 
 
 Partan, at this time, enjoyed a double 
 share of popularity, for Mistress Alice was 
 also fond of listening to his wild stories of 
 the Spanish Main. That romantic region 
 was then a fertile source of dread interest, 
 for few Britons engaged in lawful pursuits 
 had ever approached it with impunity. 
 But the village girl knew nothing of the 
 crimes associated with its very name, and 
 she was keenly alive to its romance. 
 
 m 2 
 
164 DARIEN. 
 
 The Bonito was now laid up upon the 
 shore, and Partan's chief occupation con- 
 sisted in watching affectionately over his 
 favourite " boatie," and occasionally repair- 
 ing her delicate frame. Often in summer, 
 while thus employed, Alice would carry 
 her spindle to the shore, and as she spun, 
 would listen to the old sailor's stories until 
 she had wormed out of him many an 
 adventure that was never intended to be 
 known beyond the bright blue sea or 
 palmy shore on which it had occurred. 
 By degrees the names of Morgan and the 
 fierce Olonois, and the exterminating 
 Montbara, and other buccaneers, became 
 familiar to her imagination as undoubted 
 heroes. Of course their atrocities were 
 passed over, or closely veiled by their 
 reformed follower, and only their super- 
 natural bravery and occasional fits of 
 generosity dwelt upon. At times the 
 garrulous old sailor (for he was garrulous 
 to Alice, though silent and surly to most 
 
DARIEN. 165 
 
 others) introduced young Tinwald into 
 the category of his heroes, and described 
 how he united, in his own nature, all the 
 glorious qualities of a buccaneer, and the 
 excellencies of a " gude Chrestian." 
 
 The frequent introduction of this per- 
 sonage into Partan's stories, by no means 
 detracted from their interest to Alice. Every 
 young heart is as a shrine which feels a 
 painful sense of vacancy until some image, 
 real or imaginary, is enthroned there. Par- 
 tan's hero was at once raised to that sweet 
 perilous position by the village beauty ; 
 and having so adopted him, she was never 
 weary of hearing his praises sung by the 
 old seaman — " Sae wise was he, and sae 
 gracious ; as bauld as a gamecock and as 
 gentle as a duve." 
 
 It was thus that Partan himself soon 
 became an object of interest to the lively 
 and imaginative Alice. He had the repu- 
 tation of being misanthropic, — a character 
 of all others least intelligible to a young 
 and kindly heart overflowing with love to 
 
166 DARIEN. 
 
 all created nature. He was an object of 
 mystery, too, for no one knew from whence 
 he came, and his accent alone betrayed his 
 Scottish origin. In his youth he must 
 have been a man of large and comely 
 proportions, though premature decay and 
 dissipation had bent his frame, and a wound 
 or some other accident had almost disabled 
 his left leg, and given him an ungainly 
 gait. He was never known to converse 
 willingly with any of the villagers ; when 
 not employed, he would sit for hours on 
 some solitary rock, gazing at the sea : those 
 who at such times caught glimpses of his 
 countenance, declared that it wore an 
 aspect of ferocity — they might have said 
 more truly, of despair. In outward ob- 
 servance, the old seaman's life seemed 
 blameless, but for the one old fault, which 
 in those days was scarcely deemed a vice. 
 He could not resist the temptation of 
 strong liquors, whenever, or by whomso- 
 ever offered ; and this was scarcely to 
 be wondered at, for, under their false 
 
DARIEN. 167 
 
 support, he would rise out of his usual 
 despondency into the bold and manly 
 
 bearing that once must have been natural 
 
 • 
 
 to him. To the thoughtful eye, such lucid 
 intervals were sadder than his darker state. 
 Tinwald, who exercised a sort of mission- 
 ary vocation amongst his people, had 
 often tried to rescue his humble friend 
 from this besetting sin, but of course in 
 vain. Such a reformation can only be 
 effected by the sinner himself, and requires 
 energies on his part that he can command 
 no longer ; hence its hopelessness. Nor was 
 our young philosopher's mind altogether 
 at ease on its own account. A vague sense 
 of remorse haunted all his thoughts con- 
 nected with Alice, and he had few that were 
 not so connected. It appeared to him just 
 possible that she might come to care for 
 him ; and if so, what might be the conse- 
 quences ? His father's pride would never 
 listen to his son's marriage with the child of 
 a disreputable and obscure old sailor ; and 
 his own irrepressible yearning to travel 
 
168 DARIEN. 
 
 imposed another obstacle, though not so 
 strong a one. 
 
 Many swift-footed months had gone by, 
 and notwithstanding all these consider- 
 ations, the young laird found himself 
 growing daily more intimate with Alice 
 Graeme, and gradually became a frequent 
 inmate of her father's house. Unrestrained 
 by any of the prudential considerations 
 that disturbed his mind, the village girl 
 gave herself up without reserve to the 
 pleasure of his society. 
 
 A lovely, loving child of nature was this 
 Alice Graeme : agonised by trifles, heroic 
 under trials; scornful of the restraint of 
 others, timid and diffident where her own 
 sense of delicacy was concerned. Longing 
 to love and to be beloved, yet severe towards 
 herself and wayward with her lover, when 
 an object worthy of her aspirations was dis- 
 covered : yet she only saw him through the 
 colouring prism of imagination that has be- 
 guiled so many, from Eve downwards. She 
 saw Tinwald moving upon the earth as one 
 
DARIEN. 169 
 
 superior to all mankind ; his figure, ap- 
 peared to her too noble to be disguised in 
 the common garb of mere humanity ; his 
 far-ranging thoughts, his grand conceptions, 
 were the standard by which she measured 
 his soul, and its dimensions seemed to her 
 though graceful yet gigantic. Had his 
 manner towards her been lofty and con- 
 descending, she would have bowed before 
 him in deferential love. But her woman's 
 pride and sense of privilege was awakened 
 and cherished by Tinwald's humility to- 
 wards her. Why should she not accept 
 the crown that a spirit like his would place 
 upon her brow ? ' Why not ascend a throne 
 which such a sovereign spirit had offered 
 her ? In short, she felt inclined to play 
 the queen — the tyrant — if only for the 
 power of descending hereafter from her 
 high estate graciously to bless her subject. 
 And strange to say, this treatment suited 
 Tinwald. It gratified even his chastened 
 pride to feel that his allegiance was ac- 
 cepted by one who bore herself as if she 
 
170 DARIEN. 
 
 had a right to receive it ; whilst it absolved 
 him from the painful sense of having won 
 affections that he might never be able law- 
 fully to claim. " Let what may betide/' 
 thought he, " it is I alone who can suffer ; 
 she looks on me with condescension, or at 
 most with compassionate sympathy. I am 
 free to act as my destiny seems to dictate, 
 without incurring any penalty but that 
 which my own heart may suffer from aban- 
 doning what is loveliest to it of all earthly 
 things." 
 
 This sad security of her lover was the 
 price that Alice paid for the gratification of 
 her vanity and waywardness ; and such 
 will be the case oft recurring whilst the 
 world endures. These two young spirits 
 were each awed and deceived by the fancied 
 superiority of the other; and therefore 
 Tinwald, the young philosopher, thought 
 he might freely enjoy all that he could 
 obtain of the society he loved, and do no 
 wrong. Reader ! did you never labour 
 under a similar delusion ? 
 
DARIEN 171 
 
 One summer Sabbath evening, Alice had 
 wandered forth upon the shore, to watch the 
 sunset and enjoy the contemplative silence of 
 an hour when all earth and sea seems settling 
 to repose. On passing a projecting rock, she 
 came suddenly and unperceived on Partan. 
 He was leaning moodily against an old 
 anchor that had almost crumbled away in 
 its own rust. The sunset was shining 
 softly on his weather-beaten visage, and 
 threw the shadow of his gaunt figure in 
 strong outline on the sands. 
 
 Alice was struck by the picture that he 
 presented. But she soon ceased to enjoy 
 its picturesqueness when she observed the 
 pained and sullen expression of the features 
 on which Heaven's loveliest light was 
 shining so serenely. That worn old face, 
 however, lighted into a welcoming smile 
 when Alice approached him : making a 
 rude sort of reverence, he said " that he 
 had just been thinking to seek out Mistress 
 Alice and to ask her advice." Then with- 
 out further preamble he proceeded to say, 
 
172 DARIEN. 
 
 that he was getting old, and sometimes 
 very infirm, and he did not know the horn 
 when he might be released from earth. 
 
 " Noo, leddie," he continued, " amang 
 mony a darker saicret, I have ane that 
 might belike turn to good, an it came frae 
 other lips than mine. Your father, leddie, 
 wad gie his ears to hear tell o' a tray sure 
 which I ken lies buried in a sartin spot in 
 the West Ingies ; but it might be better for 
 him, seeing he is sae auld, not to lam what 
 wad fash his avarecious saul, and onsettle 
 any bit o' peace he may hae found." — Here 
 he was interrupted by Alice, who exclaimed 
 indignantly, " You may mean well, but you 
 strangely forget yourself." 
 
 " Would God I cauld !— would God I 
 could ! " exclaimed the old man with pas- 
 sionate bitterness. "Weel, I mun crave 
 yer pardon, leddie. I 'm little wont to gie 
 or tak' saft words ; and if yer pure hairt 
 see nae harm in't, I '11 e'en tell your father 
 the nicht, and let him do as he wull wi' it. 
 Twad harm him less, may be, to trade 
 
DARIEN. 173 
 
 awa' the bit boatie to the West at ance, 
 than to be smuggling aboon these coasts 
 and not mak' as muckle in a hunnerd year 
 as I sail pit him in way o' winnin in ane 
 hour. An' he kens summut o't already/' 
 
 " Speak not of it this night, at all events/' 
 answered Alice ; "it is the Sabbath, when 
 all earthly thoughts should rest." 
 
 " Aweel, aweel, leddie, be it sae ; gude is 
 it for sic as can rest ; I'll just bide a bit, 
 and consult the young laird about the 
 matter first." 
 
 Soon after this interview, Partan and 
 Tinwald met at the old smuggler's house. 
 The latter was ostensibly detained there by 
 the weather, which, until lately, he had 
 been accustomed utterly to disregard. 
 The tempest howled without, and the 
 Solway roared; but within, the cheerful 
 blaze rose high, and the old seafarers, 
 one in each ingle nook, smoked their 
 pipes, and sipped their toddy, and spun 
 old yarns of such storms long ago upon 
 the high seas. In front of the fire sat 
 
174 DARIEN. 
 
 Alice, spinning at the humble yet graceful 
 wheel, which paused from time to time 
 in its pleasant whirr whenever the laird 
 joined in the old men's talk. Gradually, 
 however, the young people became ab- 
 sorbed in their own conversation, and the 
 old seafarers fell into more and more con- 
 fidential chat. 
 
 " And sae," muttered Tarn to his com- 
 rade, "ye wull no tak' the bit boatie 
 ayont the seas to the Lugies and seek 
 for the buried gowd ? You're aith, hech ! 
 I hae heard aneuch o' that aith agen 
 crassing the line. Ye wad no be sae strict 
 'gin it were agen whisky ye war pledgit : " 
 
 " I'm no an elder o' the kirk," retorted 
 Partan, " or aiblins I might counsel ye to 
 hae mair respec' to a sworn aith. But an 
 ye maun hae the grave-gold howkit up, ye 
 maun e'en do it yersel'. I will specify the 
 spot till ye, and a sma' pairt will aye con- 
 tent me for my share. I get auld, and hae 
 few wants the now, beyant what the aits 
 and barley can supply at a sma' rate." 
 
DARIEN. 175 
 
 Tarn filled the old sailor's beaker to the 
 brim with the fiery spirit that had made a 
 wreck of as stalwart a form as ever trod a 
 plank. Partan looked round a little bash- 
 fully, but seeing Alice and Tinwald's atten- 
 tion engaged with one another, he extended 
 his trembling hand to receive the delusive 
 poison. As he gulped it down, his dimmed 
 eyes recovered their lustre, his hand ceased 
 to shake, his voice sounded no longer 
 hollow from his sunken chest; he looked, 
 spoke, and perhaps felt like a man. His 
 destroyer had given him a lucid interval, 
 as usurers from time to time feed the 
 extravagance of their destined victims. 
 
176 DARIEN. 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 The pang, the curse, with which they died, 
 
 Hath never pass'd away ; 
 I could not draw my eyes from theirs, 
 
 Nor turn them up to pray. 
 
 Coleridge. 
 
 The wind now blew a gale, and the 
 Solway roared more fiercely beneath its 
 fury, but the fire only burned the brighter, 
 and Alice's sweet voice was carolling an 
 old ditty to Tinwald, whose ear was deaf 
 to every other sound. Tarn was too intent 
 on the topic of the buccaneer's buried 
 treasure to heed either song or storm, and 
 Partan, already in the seventh heaven of 
 intoxication, was carried back in imagina- 
 tion to the scenes of his youth upon the 
 Spanish Main. So busy was he with these 
 
DARIEN. 177 
 
 crowding memories, that Tarn found it 
 necessary to recall him to the subject of 
 the treasure. 
 
 " How was it, comrade/' said he, in a 
 low confidential tone, " that you never 
 spoke clearly to me o' this matter until 
 last nicht ? " 
 
 " I never thoght to have telled it till 
 ony ane," replied Partan ; " but somehow, 
 when I was in my drink, I got thinking 
 on yon bonnie lassie, and how that that 
 evil treasure might turn to gude in sic 
 hands as hers ; an' if I died this nicht (and 
 I'm but a puir broken down carle, God 
 help me !) the knowledge of it wad be lost 
 a'thegither ; and now that my heart's open, 
 I'll tell you, Tarn, what cost me a fearful 
 exper'ence to larn ; an' when I'm gane, or 
 when ye find an able and willin' callant to 
 do your wark, he'll just find the treasure 
 as easy as he'd find the North Star on a 
 frosty nicht. 
 
 " Ye'll mind that the French buccaneers 
 were aye a shuperstitious set o' de'ils. I 
 
 VOL. I. N 
 
178 DARIEX. 
 
 wot na weel which were waur, their pro- 
 fanity or their papistry. Now, ye yerse? 
 took but a short turn amang us, and did na 
 learn half their ways. One trick they had, 
 that if a man got hold o' ony considerable 
 treasure, he wad hide it on some lanely 
 spot until he was free of the Brotherhood ; 
 and could seek it in safety to gang awa' till 
 Europe, and spend it like a Christian 
 amang wine and women. Now, ye'll see it 
 war na aisy to hae this treasure watched, 
 by the living, sae they were desirous to 
 hae it in safe keeping o' the dead; and 
 I often heard tell that they made their 
 Ingian slaves, or some Spanish pris'ner, dig 
 the hole and bury the gold, and then they 
 cut his throat upon the spot, and his 
 wraith was believed to haunt it for aye 
 after. Ah, Tarn! I ken some spots that, 
 far frae papish as I be, I wad no come 
 near by nicht for all the gowd aneatfa the 
 sun, — spots that, by day, look all green 
 and lovely like ; but by nicht, ah ! they be 
 peopled wi' kelpies, moving to and fro, 
 
DARIEN. 179 
 
 shadowy-like, and sounds unairthly and 
 faint to the ear, as the shadows to the 
 e'en. Many a man has laid down trea- 
 sure there, but few have ever howkit it up 
 a^ain. 
 
 " But to my ain story. I dinna muckle 
 like to think, far less to spak' on't. But 
 ye're a bauld chield, Tarn ; and gin ye hae 
 it aince, yell keep it safe eneuch, I reckon. 
 Ye ken where the Gulf Stream rins wel- 
 tering amang the string o' islands and rocks 
 by Gracias ? — Weel ; east by nor' o' the 
 Cape, there lies a wheen sma' rocks, 
 called Caxones, or Kakonies by the Ingians. 
 There's five o' 'em stand thegither, like the 
 pops on a dice ; and the sea rins in whirl- 
 pools a' round the inner island; and the 
 jagged coral gies it a bluidy look ; and the 
 deadly blue sharks, and the cruel cat-fishes, 
 and the slimy tangle, are a' shimmering in 
 the welterin' waters... The centremost island 
 isn't aboon half a mile ower; it's shaped 
 amaist like a coffin, and covered o'er wi' 
 a ghaistly gray sand, and a few stinted trees 
 
 n 2 
 
1 80 DARIEN. 
 
 twisted all shapes, in agony like, by the 
 hurricanes. One of them is a cedar-tree ; 
 and jist a dozen yards east of it there lies 
 sich a skeleton as man never saw afore." 
 
 Here the old buccaneer bent forward 
 towards his friend, who shuddered in mere 
 sympathy, as the former dropped his voice, 
 and continued : 
 
 " That skeleton has neither leg-banes 
 nor arm-banes, yet it lies jist sich as life 
 left it ; an' its gruesome teeth are clenched 
 on the neck o' another skeleton lying 
 crosswise by its side. Ach ! that I should 
 tell o' what has been haunting me this 
 monie a year ! " 
 
 " But the treasure, Sandy," interrupted 
 Tarn, who was by no means a slave to 
 imagination ; " what the de'il hae the un- 
 canny banes to do wi' the treasure ? " 
 
 " The accursed gowd lies buried aboon 
 
 thretty paces off, bearing south by west fira' 
 
 the skeleton. Him that hid it could gang 
 
 nae farther wi' that deadly grip upon him. 
 
 " In those days I sailed as boatswain's 
 
DARIEN. 181 
 
 mate in the Black Bess ; we was about 
 half English and half French aboord ; and 
 if hell's a waur place than that same ship, 
 the deil maim hae a sair berth o't. Our 
 surgeon was a Frenchman, I believe ; if he 
 was ever born naturally at all, for never a 
 man had less o' woman in him. He was 
 an awfu' bein', and the men were mair 
 afear'd o' his curings than o' a' the enemy's 
 wounds. He wad examine a puir fellow's 
 banes and quivering flesh as if it was a 
 pretty pictur', and no leevin' nature ; and 
 yet na man dare question him. One day 
 we tuk a Spaniard, and, as we thought, a' 
 her men had walked the plank. The me- 
 dicine kist, wi' ither spulzie, fell to the 
 surgeon's share ; but when it was opened, 
 he found nought withinside save a miserable 
 mulatto that had hidden himself there. Well, 
 he was dootless sair vexed, but he only 
 laughed a horrid laugh, and said to the 
 tremblin' creetur, ' Ye needna fear, friend ; 
 ye're fa'en into gude hands. I'll na kill ye, 
 I'll only operate on ye.' The puir soul 
 
1 82 DARIEN. 
 
 thought o' naething but the saved life, and 
 fell at his knees, thanking him \vi' tears o' 
 gratitude. That day the surgeon let him 
 alane, for he had wark eneuch wi' our ain 
 wounded ; and sae it was the next day. But 
 at last, he wanted amusement, and sae he 
 just cut off the mulatto's right leg, to try 
 some new experiment. Weel, he war a 
 cleever chiel, wi' a' his devilry ; and he soon 
 made his patient sound agin. But the voy- 
 age was a lang and weary ane ; so, to try 
 some ither experiment, he cut off the ither 
 leg o' the cretur. I winna tell ye how the 
 mulatto looked, nor what he said ; but we 
 aboord the ship war nae chickins, I promise 
 ye, and yet we were terrified at what used to 
 pass atween them twa ; ane wi' the tongue, 
 and the ither wi' the knife. I dinna rightly 
 ken a' the ways that the surgeon had o' 
 takin' his diversion at intervals, for we a' <?ot 
 as far out o' the way as we could whenever 
 he went nigh the mulatto's berth. But, 
 when we were near Tortuga, on our return 
 frae a long cruise, the mulatto was naething 
 
DARIEN. 183 
 
 but a mere trunk only; arms and legs a' 
 gane, and yet wi' devilish art and cruel skill 
 he was still kepit alive. 
 
 " At last it happened as we were cruising 
 off the Caxones, that the captain had 
 a tulzie wi' the surgeon ; the haill crew 
 was lang sick o' him, and when the cap- 
 tain proposed that he sud be marooned on 
 yon island every man in the ship shouted 
 for joy ; a score o' hands hasted to hoist 
 out the boat. Even the Mulatto body 
 tried to cheer, and the surgeon heard it, 
 and smiled on him ance mair. 
 
 " ' We won't part, at all events. By the 
 laws of our Brotherhood, I have a right 
 to my own property, Captain Morgan,' 
 he said ; ' and I claim this my prisoner and 
 patient, with my chest.' 
 
 " Sandy, that surgeon was a bauld man ! 
 He was quite willin' to go to that lanely 
 islan' laded wi' the curses o' the crew, and 
 only that puir ruined body to keep him 
 company. This deil incarnate then went 
 below, and pretended to pack up iiistru- 
 
184 DARIEN. 
 
 ments and papers, and things in his kist, 
 but I watched him closely, and know that 
 there was a sight o' gowd and precious 
 stanes there ; besides biscuits, and brandy, 
 and fish-hooks, with ammunition and 
 pistols ; and for all they gi'ed him but 
 five minits for the job, he packed his kist 
 as cannily as though he had ta'en a month 
 to do it. Weel — we landed him and his 
 kist, and though we tried hard agen it, 
 we were forced to land his Mulatto creetur' 
 too : — for, you see, if we broke one part 
 o' the Brotherhood's rules, there wad be 
 na hope for the rest. So we lifted the 
 kist up agen the lonely cedar on the island, 
 and set the Mulatto do on hard by. 
 
