No. 1.] London Magazine: A JOURNAL OF ENTERTAINMENT AND INSTRUCTION LEGEND of 1745 HE following story is gathered from an interesting narrative published by Miss Porter many years ago. The incidents, to which we have confined ourselves, were told her by a lady of rank, who assured her that every circumstance was strictly true, and well known to a member of her own family. The scene of this remarkable adventure was a castle in Argyleshire, now in ruins, but at that time (the year 1744-5) inhabited by a Scotch Laird and his sister. This gentleman, on the death of his elder brother, had recently retired from foreign service, and returned to Scotland, bringing with him his young sister, who had been educated in France. For some months their time passed pleasantly in scenes and habits of life new to both of them; but after this the young lady observed with concern that her brother's spirits became depressed, and that his natural cheerfulness was changing into an expression of habitual gloom and melancholy. Herself of a remarkably timid, gentle character, she had no power to contend against his growing depression, and her spirits sank with his, till at length, to relieve her own troubled and anxious fears, as well as in the hope that another might have more skill to chase away her brother's gloom than she had found herself to possess, she persuaded him, | with some difficulty, to allow her to invite a friend to pass some months with her. This young lady, somewhat older than herself, and free to act according to her own wishes, in pity for her poor friend's loneliness and evident anxiety of mind, consented to comply with her entreaties, and shortly after arrived on her promised visit. There was a great contrast in the character of the two friends; Miss Mackay, which is the name of our heroine, possessing in a remarkable degree the courage, energy, and strong understanding, which her young hostess wanted, but the want of which, in her case, was atoned for by great kindness of heart, and a most sweet and affectionate temper. She was not long in confiding to her friend the change in her brother which had caused her so much uneasiness; and Miss Mackay's keen observation very soon led her to suspect that his evident depression was owing to some painful or dangerous secret which weighed heavily on his mind. Acting on this conviction, she endeavoured, by every kind and unobtrusive attention, to win his esteem and confidence; the only means by which she could hope to be of real service. During her stay at the castle, many accidental circumstances occurred to bring out her extraordinary qualities. On one occasion especially, when the house where they happened to be visiting took fire, the Laird could not but be struck by her courage, and extraordinary presence of mind. This led him voluntarily to seek her society, instead of giving way to the habits of lonely musing which had lately grown upon him; so that his sister, rejoicing in this change, and attributing it only to one cause, began to form high hopes that the friend she loved best in the world might one day become her sister. Miss Mackay, however, understood his manner better, and being very sure that admiration, in the ordinary acceptation of the word, had no part in his feeling towards herself, she was at liberty to pursue her plan of kindness towards him. His sister's timidity and delicate health did not allow her to venture on horseback; but Miss Mackay was glad to be able to explore, under his escort, the neighbouring country, and thus she had fresh opportunities for observing his deportment. Among the possible causes for his depression, she began to suppose him the victim of second-sight, (a belief still prevalent in Scotland,) an opinion which was one day much strengthened, when, on reaching a height which commanded a view of the sea, she heard him exclaim to himself, "I see, I see the bloody issue!" At these words, Miss Mackay boldly stepped forward, and, allowing the nature of her suspicions to transpire, entreated him, if he could trust in her kindness and regard, and she could in any way relieve or assist him, to say what it was that weighed so heavily on his mind; adding, that though she could not claim a sister's right, yet, in his case, a sister's very anxiety and affection might prevent her being an equally safe confidant. Thus urged, he owned that he had a secret, though not of the nature she had hinted at, nor his alone; that it was one fraught with difficulty and danger, yet in which she might be of the greatest service, if, as he believed, she had courage for the part that might be assigned to her, and was willing to incur the risk to which she would, render herself liable. He then asked, if she was willing to hear this secret, under the solemn promise never to reveal it to any one. She answered, "If your secret contains nothing against the commandment of God, and the well-being of my country, I am here ready to hear it, keep it, swear to it." He assured her that there was nothing in it which, as a religious Scotchwoman, she might not lend her hand and heart to; but that he must not tell it then; adding, with solemnity, that there was but one place, and one hour, in which he should feel it safe to reveal it that hour was twelve o'clock of the same night, and the place of meeting the smaller door of the last quadrangle of the castle, whence he would conduct her to the spot where the secret was to be told. Having full reason to trust his assurances, she promised to obey these directions, though not without some apprehensions as the time appointed drew near. She succeeded, however, in concealing those feelings from her young friend. The day passed as usual; and, as the clock struck ten, they separated for the night. Resolving not to alarm herself unnecessarily, by dwelling on the singular interview which was before her, Miss Mackay sat down to read till it was time to leave her room. Then, wrapping herself in her plaid, she knelt down for a few moments to ask a blessing on her enterprise; as the clock struck twelve she opened her door, and lightly descending the stairs, and threading the mazes of a long and intricate passage, she let herself out by a back door into one of the open courts. From thence she made her way through other deserted passages, and roofless portions of the building, till she entered the most distant quadrangle, where stood the great tower. By the light of a small lantern, which she kept carefully turned in an opposite direction from the inhabited part of the castle, she saw the Laird was waiting for her at the appointed spot. In silence he bowed his head as she came up to him, and, leading the way, proceeded to a door at the foot of the tower. This he opened with a small key, and having entered at the bottom of a spiral staircase, locked the door, and, turning to her, asked, in a low voice, if, in spite of such almost awful precautions, she still adhered to her first resolution,-entreating her, if she felt any fear, to return at once. The hour, and the strange mystery, for a moment daunted her spirits; but, summoning her courage, she answered boldly, that she would go through with what she had undertaken. From the first landing-place, they turned into a long suite of apartments, which occupied the whole of that side of the building. They were large and deserted. In some the windows were entirely shaken out, in others they were loose and shaking. In the last chamber, which was smaller than the preceding ones, and the windows of which were better secured, the Laird stopped, locked the door, and warning his companion to remember all he did, pressed his foot upon the spring of a trapdoor, which immediately started up. He then guided her down a steep flight of stone steps into a vault, evidently running far under the castle. Here he paused, and pointing to a large iron chest, begged his companion to rest upon it, while he should explain all she had seen, and try to secure her aid in a good cause. He then told her of the projected invasion of Scotland by him whom she had been taught to consider the son of her rightful king, and that he was shortly expected to head, in person, such an army as his friends might privately collect. The Laird had been presented to the Prince abroad, and had there entered into his cause with enthusiasm. He had come to Scotland full of hope; but, in the progress of his negotiations with the different noblemen and gentlemen who were to take part in the enterprise, he had found so much lukewarmness, rashness, and folly, in those concerned, that all his bright expectations faded, and he was full of despair for the issue. It was this that had so clouded his spirits; his faculties had become bewildered, as he looked forward to the future; he foresaw a fatal end to the enterprise ere it began; and, conscious that his castle contained documents of vital importance to many, he was tormented with apprehensions for others, which he disregarded for himself. In the iron chest on which Miss Mackay sat, were deposited many deeds and bonds from the great exile, to different noblemen and gentlemen, acknowledging loans of money, and pledging himself to reward present services by future grants. These documents, if discovered, together with a correct list of all the persons contributing to the cause, either by gold or men, might prove the ruin of some of the best and bravest men in Scotland. The Laird knew that, either just before or immedi ately upon his royal master's landing, he would be summoned to report certain needful details; and he feared leaving the high trusts committed to him behind in the castle, within the very grasp of Argyle, without also leaving some one empowered to destroy them in his absence, should any misfortune render such a measure necessary. As Miss Mackay's character had opened upon him, he had been struck with the thought, that Providence had in her provided him with the very person he needed. Time and further observation only strengthened this opinion; when, just at this point, and while still in doubt, a summons had arrived, commanding him to repair to another staunch friend of the Stuarts, where Charles Edward's most confidential agent was expected from France. It was at this eventful moment that Miss Mackay had opened the way to confidence, and he was now in consequence disclosing to her all that had weighed so long on his mind, and asking her cooperation. His auditor listened to all he had to tell with the deepest interest; for she had ever been taught to consider Charles Edward her rightful prince, and the thought of being in any way able to devote herself to his service brought the fire to her eye, and the warm blood into her cheek When the Laird, in conclusion, asked, whether she would take upon her the charge of what he must leave behind, or, refusing that, simply give him her oath never to divulge what she knew, she readily promised to do all he had asked, and, kneeling down, took an oath to this effect on the little pocket Bible the Laird had brought with him. He then opened the iron chest, and displayed its contents. There were, besides the parchments he had mentioned, several leathern bags, which he told her contained money and jewels, contributed by faithful Scotchmen to the cause. to listen carefully to the instructions he would give her. He then begged her He was going instantly to join the Prince's party in Inverness, and, when gold was needed, would send a messenger she might entirely trust, to whom she must deliver it under the shadow of night. The arrival of such a messenger would be notified to her by the figure of a cross being cut on the trunk of a great ash tree which grew opposite her chamber-window; and a certain number of very small crosses cut under the large one would notify the number of bags she should give him. If, instead of money, the messenger should have to announce defeat and disaster, a figure of an axe should be marked on the tree instead of a cross; in which case her business would be to destroy every written paper or parchment in the chest. After that, he bid her use her own discretion whether to remain in the castle or depart; he himself by that time would probably be lying a corpse on the field of battle. In conclusion, he assured her, that he did not believe himself to be bringing her into real danger by the commission he now gave her, adding further directions, that on seeing the given sign on the