 " I dinna like, to this day, to think o' 
 the last look he lookit at us, as we 
 gaed awa'. Wad ye think it? I kissed 
 the puir pale laddie (as I couldna shak him 
 by the hand), and I was tempted to put 
 my knife intil him for mercy, but I daured 
 na; I feared that surgeon deil, sitting 
 there on his kist, looking round that lanely 
 
DARIEN. 185 
 
 isle, independent o' us a 5 , and — as we 
 thought — of doom itself. We hurried to 
 get away. I was the last man leaving 
 the land. I dinna ken how it was, but, 
 just as tho' the divelish surgeon had the 
 ordering o't — for all he could not see us 
 where we sat — the whilst I was casting 
 off the painter, the boat capsized in the 
 surf; the water was all whiskit into foam; 
 the sharks were thick as herrins ; my three 
 shipmates went down, and I never saw 
 them mair. Oh ! it was terrible to be 
 left, coming on nicht, upon that island, 
 with the fearfu' surgeon and his prey. But 
 I was fascinated to keep them in sight. I 
 crept along the sand, and under the shade 
 of the mangroves, inch by inch, until I got 
 a better view o' him. There he was, 
 fancying we were a' awa' ; for he was 
 thinking o' himsel' alane, and never lookit 
 after the boat. He had emptied the chest, 
 and was sorting its contents — biscuits, 
 powder, gold pieces, doctor's tools, jewels 
 and pearls by handfuls, pistols and books 
 
] 86 DARIEX. 
 
 — sic a confusion ! He had, afore this,, 
 digged a hole, well nigh as deep as himself 
 in the saft sand, and into this he tossed all 
 the gold and precious stanes, leaving just 
 room aneuch for a body, and a wee bit 
 sand to lay o'er it. He then sat him down 
 to enjoy himsel' wi' a biscuit and a drap o' 
 brandy ; then, lighting his pipe, he turned his 
 uncanny een on the Mulatto. e I 've nearly 
 done wi' ye/ that look seemed to say ; 
 c but ye maun serve me ane gude turn 
 mair. I '11 finish you here, and you '11 jist 
 haunt this spot till I can come back for 
 what 's in it, at my leisure.' The Mulatto 
 did not look daunted as those terrible een 
 keeked into his face ; the bitterness of 
 death was passed wi' him, nae doot ; nor 
 yet when the surgeon lifted him (he was 
 light eneuch !) upon the sand near to the 
 treasure. The creator weel kenned for 
 why he was put there. ' Deevil ! ' he 
 moaned out, faintly and defiantly, ' you 've 
 but a short time longer to torment me ; 
 I hear the death-rattle coming now.' 
 
DARIEN. 187 
 
 " The surgeon bent down his ear close 
 by the dying man. I saw the fire o' 
 vengeance flash into his glazing een ; 
 his dismembered body bent for a moment, 
 like a fish springing fra the ground ; I heard 
 a husky noise. The surgeon strove to loup 
 an' get himsel' on his feet, but the Mulatto 
 was fast to him, and lifted wi' him. He had 
 seized him by the thrapple wi' his teeth, 
 and when the surgeon tried to pu' him 
 awa', he only tore his ain flesh. I couldna 
 hae gaed up to them if I would. I buried 
 my face in my hands and ran away. But 
 a dreadful sound was in my ears, lang lang 
 after those who made it were still eneuch. 
 It was then a' but dark. I dinna ken 
 how that terrible nicht was past. I believe 
 I was daft ; I kept pacing the shore, till the 
 boat frae the ship took me off the next day. 
 When I came to mysel', I told it to the 
 captain, and wanted him to go back, but 
 he said we were unco far awa', and bade 
 me spak' an it to naebody. I believe he 
 thocht to seek after the treasure himsel'. 
 
188 DARIEX. 
 
 I was landed, soon after, at Tortuga, sick 
 o' brain fever, or sommut, and the Black 
 Bess foundered, in a hurricane, with all 
 hands. Years passed by afore I could man- 
 age to get back to Deadman's Isle, as we 
 ca'ed it, wi' a canoe and a couple of Ingians. 
 I found the maimed skeleton lying along- 
 side o' the perfect one, whose banes war' 
 stretched in a' directions as if still in agony. 
 The gumless teeth of the ane were still 
 clinched whar' the throat o' the ither was 
 ance ; but the red ants had picked a' the 
 lave o' them quite clean. I left the Ingians 
 in the boat, and worked sair at the treasure, 
 but a sun-straik fell on me, and I was 
 carried awa' by the Ingians, half dead : 
 and, before I recovered, I made a vow 
 never to approach that island ony mair, 
 but to leave to the deil the deil's 
 spulzie." 
 
 " Hoot, toot, man," exclaimed Tarn, as 
 he refilled his pipe, " ye war wrang there ; 
 if it war a righteous deed to make spulzie 
 o' the Egyptians, because they were ene- 
 
DARIEN. 1 S9 
 
 mies o' Israel, muckle mair blessed wad 
 it be to make spulzie o' the deil, whilk 
 is the enemy o' all mankind, and o' 
 gospelling Scots in particular." 
 
 Partan made no reply, his spirits were 
 exhausted, and his chin fell upon his 
 breast. Alice, with horror in her looks, 
 gazed on the old buccaneer, and with 
 almost equal fear on young Tinwald, who 
 seemed fascinated by a story which trans- 
 ported him to scenes that he had long 
 dreamed of. Tarn, too, felt influenced by 
 the tale in his own way. Nudging his 
 drowsy comrade, he whispered, " Ken ye 
 about, man, what micht be the amount o' 
 the surgeon's treasure, or an average on 
 it ? " But Partan was asleep ; in a few 
 minutes he sank down at full length upon 
 the settle; and, from the restless state of 
 his slumbers, the lookers on might well 
 guess that his dreams were haunted by 
 no good angels. 
 
 Tarn, seeing that nothing more could 
 be got out of his comrade at present, 
 
] 90 DARIEN. 
 
 lighted his little lamp, and limped off to 
 bed ; wishing the young laird a u Gude 
 nicht," and enjoining Alice to put the fire 
 out, and see that the door was fast. Still 
 Tinwald lingered, though he had risen 
 to take his departure. Alice looked at 
 him timidly, and then said, as she turned 
 away towards the fire, — 
 
 " I see — I see, that your mind is still 
 fixed on those dreadful countries beyond 
 sea. Yet they seem accursed of God and 
 man ; ?md wiiat can be their attraction 
 for you, who care not for gold, and abhor 
 violence ? As well might the red deer 
 seek to harbour with the mountain wolves, 
 as you with such men as poor Partan 
 seems to have risked his soul and ruined his 
 body by consorting with." 
 
 " It is pleasant to me to think that you 
 can care what becomes of me," replied 
 Tinwald ; " but I feel that sooner or later 
 my destiny lies among those people. From 
 my very boyhood I have longed to visit them, 
 and, if it may be, leave some token for 
 
DARIEN. 191 
 
 good behind me when I am gone. I know 
 not whether it be what is called a mission- 
 ary zeal that impels me ; but sure I am 
 that it is no selfish or avaricious spirit 
 that has thus prompted me to forego my 
 country, and all that is dear to me. Yet 
 the Western World is not the purgatory 
 that you believe. Each of its islands is 
 a paradise of beauty, and of all other things 
 that heaven indulgently bestows, and man 
 seems destined to pollute. It must be by 
 some hideous mistake that Christian men 
 first plunged those once happy islands into 
 misery ; and, going on from crime to crime, 
 have themselves arrived at a pitch of wick- 
 edness which staggers credulity. But fierce 
 and cruel as those buccaneers may be, they 
 are still human. There must be some virtue 
 left where there is such heroism ; and what 
 an innocent glory it would be to recall 
 even one of them from ruin, and by degrees 
 to regenerate the beautiful and wretched 
 countries they oppress ! " 
 
192 DARIEN. 
 
 In this manner the enthusiast continued 
 to dilate upon his hopes and plans ; rather 
 for the sake of continuing his conversation 
 with Alice on a safe subject, perhaps, than 
 from any hope of converting her to his 
 views. 
 
 It was almost daylight when he reached 
 his home. His father had taken it into his 
 head to be uneasy about his absence, and had 
 sat up for him. As soon as he presented 
 himself, the old man's fear changed itself 
 into wrath ; nor was his indignation allayed 
 when he discovered the cause of his son's 
 dissipation. " He might," he said, " have 
 long suspected it ; but he never could 
 bring himself to believe that a son of his 
 could stoop to the prospect of a low and 
 sordid alliance ; or, to what was so much 
 worse, that he would not name it." All this 
 and much more did the old laird utter 
 and anathematise. 
 
 The next day, his son gravely and 
 respectfully renewed the subject ; confessed 
 
DARIEN. 193 
 
 his desire to make Alice his wife, and 
 endeavoured to argue his claim to have 
 some voice in such a matter. 
 
 If the old laird was silent during this 
 long address, it was only because he was 
 half choked by indignation. When at 
 length he found words, they approached 
 too nearly to a ban upon his son, and his 
 son's choice, to be unnecessarily repeated. 
 Suffice it to say, that Tinwald went forth 
 from his presence, discomposed for almost 
 the first time in his life ; yet, with " auld 
 warld" filial piety, resolved to sacrifice 
 his happiness to his father's will. 
 
 vol. i. o 
 
194 DARIEN. 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 To thy noble heart 
 The harder vrould appear the truer duty. 
 
 Schiller. 
 
 In man's labyrinthine relations with 
 woman, there is no path but one, which 
 does not, sooner or later, lead to the Mino- 
 taur of self-reproach. And of all these, 
 there is none more perplexing than the 
 means of inoffensively withdrawing from 
 affections of which you have no right to 
 presume yourself possessed of. In this, 
 as in other cases, the most sensitive and 
 honourable minds, are, unconsciously, the 
 most cruel : they will not act so unge- 
 nerously as to elicit proofs that they are 
 loved ; they will not run the risk of placing 
 
DARIEN. 195 
 
 themselves in a false position by assuming 
 it. And therefore they betake themselves 
 to a more cruel course than either ; they 
 try to starve out the garrison, which not 
 having openly revolted from, they may not 
 storm. They withhold all the nutriments 
 that the old love lived upon — kind words 
 and kinder looks, and watchful attentions ; 
 they stop up all the many channels by 
 which one heart pours itself into another. 
 Thus, it is presumed, it was with Tinwald. 
 He would not humble Alice by repudiating 
 her love, which only in the most secret 
 recess of his own honest heart he allowed 
 himself to suspect. He tried by distance 
 and cold demeanour, to turn it into indif- 
 ference towards him, or even into indigna- 
 tion. He arrived at this resolution with no 
 slight effort ; but having once convinced 
 himself on which side his duty lay, he 
 allowed no feeling to parley on the other. 
 He felt in the depths of his soul the value 
 of this love — that first, purest, and truest, 
 that either might ever know ; but he would 
 
 o 2 
 
196 DARIEN. 
 
 not, for all that love's sake, sacrifice to it 
 what he considered to be the welfare of its 
 object; his only remedy was — estrangement. 
 
 He therefore withdrew himself from the 
 village and its little interests. He devoted 
 all his time and energies to improving a tract 
 of land called the " Lang Farm/' by newly- 
 invented modes of draining and embank- 
 ment; and he once more began to mingle in 
 the private meetings which frequently took 
 place in Dumfries, to concert measures for 
 resisting the intolerable persecutions that 
 then prevailed. On one of these visits to 
 the county town, he encountered Sir Stan- 
 don Seignory, no longer wearing the king's 
 uniform. 
 
 "Yes," said the ci-devant officer, in an- 
 swer to his look of inquiry, " the cockade 
 is dismounted. Claverhouse has given me 
 my conge as I expected ; and I only await 
 here the issue of a court-martial which I 
 have demanded, before I retire into private 
 life. Now let me warn you once more, 
 that you are observed and tracked by the 
 
DARIEN. 197 
 
 bloodhound spies of Government; if you 
 are once arrested, Barbadoes or the thum- 
 bifcins, to say nothing worse, is your 
 inevitable fate." 
 
 Tinwald thanked his friend, but, in the 
 spirit of the time, felt only nerved to bolder 
 measures by the warning. Sir Standon then 
 went his way, and many years elapsed 
 before the young laird again beheld him. 
 
 That night, Tinwald returned through 
 one of the autumnal tempests that some- 
 times visit the vale of the Sol way with 
 peculiar fury. His course was consider- 
 ably impeded by the violence of the wind, 
 and the night had far advanced when he 
 reached his father's house. Having stabled 
 his good steed, he looked out upon the 
 storm before retiring to rest, and became 
 conscious of an unusual stir in the village. 
 Fearing lest it might prove to be another 
 inroad of Drummond's troopers, he hast- 
 ened towards Sandilee. 
 
 Almost instinctively, he made his way 
 first to the Peel-house, where he heard the 
 
198 DARIEX. 
 
 well-known voice of a fisherman named 
 Madden Ray, calling to Tarn and Partan 
 to " come out and hearken ; for there was 
 gruesome sounds from the say, and minit 
 guns that were stilly now." Tarn was neither 
 disposed nor quite able to move from his 
 warm bed at such a summons ; but Partan, 
 who now habitually slept in his chimney- 
 corner, staggered out into the storm, and 
 down to the shore through showers of 
 salt spray. Tinwald and Madden accom- 
 panied him, and beheld a sight that was 
 terrible even to their practised eyes. The 
 sea, thrown mountains high, and tortured 
 into strange awful shapes by the force of 
 the whirling wind, was lighted up at inter- 
 vals by a wan moon, as the black, rushing 
 clouds for a moment revealed her pallid 
 face within its shroud. Most of the villagers 
 were assembled on the green ; some driven 
 from their fragile homes by fear of the fall- 
 ing rafters ; and others, attracted by sym- 
 pathy for the ship perishing in their wild 
 and fatal waters. About a mile from shore, 
 
DARIEN. 199 
 
 there was a sandbank heading a long range 
 of quicksands, to this day well known by 
 mariners. On this bank some asserted that 
 a ship had struck ; others, that she had 
 passed it by, and that they had heard her 
 guns far to leeward. The mountainous seas, 
 blinding spray, and uncertain light ren- 
 dered it almost impossible to distinguish any 
 object. All that could be seen, even close at 
 hand, was but by glimpses ; all that was heard 
 was but ejaculations. Partan, after a few 
 minutes, seemed thoroughly recalled from 
 the effect of his potations. One excitement 
 counteracted the other, and he was now 
 roused into a seaman's interest in the scene 
 before him. He lay down upon the shore 
 and kept his eyes steadily fixed in the 
 direction of the sandbank. The first gleam 
 of light that passed over the sea revealed 
 to him that the black hull of a large ship 
 was stationary in the midst of the tossed 
 billows. 
 
 "To the boat! there's a brave ship 
 struck ! " he cried, as he started to his feet 
 
200 DARIEN. 
 
 with wonderful alacrity, and limped away 
 towards the little harbour. But none fol- 
 lowed him. The fishermen continued to 
 gaze in awed silence on the stormy sea, 
 which every moment appeared to grow more 
 furious, and to shake the very shore with 
 its mighty waves. 
 
 "Is there na Christian man amang ye 
 that will run a risk to save a sailor's life ? " 
 exclaimed Partan, reproachfully. 
 
 u Here's I for one ! " shouted Madden 
 Ray, the fisherman who had first sum- 
 moned him, and whose children were crawl- 
 ing about, trying to steady then tottering 
 little feet in the storm. 
 
 "Hoot awa, man!" screamed his wife ; 
 " the chiel's daft, an' sae are ye, to face the 
 wrath o' Heaven in sic a nicht ! " and a 
 pair of stout arms were folded round the 
 volunteer's neck, while two or three smaller 
 pairs encircled his legs. 
 
 "Is there na ne'er-do-weel amang ye?" 
 shouted Partan again, " that will take 
 chance wi' me to save yon puir perishing 
 
DARIEN' 201 
 
 folk ; and maybe women and bairns amang 
 'em, in the waves ? " 
 
 Swilltap, the publican's son, stepped for- 
 ward at this appeal, but was instantly 
 knocked down by his indignant sire. Tin- 
 wald then raised his voice and conjured all 
 for the love they bore him, for the honour 
 of old Scotland, for the sake of heaven, 
 not to leave strangers to perish on their 
 shore without one brave effort to save 
 them. " We want but one," he con- 
 tinued, "but one who can hold a helm 
 or pull an oar." 
 
 " It's na use ; it's na use ; " sternly 
 exclaimed the oldest fisherman ; " na 
 boatie in Scotland could live in sic a say. 
 It's God's wull sent the creatures into yon 
 extremity ; God's wull be done ! " 
 
 " His will be our speed then ! " ex- 
 claimed Alice, who had only waited to 
 muffle her delicate form in a plaidie, and 
 had joined the group. " ' His will be 
 done ! ' as master Ray says, and let us do 
 it. Partan, ' the battle is not always to the 
 
202 DARIEN. 
 
 strong ; ' you ken weel that I can hold a 
 tiller, and if you and the young laird row, 
 we may yet be in time to save ! " 
 
 The villagers had remained impassive to 
 the adjuration of mercy and of heaven, 
 but one electric impulse seemed to stimu- 
 late them all as Alice spoke. The old 
 fatalist was the first to fling off his doublet, 
 and thrust it in his wife's face ; all down 
 to young Swilltap followed his example 
 and moved towards the boat. 
 
 " Not sae, not sae, bonnie ledclie ! " was 
 the cry ; " there be hands, though not 
 hearts here, better fitted for sic wark." 
 They seized upon the largest of the fish- 
 ing-boats, and were about to launch her 
 from the blocks when Partan interfered : 
 
 " Not her," he shouted ; " as master 
 Ray says, she wadna live ; but the Bonito 
 boatie will swim as long as twa planks 
 haud thegither. Come ! wi' a will, lads ; 
 heave all ! ,: and the gallant little craft 
 was hurried from her rest into the water 
 that leaped and foamed even in this shel- 
 
DARIEN. 203 
 
 tered cove. Tinwald jumped on board, 
 and others would have crowded after him, 
 but Partan stopped them, and chose only 
 three of the youngest and stoutest. 
 
 After a little preparation, they were 
 off, followed by a cheer that stuck in 
 the throats of friends, parents, and lovers 
 who tried to utter it. In a few minutes, 
 a bit of a spritsail was run up, and the 
 Bonito, after some impatient curvets in 
 the calmer water, bounded like a gallant 
 courser into the raging sea. As she rose 
 over the first few waves, her tiny sail 
 was visible above the foam, but then 
 became lost in the dark confusion of the 
 elements. 
 
 The minister of Sandilee had by this 
 time reached the scene of action, and 
 readily availed himself of the occasion to 
 summon his little flock to prayer. Only 
 snatches of his words were heard through 
 the storm, but the full hearts around him 
 could well supply the rest. 
 
 He was yet speaking when the first 
 
204 DARIEN. 
 
 streak of dawn appeared. The face of 
 the preacher became distinct ; then the 
 shore, and at length the tossed sea, 
 opened to the view. Every eye was 
 turned towards the sandbank, and the 
 hull espied by Partan's practised eyes at 
 night was now visible to all. The Bonito 
 was nowhere to be seen. 
 
 But soon the shouts of her brave crew 
 were heard. She had performed her daring 
 task, and returned to the little cove just 
 before daybreak. The result of her adven- 
 ture had been a single man rescued from 
 the wreck ; and as he was found with hand- 
 cuffs on his wrist, the old superstition against 
 the rescue of drowning men revived in full 
 force. None of the fishermen, hospitable 
 as they naturally were, showed themselves 
 desirous of receiving so suspicious a guest ; 
 so with one accord they bore off the 
 exhausted and half-drowned man to Tarn's 
 house. There Alice procured for him all 
 the assistance in her power ; for her father 
 was snug in bed, and was determined not 
 
DARIEN. 205 
 
 to be disturbed. Tinwald attempted to 
 force some spoonfuls of brandy down the 
 stranger's throat ; when suddenly coming to 
 himself, he rose and cast a keen, quick, 
 fearless glance around him. Then seizing 
 the bottle of brandy, he poured out a 
 beaker-full, and tossed it off, to Partan's 
 great admiration, if not envy. The draught 
 seemed to restore him almost instantly. 
 He first made a graceful acknowledgment 
 to Alice, and then thanked his deliverers 
 in a few well chosen, manly sentences, 
 though uttered with a slightly foreign 
 accent. He glanced as he was speaking, 
 down upon his wrists, where the mark of 
 the irons was still visible, and added, as if 
 in explanation : 
 
 " You have saved not only my life, but 
 my liberty. The ship that I commanded 
 was wrecked near the Azores about a month 
 ago. I escaped, with some of my crew, in 
 a small boat, and after some days we were 
 taken up by one of our enemies. We were 
 
206 DARIEN. 
 
 ill-used ; one night we tried to retake her. 
 We failed : my comrades were hanged, and 
 I was only reserved to grace the yard-arm 
 of the Spaniard, when she entered Cadiz. 
 A gale of wind came on ; we lost our rud- 
 der ; scudded before the wind for a week. 
 It grew calm ; we got an observation ; 
 found ourselves at the back of Ireland ; 
 steered with a spar, to give it a wide berth, 
 hoping to fetch the Texel, and refit. Ano- 
 ther gale ; this time from the nor'ard. Ran 
 before it ; luffed up for shelter into this 
 river, or whatever you call it ; found it 
 worse than the open sea. We struck ; all 
 hands took to the boats ; I only left ; boats 
 swamped ; crew lost ; I, thanks to your 
 gallantry and kindness, only saved." 
 
 This explanation was given with such 
 apparent frankness as to impress all present 
 with its truth. Partan alone seemed to 
 have some misgivings, but said nothing. 
 Weariness soon put an end to further con- 
 versation. Alice retired to her room ; 
 
DARIEN. 207 
 
 Partan to his berth in the Bonito ; the 
 
 fishermen to their several homes ; and the 
 
 stranger accompanied Tinwald to the 
 Manor-house as his guest. 
 
208 DARIEN. 
 
 CHAPTER XL 
 
 Nothing he does or seems, 
 hin 
 
 Shakspere. 
 
 But smacks of something greater than himself. 
 
 Man scarcely affords a wider range for 
 development in his intellectual, than in 
 his physical nature. There is hardly a 
 wider moral difference between the mature 
 philosopher and the schoolboy, than exists 
 physically between the town-bred, lounging 
 dandy, and the seaman, inured to effort, 
 hardship, and danger from his childhood : 
 the former suffers acutely from a scratch 
 or bruise, the latter seems almost insen- 
 sible to any external injury short of that 
 which maims him : he has become, as it 
 
DARIEN. 209 
 
 were, annealed in the fire of adversity, and 
 is indifferent to sufferings that would be 
 agonizing to untried nerves. In the his- 
 tory of the buccaneers, we find curious 
 proofs of the invulnerability to which the 
 human body may be brought. The great 
 majority of these men no doubt perished 
 in the ordeal of their probation, but those 
 who survived it almost realized the fable 
 of Achilles. Impassive to climate, disease, 
 and hardship, indifferent to wounds, capable 
 of enduring incredible abstinence from 
 food, they faced the wild bull in the 
 forest, the shark in the seas, and made 
 sport even with the deadly alligator. As 
 for their exploits among their fellow-men, 
 they seem to transcend all fiction. Huge 
 galleons captured, and their crews de- 
 stroyed by the demoniac strength and 
 resolution of half a score of them in an 
 open boat ; wealthy, well fortified cities 
 sacked by a ship's crew ; whole provinces 
 laid waste and plundered by a mere hand- 
 ful of these desperadoes. Such facts 
 vol. i. p 
 
210 DARIEN. 
 
 abound in the naval histories of the time, 
 and would be incredible if they were not 
 borne witness to, as well by their enemies 
 as their friends. 
 
 There is a striking anecdote of them 
 which is told by Oexmelin in his peculiar 
 manner, and which Partan described with 
 the veracity of an eye-witness. In illustra- 
 tion of the foregoing remarks, it may as 
 well be mentioned here, as it was the 
 rescued stranger who succeeded in eliciting 
 it from the old sailor. Partan held aloof 
 from this man as much as possible, and 
 took no pains to conceal his dislike ; but 
 this was so much a habit of his, that it was 
 scarcely observed. The stranger seemed 
 resolved to ingratiate himself, however ; and 
 though Partan was unapproachable either 
 when fairly drunk or quite sober, there 
 was an interval between these states, during 
 which he was so much disposed to com- 
 municativeness, that he was often induced 
 to converse with those most whom he 
 disliked. The stranger, whether from 
 
DARIEN. 211 
 
 real interest in such things, or because 
 they made Partan amusing to him, de- 
 lighted in " drawing out " his reminis- 
 cences of the West Indies and the Spanish 
 Main. 
 
 One day the stranger inquired if it was 
 true " that the Caribs were cannibals, 
 and whether they really did use to cook 
 the brain in the skull, and the rest of the 
 victim in joints from day to day ; throwing 
 what your butchers call ( trimmings ' to 
 the children." 
 
 " Hech, Sirs, its ower true," rejoined 
 Partan ; " and its often I heard that some 
 o' their Christian captives was glad to 
 git a bit o' the same trimmings, — screeds o' 
 flesh and banes that's wastrie frae the flesh 
 in makin' the meal tidy. I hae heard that 
 when Edward, the Bruce's brither, was 
 invadin' Ireland, his foragers war sae unco 
 fain wi' hunger, that they, too, cookit the 
 flesh o' the slain Irish kerns in skulls." 
 
 " I have no doubt," rejoined the stranger, 
 " that those Scotch savages were barbarous 
 
 p 2 
 
212 DARIEN. 
 
 enough for that or aught else ; but thou 
 must know, oh cunning antiquarian ! that 
 skull was a word then used for a steel 
 cap, or helmet, and often was applied to 
 such auxiliary purposes, without disparage- 
 ment of its nobler use. Your ( skillet ' and 
 ' scullion ' are derived from that." 
 
 " Like eneugh ; but I heard the cannibals 
 ate the great buccaneer, L' Olonois, alive : 
 yin' him till a tree, and cutting off his 
 flesh and cookin' it before his eyes ; an' if 
 iver man desarved such entertainment it 
 was that incarnate de'il. But I mind a 
 Portingale flibuster that was partly de- 
 voured, and saved arter a* ; but then it 
 was anely by a cracadeel, or alligator, as 
 some ca's them ; sae he was saved the idea 
 of bein' consumed by cannibals." 
 
 "What's that cock and bull story?" 
 inquired the stranger ; " let's have it, by all 
 means." 
 
 " Hear till him," replied Partan, " w? 
 his cock and bool ! It war na sic thing, 
 sir ; but a cracadeel and an honest Chris- 
 
DARIEN. 213 
 
 tian that was in it. It was lang ago, in 
 the year se'nty-nine, when Ironhand was 
 making a raid into Hispaniola; we had 
 some unco dour kintra to cross, and mony 
 dark, suspicious braes, wi' uncanny looking 
 streams below. Weel, for the maist pairt 
 we marchit well thegither, for we kenned 
 that all creation, man and beastie, war as 
 well kep at distance ; but now and then 
 a daredevil would rin out of line to pu' 
 a banany, or speer after the Indian lassies, 
 or some siccan refreshment; and one 
 Bacalho, a Portingale, strayed away a bit, 
 and thoght to make a short cut to join on 
 to us. When we campit for the nicht he was 
 missing, however, and some of us went to 
 look for him ; and after a long time search- 
 ing about, we heard him swearing, as 
 usual wi' him, but only in a faintish voice. 
 At last we fand him, by the aid of moon- 
 licht, on the bank of a deep stream. He 
 had dragged himsel' by his arms (for his 
 legs were spoilt) to the foot of a tree, and 
 pullin' a dice-box out o' his pocket, he 
 
214 DARIEN. 
 
 was playin' one hand again' the other to 
 amuse himsel'. A great cracadeel was 
 lying near, quite dead ; and eh, sirs ! but 
 the Portingale was vera proud of having 
 killed him. Afore he said owght of him- 
 sel', he just began to glorify in the death of 
 the beastie. It rinned after him, he said, 
 and caught him by the legs, and tried to 
 carry him to the water, munching his 
 legs as he went along for refreshment : and 
 the Portingale stabbed out baith the beast's 
 e'en ; but it wadna let go, and sae it 
 dragged himsel' almost to the water edge ; 
 when the Portingale, getting really vexed, 
 driv' the point of his dirk, by a great effort, 
 into the creetur's brain, and so he killed 
 him. 'But,' he added, ' I doot me I have 
 paid sair for the fun.' So when we carried 
 him to the camp, the surgeon found the 
 legs chawed away, sae that he could na tell 
 the bit banes from the flesh, nor the mar- 
 row frae the fat. Puir fellow! naething 
 could be done for him but to make his 
 end pleasing, and it tuk twa quarts of 
 
DARIEN. 215 
 
 rum to effect that, for he was aye hard to 
 liquor; but fortunately he had a Strang 
 thirst upon him by reason of the fever of 
 his wound." 
 
 Partan had many such stories, which 
 seemed to prove that the buccaneers were 
 very unlike the rest of the human race in 
 power of passive endurance, as well as 
 in more active bravery. 
 
 The stranger who had been rescued from 
 the Solway would have been qualified to 
 belong to such a band, if one might judge 
 from the appearance of hardihood exhi- 
 bited in his countenance, and of hardness (as 
 that term is used in hunting phraseology) 
 in his frame. There was mingled with all 
 this, an air of grace and courtliness that 
 contrasted curiously with the sterner cha- 
 racteristics of the man. He evidently was 
 not wanting in that refinement which is 
 only acquired by intercourse with polished 
 society. His usually reckless confident 
 manner he could change in a moment into 
 one of winning softness ; and his scornful 
 
216 DARIEN. 
 
 and sarcastic tone into those of sentiment 
 or tender passion. He had evidently seen 
 much of the best and worst of life, and was 
 qualified to play his part in either. 
 
 Such was the character of a man, very 
 celebrated in his day : his portrait repre- 
 sents him with a profusion of light brown 
 hair and moustaches, dark piercing eyes, 
 and a figure of the most exact propor- 
 tions consistent with great strength. 
 
 Tinwald, like most generous, unselfish 
 people, was prone to what is now called 
 hero-worship. He was easily blinded, by 
 what seemed noble and magnanimous, to 
 the specious vices that often lie hidden un- 
 der those magnificent masks. The gallant 
 bearing of this stranger, his courtesy to 
 the old laird, his active and energetic mind, 
 and above all, his familiarity with foreign 
 lands, gave him at once a deep interest in 
 the young student's eyes. 
 
 " L'esprit leger impose toujours sur 
 l'esprit meditatif," says a cunning observer 
 of human nature ; and the truth of the 
 
DARIEN. 217 
 
 aphorism was manifested in the case of 
 these two men. The stranger soon per- 
 ceived his advantage and endeavoured to 
 turn it to good account. His practised 
 observation assured him that Tinwald, 
 though young and inexperienced, possessed 
 a mind of no common order ; and, though, 
 with far different aspirations, it was as 
 active and ambitious as his own. For 
 some days he appeared to be quite con- 
 tented with his new friend's companion- 
 ship, while at intervals he would give 
 himself up with characteristic ardour to 
 field sports. He was an unerring shot, 
 and soon was able to kill a salmon with 
 any angler in the stewartry. His excur- 
 sions became longer each day ; and at the 
 end of a fortnight, Tinwald was not quite 
 well pleased to hear from Partan that he 
 had become a frequent visitor at the Peel- 
 house. 
 
 " In truth," said the sailor, a I wad we 
 had left yon chiel upon the wreck. He's 
 na gude company for auld Tarn, and waur 
 
218 DARIEN. 
 
 for the young leddie. But the interlouper 
 has got hold on Tarn's weak pint, and says 
 he'll gang ower say and fetch for him the 
 buried traysure, and what not." 
 
 " And who, or what do you suppose this 
 singular man to be ? " Tinwald inquired 
 anxiously. 
 
 " I suppose just nothing/' replied Par- 
 tan ; " I'm weel sure it 'ill be ane o' the 
 Brethren o' the Coast, as they ca' them- 
 selves ; he kens the Spanish Main and the 
 Ingee islan's as weel as mysel' amaist ; and 
 there's other tokens that I'm no free to 
 spak' on." 
 
 " Then the sooner he goes after this 
 treasure the better," observed Paterson. 
 " What can he find to delay him in this 
 stricken country ? it must seem dull 
 enough to a man who has seen so much 
 of the world and lived so stirring a life as 
 he has done." 
 
 " Aiblins he thought of some ither trea- 
 sure ; " groaned Partan. " Its no aften in 
 gay places that gay gowd lays hid." 
 
DARIEN. 219 
 
 It occurred now to Tinwald that some- 
 how or other it was his duty to see how 
 his guest was going on at the village. He 
 had been instrumental in any danger that 
 might accrue from the presence of the 
 stranger there, and misgivings as to his 
 true character began to suggest themselves. 
 In short he loved Alice as well or better 
 than ever he did ; and though he had 
 resolved to sacrifice that love, and even 
 took a certain stern pleasure in trampling 
 down all insurgent happy thoughts of her, 
 he still persuaded himself it was his duty 
 to watch over her ! 
 
 It was quite time that her father should 
 have some assistance in that office. The 
 stranger had been heartily welcomed to 
 Tarn's chimney-corner ; for, fond of money 
 as he was, the old man had never been 
 able to rid himself of his native Scottish 
 disposition to hospitality. The stranger 
 availed himself of this with frankness and 
 heartiness, and appeared to feel as per- 
 fectly at home in Tarn's house as he 
 
220 DARIEN. 
 
 made himself everywhere else. An air of 
 superiority, however, manifested itself in 
 everything he did ; and if Tarn, notwith- 
 standing all his own shrewdness, stood in 
 awe of the unassuming and courteous Tin- 
 wald, still more was he impressed by the 
 off-hand commanding manner of his new 
 guest. This was laid aside whenever he 
 addressed Alice : then his observations 
 were more pointed, his voice subdued ; 
 and all his bearing towards her evi- 
 denced an appreciation of her sex in ge- 
 neral, and of her own peculiar excellence. 
 
 Shortly after their first acquaintance, 
 Tarn, anxious to fathom his guest by the 
 soundings he was best acquainted with, 
 challenged him to a potent bowl of 
 Glasgow punch. The stranger willingly 
 accepted the invitation, and Tarn soon 
 found himself beaten at his own weapon. 
 Unconsciously won upon by the stranger's 
 conversational powers, he forgot his usual 
 caution ; he first grew garrulous, then 
 very drunk, and his guest obtained from 
 
DARIEN. 221 
 
 him all the information he desired. Partan 
 had still sooner succumbed to his evil 
 genius ; and before an hour, the stranger 
 left both the old seamen in a state of 
 unconsciousness ; gazing at one another 
 across the table with an air of stupid 
 reproach, as their conqueror walked off 
 without the slightest apparent result of 
 the deep potations he had quaffed. He 
 then sat down by Alice, who was spinning 
 in the porch, and soon engrossed her atten- 
 tion by stirring narratives of many a wild 
 adventure, related as if they had been 
 matters of every day life, which indeed 
 they were, to him. 
 
 After that evening, Tarn tried to resume 
 his caution and reserve, but it was too 
 late ; his guest spoke with unreserved 
 freedom of Tarn's affairs, and even of the 
 Deadman's Isle. He offered to take the 
 Bonito and to pick up the buried treasure, 
 in the most frank and easy manner imagi- 
 nable ; declaring there was no more diffi- 
 culty in the expedition, than in a cruise 
 across the Solway, and that it would afford 
 
222 DARIEN. 
 
 but a slight return for his preservation and 
 kind reception. 
 
 The stranger thenceforth had become a 
 favoured guest at the Peel-house ; and it 
 soon appeared that in his confident attempt 
 at conquest, he had himself been con- 
 quered, notwithstanding all his experience 
 and knowledge of the world, by the simple 
 village girl. He devoted himself to her 
 whenever he obtained an opportunity. He 
 addressed her in his most earnest and 
 impressive voice ; he sought to invest his 
 very ambiguous profession with a chival- 
 rous and romantic interest in her eyes ; 
 and he sung to her wild but melodious 
 sea-songs, that had already won many a 
 heart for him in far other scenes. 
 
 Alice, however, was amused and inte- 
 rested, but nothing more. The brilliant 
 stranger won her attention and innocent 
 admiration ; but her inner thoughts were 
 still with the gentle and melancholy 
 student ; all the more, perhaps, because 
 he had now withdrawn himself almost 
 wholly from her society. Formerly he 
 
DARIEN. 223 
 
 had been used to visit the old castle of 
 Caerlaverock every evening at sunset, but 
 he was now no longer seen there. And 
 Alice, pained and surprised, but helpless, 
 grew gradually pale and pensive ; whilst 
 the stranger claimed in his heart her pallor 
 as the white flag of surrender to his suit. 
 
 Thus matters stood, when Partan com- 
 municated his suspicions to Tinwald in the 
 manner we have described. The old sailor 
 considered the matter of so much import- 
 ance, that he made it the occasion of his 
 first visit to the Manor-house. As he was 
 returning to the village, rather the worse 
 for whisky, he met the subject of his sus- 
 picion, who at once turned with him and 
 joined his walk. 
 
 " Master Partan," began the stranger, 
 " you and I have met before, in a very 
 different place. Is it not so ?" 
 
 " Perhaps," was the laconic reply. 
 
 " And you know me ? " resumed the 
 stranger. " Come, speak up, man, and 
 don't be afraid." 
 
 Partan looked at his questioner with a 
 
224 DARIEN. 
 
 glance, for a moment, as haughty as his 
 own. " Afeerd ! — and why for ? I would I 
 had sae little to do wi' my fear, as to thraw 
 it awa' upon sic as you, or any mortal 
 man. I do ken ye, Captain Lawrence ; 
 and I ken ye for as bauld and bluidy- 
 handed a chiel as ever sailed unner the 
 Red Flag." 
 
 The stranger answered with a light- 
 hearted laugh ; and giving Partan a friendly 
 slap upon the shoulder, turned along the 
 cliffs which there overhang the Frith. The 
 old sailor limped rather unsteadily along 
 the narrow and dangerous path, forgetful 
 of all things but that which now filled his 
 mind. 
 
 " Yes, yes ! " he resumed ; " I mind ye 
 ower week I mind ye when first ye joined 
 us, a pretty lad, wi' a saft singing voice ; 
 and years arter, when ye joined us at 
 Tortuga, as captain of the s Tiger ; ' and at 
 the plunder o' Vera Cruz, whare ye carried 
 afT that puir bonny Spanish lassie, and 
 hid her awa' in the woods there. An' I 
 mind muckle mair, too, that I wad hae 
 
DARIEN. 225 
 
 tauld lang syne to ithers but for the 
 aith of the Brotherhood, whilk I'm fule 
 eneuch to be bound by — but no too far ; 
 and I tell ye the now, Captain Lawrence ; 
 that if ye darken this puir village langer 
 than ye need to provision and gang away 
 in the Bonito, I'll pitch the aith back to 
 the deil wha deveesed it." 
 
 " Nay, nay ! old friend," rejoined the 
 Captain, " you had better go and deliver 
 back your oath in person ! " And so say- 
 ing, he flung the old seaman from the 
 cliff into the sea. As he fell through the 
 air, he uttered no cry ; but his look of 
 despair struck even Lawrence, who crossed 
 himself whilst he followed the body with 
 his eyes. 
 
 " It's strange," he muttered to himself, as 
 he strode away, "how living ashore cor- 
 rupts men. I remember that old caitiff as 
 bold a flibustier as ever handled, a cutlass. 
 He can't have been above half-a-dozen 
 years here, and yet he has learned to 
 
 VOL. I. Q 
 
226 DARIEN. 
 
 preach like a Puritan, and die with a look 
 that sickens me. ' Drunken dog ! he tum- 
 bled over the cliff in his liquor/ the honest 
 bumpkins here will say. No one saw us 
 meet, and I shall resume my chasse." 
 
 The stranger turned inland over the 
 hills,, and pursued his sport. Partan had 
 truly recognized him as Lawrence, the 
 most youthful, daring, and successful of 
 the buccaneering captains of his day. Born 
 in Paris, of good family, he was endowed 
 with great talents, and had acquired all the 
 accomplishments of the time ; he had fallen 
 into bad society, committed murder, been 
 condemned to die ; reprieved on account of 
 his high birth, he was transported, and sold 
 as an engage* He had soon acquired suffi- 
 
 * The engages were a sort of apprentices. They were generally 
 criminals whose punishment had been commuted to transportation 
 to the French colonies in the West Indies. If they happened to 
 be sold to the planters, their fate was generally cruel enough ; and 
 the mortality, caused by their forced labour under a tropical sun, 
 was very great. But those sold to the buccaneers led a life of 
 incredible hardship and suffering. Slaves of the most reckless 
 irresponsible tyraris , sharers in all their desperate encounters, 
 
DARIEN. 227 
 
 cient consideration to become a buccaneer, 
 and his career thenceforth was one of unin- 
 terrupted success. His daring was con- 
 spicuous even among the desperadoes of 
 the coast, and an approach to chivalrous 
 feeling and conduct which he had occa- 
 sionally displayed, gave romance to his 
 character. He loved music and poetry, 
 and had always a band of trumpets and 
 other instruments on board his ship. After 
 a brilliant career, he had been decoyed to 
 Holland by his rival freebooter, the cele- 
 brated Van Home, who made his wife 
 write to invite him thither. He had been 
 forced to fight the injured husband, had 
 killed him, and was being transported to 
 slavery in one of the Dutch settlements, 
 
 and only permitted to feed on the offal left after their banquets, 
 their lot was far worse than that of the dogs whose condition and 
 estimation they shared. Nevertheless, having served their term 
 of apprenticeship (generally three years), their masters were 
 bound to furnish them with a dress, a knife, a mgusket, and ammu- 
 nition. They generally then became buccaneers on their own 
 account, and, as they must have had extraordinary stamina to 
 survive their probation, they often became renowned ruffians. 
 
 Q 2 
 
228 DARIEN. 
 
 when he was wrecked in the Solway. He 
 
 is now pursuing some wild-fowl on the 
 
 Nith, while his victim is lying on the 
 Solway shore ; and so we leave them. 
 
DARIEN. 229 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 * * * How hard it seem'd to me 
 When eyes, half-languid, through half tears, would dwell 
 One earnest, earnest moment upon mine ; 
 Then not to dare to see ! When thy low voice 
 Faltering, would break its syllables — to keep 
 My own full-toned — hold passion in a leash — 
 And not leap forth and fall upon thy neck ! 
 
 Alfred Tennyson. 
 
 It was fortunate, perhaps, for the su- 
 premacy that Tinwald still possessed in the 
 affections of Alice, that he had entirely 
 withdrawn himself from her society. He 
 did not, therefore, appear in personal 
 rivalry with the accomplished stranger; 
 and the being of her own imagination was 
 naturally superior to any actual individual, 
 in the esteem of the young village beauty. 
 If she ever appeared to lend a willing ear 
 
230 DARIEN. 
 
 to the stranger, or too willingly permitted 
 his companionship, it was in the dangerous 
 hope of re-awakening in the young laird 
 the interest with which he had, until lately, 
 regarded all that related to her. Still he 
 held aloof from her. She was never 
 absent from the old castle at sunset, but 
 he was never there ; and it was strange 
 how lonely the absence of one per- 
 son could make it feel ! Then she found 
 out that he was often there at other times, 
 and she thought it was not, perhaps, 
 altogether for the ruins' sake that he still 
 haunted the old trysting - place. She 
 thought if she could only once see him, 
 that all would be right again. She could 
 not account for his estrangement ; but 
 with her faith in the nobleness of his 
 nature, she would not attribute it to any 
 reason that she ought to resent. Therefore 
 she, too, began to frequent the old castle 
 at unusual hours. In the innocence and 
 singleness of her own heart, she saw no 
 wrong in seeking the presence of one who 
 
DARIEN. 231 
 
 possessed it wholly. Wayward and wilful 
 she was, and perhaps not without a spice 
 of native coquetry ; but in her love she 
 was simple and truthful as a child. 
 