tree, she was to repair at night to the same spot where he had met her, go down to the vault, bring up the bags, and, before opening the door into the quadrangle, (of which the messenger would have no key,) one was to give the pass-word," Bruce," to which the other would answer, "Charles Edward." She then might open the door and deliver the bags into his hands; the messenger would give a voucher in return, which she must go back to deposit in the iron chest, and her duty would be over. If, however, the secret announcement were disaster, she might burn the documents, one by one, at the candle in her lantern. "Mark," he said, in conclusion, " mark, I pray you, all the peculiarities of the places you will have to pass through, so that nothing may embarrass you, should accident extinguish your light. Above all things, remember to leave the trap-door well settled on its supports, as it opens only from the outside. For Heaven's sake, be careful to observe this!" After some further discourse, as to what would be best to do for his sister in case of his death, they found it 3 his movements; learnt the secret of the spring which time to return. Miss Mackay most carefully noted all opened the trap-door, and passing with her guide through the solitary chambers, found herself again in the court of the quadrangle. Here she received from him the key of the tower door, and the more important one belonging to the chest ; and they then took a solemn farewell of each other, as he was to leave early next day. called upon to execute any part of her commission. At More than a fortnight passed before Miss Mackay was length, one morning, on going to her window, which she marked on the ash tree, and two smaller ones cut below now always did on first rising, she observed a cross it. She could not help feeling some apprehension, as she thought of the task that lay before her. The revault, to be descended at midnight, now and then apmembrance of the large deserted chambers of the gloomy palled her; but she concealed all appearance of anxiety, and passed the day as cheerfully as usual. asleep, she lighted her lantern, and wrapping herself Half an hour before midnight, when every one was from head to foot in her plaid, issued from the dwellinghouse into the first court. and everything was so calm, that her confidence reThe moon shone brightly, reached the door of the tower, and there a faint sound turned. Encouraging herself by thoughts of prayer, she made her turn towards the place whence it proceeded. A gentleman in a highland dress instantly stepped forward into the moonlight, from the archway where he had been standing, and, with an inclination of respect, whispered the word "Bruce." In the same tone, she answered," Charles Edward," and hurrying into the tower, locked herself within it. no difficulty in reaching the vault. The bags were so She had remembered every direction, so that she found rately to the foot of the tower stairs. She then opened heavy, that she found it necessary to carry each sepathe door, and, without either uttering a word, the bags of gold were exchanged for the receipt; and, once again locking herself in, she returned to the vault, and from thence, when her task was done, returned to her own room. The whole had been accomplished so easily, that, after this, she felt no alarm or anxiety on her own acshe might be entrusted. count for any future errand of the same kind with which The Laird's absence, meanwhile, crept on from week did any news of Charles Edward's landing reach her; to week; neither by public report nor private information and her zeal for his cause kept her in constant nervous friend, anxious about her brother, whose absence was watchfulness. Winter was now far advanced: her young unaccountable to her, and alarmed, too, at living withclaimed more and more of her care. Some kind friends out his protection in that lonely place, at such a season, from a distance would, every now and then, leave their homes, and spend a day or two with their timid young friend; but these meetings often more than failed in their object, from the ill-chosen nature of their topics for conversation. With long fireside-evenings came stories of murder and witchcraft, of ghosts and apparitions, all of which had a peculiar fascination for the poor young lady sustain cheerfulness under adverse circumstances. Even at the time, though they left her less fit than ever to Miss Mackay's stronger mind was not proof against the effect of these gloomy histories; and, after an evenstate for executing the commission she had received that ing thus spent, she did not feel her nerves in the fittest morning, by the given sign on the ash tree. She remembered, too, that the deserted chambers she had to pass through were reported to be haunted. She would not, however, suffer such imaginations to hinder her in the performance of her duty; and, at the appointed hour, she set out on her errand. Instead of the friendly moonlight which had cheered roar of the distant sea was heard in the intervals of the her before, a fearful tempest now raged without. The still louder wind, which pealed like thunder through the mountain chasms. The crash of trees, and the fall of fragments from the ruined walls of the castle, added to the noise and danger. Not a star was visible; every thing was wrapped in thick darkness. Some fear she could not but feel, as she hurried through the tottering trees and groaning ruins; and, added to this, she fancied she heard footsteps behind her, as it were pursuing her. It was a relief when she reached the tower-door, and could lock herself within. Lighted by the dim flame of her lantern, she passed along the suite of rooms, the wind howling through them, and rattling against the loose and broken casements. Her hand shook a little, as she settled the rests of the trap-door; but by degrees she regained her composure, and, counting out the bags of gold which had been sent for, she carried them down, one by one, as before; delivered them with the given signal to the messenger without; locked the door again, and returned once more to the vault with the voucher, in order to deposit it in the iron chest. Just as she was replacing it there, she was startled