 Partan had left Tinwald in an uncom- 
 fortable mood. He then felt more keenly 
 than ever the sacrifice he had made in 
 resigning Alice. It was one thing to give 
 her up romantically ; and to fancy, in spite 
 of himself, that she was sharing his regrets ; 
 but it was quite another matter to give her 
 up practically, and to see her become per- 
 haps the bride of an unworthy rival. Yet 
 he had no right to interfere with, or even 
 to advise her. He resolved to see her 
 once more, and to judge for himself 
 before he decided on what course to take. 
 While thus musing, he found himself at the 
 old castle, which lay between his home 
 and the Peel-house. There he sat down 
 in a window-niche, and tried to think 
 dispassionately; but the associations of 
 the place were too much for him, and 
 instead of meditating on the affairs of 
 
232 DARIEX. 
 
 Alice,, he thought of herself alone. How 
 strange it is that a real presence can rudely 
 displace an imaginative one. An ideal 
 Alice was at one moment cherished by 
 Tinwald, and seated by his side. Alice 
 herself, tangible, beautiful, and warm- 
 hearted, stood before him, and instantly 
 the lover w T as displaced by the philosopher. 
 The grass-grown courts and ivy-muffled 
 walls of the old castle yielded no echo to 
 her light footsteps as she glided in, doubt- 
 fully and diffidently, now that she knew 
 the young laird was there. The setting 
 sunlight threw his shadow on the sward, 
 though he himself remained unseen. She 
 could distinguish his shadowy arm sup- 
 porting his shadowy head, and both were 
 as motionless as the broken arch above 
 him. She too stood still, hesitating, and 
 doubtful how to approach him. At length 
 she tried to sing a note or two of one of 
 her old songs, as if she thought herself 
 alone ; but her voice failed her. Her 
 heart beat painfully ; she clasped her hands 
 
DARIEN. 233 
 
 upon her breast to still it, and the rustling 
 of her plaidie, in the stillness of all around, 
 roused Tinwald's attention. He looked 
 up, and saw struggling in her lovely coun- 
 tenance love, disappointment, fear. Her 
 pale silent lips, and tearful downcast eyes, 
 told more than voice could have done, had 
 it been in her power to speak : her whole 
 cause, such as it was, was pleaded in a 
 moment. The young philosopher, from 
 his childhood, had practised the sternest 
 self-control, and even now his heart did 
 not betray its life-long discipline. He 
 stifled its strong passion, all the stronger 
 because so repressed ; and the hand that 
 was placed on that of Alice had no tremor 
 in it. A meaner mind would have in- 
 dulged in the luxury of a lover's sorrow, — 
 would have professed its passion, its sacri- 
 fice, its despair. He could not doubt that 
 her love was his, but he seemed as if he 
 knew it not. 
 
 " Alice," he said, " you and I have long 
 been friends, very kind friends together; 
 
234 DARIEN. 
 
 but you are no longer the pretty child 
 that mighty wander without observation 
 wherever and with whomsoever she chose. 
 You are now a comely maiden ; the eyes 
 of all our people look up to you and 
 admire you : their tongues,, too, may be 
 busy about you if you be not circumspect, 
 and more, too ; as becomes a young and 
 lovely woman who, having no mother, 
 must be her own guardian. All this means, 
 Alice, that we ought not to meet alone, 
 pleasant as it is to me ; and kindly as it is 
 on your part to be content to share your 
 society with one who only waits for an 
 opportunity to leave his own country, 
 perhaps for ever." 
 
 By the time that the young stoic had 
 ceased to speak, Alice had recovered 
 herself. Pride came to her assistance; 
 the thought of the wide difference in degree 
 between her and the laird for the first time 
 flashed across her mind, and she answered 
 proudly, — 
 
 "Your words sound like reproof, but 
 
DARIEN. 235 
 
 wherefore, I dinna ken. I am here to-day ; 
 I was here yesterday. This auld ruin has 
 always been as free to me, or any other 
 village lassie, as to any laird or scholar in 
 the land ; but if ye think I am trespassing, 
 not on this spot, but on yourself, dinna 
 fash yourself, for mony will be the day 
 before I come again into your cauld 
 shadow. As to your ganging awa', — if you 
 suppose that every lassie that comes to 
 Caerlaverock Castle is rinning after you, 
 you are quite right to escape from them 
 ower sea." 
 
 Having thus expressed herself, as she 
 thought, very heroically, Alice, with a 
 proud toss of her comely head, fled from 
 the presence she had so earnestly sought. 
 But quickly as she went, Tinwald could 
 hear the sobs in which her feelings soon 
 found relief : yet he remained motionless. 
 
 While this scene was enacting, Lawrence 
 was sitting in Tarn's chimney-corner. He 
 thought he might as well hasten his 
 departure, for fear of any possible disco- 
 
236 DARIEN. 
 
 very of Partan's violent death. He . now 
 formally proposed to Tarn to sail in search 
 of the buried treasure, as soon as the 
 Bonito could be made ready for sea. She 
 had only to run down to Bristol in the 
 first instance, and there she could easily 
 procure a crew and whatever her longer 
 voyage might require. To this proposal 
 Tarn assented with a readiness that sur- 
 prised the buccaneer. But in fact he was 
 impatient to see his guest under weigh ; 
 there was no use in refusing him, for 
 Lawrence already knew where the treasure 
 lay, and he was not a man to be baulked 
 of his purpose. And then, as his infir- 
 mities increased, Tarn's caution s;ave wav 
 to his covetousness. Besides all this, the 
 levity of the stranger, and the unwonted fes- 
 tivities of which he was the occasion at 
 the Peel-house, began to disparage Tarn's 
 reputation in the eyes of the serious 
 villagers. Therefore his assent to Law- 
 rence's proposal was given ; the latter 
 offering to pledge himself " on the dagger," 
 
DARIEN. 237 
 
 the buccaneer's most binding oath, for his 
 fidelity and quick return. 
 
 " And you know, old friend/' he added ; 
 " that whatever our pretended faults may 
 be, we never deceive. But there is one 
 important part of the bargain. I love 
 your daughter to distraction. If I bring 
 back this treasure, I must have your leave 
 to marry her — I know what you would 
 say — provided that she's willing, of course. 
 I like her, as I've said ; — I like her : I 
 like your country here, your grouse and 
 salmon, and everything in short, except your 
 sermons. That article, however, won't pre- 
 vent me from settling down here, and 
 buying a few lairdships ; and by keeping 
 clear of the cursed Covenant (I beg your 
 pardon), and taking the sermons in a mild 
 proportion, I think I may prove a very 
 edifying character after all." 
 
 Tarn was not taken aback by this bold 
 proposal. He desired greatly that his 
 daughter should be a " leddie," and able 
 to hold up her head amongst her mother's 
 
238 DARIEN. 
 
 haughty kinsfolk. He thought that Law- 
 rence was the most perfect gentleman in 
 the world ; and if he had only the pos- 
 session of the treasure which lay buried 
 in Deadman's Isle, to back his dashing 
 manner and appearance, Tarn did not see 
 why he should not hold up his own and his 
 wife's head, with those of any in the land. 
 
 "To be sure," he thought, " the man 
 drinks a hantle spirits, but he never con- 
 fuses his head ; and then he swears in an 
 awfu' way, but it's only the habit of the 
 seas ; and he lo'es na the kirk, but then 
 that's for lack o' knowledge, and nae doot 
 he'll take to it weel gin he is mair sib 
 wi' it. After a', if the lassie dinna like him, 
 no harm's done ; and he may as weel gang 
 to sea in a gude humour wi' us a', to bring 
 him back agin." 
 
 Hereupon the bargain was ratified as 
 usual with a deep carouse. Lawrence 
 sallied out of the smuggler's house in 
 high spirits, flushed though not flustered 
 with the potations which had scarcely 
 
DARIEN. 239 
 
 left his host sense enough to guide him 
 to bed. As the sanguine sailor strode 
 along the lane, shadowed by sweetbriars, 
 that still leads to Caerlaverock Castle, he 
 beheld Alice, sorrow-stricken and dejected, 
 returning home. In such a state, woman's 
 mind becomes plastic, her wounded pride 
 is grateful to the first healing words of 
 kindness, and flattery cannot spread her 
 meshes at a more dangerous moment. 
 The sailor approached her with ardour, 
 tempered by sympathy for her distress, to 
 which, however, except by his manner, he 
 made no allusion. He little guessed or 
 cared for the cause, but his knowledge of 
 human nature told him it was favourable 
 to his views. He instantly subdued his 
 own nature to Alice's mood ; his daring 
 eyes were downcast, his manly and 
 sonorous voice was sunk to a low deep 
 tone, his usually reckless bearing was 
 exchanged for one of diffidence. For 
 some time he walked by his intended 
 victim in silence ; then he apologised almost 
 
240 DARIEX. 
 
 timidly for having intruded on her pri- 
 vacy, but added that he was about to 
 leave Scotland immediately, and sought 
 for this opportunity to take leave. Then, 
 seeming to gain courage as he proceeded, 
 he hurried into an eloquent rhapsody of 
 love, declared that he had her father's 
 permission for doing so, spoke of himself 
 as a lost, wild, hopeless wanderer, who 
 might yet be saved if one pure and noble 
 spirit would take pity on him, feel for him 
 and — and pray for him ! Alice was so 
 completely taken by surprise that she did 
 not venture to speak, or even to look up ; 
 if she had, she would have detected an 
 ironical curl on her lover's lip, as he 
 wound up his appeal to her mercy and 
 her love with that last word. 
 
 But poor Alice in her simplicity believed 
 it all ; it was too much in accordance with 
 what was in her own truthful heart to 
 be doubted. It was the sort of appeal 
 which most surely comes home to a 
 woman, — for she delights in conversion ; 
 
DARIEN. 241 
 
 the darker the criminal, the greater of 
 course the triumph. Moreover Lawrence 
 was handsome, daring, brilliant in con- 
 versation, and full of that fire which is 
 catching as the real element. To sum 
 up in a few words the result of a long 
 dialogue, Alice consented to his suit 
 she scarcely knew how or why. Poor 
 child! such revenge was her one weapon 
 against him she loved, and she madly used 
 it; — though like the bee, its power of 
 inflicting pain was purchased by its own 
 destruction. If Lawrence's keen observa- 
 tion had ever had any kindly feeling on 
 the part of Alice towards a rival, he now 
 forgot it, or appeared to do so. He went 
 straight to Tinwald. He told him joy- 
 ously, and in the same breath, of his 
 betrothal, and of his intended expedition ; 
 at the same time he urged his friend 
 warmly to accompany him to the Spanish 
 Main ; to visit that new world oT which he 
 had often spoken with such enthusiastic 
 desire to behold. 
 
 VOL. I. R 
 
242 DARIEN. 
 
 There is a wide difference between 
 voluntarily abandoning an object, and 
 having it wrested from us without hope 
 of recall. This Tinwald now keenly 
 felt ; though he might have expected that 
 Alice at some future period would become 
 another's wife, he was not prepared for 
 such a sudden transfer of her affections. 
 In his ignorance of woman, he could not 
 imagine that Alice's acceptance of Law- 
 rence, only proved, however paradoxically, 
 the strong recoil of her affections when 
 flung back from himself : a great passion 
 is far more unmanageable than a petty 
 one. 
 
 Tinwald paused before he replied; and 
 when he spoke, it was of the expedition 
 only. In the bitterness of his heart, he 
 grasped eagerly at the remote and romantic 
 danger and excitement of scenes he would 
 formerly have sought in a philosophic spirit. 
 The political efforts in which he had taker, 
 part, for the renovation of his country, 
 seemed now unavailing : Fletcher of Sal- 
 
DARIEN. 243 
 
 toun, and the other leaders, had expatriated 
 themselves. For all these reasons he as- 
 sented to the buccaneer's proposal, pro 
 vided that he could obtain his father's 
 permission to do so ; and he thus completed 
 Lawrence's triumph. The sailor not only 
 appreciated the assistance and the society 
 of his new friend, but he secretly did not 
 quite relish the idea of leaving him behind 
 with Alice. 
 
 A day of anxious thought and painful 
 presentiment followed for Tinwald. A wide 
 gulf seemed suddenly to have yawned be- 
 tween his past and future life. He shrank 
 from the thought of leaving his father, but 
 his destiny appeared to him to demand that 
 sacrifice : he might return ere long ; he 
 might have it in his power to repair the 
 fortunes of his house, which he had recently 
 learned were utterly broken. At length 
 evening was come : it was the rich, mellow 
 evening of a Scotch autumnal day. The 
 sunset illuminated with its glory every spot 
 that it fell upon — firth, glade, woodland, 
 
 r 2 
 
244 DARIEN. 
 
 and promontory. All that lay in light was 
 golden ; all that lay in shadow was purple 
 or deep violet. Even the formal old manor- 
 house grew picturesque, as the last rays 
 of sunlight ruddily flushed its narrow win- 
 dows, and threw its high gables into fan- 
 tastic shadows. Behind this mansion rose 
 a lofty hill, purpled towards its summit 
 with heather, and necked lower down with 
 corn-fields and patches of oak and birch 
 copse. Below, lay the Solway, now stilled 
 into sympathy with the calm sky above it 
 and gleaming like silver, except towards its 
 southern margin, where the undulations of 
 the English coast were mapped upon its 
 surface. 
 
 The old laird was, according to custom, 
 sitting on the stone bench in front of the 
 manor-house, his frame bent forward, his 
 hands resting on his cane ; he seemed gaz- 
 ing on the vast and magnificent view that 
 lay spread before him, but he saw nothing ; 
 his whole soul was turned inward to its own 
 sad visions, as he hearkened to his son's 
 
DARIEN. 245 
 
 earnest pleading for permission to enter 
 upon the life of adventure towards which 
 his inclination drew him. This was a sud- 
 den change for the old laird's prospects to 
 undergo. He had persuaded himself that 
 his son had become reconciled of late to the 
 country life he led : he even hoped that he 
 might still enter the ministry : when sud- 
 denly that son reveals to him that his heart 
 is as strongly as ever set upon the pursuit 
 of a vague and distant career, full of danger 
 and obscurity, and that the opportunity of 
 commencing it is even now impending. 
 In a few short moments the father was 
 called upon to cancel the schemes of many 
 years, and strive to rebuild them upon a 
 widely different foundation. He reflected, 
 however, that the youth's heart was in his 
 words ; that it still smarted from his con- 
 tradiction of its dearest wish ; that he had 
 himself exhausted his patrimony, and left to 
 his heir the necessity of making his own 
 way in life. And the poor lad's prayer was 
 modest ; it was only " to be allowed to seek 
 
246 DARIEN. 
 
 his fortune ; to go forth upon the world 
 unfettered, and free to follow whatever path- 
 destiny might open to him : he trusted 
 that a short absence might suffice, and that 
 he might then return to his father's home, 
 happy with the glory of having done some 
 good to those distant nations who had long- 
 possessed his sympathies ; and perchance 
 be blessed, moreover, with such worldly 
 wealth as was needed to restore his family 
 to its ancient condition. This plan, which 
 the young man's ardour already thought 
 was consummated, his father received with 
 such sorrowful misgivings as years and dis- 
 appointment had instilled. The more glo- 
 rious the visions of the sanguine youth, 
 the more gifts and capabilities he dis- 
 played, the more did the old man mourn 
 for the waste to which he believed them 
 doomed. 
 
 To be brief. The force of youth and of 
 paternal love prevailed over the fathers 
 weakness and the father's fear. The con- 
 sent was obtained. The youth hastened 
 
DARIEN. 247 
 
 away to make his preparations ; his thoughts, 
 in their tumultuous career, trampling down 
 the memory of Alice, and unmindful, be- 
 cause ignorant of the broken hopes and 
 well-nigh broken heart of him whom he 
 was about to abandon. Thus it has always 
 been, and thus it must ever be ; otherwise 
 there would be little progression in our 
 race, and youth's active energies would be 
 bounded by the narrow orbit and cautious 
 slowness of old age. 
 
 The old laird watched with mournful 
 eyes his son as he strode forth, endeavour- 
 ing in some measure to disguise the buoy- 
 ancy which gratified desire imparted to his 
 steps. Suddenly some kindred feelings of 
 hopefulness gleamed across the old man's 
 care-worn countenance, and his son was 
 called back. 
 
 " Willie, lad ! " he exclaimed, laying his 
 thin hand upon the strong arm, that he 
 hoped would have been as the staff of his 
 age ; " Willie, I hae been thinking that 
 aiblins I was wrang in crossing your luve 
 
248 DARIEN. 
 
 for Alice Graeme. She's a bormie lassie, 
 and douce and gude ; and tho' by her 
 father's side she has nae gentle bluid, she 
 may hae as muckle gentleness in her heart 
 as wad make her husband happy ; for it's 
 a' gentleness that does it. What need we 
 mair, Willie ? Tak' her now, wi' my bless- 
 ing, and ye needna fash yoursel' anent 
 the kirk, but bide till Heaven, in its ain 
 gude time, gie ye a ca\ And ye sal just 
 hae the Lang Farm to begin wi', and try 
 your new fangled practices wi' the iron 
 pleugh and a'. On sic can land it maun do 
 na less than keep ye the whiles your ain 
 gude brains sal make ye better means. 
 What need o' mair ? Stay wi' us, my lad- 
 die, in our auld house, and be happy. 
 And gie up yon fearfu' sea to sic as be ca'd 
 of Providence to its fearfu' venture. There, 
 now, gie us your hand, Willie ! We'll hae 
 your kind and winsom lassie amangst us yet ; 
 and yell be true till her, as ye hae bin to 
 me, and your comely face will shine on me 
 thro' the gloamin o' life, and it will licht the 
 
DARIEN. 249 
 
 dark passage o' death for your puir auld 
 foolish father." 
 
 The laird paused, and bent his face over 
 the hand he clasped, as though afraid to 
 lose it. Some gray hairs, moved by the 
 evening breeze, swept over it, and more than 
 one small tear oozed out from the dim old 
 eyes. The son could not — dared not — 
 resist this kindly meant entreaty. The 
 pang of disappointment that for a moment 
 wrung his heart was manfully stifled. His 
 scheme suddenly appeared to him to be 
 selfish and unjustifiable ; and when he 
 retired for the night with his father's bless- 
 ing and gratitude, he felt almost recon- 
 ciled to live and die on his mortgaged patri- 
 mony, and in sight of Sandilee, with the 
 lost treasure it contained. 
 
 The next morning he set out for Dum- 
 fries, and gladly exchanged, during a few 
 days, the councils of the discomforted 
 patriots, for the scenes that he had left 
 behind him in his peaceful-looking home. 
 
250 DARIEN. 
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 Yes, give me but my choice, I'd be a bird ; ' 
 But it must be an Osprey — a sea-king ! 
 
 Wherever gale awoke, or billow stirr'cl, 
 Breasting the tempest ; ever on the wing ! 
 
 Steering, when winter frown' d, to seek the spring, 
 By " vext Bermoothes," or some Indian shore. 
 
 Modern Orlando. 
 
 Lawrence meanwhile had been exerting 
 his extraordinary energies in getting the 
 Bonito ready for sea. In this, Partan's skill 
 was greatly missed ; bnt the absence of the 
 poor fellow himself was of little interest to 
 any one in the village except to Alice, be- 
 tween whom and Tinwald he formed a curi- 
 ous link. She, however, knew nothing of 
 the mystery that attached to his fate. Since 
 the hour that she parted from Lawrence, 
 
DARIEN. 
 
 251 
 
 she had shut herself up in her room in sad- 
 ness and sickness of heart. Tarn made some 
 few inquiries about his old comrade when 
 he missed the key of the locker in the little 
 craft that had so long served poor Partan 
 as a home. And Madden Ray and young 
 Swilltap, from curiosity, explored the adja- 
 cent shore, where it was supposed he had 
 fallen in one of his drunken fits. Tinwald, 
 no doubt, would have made a more energe- 
 tic arid wider search had he not been absent 
 from home and ignorant of the sailor's dis- 
 appearance. But no trace was discovered 
 of the lost sailor ; and, after a day or two, 
 his melancholy existence was forgotten. 
 
 The buccaneer had hitherto failed in 
 procuring any seamen for such an ambigu- 
 ous voyage as that to which the Bonito 
 was destined. Young Swilltap, for various 
 reasons, would fain have enrolled himself 
 under his command, but his father would 
 not hear of such a sacrifice. At last, Law- 
 rence succeeded in discovering a couple of 
 " run " sailors who were skulking about the 
 
252 DARIEN. 
 
 coast, and with these men he declared him- 
 self ready to proceed immediately to the 
 southward. His only avowed destination, 
 as we before stated, was Bristol ; but he 
 was not the sort of man to lay down for 
 himself any law beyond the hour. Tarn 
 endeavoured to expedite his departure by 
 supplying all his needs with unwonted libe- 
 rality. His regard for what was left of his 
 reputation concurred with his greed of gold 
 in wishing his guest well away. The good 
 people of Sandilee tolerated freely their own 
 smuggling seamen ; but the irregularities of 
 this " interlouping captain," as they called 
 him, brought not a little scandal on his 
 entertainer. For though the stranger him- 
 self seemed to be beyond the reach of the 
 influence of any liquors, however potent, 
 he took a strange pleasure in promoting 
 intoxication in every one else. He was a 
 prime boon companion ; and under his 
 spell the most simple act of good fellowship 
 soon expanded into downright orgies. 
 Night after night, songs of by no means a 
 
DARIEN. 25 
 
 o 
 
 serious cast, were heard issuing from Tarn's 
 domicile ; and as often as the manly melo- 
 dious strains with which Lawrence enter- 
 tained his new followers were heard, a con- 
 siderable number of villagers assembled to 
 lament over them, and — listen to them. 
 
 One Friday night, Lawrence and his sea- 
 men, together with Swilltap and Madden 
 Ray (who had been latterly seduced by the 
 buccaneer into his revels) were assembled 
 in the Peel-house for the last time. On the 
 morrow they were to sail. 
 
 Tarn's old parlour was once more lighted 
 up by the fire blazing to the widest extent 
 of the arched chimney ; the oak table once 
 more was furnished with all that mountain 
 stills could produce of potent and fragrant 
 beverages. At one end of the festive board 
 sate Tarn, grim and sententious ; opposite 
 was Lawrence, with his eyes of fire, and 
 his ever-ready and impetuous flow of words 
 — words that might have kindled danger- 
 ous resolves in better regulated minds than 
 those which there bowed before him. He 
 
254 DARIEN. 
 
 was excited at the prospect of enterprize 
 that once more opened before him. He 
 intended, for his wild sense of honour's 
 sake, to be true in the matter of the trea- 
 sure ; but before and after it was reached, 
 there was a wide margin of possibilities. 
 Even the thoughts of Alice grew dim 
 before the ambition that revived in his ar- 
 dent heart. He had not seen her since his 
 declaration ; he had been informed that he 
 was not to see her, and he scarcely cared. 
 But he flung open the window to let in the 
 sea-breezes that he loved, not perhaps 
 without "a hope that some words of his 
 parting song might reach her ear. Then, 
 in order to inspire his comrades with his 
 own spirit of expectation, he raised his 
 voice, and sung manly as follows : 
 
 " Come, comrades of right metal, with hearts and hands of steel; 
 Come swell one chorus merrily, though it be a parting peal : 
 For the voices trolled together now, must never blend again 
 Till we've Avon red gold and glory on the distant Spanish Main. 
 
 " Oh pleasant are the islands that stud those glorious seas! 
 Where spicy groves and honey' d flowers shed perfume on each 
 breeze ; 
 
DARIEN. 255 
 
 Where luscious fruits to meet us bend; and woman's fondest 
 
 wiles 
 Woo us, in vain, to linger in those soft luxurious isles. 
 
 " There the wild bull bides our bullet, and the turtle waits our 
 
 spear ; 
 And the richest wines of plunder' d Spain inflame our jovial 
 
 cheer. 
 But these are not the joys we seek beneath the tropic sky; 
 Or, when we've quaffed them for an hour, to fiercer sports we fly. 
 
 " For hoarded in those islands, and floating on those seas, 
 Is boundless wealth in fortress towers and well-mann'd argosies. 
 And the gold that has been garner' d thro' lives of slavish toil 
 Is the guerdon of one gallant hour, the rover's rightful spoil. 
 
 " Let the Spaniard man his fortress, and arm his brave galleon,* 
 The foeman's struggle to keep his gold enhances the bright 
 
 boon : 
 For the prize that's undefended, be it girl or golden gear, 
 Is like carrion to the eagle and repels the buccaneer. 
 
 " But we lack nor strife, nor guerdon, for whereso'er we go 
 We've the Spaniard for a booty and the world for a foe. 
 Then where' s the life afloat, ashore — the calling, the career, 
 To siiit brave hearts like the roving life of the gallant buc- 
 caneer." 
 
 The applause that followed this wild 
 ditty was very subdued among those to 
 whom it was addressed ; whilst the list- 
 eners gathered round the window were as 
 
 * Pronounced " galloon." 
 
256 DARIEN. 
 
 vehement in its condemnation as if it had 
 been delivered for their approval. Young 
 Swilltap alone ventured to uphold its 
 merits, on the strength of his father being 
 engaged in the Peel-house, and declared that 
 it stirred up his " buzzom like a sow-wester 
 did the Solway." But notwithstanding the 
 reprehension of the villagers, the festivity 
 continued until they were fain to retire ; 
 and through sheer weariness, to leave un- 
 criticised the further proceedings of Tarn 
 and his guests. Just as they were about 
 to withdraw from the post of observation, 
 however, they saw their young laird enter 
 the Peel-house ; and great was the astonish- 
 ment expressed at " a decent mon like him 
 joining sic campsteery doins." But when 
 he entered, the orgies ceased. Soon after- 
 wards, Tinwald and the Captain were seen 
 strolling together along the moonlit shore ; 
 and the ire of the villagers was once more 
 roused by the sailors, as they staggered 
 towards their boat, roaring out a well- 
 known song of the day : 
 
DARIEN. 257 
 
 " Each port and each town 
 
 We still make our own, — 
 Cape Breton, Crown Point, Niagan ; 
 
 Guadaloupe, Senega], 
 
 Quebec's mighty fall, 
 Shall prove we've no equal in man." 
 
 Once more Lawrence endeavoured to 
 shake Tinwald's resolution. He tried in vain, 
 for it was founded on duty ; and besides 
 the young laird no longer found himself 
 attracted by the stranger. Whether it was 
 that the true character of the man and of 
 his profession had discovered itself, or that 
 a sense of rivalry had inspired an unac- 
 knowledged repugnance, Tinwald rejoiced 
 when the hour of their separation ap- 
 proached. He had promised to see Law- 
 rence once more before his departure ; 
 he had come at the last hour to keep this 
 appointment. 
 
 " Well/' said the Buccaneer ; " if you are 
 determined to stay behind, accept the 
 deepest mark of confidence I can bestow- 
 Believe me, that with my knowledge of 
 mankind, there are few whom I could so 
 vol. i. s 
 
258 DARIEN. 
 
 trust under such circumstances. To your 
 guardianship, my fiiend, I bequeath my 
 Alice (Tinwald shuddered at the expres- 
 sion, but was silent). 
 
 " I love her," resumed the sailor, " with 
 a devouring, unaccountable love. 'T is 
 strange that I never felt a passion before 
 that deserved the name ! At this mo- 
 ment I would willingly forego, for her sake, 
 the life I have so long led, the career I 
 have so long gloried in. Nay, if I now 
 leave her, it is only in the hope to win 
 for her a more honourable name. Once 
 restored to the Brethren of the Coast, and 
 upheld by such a motive, I can look for- 
 ward to any prize that valour ever won 
 upon the seas. One or two dashing ex- 
 ploits may place me in a much higher 
 position than that lout M organ, who 
 received a government and a title from the 
 people whom he had forced to fear him. 
 If the fates befriend me, I shall soon have 
 such a name to offer to Alice as ] 
 
DARIEN. 259 
 
 make men wonder, not at my presumption, 
 but at my generosity." 
 
 All this grated sorely on Tinwald's ear ; 
 but he kept its bitterness to himself, and 
 contented himself with gravely advising the 
 rover to alter his habits and his character, 
 (if possible,) as the first step towards qua- 
 lifying himself to become the husband of 
 an honest girl. 
 
 "That's all very well in talk, but im- 
 possible in practice," replied Lawrence. 
 " Why, man, were I to join the Brethren 
 with the cant and character of your long- 
 winded preachers here, I should be laughed 
 at, deposed from command, and have my 
 throat cut before I was a week among 
 'em. No, no ; carnal weapons (as your 
 friends here call 'em) are the only weapons 
 for carnal men. When the career is run 
 and the battle done, we may strike sail and 
 overhaul our conscience. Till then, the 
 Red Flag must be our banner, and nailed to 
 the mast-head. But I had need be gone ; 
 the moon will soon set, and we must haul 
 
 s 2 
 
IUU1IN. 
 
 out to get an offing before the tide turns. 
 Your Solway is not to be trifled with, and 
 
 it seems to have swallowed up that sour 
 old Partan, who could have piloted us out 
 in any weather. " 
 
 • What has happened to him. poor fel- 
 low \ claimed Tinwald. * 1 have not 
 seen him since my return." 
 
 •• Nor any one else," replied I 
 coolly. ** He has stowed himself awav in 
 "\ ry Joneses locker, I suspect. But In 
 the boat Farewell." 
 
 The Buccaneer leaped on hoard, waved 
 his cap theatrically towards the Peel-house, 
 where, in the highest window, his keen 
 could distinguish a female form, and the 
 next moment he was cleaving the water 
 tov ards the schooner. 
 
 Tinwald was too much shocked on lu 
 ins of Partan's fate to think much about 
 his parting guest ; and he returned hastily 
 towards the Peel-house, where light > f 
 still burning, to make some inquiries about 
 the old sailor. 
 
DARIE1 . 261 
 
 Alice bad been watching all that passed 
 
 from her window in the tower. The moon 
 
 then shining,, bright and clear, and she 
 
 could perceive the two men standing by the 
 
 re. She still thought that Tinwald 
 about to take his departure with the Buc 
 neer, and that he was only returning to her 
 father's bouse for something that had been 
 forgotten. She thought that it was even 
 
 ible he might wish to -<- ( - her, the com- 
 panion of other days, once more before he 
 went away : yielding to the happy delusion, 
 and obeying its impulse, she went to meet 
 him in the porch. Women, even the most 
 timorous, are often more adventurous in 
 
 n exigencies than stout-hearted men ; 
 and Alice seemed now to have lost all sense 
 of timidity : — poor child ! she felt that 
 it was the turning point of* her destiny. 
 Tinwald would have passed her by with 
 a formal salute, but she laicLher little hand 
 upon his arm, and the touch arrested him 
 like a spell. Her dark eyes, full to the 
 brim of unshed tears, were fixed on his. 
 
262 DARIEN. 
 
 " And is it true ?" she exclaimed ; u and 
 are you ganging awa' ower the far seas and 
 among bluidy-minded me]), and a' without 
 one parting look — one little word?" 
 
 The unsophisticated girl drew nearer to 
 her lost lover as she spoke ; her tears spread 
 over her long lashes, and at last dropped 
 slowly and unconsciously, as she still gazed 
 on Tinwald's pale, unmoved countenance. 
 He did not trust himself to speak, and she 
 continued, as if she felt again reproved, 
 
 " Why should I be shamed to speak — 
 I, who always told you my heart's own 
 truth ? I know they have told you that 
 I'm trothed to another, Waes me ! it's ower 
 true. But it was words — words only, Tin- 
 wald, and few of them — that gaed to the 
 Southron sailor ; and sure there was some 
 spell upon me, or he'd never hae got sae 
 muckle as that. My first, last love, was 
 ever where it was born, and must die." 
 
 So saying, the ignorant girl in the aban- 
 donment of her grief laid her head, heavy 
 with all its glossy hair, upon his breast, and 
 
DAKIEN. 26 
 
 Q 
 
 sobbed to her foolish heart's content; too 
 happy, she thought, if her grief, thus pil- 
 lowed, could last for ever ! 
 
 Tinwald loved ; and the glow of unex- 
 hausted youth was fervid in his veins ; but 
 his chivalrous sense of honour had been 
 formed from old books, rather than from 
 living men. He came of the stern race 
 which had furnished Puritans and martyrs, 
 accustomed to prize a victory over temp- 
 tation as dearly as ever did conqueror 
 over a human foe. And then he could 
 not and would not forget that Alice was 
 the plighted bride of another. The very 
 strength of the trial roused his spirit to 
 battle with and triumph over it ; he slowly 
 — very slowly, it must be owned — disen- 
 gaged himself from the too trusting and 
 dangerous embrace ; and his countenance 
 maintained its unmoved though melancholy 
 expression, as Alice recoiled into an attitude 
 of pride that became her graceful girlish 
 form well. 
 
 u Alice ! " he said, gently, " I am not 
 
264 DARIEN. 
 
 going away. I have just promised to stay 
 and bide with my father, — and the hope of 
 distant travel, with other hopes, is dead 
 within me. But, Alice, I might as well be 
 away, as far as regards all that has ever 
 passed between you and me in the happy 
 days of your free childhood. I thank you 
 for your love ; but it must be a sister's 
 love ; so that when the Southron comes 
 back, both you and I may meet him with 
 honest faces. Yes, lassie ! I would not see 
 a blush of shame upon that cheek for all 
 the joy that woman ever gave to man ; and 
 I would rather know thee the spotless, true- 
 hearted wife of another, than my own bride, 
 if any wind of heaven could whisper a re- 
 proach of you." 
 
 The young stoic pressed the hand of 
 Alice kindly, and turned to depart, forgetful 
 of all his other purposes. Once more, 
 however, he was arrested, not by the touch, 
 but by the grasp of his lost love. Now no 
 tear was in her eye — no supplication in her 
 attitude — no pleading in her voice. She 
 
DARIEN. 265 
 
 stood erect and proudly, and her eyes 
 .shone with indignant fire as she flung back 
 the dishevelled hair from her brow, to set 
 those glances free', 
 
 " Tinwald ! " she exclaimed, i( they always 
 told me you were proud and cold-hearted, 
 but I would not believe it. I am punished, 
 — I am punished for my faith in you. I 
 thought your gentle blood must give 
 you gentle feeling; and never, never 
 thought that you could triumph over, and 
 trample on a poor, lone, motherless girl's 
 feelings, and put her to shame at her own 
 door. Go your way, now, — you'll hardly 
 be stopped again by love as true as mine." 
 
 And Tinwald, strange as it may seem 
 to some of us, did turn away ; and the 
 sound of his firm tread along the dark- 
 ening shore was long audible. Then Alice 
 sank upon her knees, and wept and sobbed 
 as if her heart would break ; and that poor 
 forlorn heart loved Willie better than ever 
 it had done before. She felt that he was 
 nobly sustaining the heroic character with 
 
266 DARIEN. 
 
 which her imagination delighted to invest 
 him; and though the thought aggravated 
 her humiliation when contrasted with her 
 own conduct, her consciousness scarcely 
 amounted as yet to a sense of error. 
 
 Poor Alice now, indeed, felt the want of 
 a mother's care. Her teachers had acted 
 conscientiously in storing her mind with 
 the usual amount of knowledge : they 
 had trained her in most of the external 
 proprieties of life ; but from those instruc- 
 tions, all that relates to the government 
 of the affections had been excluded as 
 indecorous. In her father's home she had 
 much leisure for solitary musing, and no 
 friend to direct its tendency ; thus, that 
 insidious guest, "first love," found easy 
 entrance into her unguarded heart : and 
 no wonder that when a storm arose therein, 
 its instinctive perceptions of right and 
 wrong were for the time obscured. 
 
 The next morning there was no more 
 trace of the schooner than of the scene 
 that had taken place in Tarn's porch. The 
 
DARIEN. 267 
 
 little vessel was sailing away, nevertheless, 
 cheerily dashing aside the waves that 
 opposed her course ; and Tinwald, equally 
 invisible to Alice, w r as holding his course 
 steadily onward, dashing aside every caitiff 
 thought that interfered with its rectitude. 
 
 A month passed on, and the recollec- 
 tion of the Bonito seemed only to live in 
 the avaricious hopes of Tarn, the fears of 
 Tinwald, and the remorse of Alice, who 
 wished a thousand times a day that she 
 had never seen the pirate's face. Tinwald 
 appeared to devote all his strong energies 
 to agricultural pursuits and country inter- 
 ests. He cast aside the reserve and seclu- 
 sion that had distinguished his youth, and 
 now mingled freely among men, at a time 
 when most people were withdrawing as 
 much as possible into privacy, owing to 
 the persecution that still raged. Then 
 it was, as tradition represents, that he 
 received a requisition from the Whig party 
 to serve in the Scottish Parliament ; but he 
 refused, on account of the still declining 
 
2 00 DARIEN. 
 
 health of the old laird, who continued to 
 feel as cheered by his presence every morn- 
 ing that he rose, as on the day when his 
 son first abandoned his desires for his duty. 
 
 One evening, as Tinwald was returning 
 home, he heard the sound of a strange 
 voice in his father's house. On entering, 
 he found a youth, who had evidently just 
 dismounted from his horse, and had been 
 riding hard, standing by his father's side. 
 The old man had covered his face with 
 his hands, and was so absorbed in some 
 sudden grief, that he did not perceive his 
 son's entrance; but the stranger turned 
 quickly round and embraced him affec- 
 tionately. 
 
 " Ye'll scarcely remember me, kinsman," 
 he said ; " it's so lang since we met, and 
 they tell me I'm something grown. Woe 
 I am that I bring bad news ; but a friend 
 of yours, umquhile a cornet in Claverse's 
 dragoons, bade me ride for my life and 
 tell you to fly ; they've found some corre- 
 spondence of yours with Fletcher of 
 
DARIEN. 269 
 
 Saltoun, and they swear they'll make sure 
 of you, though he has escaped them." 
 
 The laird raised his eyes to his son; full 
 they were of undying love, that shone 
 with melancholy light on his son's memory 
 in many an after year, — in many a trying 
 scene. Tears were trickling down the old 
 man's wan and wasted features, but he 
 spoke in a firm voice, for the agony of 
 grief was over : 
 
 " God's will be done ! My son, we 
 maun now part indeed ; but I thank Him 
 that He has prepared me for the blow, 
 and that yer heart stays wi' me still. 
 Tak' my blessin', Willie, and bide not a 
 minit langer." 
 
 This sudden revulsion of all his prospects 
 might well have shaken even young Tin- 
 wald's self-control ; but he had been long 
 prepared for danger, and had made all his 
 arrangements with Scotch foresight, having 
 even laid aside a travelling fund out of 
 his scanty resources. He did not hesi- 
 tate to obey his father ; for he well knew, 
 
270 DAR1EN. 
 
 by recent tragical examples, that if he 
 was taken he was lost to him for ever. 
 He was on his road towards the Border, 
 therefore, in an incredibly short time. The 
 sound of his father's blessing lingered still 
 in his ear and on his heart, as he pressed 
 rapidly along the dark but well-known 
 path. His young kinsman rode by his 
 side, but respected his silence, and it was 
 long before he found himself addressed. 
 
 " Pardon me, good lad," said the fugi- 
 tive at last, "that I have given you such 
 scanty thanks for the good service you 
 have rendered me. And now let me ask 
 you how you chanced to be a messenger 
 to me, and whither you are bound ? " 
 
 " You know," said the youth, " that 
 my father has many money transactions 
 with all parties in these queer times ; and 
 latterly these Church-dragoons have had 
 all their pay through him. I brought 
 certain moneys this morning to Dumfries, 
 to Drummond himself, and I had some 
 business of the same sort to transact with 
 
DARIEN. 271 
 
 Sir Standon, the young cornet, who is now 
 a close prisoner waiting the king's decision 
 on a court-martial lately held upon him. 
 As soon as he saw me, he called to mind 
 having met you and me together in 
 Edinburgh, and he said to me, e John 
 Law, your friend Paterson's life and 
 liberty both are in danger. Hire a trusty 
 messenger at any price for me, dispatch 
 him on my horse, and tell him to spare 
 it not.' I said if the beastie were a good 
 one, I would like the ride myseP ; where- 
 upon he smiled, and bid me take his York- 
 shire mare, and keep her for my trouble. 
 So having settled beforehand what business 
 I had, and sent my servant with notice of 
 it to my father, I spurred off, — and ye 
 may be sure, by the puir mare's looks, 
 that I thought more of you than of her. 
 Now, for your second question ; the reason 
 I. am with you still, is partly to keep you 
 company, and partly to learn of you, 
 whether your intention is to gang beyond 
 
272 DARIEN. 
 
 seas to the Indies. If so, I am determined 
 to join you and take my chance ; so long 
 as I can see strange countries, and espe- 
 cially those lands of gold, I care nothing 
 for danger or discomfort." 
 
 " Good lad," replied Tinwald, " you 
 little know what you propose to encounter. 
 And if your fourteen years were doubled, 
 I would still refuse to let you follow me. 
 Your father, John, is well to do and well 
 respected in the world ; you have quick 
 talents with good promise before you in 
 your own country. I solemnly adjure 
 you to return to your home and duty. 
 Remember that with your time before you, 
 and your talent, you may be anything 
 you choose to aspire to." 
 
 Much more of the same import Tin- 
 wald added ; but of all his wise words 
 the last quoted were those that alone 
 sunk into the boy's heart, and took root 
 there, and afterwards bore wondrous fruit. 
 After an hour's rapid riding, John Law 
 
DARIEN. 273 
 
 yielded to his cousin's desire, and returned 
 by bye-paths to his father's house at 
 Lauriston. 
 
 Meanwhile Tinwald pursued his lonely 
 way towards the Border. But fearing to 
 be detected there, he stopped at a small 
 village called Dornoch, to disguise himself. 
 Its inhabitants were fishermen, who, pre- 
 paring to go to sea, soon began to assemble 
 on the shore. The persecution which then 
 prevailed, involved almost all the Border 
 Scots in a common cause, and a fugitive 
 was always sure of a kindly welcome, 
 when there were no spies or troopers 
 near. Tinwald in a few words explained 
 his position, and his desire to change 
 clothes with some of the poorly clad men 
 whom he addressed. To this they 
 readily assented ; but as some question 
 arose as to any of their coats fitting him, 
 one of them proposed to take a doublet 
 belonging to the u sick man, who was 
 never likely to want it again." 
 
 " Puir fellow ! " continued the speaker ; 
 
 VOL. I. T 
 
274 DARIEN. 
 
 " he's lain senseless this month, and ever 
 svne we fand him on the stanes, there's 
 scarce a glim o' life in him, but jist 
 eneugh to keep body and Soul thegither, 
 
 and that no for lang, I'm thinking." 
 
 This speech excited Tinwald's curiosity ; 
 for he had long and vainly sought for 
 some tidings of poor Partan, and the time 
 and circumstance now mentioned seemed 
 to agree with those under which he had 
 disappeared. He begged to be taken to 
 the sufferer's presence, — and at once recog- 
 nised in the spectral-looking figure before 
 him, the wofullv changed form of his 
 humble friend. The worthy fishermen 
 had found him lying on the rocks at high 
 water-mark as they were coasting home 
 against the tide. He scarcely seemed to 
 breathe, but they took him carefully to 
 their village ; laid him in the best cottage's 
 best room, and had since ministered to 
 him as far as their small means and skill 
 enabled them. He had never spoken, and 
 they supposed him to be some foreign 
 
DARIEN. 275 
 
 sailor, whose ship had been lost among 
 the quicksands. 
 
 Tinwald tried to make him speak, but 
 he gave no symptom of intelligence ; an 
 occasional long drawn breath, and a 
 quiver of the closed eyelids alone showed 
 that he was not the mere corpse he 
 seemed to be. Tinwald's own necessity 
 was too urgent to admit of his remaining 
 long to watch over him. With some 
 difficulty he prevailed on the fisherman 
 to accept remuneration for his care ; he 
 desired him to get the best medical assist- 
 ance he could procure (which was no 
 nearer than Carlisle), and as soon as he 
 was able to be moved, to convey him to 
 the Manor-house. At the same time he 
 wrote a note to his father, bequeathing 
 the old sailor to his care. 
 
 That was the last action that the fuai- 
 tive performed for many a day on Scottish 
 ground. In a few hours he had passed 
 the border by a footpath, in disguise ; 
 
 t 2 
 
276 DARIEN. 
 
 a fisherman's lad riding his horse forward, 
 to meet him in Carlisle. 
 
 Of his adventures thence to Bristol 
 we possess no account. We only know, 
 from an old pamphlet in the Bodleian, 
 that he there lodged in the house of a 
 widow, his mother's distant kinswoman. 
 With her he remained for some months, no 
 doubt exercising himself in good offices. 
 It appears that soon afterwards his hostess 
 died, and bequeathed to him her small 
 possessions. The next glimpse that wo 
 obtain of him is in a far-away land, under 
 very different circumstances. 
 
 Here ends Book the First of this vera- 
 cious history ; still more veracious, let me 
 add, as the plot proceeds ; for now we are 
 about to leave the transactions of private 
 life, and enter upon scenes of which the 
 world was once cognizant. 
 
 Having extracted the foregoing matters 
 
DARIEN. 
 
 277 
 
 from the heterogeneous mass of dates, dia- 
 ries, letters, and pamphlets that had fallen 
 into my hands ; and having, as I thought, 
 displayed much edifying industry in their 
 arrangement, I met my old highland friend 
 at Tibhie Sheils's with some confidence. The 
 attention with which he listened was very 
 earnest, and made me begin to feel that 
 my hastily-assumed responsibilities had been 
 very inefficiently discharged. He heard me 
 to the end, however, and then, with pro- 
 voking benignancy, observed : 
 
 " I hae na doubt ye hae writ ye're best, 
 sir. But, besides minor faults which I will 
 no stap to specify, ye hae twa major 
 faults : ye hae takken up half the buik 
 wi' the youth o' Tinwald — (or Paterson, as 
 ye suld ca' him.) And, agin, yer Scottish 
 dialect is vera imparfect." 
 
 "With respect to the first objection," I 
 replied, boldly, "I have but done my duty 
 to the nature of the case. Man's real his- 
 tory is comprised in that part of his life of 
 which we take least notice. What is man- 
 
278 DARIEN. 
 
 hood and age but a series of denouement 
 of the romance begun in youth, — a conti- 
 nued extrication of ourselves from more or 
 less false impressions that bewildered and 
 led us astray ? As men emerge into man- 
 hood, their actions and experiences become 
 their history, and their feelings show less 
 and less upon the surface. The practical 
 grows predominant over the ideal, and they 
 become fitter materials for grave biogra- 
 phers than for us rhapsodists. For the 
 future, you shall find facts enough ; but 
 let the fancies (if they deserve the name) 
 stand as they are. 
 
 " As to your criticism of my Scotch, 1 
 have less to say. No candid critic (except 
 yourself) would expect from a mere South- 
 ron perfect command of an undefined and 
 ever-varying dialect, — a semi-barbarous lan- 
 guage, which the magic of Scott's genius 
 alone had power to render classical, and 
 which even Burns could not render mu- 
 sical." 
 
 "Weel, weel," rejoined the Highlander, 
 
DARIEN. 279 
 
 * let it stand. But dinna ca' barb'rous that 
 true Doric whilk has been the medium to the 
 intellectual warld o' Burns' mind, o' Allan 
 Cunningham's, o' Hogg's, o' the Border 
 Ballads, — not to say o' the ' Nodes Amhro- 
 siance? Ye ought to be more 'shamed o 
 imparfection in that dialec', as ye ca't, 
 than o' imperfaction in the tongue of the 
 French, or ony ither o' our nat'ral inimies. 
 But, to spak o' mair pressin', (tho' not 
 mair sairious things,) here are ye, after 
 near three hundred pages, and ye hae not 
 yet extracted Paterson from his ain hame — 
 frae the cradle o' his real life, as I may 
 ca' it." 
 
 "That objection," said I, in a very sub- 
 dued manner, "will be soon removed. It 
 
 seldom that one of your countrymen can 
 oe accused of remaining too long in his 
 own country. You know the old distich : 
 
 1 Had Cain been a Scot, heaven would have altered his doom ; 
 Not forced him to wander, but confined bim at home.' " 
 
 Again my Highlander returned to the 
 attack : — 
 
280 DA1UEN. 
 
 " Ye'll be makin' that Spaniard the chief 
 man of the story," he objected, "whilk, 
 after a', is no his, but Willie Paterson's. 
 An' it seems to me there's mair true ro- 
 mance in that great man's simple story than 
 in all the fictions that ye can gather out 
 o' Marchants and Morescoes, (as ye mis- 
 ca' them,) to boot." 
 
 " My good friend," I replied ; " I attempt 
 to give you not only the history of your 
 countryman, but as much as my poor 
 memory and skill can furnish of his acces- 
 sories — of the men with whom he worked 
 out his destiny, and the scenes wherein his 
 work was performed : something, in short, 
 of all that makes up the complement of a 
 man, instead of the few naked personal 
 facts that may be found in any biographical 
 dictionary. Allow me, in passing, to ob- 
 serve, that Moresco is the term applied to 
 the Moors of Spain, in contradistinction 
 to those of Barbary." 
 
 "Weel, weel!" exclaimed the old man, 
 " gang yer ain gait. The puir mon that 
 
DARIEN. 281 
 
 has patience to mak' a buik, has some 
 claim to the patience o' him wha only 
 reads it. But, for ony sake, when neist we 
 meet, let's hear something o' auld Scotland, 
 insted o' your pagans and papishes, and 
 a' their ungospel doin's." 
 
 I was obliged to postpone complying 
 with this request in the few following 
 chapters ; which at our next meeting I 
 proceeded with to my highlander, as fol- 
 lows. 
 
 END OF BOOK THE FIRST, 
 
282 DARIEN. 
 
 BOOK THE SECOND. 
 
 THE NEW WORLD. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 Swiftly, through the foaming sea, 
 Shoots our vessel gallantly ; 
 Still approaching, as she flies, 
 Wanner suns and brighter skies. 
 
 Meyrick. 
 
 We turn once more to Spain. 
 
 We left Alvarez in the house of Harriet 
 at Seville, forgetting his sorrows in sleep. 
 His friend Reduan's corpse still hangs 
 suspended over his funeral pyre, w r arped 
 and blackened with the blaze from which 
 it was yet scarcely cold. The officiating 
 priests have returned to their spiritual func- 
 tions or carnal refection in the city ; and 
 their edified flocks are dancing the fan- 
 dango, and making love under the noble 
 
DARIEN. 283 
 
 trees that line the Guadalquivir. Harriet 
 has hastened away to fulfil his dying fellow- 
 countryman's injunctions. He has learned 
 from Edrisi of the Omarad the story that 
 Alvarez will shudder to hear. Its import 
 is as follows : 
 
 Reduan had still retained command of 
 immense treasure, notwithstanding the sei- 
 zure of his patron's castle. He had bribed 
 his way to the widowed lady ; but, beyond 
 one interview, even gold could not avail 
 him. He learned from her that she had 
 been treated with respect, though daily 
 threatened with the torture, being ac- 
 cused of Judaism, of unholy practices, and 
 of defrauding the Spanish crown. All was 
 to be forgiven, and her freedom restored, 
 if she would send for her son : she had 
 refused, and hourly expected to be put to 
 the " Question," as it was called. Reduan 
 knew, from dread experience, that to offer 
 himself as witness, or as substitute for the 
 poor lady, would only ensure his own de- 
 struction without benefit to her. He lost 
 
284 DARJEN. 
 
 some precious days in vainly devising means 
 for her escape ; and the month, during 
 which Alvarez had sworn to wait for him 
 in the mountains, was nearly expired : the 
 Moresco resolved to make one desperate 
 effort to release the Senora before it ended. 
 He had discovered, in a modest, inoffen- 
 sive-looking brigantine at Cadiz, a daring 
 captain, and a few resolute men who were 
 ready to follow him " to the jaws of hell," 
 as they expressed it, for the gold which he 
 was equally ready to lavish on them if the 
 enterprise succeeded. Their vessel lay 
 ready to sail ; they conveyed themselves 
 to Seville : they followed Reduan to the 
 walls of the Inquisition. Well mounted 
 and armed, they were ready and willing to 
 fight their way to San Lucar ; once there, 
 to reach their brigantine seemed to them 
 an eas}^ task. Reduan, disguised as a fami- 
 liar of the Holy Office, conducted them at 
 midnight to its great, gloomy gate. He 
 was admitted on giving a certain signal 
 and they waited for him for one hour. 
 
DARIEN. 285 
 
 They had then fulfilled their contract ; 
 they rode away to their boat, and dropped 
 quietly down the river to their ship. Re- 
 duan had been betrayed : but the official, 
 whose services he had purchased at an 
 enormous rate, had kept his word ; he had 
 introduced him into the cell where the 
 Senora was confined. Her spirit had already 
 been released by a mightier hand. No- 
 thing but her mortal form was left, and 
 that had already resumed, in the repose of 
 death, the exquisite harmony which the fatal 
 rack could no longer distort. Her faithful 
 friend felt almost relieved to see her thus; 
 at last secure from all suffering, beyond the , 
 reach of all persecution. Wax tapers 
 stood at the head and feet of the wan un- 
 conscious form, and Reduan gazed upon 
 those changed but still lovely lineaments 
 long and earnestly. At length he roused 
 himself from his sad reverie, and turned to 
 depart ; but the familiar was gone ; the 
 door had closed silently behind him, and 
 he, too, was in the grasp of the Holy Office ! 
 
286 DARIEN. 
 
 After two days' imprisonment, one of 
 his jailors gave him to understand that 
 his days were numbered, but that if 
 he could ensure him a proportionate re- 
 ward, he would take a last message to 
 his friends. A scrap of paper, in peculiar 
 cabalistic signs, was thus conveyed at a 
 certain hour to the corner of a certain 
 street, and dropped there in the dust. 
 Crowds of people were passing to and fro ; 
 several picked up the bit of paper and flung 
 it down again as worthless. Edrisi, by pre- 
 vious arrangement, was among the crowd ; 
 he, also, picked up the paper, and after a 
 glance at its contents, he, too, flung it 
 down, and it was soon trampled into frag- 
 ments. But its purpose was fulfilled. Be- 
 fore entering on his desperate undertaking, 
 Reduan had confided to his friend Edrisi 
 all his arrangements, and a packet for 
 Alvarez, containing advice for his future 
 conduct, and statements of all the resources 
 that yet remained to his once wealthy 
 house. The brierantine was to wait for 
 
DARIEN. 287 
 
 Alvarez up to a certain day ; but should he 
 come on board, she was immediately to put 
 to sea, and convey him to the New World, 
 whither she was bound. 
 
 Such were the revelations of Edrisi : we 
 need not follow Hamet to his home, or 
 observe their effect on young Alvarez ; his 
 despair, his vows of vengeance. No one, 
 least of all he himself, could describe his 
 maddening sense of helpless misery, of im- 
 potent wrath. 
 
 Hamet waited calmly until the first burst 
 of his passionate feeling had exploded ; and 
 then, in the temporary prostration that fol- 
 lowed, he endeavoured to soothe and to 
 direct his thoughts to safe t v. 
 
 The day after the Auto-da-fe was over, 
 and midnight had come. The brigantine, — 
 a large, slovenly-looking craft, with yards ill 
 squared and sails half furled, — lay in the 
 tideway, off the town of San Lucar. Her 
 captain trode the deck with measured steps, 
 now and then casting a searching look all 
 round, and then with muttered curses re- 
 
288 DARIEN. 
 
 suming his walk. The clocks in the city 
 chimed, and he called to a man who 
 seemed to be the mate ; 
 
 "Nick, turn up the hands/' he said, 
 eagerly ; " and see all clear to slip moor- 
 ings as soon as she swings with the tide. 
 Our time's up,, and we've been here long 
 enough and to spare. Daylight would 
 bring us trouble, unless my eyes deceive 
 me." 
 
 The fore-topsail fell slowly from the 
 brails, and was sheeted home without a 
 sound. The mainsail gently expanded, 
 scarcely shaking in the gentle night wind. 
 In a few minutes more the vessel swung 
 lazily round as the tide turned. The mate 
 reported, in a low voice, that all was clear ; 
 when the captain exclaimed, in the same 
 suppressed tone ; 
 
 "Hold on! there's the green light at 
 last. We shall have earned our money, 
 after all," he muttered to himself ; " and we 
 might fall in with many a booty worth less 
 than ten thousand crowns." 
 
DARIEN. 289 
 
 A small boat, with only two figures in it, 
 now grated against the ship's side : some 
 countersign was given by one of the men, 
 and then his companion stepped on board. 
 Without another word, the boat shot away 
 into the darkness. The words " Let go" 
 passed in a whisper along the deck ; and 
 the brigantine glided away through the 
 darkness, apparently the only moving thing 
 in all that crowded port 
 
 When morning dawned, Alvarez found 
 himself fairly at sea ; and though still 
 stunned by sorrow, he was conscious of 
 the strange sights and sounds about him. 
 The captain and his crew no longer pre- 
 served any disguise, and the young man 
 found himself among professed Buccaneers, 
 notable members of the far-famed and 
 dreaded Brethren of the Coast. Deadly 
 and immitigable foes to Spain, they had 
 dared to place themselves within her grasp. 
 They had easily baffled her indolent and 
 ill-paid guar da-cost as, and bribed the cor- 
 rupt officials of the port to allow them to 
 vol. i. u 
 
290 DARIEX. 
 
 refit and dispose of their cargo under the 
 very guns of their most formidable fortress. 
 There they had sold to Spanish merchants 
 the contents of their own ships, whose 
 delay upon the seas they never thought of 
 attributing to the quiet-looking brigantine, 
 ill-managed even in harbour by four or five 
 slovenly-looking seamen. Scarcely, how- 
 ever, had the brigantine cleared the har- 
 bour, when a large chassemaree started 
 out from the Santo Petri Rocks. It was 
 crowded with men, who had lain perdu on 
 the coast of Barbary, while their comrades 
 were disposing of the booty at Cadiz. 
 They " tumbled in," as sailors say, on 
 board their ship ; and each of them, as he 
 gained his footing on the deck, made a sort 
 of obeisance to the captain, who surveyed 
 them with than eager searching glance 
 that appeared to see all that could be 
 seen, and to inquire for something more. 
 Fifty fierce seamen, all armed to the teeth, 
 now s wanned on the pirate's deck, with 
 a hum of many voices and many languages. 
 
DARIEN. 291 
 
 Their captain had, before their arrival, 
 descended into his cabin, in the unpre- 
 tending habit assumed by him at Cadiz. 
 When he reappeared from below, not 
 only in dress but in aspect, he seemed 
 to be a new man. Haughty and com- 
 manding in his looks, well appointed in his 
 apparel, his very voice was changed. He 
 gave orders, brief, loud, and rapid, for cast- 
 ing the chassemaree adrift, for hoisting up 
 the guns from the hold, where they had 
 been secretly stowed away, for bending 
 larger sails, and, in short, for transforming 
 the whole condition and character, of his 
 ship. The crew obeyed with a promptness 
 and skill that proved their strict discipline 
 and long practice : not an unnecessary 
 word was uttered, every nerve was strained 
 to duty, and Alvarez, the stranger, remained 
 utterly unnoticed until the merchantman 
 was changed into a dashing pirate. Then 
 the captain gazed round him, below and 
 aloft, with complacency ; every sail was 
 trimmed to a nicety, every spar was in its 
 
 u 2 
 
292 DARIEN. 
 
 place, everything superfluous was stowed 
 away, the machine was perfect in its kind, 
 and admirably fitted for its deadly purpose. 
 And now the brave ship rushed away 1 
 towards the far west, with wonderful ra- 
 pidity ; the watch was set ; the business of 
 the hour was concentrated on the helms- 
 man, who with anxious eye and steady 
 hand guided his great charge along towards 
 the invisible New World. The sailors 
 wiped the sweat from their swarthy brows, 
 and resumed their leathern doublets, 
 thrown off in the heat of work ; those who 
 were not on duty then formed themselves 
 into groups upon the decks, smoking, or 
 sleeping, or drinking ; dice began to rattle, 
 songs and oaths were heard by snatches, 
 and a general relaxation was apparent, con- 
 trasting curiously with the previous stern 
 discipline. 
 
 Meanwhile, Alvarez lay reclined on the 
 lofty poop, observing with grave and watch- 
 ful eye his new companions. Bitter as was 
 the sorrow that lay at his heart, he was 
 
DARIEN. 293 
 
 diverted from it almost in his own despite 
 by the new scenes in which he found him- 
 self, by the glorious element over which 
 he was bounding, and, above all, by the 
 warm young blood which ever beats 
 responsively to nature's grand emotions. 
 
 At this period, the extraordinary " Bro- 
 therhood of the Sea," as they dubbed them- 
 selves — the Buccaneers as they were called 
 by trembling mariners — were in the height 
 of their evil fame and power. They had 
 virtually possessed themselves of all the 
 waters and the beautiful islands that bor- 
 dered on the Spanish Main. They had even 
 carried their ravages into the Spanish terri- 
 tories on the Continent of America, and laid 
 the wealthy cities of the Isthmus under 
 contribution. Their exploits formed the 
 whole history of the region where they 
 carried on their daring trade, and were the 
 frequent theme of romance in all the sea- 
 ports of the Old Continent. * 
 
 Alvarez had heard something of these 
 terrible rovers from the contrabandista 
 
294 DARIEN. 
 
 sailors of the Mesquinez ; their deeds of 
 valour and ferocity could scarcely be exag- 
 gerated even by Spanish imagination, and 
 the young wanderer now regarded them 
 with intense though fearless curiosity. 
 
 He was almost surprised to find them 
 much like other men in outward seeming. 
 Instinct, indeed, told him that the stern 
 looks, which for the most part they wore, 
 must have been acquired in scenes that 
 steel the heart and banish smiles ; but 
 many an honoured patriot looked as grim. 
 Almost every face was either pale with 
 dissipation or bloated with excess ; but 
 the imagination of the innocent youth 
 referred such signs to the vigils and hard- 
 ship of those who strive with stormy seas. 
 Their dress (for it was Sunday, and fine 
 weather) was strange, gay, and incongru- 
 ous ; silken and velvet doublets were worn 
 over coarsest shirts ; and gorgeous Indian 
 shawls wrapped round the waistbands of 
 tarry trousers. Many wore massive golden 
 ear-rings, and large pearls, cornelians, or 
 
DARIEN. 295 
 
 agates as buttons. Every man was dressed 
 according to his own fancy ; and some of 
 the buccaneers were as coarse and foul in 
 garb as the others were magnificent, while 
 their long hair, matted instead of being 
 carefully curled, gave to them a wilder 
 and more desperate appearance. 
 
 Their captain seemed to be one of the 
 youngest of the company, but fierce pas- 
 sions and wild orgies had anticipated the 
 work of years ; his bright eyes were sunken, 
 and his cheek was hollow ; and toil, or 
 exposure to weather, had dashed in some 
 gray among his rich brown hair, and had 
 bronzed all his face, except the high pale 
 forehead, which was marked with a fearful 
 scar. His glance was piercing, rapid, rest- 
 less, and uncertain, except when now and 
 then his eyes were fixed on vacancy, and 
 seemed to stare on some abstraction until 
 an approaching step startled him, or the 
 flapping of a sail aroused his ready atten- 
 tion. He walked the deck with a firm but 
 unequal tread, apparently unconscious of 
 
296 DARIEN. 
 
 the presence of his crew. His dress was 
 perfectly simple, and showed off to advan- 
 tage his spare but powerful form ; the only 
 ornament he wore was a rich Indian scarf 
 tied round his waist, and in this were a 
 brace of pistols with which his fingers often 
 dallied. 
 
 The attention of Alvarez became gradu- 
 ally concentrated upon the young adven- 
 turer whose genius had been able to assert 
 supremacy over the desperate crew, lately 
 his mates, and now, by their own act, his 
 slaves. Those who were not on duty, 
 indeed, paid him little attention, except by 
 keeping carefully out of his beat ; but the 
 men on watch, whenever they approached 
 to ask or to receive an order, did so with 
 the most profound respect. The man at 
 the wheel performed his monotonous duty 
 as anxiously as if the ship was among 
 breakers ; and well he might, for the man 
 whose place he supplied was under the sur- 
 geon's hands ; his attention being distracted 
 for a moment, the ship had fallen off a 
 
DARIEN. 297 
 
 point or two, and in a moment the captain 
 was by his side, when a blow from his iron 
 hand laid the helmsman quivering on- the 
 deck, with mouth and nostrils streaming 
 blood : another hand supplied his place 
 instantly, and the captain resumed his 
 walk. 
 
 For some time, Alvarez had continued to 
 follow the despotic rover with his eyes, as 
 if he was fascinated. The latter, however, 
 affected to be indifferent to his presence, 
 though he betrayed some involuntary sense 
 of uneasiness at being so closely watched. 
 The young Moresco still kept his eye fixed 
 upon him, whilst his thoughts began to 
 wander back to the scenes he had so lately 
 left : darker and darker they became ; sor- 
 row .gave way to indignation, and indigna- 
 tion to a fierce thirst for vengeance on those 
 who had left him lonely in the world. His 
 passion for revenge long repressed, now 
 broke out with redoubled" strength ; it 
 became a very madness, absorbing all other 
 thought, and fear, and hope. He saw 
 
298 DARIEN. 
 
 around him the sworn foes of Spain, and 
 he felt as if destiny had repaid him for 
 many sufferings by casting him among such 
 associates. He pictured to himself these 
 men, whose very repose reminded him of 
 the crouching of a tiger. What terrible 
 instruments they must be when let loose 
 upon an enemy ! What delight to see them 
 bursting in upon a Spaniard's deck ! 
 
 As these angry reflections passed over 
 his expressive countenance, the Captain 
 fixed his eyes upon him, and read its mean- 
 ing, but misapplied it to himself. Suddenly 
 he strode up to him, and with the fierce 
 voice and aspect, before which the stoutest 
 of his crew were wont to quail, he de- 
 manded to know the stranger's thoughts. 
 Alvarez, sustained by the intensity of his 
 own excitement, rose slowly from his 
 recumbent posture, and fixed upon the 
 Buccaneer a gaze as firm and almost as 
 defiant as his own. 
 
 " By what right," said he calmly, " do 
 you presume to interrogate me thus ? I 
 
DARIEN. 299 
 
 am your passenger, and not your pri- 
 
 soner." 
 
 " Sacre cochon de St. Antoine!" ex- 
 claimed the Captain, " you will find but 
 little difference if you choose to wear that 
 hang-dog mutinous look before me. What 
 if yon infidel dog paid your passage hand- 
 somely, — which I don't deny, — he did not 
 bargain that you were to cast the evil eye 
 upon my ship's company, or comport 
 yourself as if you were in the presence of 
 the black devil himself. Let me tell you, 
 that you are the first Spaniard who ever 
 trod this deck and lived. If you wish for 
 other treatment, you must put off your 
 countrymen's ill-omened scowl, and try to 
 look like an honest man." 
 
 Alvarez indignantly denied the country- 
 men imputed to him, and the captain's 
 brow cleared at once, with a look of inquiry. 
 
 " I was thinking of my debt to Spain 
 at the moment you spoke," continued the 
 young Moresco ; " they have betrayed, 
 and tortured, and slain my father, my 
 
300 DARIEN. 
 
 mother, and my only friend. They have 
 persecuted to the death, and almost exter- 
 minated the Moorish race whose blood 
 I own. Give me but a chance of ven- 
 geance on these Spaniards, and if any man 
 amongst you robs me of it, then spurn 
 me as a tame and soulless slave ! " 
 
 As he spoke, his eyes flashed and his 
 form dilated ; the Captain's dislike, suddenly 
 converted into admiration, expressed itself 
 in the kindest greeting; his coarse and 
 disdainful manner changed into one of 
 frank courtesy ; and he expressed hearty 
 pleasure in haying such an acquisition to 
 his ship's company. He then drew 
 Alvarez into conversation, displaying on 
 his own part a tact and wit that charmed 
 the inexperienced youth. He first allowed 
 Alvarez to pour out his wrongs and 
 sorrows, and then gradually turned his 
 thoughts into a new channel ; described 
 himself as a sort of naval knight-errant 
 devoted to redressing all wrongs that the 
 Spanish people had inflicted, and de- 
 
DARIEN. 301 
 
 scanted eloquently on the glories of his 
 profession. 
 
 "Ours is a life/' he continued, "in 
 which all the old laws of the world are 
 falsified, and in which romance becomes 
 true. Ours are all the joys that earth 
 can give, intensified by having won — not 
 bousrht or begged them. The fairest 
 regions of the globe are the scene of our 
 adventures. We roam from isle to isle as 
 the chase of our game invites us ; and, 
 like Nimrod, our game is Man — the Spanish 
 man, — who has made a hell of the Indian 
 paradise." 
 
 The Captain paused, having gone thus 
 far, and left his words and the attractions 
 of a sea life to work their own impressions. 
 He desired anxiously to make a recruit of 
 the fiery young Moresco, but he thought 
 it better not to propose it to him as yet. 
 After making his guest welcome to his 
 cabin he retired, and left him to his own 
 reflections. 
 
 The reader will probably have recog- 
 
302 DARIEN. 
 
 nized in this eccentric Buccaneer the Cap- 
 tain Laurent of Sandilee. 
 
 Lawrence had run the Bonito directly 
 from the Solway to Dunkirk, where he had 
 sold her without scruple, and his reputation 
 had easily procured for him the command 
 of a more powerful vessel and a numerous 
 crew. With this equipment he had sailed 
 for the Spanish Main ; but having fallen 
 in with a prize near Cadiz, he had been 
 tempted to send her, with the greater part 
 of his crew, to Barbary, to be sold or 
 broken up; whilst he, disguising his own 
 brigantine, boldly entered the port of 
 Cadiz, and there traded with the merchants 
 for their own goods. 
 
 The first night at sea, when the weather 
 was fine, was always celebrated by the 
 Buccaneers as a festival. At sunset, one of 
 their number came aft to invite Alvarez 
 to join them, but he received a refusal 
 without offence. The wild crew respected 
 the stranger whom their Captain chose to 
 honour, and they left him to such retire- 
 
DARIEN. 303 
 
 ment as such a ship could afford. To his 
 surprise and pleasure he soon heard the 
 sounds of skilful music, and as the ship 
 lay tranquilly on the quiet sea, it was 
 delightful to hear the sonorous sounds of 
 trumpets and violins spreading softly over 
 the water. It was one of the fierce Captain's 
 singularities to which we have before 
 alluded, that love for music ; and it was 
 not the only taste he carried with him 
 from a former life of refinement to his 
 present outlawed condition. But the 
 music did not last long ; it soon gave way 
 to less harmonious sounds, jovial songs, 
 loud laughter, and wild jests. 
 
 How strange to Alvarez ; — how strange 
 to him in his solitude and his sorrow, ap- 
 peared the bacchanalian revelry that began 
 to rage below i The sea in all its solemnity 
 was spread around, heaving slowly, as if its 
 great heart were palpitating with the deep 
 and quiet pleasure of that glorious summer 
 night. Above, the sky in sublime serenity 
 was flooded with angelic light, like a visible 
 
304 DARIEN. 
 
 heaven arching over this poor harassed 
 world, a final and blessed asylum for those 
 who have finished their life's long task. 
 The ship herself, in her calm and swift 
 progress over the lonely and fathomless 
 floods, was in harmony with the scene. Her 
 pure white sails, and tall tapering masts, 
 and the whole contour of her graceful form 
 made her look like a beautiful and meet 
 inhabitant of the element that was her 
 home. 
 
 And yet, from the very heart of her arose 
 through the blessed evening air, such 
 sounds of oaths and ribald songs, and 
 angry altercation, and still more hideous 
 mirth, as might have belonged to hell. — So 
 passed the first evening that Alvarez spent 
 among his fellow men at sea. 
 
 The ship steered south to fall in with the 
 trade winds that tend to cool the tropics ; 
 and day by day she seemed to enter into 
 a more delicious climate. Even the sorrow 
 of Alvarez became softer under the power- 
 ful influence of a pure and constant sum- 
 
DARIEN. 305 
 
 < 
 
 mer air, and the soothing monotony of a 
 life at sea. He had youth, too, on the side 
 of his resignation, and the consciousness, 
 ever strong in the oriental mind, that the 
 past was irremediable. The world, and it 
 alone, was before him. He had the proud 
 conviction of all-mastering talent to cope 
 single-handed with every difficulty, and to 
 wrest from it its prizes — such prizes as it 
 had to bestow. Above all, he had for his 
 nearest object revenge upon the Spaniards. 
 He had never dreamt of its criminality ; 
 he knew not the god-like pleasure of for- 
 giveness ; he perceived in vengeance only a 
 high duty, too much in accordance with 
 the instinct of his burning heart. 
 
 As time sped on, he became more alive to 
 the multifarious, though evanescent interests 
 of the ship. He set himself diligently to 
 learn the duties and discipline, and some- 
 what of the art of naval life. He was con- 
 scious, too, that he had much to learn in 
 that most puzzling book of human nature, 
 from which he had been so long secluded ; 
 vol. i. x 
 
,306 DARIEN. 
 
 and every man on board became a subject 
 for him to study. Naturally, and by habit 
 reserved, he was obliged to exert some 
 force of will in order to expand himself, 
 and to find objects of common interest 
 with such associates. He tried, however, 
 and succeeded. The inner citadel of his 
 feelings was always well guarded and unap- 
 proachable ; but on all outlying topics he 
 soon became open and communicative, 
 giving and receiving such knowledge as 
 he might. His first questions naturally re- 
 lated to the order to which his new com- 
 rades belonged, and one sultry forenoon, as 
 they lay beneath the awning with their 
 pipes, he learned all that was to be said in 
 favour of the wild Brotherhood of the 
 Seas. Their story is now fading fast from 
 men's memories, yet they performed impor- 
 tant functions in their time. They were 
 the rude pioneers of independent commerce 
 in the remote Western seas. They made 
 the world acquainted with the intricate 
 navigation of their rich and beautiful but 
 
DARIEN. 307 
 
 most dangerous islands, and they vindicated 
 for the world at large a right to those 
 regions which the Spaniards having first 
 reduced to unheard of misery, afterwards 
 attempted to monopolise. 
 
 x 2 
 
308 DARIEN. 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 Oh, they are "wild and wanton men, such as the best will be, 
 "Who know no other gifts of God, but to be bold and free : 
 Who never saw how States are bound in golden bonds of law, 
 Who never knew how strongest hearts are bent by holy awe. 
 
 MlLNES. 
 
 The greatest genius combined with the 
 greatest daring that ever centred in the 
 mind of man was exhibited in the magni- 
 ficent enterprise of Columbus ; it was 
 crowned with such success as none before 
 or after him can rival, and rewarded by the 
 revelation of a new world : a world of 
 such beauty and rare endowments as might 
 now appear a tradition of Paradise, if the 
 first discovery had not been so fatally fol- 
 lowed up. The far-famed visionary " Islands 
 of the Blest" seemed to have lain there, 
 
DARIEN. 309 
 
 among the crystal waters of those un- 
 known seas, happy from all eternity. The 
 gentle, loving, reverential islanders, whose 
 wants were all abundantly, yet without 
 labour, supplied by their waters and their 
 woods, were fit inhabitants for such a 
 region. If, among their many people, were 
 found some fierce and cruel Caribs, the 
 contrast formed but a necessary shade to 
 render the too-bright picture human, and to 
 qualify the serene existence of the western 
 islanders with a salutary dread. They 
 seem to have known no other. Cold, 
 and hunger, and nakedness, had for them 
 no more terrors than in Paradise ; glowing 
 sunshine or mellow night were always 
 theirs : the richest fruits hung around 
 them, fishes of all shape and hue swarmed 
 in their waters ; and for raiment, to use an 
 eastern expression, " they were clothed 
 with sunbeams." 
 
 The weather-beaten mariners of Spain, 
 one and all, were astonished and fascinated 
 by these islanders and their delicious coun- 
 
310 DARIEN. 
 
 try. Instead of the rewards and unprece- 
 dented glory that awaited them in Europe, 
 they implored, as their best reward, to be 
 left in the new-found land. It seemed to 
 them as if they had attained to the Blessed 
 Island, so long sought after ; where Rode- 
 rick and Sebastian, nay Enoch, Elijah, and 
 Melchisedec had long been secluded in 
 blessedness from mortal gaze. 
 
 If the triumph allotted to Columbus was 
 beyond what any other man has known, so 
 was the sorrow and disappointment. Per- 
 haps it was necessary that his noble soul 
 should be purified by trial before it could 
 attain to, or return to the humility essential 
 to its health. Every aspiration in which 
 the great discoverer indulged, was defeated 
 and trampled on. Thrice he returned in 
 disgrace, and once in chains, from the New 
 World that he had rescued from its obscurity 
 among the distant seas. The island that 
 he loved with especial fondness, its people 
 whom he had so cherished, alike were 
 defaced and destroyed by ruffian violence. 
 
DARIEN. 311 
 
 The exquisite beauty of Hispaniola on which 
 he had gazed with such delight, was con- 
 verted into a scene of ruin and desolation ; 
 the generous and gentle caciques, whom he 
 had made his friends, were robbed and 
 butchered ; the women who had welcomed 
 him as a supernatural being, were outraged 
 and degraded by the refuse of Spanish 
 prisons. He himself died in poverty, 
 humiliation, and neglect, a vain suitor for 
 the government of the glorious regions 
 that he had won. 
 
 All history abounds with records of 
 cruelty and wrong ; but that of Spanish 
 America is terribly conspicuous above all 
 other in barbarity and crime. The most 
 damning testimony against them is fur- 
 nished by their own writers ; in the com- 
 plaints of the virtuous Las Casas, the con- 
 fessions of Cortes, the apologies of Herrera, 
 and the summing up of Prescott, we have 
 a list of the deepest atrocities that were ever 
 perpetrated under the sanction of a king. 
 
 Nevertheless, there was something chi- 
 
312 DARIEN. 
 
 valrous too, in the ferocity of the con- 
 querors of the Indians. Though, in some 
 cases, their victims succumbed beneath 
 their destiny without a struggle ; in others, 
 they fought with a desperation worthy of 
 their cause. Their numbers, too, appeared 
 overwhelming ; their climate was a for- 
 midable ally ; the white men were ener- 
 vated by licentiousness and reduced by 
 famine, yet still the white men triumphed. 
 Mere handfuls of daring Spaniards over- 
 threw ancient dynasties, put monarchs to 
 the sword, and enslaved whole nations. 
 They subdued the very soil itself, 
 forced it to bear a foreign vegetation, to 
 feed strange animals, and to produce per- 
 force the crops prescribed to it, instead of 
 the wild fruits that were wont to grow 
 at their own pleasure, as nature planted 
 them. By the same strong wills, the seas 
 were rifled to yield up their pearls, the 
 mountains their gold, and the forests their 
 proudest trees. 
 
 But the price that the Spaniards paid 
 
DARIEN. 313 
 
 for all these triumphs was a fearful one. 
 Hundreds of them perished miserably — by 
 pestilence, or poisoned arrows, or the most 
 loathsome of diseases, — for one who pro- 
 spered ; if an unbridled range and power 
 of sensual indulgence could be deemed 
 prosperity. By such means and such men, 
 the maritime cities of Central America were 
 built and peopled. It was long before the 
 increase of their white population exceeded 
 its mortality, — but at length the Spaniards 
 triumphed in this matter likewise ; and as 
 the red man withered away, the invader 
 spread wide his borders. Maracaibo, Car- 
 tagena, Vera Cruz, and other towns arose. 
 Commerce obtained a firm footing, and 
 the gold countries beyond the Isthmus 
 were brought into close relationship with 
 Europe. Wealth accumulated rapidly, and 
 the galleons and flotas in their annual 
 visit found still increasing abundance of all 
 luxuries, to exchange for European neces- 
 sities of life. Precious woods and gums 
 and balsams, with great pearls and massive 
 
314 DARIEN. 
 
 silver and the arch-treasure, gold, were 
 poured in upon the Spanish decks. 
 
 The eyes of all speculators were soon 
 turned towards those wondrous shores. 
 All ranks and classes of men, from the 
 pompous hidalgo, to the meek missionary, 
 turned longing eyes towards' the new land 
 of promise. In vain they were told of its 
 dangers, its fatality, its Indians, its pesti- 
 lences, and its Buccaneers, — the deadliest 
 scourge of all. Danger and difficulty are 
 only stimulants to the classes of which 
 such emigrants are composed. Spain was 
 full of ardent and restless spirits whom the 
 Moorish wars had evoked, trained to the 
 use of arms, and by their cessation ren- 
 dered idle and desperate. What the 
 Californian enthusiasm is now, all Cen- 
 tral America, through its traditions, was 
 then. The New World became stocked 
 with adventurers, who soon became wealthy, 
 or else they perished. 
 
 As wealth began to accumulate, des- 
 peradoes came to prey upon its possessors. 
 
DARIEN. 
 
 315 
 
 The Buccaneers were seen buzzing like 
 wasps around the hives of the Spanish 
 merchants. The chances against the fair 
 trader became fearful. Scarcely so many 
 chartered ships escaped to discharge their 
 cargoes, as smugglers now get through 
 the cordon of our cruisers. The gains, 
 however, when successful, were so enor- 
 mous as to induce seamen to run these 
 risks, and such seamen became propor- 
 tionably adventurous and reckless. The 
 change to buccaneering was simple and 
 frequent ; and those highwaymen of the 
 seas grew into a formidable power. 
 
 Romantic stories of all these things were 
 constantly brought to Europe, and soon 
 excited a spirit of adventure in France 
 and the British islands, as well as through- 
 out Spain. There was a great jealousy 
 on the part of the English, the Dutch, and 
 the French, against the great power which 
 had arrogated to itself the monopoly of 
 the golden regions of the west. This 
 jealousy plausibly expressed itself in indig- 
 
316 DARIEN. 
 
 nation against Spanish cruelty, Spanish 
 bigotry, and Spanish ambition. Thus 
 chivalry, religion, and patriotism were all 
 evoked against the haughty nation that 
 had converted the paradise of its new 
 discoveries into a hell of crime, cruelty 
 and oppression. 
 
 Hence, whatever the condition, whether 
 peaceable or hostile, of Spain with respect 
 to European nations ; they all considered 
 her American possessions as a fair field 
 for predatory warfare. But the Buccaneers 
 were by far the most formidable enemies ; 
 they were always on the spot, they were 
 amphibious in martial exploits ; enter- 
 prising on the land, skilful on the sea, 
 and desperately daring everywhere. They 
 combined all the cunning of the Indian 
 with the strength and hardihood of the 
 most manful European races. They were 
 insatiably avaricious and utterly remorseless. 
 
 It is curious to trace the origin of these 
 men, or rather of this people, in whom 
 human nature seems to have run wild. 
 
DARIEN. 317 
 
 Spanish cruelty and lust of gold had 
 rendered the lovely islands of Hispaniola 
 almost a waste. Out of a happy popu- 
 lation of 80 or 100,000 Indians whom 
 Columbus found there, not above 400 
 remained at the end of the first century 
 of Spanish rule to curse their name. As 
 man faded from the land, wild animals 
 increased. The early discoverers and first 
 settlers had introduced cattle and swine, 
 and these creatures now multiplied rapidly, 
 covering the green savannahs with herds, 
 and filling the forests with wild boars. 
 Towards the end of the sixteenth century, 
 Hispaniola and the adjacent islands became 
 yet further neglected, as the Spaniards 
 turned their attention and their strength 
 towards the Continent. Then ships of 
 various nations began to touch at the 
 Western Islands for wood and water. 
 Sometimes their men deserted into the 
 interior, sometimes mutineers were aban- 
 doned as a punishment. They soon found 
 little reason to regret their fate. Their 
 
318 DARIEN. 
 
 predecessors had learned from the Indians 
 how to hunt down and dress the game in 
 which the isles abounded. From time to time 
 a European ship would appear and exchange 
 the two grand necessaries of their isolated 
 lives — brandy and gunpowder — for salted 
 meat, wild honey and cassava bread. At 
 length the islanders became strong enough 
 to attract the attention of the Spaniards, 
 who attempted to dislodge them. The 
 Buccaneers came off as conquerors, and 
 soon attempted reprisals, which likewise 
 were successful. Finally, the Spaniards, 
 wearied with the ceaseless and deadly 
 strife, retired altogether from the Western 
 and North-western portions of Hispaniola, 
 and formed new settlements or increased 
 their old ones on the Continent. Even 
 thither, however, the Buccaneers, grown 
 bolder by impunity, pursued them. Every 
 nation that entered into hostilities with 
 European Spain, encouraged the indomi- 
 table enemy of her colonies, and thus 
 gave a sort of dignity to their warfare. 
 
/ 
 
 DARIEN. 319 
 
 From Drake to Prince Rupert, the English 
 especially, emulated and imitated the 
 " Brethren of the Sea/' in plundering ex- 
 peditions against the American Spaniards. 
 Nevertheless, such was the vast wealth 
 extracted by the Spaniards from their 
 possessions on Tierra Firma, that they still 
 flourished ; and were able to offer every 
 year fresh and stronger temptations to 
 their spoilers. 
 
 About the middle of the seventeenth 
 century, the latter made another step in 
 advance, by taking possession of the little 
 island of Tortuga ; and then for the first 
 time begun to be called Buccaneers by the 
 English, and Flibustiers (a corruption of 
 freebooter) by the French. The origin of 
 these names will appear in the course of 
 our tale. 
 
 END OF VOL. I. 
 
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 barassments from which it is now suffering, its financial difficulties, the discon- 
 tent of its Christian, and the turbulence of a great portion of its Mahommedan 
 subjects. We are also introduced for the first time to the warlike mountaineers 
 of Bosnia, Albania, Upper Moesia, and the almost inaccessible districts of the 
 Pindus and the Balkan. The different nationalities of that Babel-like country, 
 Turkey in Europe, iuhabited by Sclavonians, Greeks, Albanians, Macedonians, 
 the Romani and Osmanli— their various characteristics, religions, superstitions, 
 together with their singular customs and manners, their ancient and contem- 
 porary history are vividly described. The Ionian Islands, Greece, Hungary, 
 and the Sclavonian Provinces of Austria on the Lower Danube, are all deline- 
 ated in the author's happiest manner." 
 
 " We cordially recommend Mr. Spencer's valuable and interesting volumes 
 to the attention of the reader. They ai*e replete wi(h information upon coun- 
 tries of which we know but little ; they will be interesting to the military man 
 for the details they give of the strength and defensive positions of the various 
 countries through which the author travelled ; to the merchant for the insight 
 given into the state of trade; and to the man of the world as they place before 
 his view the present political and social state of an empire, whose welfare it is 
 the interest of England to promote. The work must be considered a standard 
 production, enriched, as it is, by an excellent map derived from the most 
 authentic modern charts, added to, and improved by the observations of the 
 author during his travels." — United Service Magazine. 
 
2 COLBURN AND CO.'S NEW PUBLICATIONS. 
 
 K H A R T U M, 
 AND THE BLUE AND WHITE NILES. 
 
 By GEORGE MELLY, ESQ. 
 
 2 vols., post 8vo, with Maps and Illustrations, 21s. bound. 
 
 " Mr. Melly is an animated writer, and a quick observer — his style is 
 buoyant, lively, and agreeable, and his book is from first to last instructive 
 and entertaining." — Morning Post. 
 
 " Independently of the amusement and information which may be derived 
 from Mr. Melly's interesting work, the references to the relations which exist 
 at this time between the Sublime Porte and Egypt are worthy of every consi- 
 deration which statesmen and public men can bestow upon them." — Messenger. 
 
 " We cannot feel otherwise than grateful to the author of these valuable and 
 useful volumes for having kept so faithful a journal, and for giving the public 
 the benefit of his adventures and experience. The manners and customs of 
 the natives, as well as the natural curiosities, and the relics of antiquity 
 which the travellers visited, in turns engage the reader's attention ; and, 
 altogether, the book is a most entertaining and instructive vade-mecum to the 
 interesting portion of the East of which it treats." — John Bull. 
 
 JUDGE HALIBURTON'S NEW WORK. 
 
 In 2 vols, post 8vo, 21s. bound. 
 
 RULE AND MISRULE OF 
 
 THE ENGLISH IN AMERICA. 
 
 By the Author of " Sam Slick," " The Old Judge," &c. 
 
 " A most attractive work." — Standard. 
 
 " Invaluable for its accuracy and impartiality.*' — Herald. 
 
 " The cleverest volumes Judge Haliburton has ever produced." — Messenger. 
 
 " We conceive this work to be by far the most valuable and important Judge 
 Haliburton has ever written. The exhaustless fund of humour — quiet, yet rich 
 and racy, and at the same time overflowing with the milk of human kindness 
 — which his writings display on one hand, and the wonderful knowledge of 
 man's character, in all its countless varieties, which they exhibit on the other, 
 have insured for them a high, and honourable, and enduring station in English 
 literature. It would be difficult, if not impossible, to arise from the perusal of 
 any of Mr. Haliburton's performances without having become both wiser and 
 better. His 'English in America' is, however, a production of a yet more 
 exaUed order. While teeming with interest, moral and historical, to the general 
 reader, it may be regarded as equally constituting a philosophical study for the 
 politiciau and the statesman. It will be found to dissipate many popular errors, 
 and to let in a flood of light upon the actual origin, formation, and progress of 
 the republic of the United States." — Naval and Military Gazette, 
 
COLBURN AND CO.'S NEW PUBLICATIONS. 
 
 NEW TRAVELS IN THE HOLY LAND. 
 
 Now ready, in 2 vols, with Illustrations, 21s. bound. 
 
 EIGHT YEARS 
 IN PALESTINE, SYRIA, AND ASIA MINOR, 
 
 FROM 1842 TO 1850. 
 Br F. A. NEALE, Esq., Late attached to the Consular Service in Syria. 
 
 OPINIONS OF THE PRESS. 
 
 " One of the best accounts of the country and people that has been published 
 of late years."— Spectator. 
 
 " A highly entertaining book, presenting a lively picture of Levantine life in 
 all its varied aspects." — John Bull. 
 
 " A very agreeable book. Mr. Neale is evidently quite familiar with the 
 East, and writes in a lively, shrewd, and good-humoured manner. A great 
 deal of information is to be found in his pages." — Athenceum. 
 
 " Deeply interesting volumes. We have rarely met with a work from which 
 we have derived so much pleasure and profit." — Messenger. 
 
 " We have derived unmingled pleasure from the perusal of these interesting 
 volumes. Very rarely have we found a narrative of Eastern travel so truthful 
 and just. There is no guide-book we would so strongly recommend to the 
 traveller about to enter on a Turkish or Syrian tour as this before us. The 
 information it affords is especially valuable, since it is brought up almost to the 
 last moment. The narrative, too, is full of incident, and abounds in vivid pic- 
 tures of Turkish and Levantine life, interspersed with well-told tales. The 
 author commences his narrative at Gaza ; visits Askalon, Jaffa and Jerusalem, 
 Caipha and Mount Carmel, Acre, Sidon and Tyre, Beyrout, Tripoli, Antioch, 
 Aleppo, Alexandretta, Adana, and Cyprus. Of several of these famous localities 
 we know no more compact and clearer account than that given in these volumes. 
 We have to thank Mr. Neale for one of the best books of travels that we have 
 met with for a very long time." — Literary Gazette. 
 
 " Mr. Neale's book will claim the highest rank among works of this class. 
 His long wanderings of eight years in the regions he describes have made him 
 thoroughly familiar with localities, and with the domestic life of the population. 
 Nothing can be more graphic than his picturesque descriptions; nothing more 
 amusing than his sketches of native society ; more piquant or more diverting 
 than his stories, anecdotes, and adventures. He takes us out of the beaten 
 track of tourists into the nooks and corners, as well as into the cities and towns. 
 He tells us everything of such places as Jerusalem, Antioch, Aleppo, Beyrout; 
 but we now go for the first time to Beilan, Nargheslik, Alexandretta, Daphne's 
 Cataracts, &c, &c. As might be expected in the narrative of one so familiar 
 with what he treats of, the book is replete with new and valuable information." 
 — United Service Magazine. 
 
4 COLBURN AND CO.'S NEW PUBLICATIONS. 
 
 SPAIN AS IT IS. 
 
 By G. A. HOSKINS, ESQ. 
 
 Author of " Travels in Ethiopia, and Visit to the Great Oasis," &c. 
 2 vols., with Illustrations, 21s. bound. 
 
 " To the tourist this work will prove invaluable. It is the most complete 
 and most interesting portraiture of Spain as it is that has ever come under our 
 notice." — John Bull. 
 
 " Mr. Hoskins is a pleasant companion and a very useful guide. He 
 describes a route abounding in all the attractions afforded by noble works of 
 art, interesting historical association, and exquisite scenery ; and he does 
 justice to them all. His narrative is rendered both attractive and valuable by 
 the intrinsic interest of the subject, and the graphic truthfulness of description 
 which appears in every page."— Morning Post. 
 
 NARRATIVE OF 
 
 FIVE YEARS' RESIDENCE AT NEPADL. 
 
 By THOMAS SMITH, ESQ. 
 
 Late Captain Bengal Native Infantry; Assistant Political Resident at Nepaul. 
 1 vol., with Portrait, Map, &c. (just ready). 
 
 SCENES FROM SCRIPTURE. . 
 
 By the REV. G. CROLY, LL.D. 
 Author of " Salathiel," &c, 1 vol., 10s. 6d. bound. 
 
 PRINCIPAL CONTENTS: — 
 
 The Last Day of Jerusalem— Esther— The Third Temptation— The Vision of 
 
 God — The Sixth Seal — The Power of Prayer — Belshazzar — Malachi — 
 
 Balak and Balaam — Ezekiel — John the Baptist — The Prophecy of 
 
 Jerusalem— Elisha in Dothan — The Woe upon Israel— The Judgment 
 
 Day, &c. 
 
 " Eminent in every mode of literature, Dr. Croly stands, in our judgment, 
 
 first among the living poets of Great Britain — the only man of our day entitled 
 
 by his power to venture within the sacred circle of religious poets." — Standard. 
 
 " The appearance of a volume of poems from a writer of such high repute as 
 
 the author of ' Salathiel,' is an event in the history of modern literature. With 
 
 a vigour of language in harmony with the subjects he has chosen. Dr. Croly 
 
 has presented to us, in a poetic form, some of the most striking and instructive 
 
 incidents in the sacred volume." — Messenger. 
 
 " This volume will be extensively read and admired. It is one of great 
 interest, variety, and merit." — Post. 
 
 " This work deserves to be placed in the highest ranks of sacred poetry." — 
 Atlas. 
 
 " An admirable addition to the library of religious families." — John Bull 
 
COLBURN AND CO.'S NEW PUBLICATIONS. 
 
 fta Slorte jof $ktim f Ijjj gMmpi^p Write, 
 
 KAVENSCLIFFE. . 
 
 By the Author of 
 " Emilia Wyndham," " The Wilmingtons," &c. 3 vols. 
 
 MRS. MATHEWS ; OR, FAMILY MYSTERIES. 
 
 By MRS. TROLLOPE. 
 Author of " Father Eustace," " The Barnabys," &c. 3 vols. 
 
 " A production unique in character, and of singular merit. This interesting 
 story displays remarkable knowledge of life and motive, and unites with great 
 variety and fertility in the conception of character, greater freedom, energy, 
 and minuteness of delineation, than any other of Mrs. Trollope's hovels." — 
 Morning Post. 
 
 " Those who open the present volumes with the expectation of enjoying 
 another of those rich treats which Mrs. Trollope's clever pen periodically pro- 
 vides for the novel-reading public, will not be disappointed. The author proves 
 the undiminished vigour of her inventive and descriptive powers. The plot of 
 the whole story is so admirably constructed, that we defy any one to give a 
 guess at the denouement, or to anticipate all the intermediate events which suc- 
 cessively take the reader by surprise. Altogether, this new production 
 of Mrs. Trollope's able pen ranks high as a work of art, and will, we may 
 venture to predict, be one of the most popular novels of the coming season." — 
 John Bull. 
 
 CECILE; OE, THE PERVERT. 
 
 By the Author of " Rockingham." 1 vol. 
 
 " This is a very fascinating book, written throughout with unusual ability, 
 and by one well skilled in producing effect. The story is, at once, most 
 touching and most exciting, combining the exquisite pathos of Miss Austen, 
 and the vigour and dramatic power of Dumas. Its subject is a curious one — 
 the religious conversion of a nobleman of high rank in connection with Papal 
 aggression ; and we cannot sufficiently commend the judgment, the dexterity, 
 and the artistic skill which the author has displayed in its treatment. The 
 most captivating feature in the book is its masterly delineations of character. 
 The distinguished rank of the author, who is understood to move in the highest 
 circles, affords him peculiar facilities for describing that exclusive region which 
 only the privileged can enter. Nor is any disguise used in the picture, for 
 the bevy of beauties who reign in the fashionable world, figure in the story 
 by name ; and the author speaks of such persons as Lord Foley, Baron 
 Brunow,^&c, &c, with all the freedom of brotherhood." — United Service 
 Magazine. 
 
COLBURN AND CO.'S NEW PUBLICATIONS. 
 
 FALKENBURG. 
 
 By the Author of " Mildred Vernon." 3 vols. 
 
 THE LIVINGSTONES. 
 
 A STORY OF REAL LIFE. 3 vols. 
 
 " As a work of skill there can he no question that 'The Livingstones' is 
 entitled to a high position. As a work illustrative of individual and general 
 character, it stands even still higher. It cannot fail to find a large circle of 
 readers, as much from the beauty of its sentiments as from the interest of the 
 narrative and the ease of the style in which it is written." — Observer. 
 
 " This is a clever novel, worked out by an accomplished writer, and pro- 
 ducing a most agreeable impression. The scene is laid chiefly in Scotland, 
 and the characters are marked by that felicitous touch which almost always 
 distinguishes the writers of the north. The whole makes an extremely 
 interesting story. As a picture of life, the book indisputably possesses peculiar 
 charms." — United Service Magazine. 
 
 ALB AN: A TALE. 
 
 By the Author of "Lady Alice." 3 vols. 
 
 " Written with unquestionable ability. The story is exciting, and the 
 scenes display considerable skill." — United Service Magazine. 
 
 " Apart from the admirable sketches of society, the life of Alban Atherton 
 has a great purpose in view." — New Monthly. 
 
 THE TUTOR'S WARD. 
 
 By the Author of " Wayfaring Sketches," " Use and Abuse," &c. 3 vols. 
 
 " ' The Tutor's Ward' is a masterpiece of fiction. The plot of the story is 
 charged to the full with extraordinary incidents and adventures. The charac- 
 ters are delineated with graphic power, the scenes finished with dramatic effect, 
 and the tale conducted to its close with sustained interest. Rarely has the 
 power of love over the female heart been more beautifully pourtrayed than in 
 this splendid tale." — John Bull. 
 
 A NEW STORY OF SCOTTISH LIFE. 
 
 By the Author of " Margaret Maitland," " Merkland," and 
 
 " Caleb Field." 
 
 In 3 vols. (Just ready.) 
 
COLBURN AND CO.'S NEW PUBLICATIONS. 
 
 MARIAN WITHERS. 
 
 BY GERALDINE E. JEWSBURY, 
 
 Author of " Zoe," " The Half Sisters," &c. 3 vols. 
 
 " Full of cleverness and originality." — Examiner. 
 
 " The best of Miss Jewsbury's novels." — Critic. 
 
 " One of the noblest works of fiction that has been for some time published 
 in this country." — Observer. 
 
 " A work of singular beauty, aiming at a noble purpose, and affording a 
 vivid and faithful view of society in the nineteenth century." — Sunday Times. 
 
 " A clever and brilliant book, full of the results of varied knowledge of life. 
 The personal sketches remind one of Douglas Jerrold. The style is admirable 
 for its caustic and compressed vigour. Marian Withers will take a high rank 
 among contemporary fictions." — Weekly News. 
 
 " The design of Marian Withers is that of displaying Lancashire life in all 
 its varieties of good and bad, coarse and elegant, serious and frivolous, hard- 
 hearted and considerate. It claims attention for its eloquence, its knowledge 
 of life, its straightforward dealing with realities, and general elevation of 
 tone." — Leader. 
 
 CLAEE ABBEY. 
 
 By the Author of " The Discipline of Life," &c. 2 vols. 
 
 *' Lady Ponsonby's ' Clare Abbey' is a delightful book, full of powerful and 
 graceful writing." — Standard. 
 
 " In this story the talented author of ' The Discipline of Life,' has displayed 
 all that power of painting the passions of the human heart, and the hard strug- 
 gles between inclination and duty, of which her former work gave such ample 
 proof. The tale has a fascinating interest, while its lofty moral tendency 
 raises it above the ordinary level of works of fiction. ' Clare Abbey' is 
 decidedly one of the most successful, one of the most attractive, and, at the 
 same time, one of the most high-toned novels of the season."— John Bull. 
 
 CALEB FIELD. 
 
 A TALE OF THE PURITANS. 
 
 By the Author of " Passages in the Life of Mrs. Margaret Maitland," 
 " Merkland," &c. 1 vol. 
 
 " This beautiful production is every way worthy, of its author's reputation in 
 the very first rank of contemporary writers." — Standard. 
 
 " The execution of the story is finished and beautiful to a high degree." — 
 Spectator. 
 
 " As a delineator of manners and character, this author has scarcely an 
 equal among living writers ; while for the nobility of her sentiments, she 
 stands all but alone above them all. 'Caleb Field' is a vindication of the 
 Puritans — a sketch of their character and illustration of their deeds; in a story 
 of moving interest, deeply exciting, full of novelty, and abounding in scenes 
 of graphic beauty." — Sunday Times. 
 
8 COLBURN AND CO.'S NEW PUBLICATIONS. 
 
 THE LADY AND THE PRIEST. 
 
 By MRS. MABERLY. 3 vols. 
 
 " The sustained, the ever heightening interest, with which the story pro- 
 gresses to the end, and the power with which the characters are delineated, 
 together with the allusions and illustrations applicable to the mighty conflict of 
 the day between Rome and England, combine to make the fiction of * The 
 Lady and the Priest' one of the most exquisite romance-, which, we doubt 
 not will, in addition to the keen enjoyment of the perusal, do more than hun- 
 dreds of dry discussions and platform orations to impress the popular mind 
 with the dangerous character of the Popish creed and system." — John Bull. 
 
 ART HUH CONWAY; 
 
 OR, SCENES IN THE TROPICS. 
 
 By CAPTAIN MILMAN, late Thirty-third Regiment. 3 vols. 
 
 " A book of very rare merit. As a romance, replete with striking and 
 affecting incidents ; as a picture of life in the West Indies, as a delineation of 
 tropical scenery, and of the grand and mysterious visitations of Nature, 
 ' Arthur Conway' stands unapproached by any modern work." — United Service 
 Gazette. 
 
 " A work of considerable literary merit and powerful interest. The sketches 
 of tropical scenery and nations which it contains give to it a value and interest 
 altogether independent of its attractions as a romance." — John Bull. 
 
 "This work is not only interesting as a well-written, lively, exciting work 
 of fiction, but valuable as a series of sketches of the civilisation and progress of 
 the West Indies, embodying the reminiscences of scenery and character 
 preserved by the author during a residence in the Caribbee Islands. The 
 scenes where the Caribs are introduced are quite original in romance." — 
 Sunday Times. 
 
 RALPH RUTHERFORD. 
 
 By the Author of " The Petrel." 3 vols. 
 
 "Admiral Fisher's 'Ralph Butherford' is an admirable romance — an 
 interesting addition to our stock of national literature." — Post. 
 
 " Admiral Fisher's interesting nautical tale of ' Ralph Rutherford ' is a 
 worthy member of the Marryat class, full of animated scenes, serious and droll, 
 with the halo of a love story thrown around it. There are passages and 
 incidents winch Tom Cringle might have been proud to have described." — 
 United Service Gazette. 
 
THE ARMY AND NAVY. 
 
 Published on the 1st of every Month, Price 3s. 6d. 
 
 COLBURN'S UNITED SERVICE MAGAZINE, 
 
 AND 
 
 NAVAL AND MILITARY JOURNAL. 
 
 The attention of the public, and particularly that of the United 
 Services and the Army and Navy of the East India Company, is 
 respectfully invited to this periodical, which has now been established 
 twenty -five years, and embraces subjects of such extensive variety and 
 of such powerful interest as must render it scarcely less acceptable 
 to readers in general than to the members of those professions for 
 whose use it is more particularly intended. 
 
 Independently of a succession of Original Papers on innumerable 
 interesting subjects, Personal Narratives, Historical Incidents, Cor- 
 respondence, &c, each number comprises Biographical Memoirs of 
 Eminent Officers of all branches of service, Reviews of New Publica- 
 tions, either immediately relating to the Army or Navy, or involving 
 subjects of utility or interest to the members of either, Full Reports 
 of Trials by Courts Martial, Distribution of the Army and Navy, 
 General Orders, Circulars, Promotions, Appointments, Births, Mar- 
 riages, Obituary, &c, with all the Naval and Military Intelligence 
 of the Month. 
 
 OPINIONS OF THE PRESS. 
 
 "This is confessedly one of the ablest and most attractive periodicals 
 of which the British press can boast, presenting a wide field of entertain- 
 ment to the general as well as the professional reader. The suggestions 
 for the benefit of the two Services are numerous, and distinguished by 
 vigour of sense, acute and practical observation, an ardent love of dis- 
 cipline, tempered by a high sense of justice, honour, humanity, and a 
 tender regard for the welfare and personal comfort of our soldiers and 
 seamen.'' — Globe. 
 
 "At the head of those periodicals which furnish useful and valuable 
 information to their peculiar classes of readers, as well as amusement to 
 the general body of the public, must be placed the * United Service 
 Magazine, and Naval and Military Journal.' It numbers among its con- 
 tributors almost all those gallant spirits who have done no less honour 
 to their country by their swords than by their pens, and abounds with 
 the most interesting discussions on naval and military affairs, and stirring 
 narratives of deeds of arms in all parts of the world. Every information 
 of value and interest to both the Services is culled with the greatest 
 diligence from every available source, and the correspondence of various 
 distinguished officers which enrich its pages is a feature of great attraction. 
 In short, the * United Service Magazine' can be recommended to every 
 reader who possesses that attachment to his country which should make 
 him lookwiththedeepestintereston its naval andmilitaryresources." — Sua. 
 
OPINIONS OF THE PRESS ON 
 COLBURN'S UNITED SERVICE MAGAZINE. 
 
 " This truly national periodical is always full of the most valuable matter 
 for professional men. It abounds with excellent articles, the personal 
 memoirs of distinguished officers of both Services, results of valuable 
 military and naval experience, fragments of interesting travels, and light 
 tales of adventure, all of which are well blended, and form a most 
 harmonious ensemble." — Morning Herald. 
 
 "'Colburn's United Service Magazine' is always a welcome visitor. 
 Its numbers contain an absolute redundancy of able and important 
 articles, the value of which is not merely confined to any peculiar distinc- 
 tive interest that military and naval men may attach to them. Independent 
 of its attractions to the two Services, there is a mass of sterling reading 
 which no class of intelligent persons will fail to appreciate." — 2/orning 
 Post. 
 
 "A magazine which is not only an honour to the Services that patronize 
 it, but also to the literature of the country." — Standard. 
 
 " To military and naval men, and to that class of readers who hover 
 on the skirts of the Services, and take a world of pains to inform them- 
 selves of all the goings on, the modes and fashions, the movements and 
 adventures connected with ships and barracks, this periodical is indis- 
 pensable. It is a repertory of facts and criticisms — narratives of past 
 experience, and fictions that are as good as if they were true — tables and 
 returns — new inventions and new books bearing upon the army and the 
 navv — correspondence crowded with intelligence — and sundry unclaimed 
 matters that lie in close neighbourhood with the professions, and contri- 
 bute more or less to the stock of general useful information." — Atlas. 
 
 "The 'United Service Magazine' is an invaluable repository of excel- 
 lent articles on naval and military warfare, with respect to the science, 
 the statistics, and the management of the two branches of the Service. 
 It is, moreover, a most useful chronicler of all current events relating to 
 our mercantile and national marine, and to every branch of our army, 
 whether under Government or in the service of the East India Company. 
 Its attention to colonial affairs and miscellaneous subjects is most 
 useful." — Weekly Dispatch. 
 
 "This is one of the most permanently useful of the magazines, con- 
 taining matter valuable not only to the naval and military reader, but to 
 the historian and politician. It has, moreover, sketches of manners, 
 scenery, and adventure, from the pens of some of the most popular 
 writers of the day. Its digest of news is admirable, its lists of the posts 
 among which our armies and fleets are divided are of the last utility, 
 while its amusing and able correspondence is another excellent feature." 
 — Brighton Guardian. 
 
 COLBURN AND CO., PUBLISHERS, 
 
 18, Great Marlborough Street. 
 
 TO BE HAD OF ALL BOOKSELLERS THROUGHOUT THE KINGDOM.