by a loud crash, followed by a thundering clap. After a moment's pause, she flew up the steps to see what was the cause. She had not yet realized her misfortune: it was the trap door which had fallen,-blown down by a sudden gust❘ of wind, which had forced in the window just above it. In a moment she understood the full misery of her situation. Her first effort was to push against the door, hoping it was not firmly fixed in its place; but it resisted her wildest efforts of strength, and she remembered that the Laird had said it could only be opened from without. Again and again she repeated her ineffectual efforts, and in despair called aloud for help. The wind alone answered her cry, pealing in the distance above her. There was but one person who could help her-the owner of the castle, who was far away: and, as she paused from the wild energy of her first despair, she began to doubt how far it would be right, even if it were possible, to call for other aid, if she could only procure it by revealing a secret in which the lives and fortunes of so many were involved. She sunk upon the steps in a confusion of dreadful feelings; the dews of death seemed to spread over her as she faced the full horrors of her situation. She saw she must either risk the discovery of this awful secret, or be content to remain where she was, and perish by slow degrees. How light and easy would death on the scaffold have appeared to her, contrasted with this solitary lingering fate of horror! Thoughts like these for a time rendered her passive; then she would revive her hopeless exertions for releasing herself, till, exhausted by fatigue, she could do no more. At length, wearied and hopeless, she left the steps, and returned into the vault, and throwing herself on the damp floor, from which her plaid was her only protection, she tried to compose herself, and seek for patience and submission in prayer. She lay listening to the dreary sounds which reached her from without, to the progress of the storm, and to the heavy rain which succeeded it, and which she could hear pour down through the rafts in the roof upon the trap-door of her dungeon. From this sound, dreary as it was, she gathered that there was some chance of her cries being heard, should she determine on its being right to use such efforts for her release. The storm had subsided, so that she could hear the clock strike five her lantern had long burnt out, and she remained in total darkness, as hour by hour passed by at length noon struck, though no ray of light reached her to tell her of the cheerful day. Sounds of life from a distance came upon her ear, only making her own state more terrible; she became bewildered by wild thronging thoughts, and almost unconscious; for a few moments she called piercingly for help. She thought how heavily her death would weigh on his mind who had unwittingly led her into such a grave. In alternations of distraction and resignation the day wore away. She grew weak from want of food, and a sickening feeling of exhaustion came upon her, which she knew to be the precursor of sharper and fiercer pangs of hunger. Her head became giddy, and she feared her senses were leaving her; but, with a strong effort of will, she overcame the temptation to wander, and fixing her mind on the thoughts best suited for such an hour, gave herself up to the will of her heavenly Father, and resigned herself wholly into His hands. Every moment she felt herself grow weaker. Her tongue cleaved to the roof of her mouth; she could utter no audible sound; her head grew more dizzy; her limbs were benumbed; by degrees sense and recollection failed her, and she sank lifeless on the steps of the vault. It seemed as if death had come to her relief. But there was help at hand for her. By a wonderful chance, as it would be called, but more justly by a merciful providence, it so fell, that twenty-four hours after the Laird had despatched his friend to the castle for the gold they were in need of, he found he had immediate occasion for one of the papers in the iron chest; and, as the best and shortest means of obtaining it, he set out himself. Having the master-key of all the doors, he had no occasion to go into the house, but proceeded at once, it being nightfall, to the tower-door. It was his intention to leave a line on the chest, informing Miss Mackay of what he had done, for he did not deem it prudent to venture into the house, or see his sister. He walked calmly through the desolate apartments, observed the damage done by the wind, and at length he lifted the trap-door, and was descending, when his light fell upon the bright colours of Miss Mackay's plaid. In alarm and astonishment he gazed on the motionless form, pale as death, that lay extended before him, and at once comprehending what had happened, sprang down the remaining steps, and flew to her assistance, if indeed help did not come too late. Happily he carried a flask of spirits with him, and succeeded in pouring some drops into her lips. By slow degrees she revived, and within an hour after sinking into unconsciousness, she opened her eyes on him who had been sent to her rescue. Before asking her any questions, he made her swallow a few morsels of the oaten cake he happened to have with him. Under this refreshment she soon revived; and her deliverer could now give utterance to his thankfulness at having thus come in time for her relief, pledging himself never more to require of her a similar effort of friendship and loyalty. She was too lost in thoughts of gratitude to Heaven for her wonderful deliverance, to hear what he said, or listen to the plans he was forming to entrust his friend the messenger henceforward with the entire accomplishment of his hazardous errand. At length she roused herself to arrange with him the best mode of accounting for her absence without exciting dangerous suspicions; then, refreshing herself with another small portion of his travelling fare, she left her prison, and, supported by his arm, reached the last court before the house, where she took leave of her conductor, who, much as he longed to see his poor sister, dared not venture to show himself. Her absence could only have been observed since breakfast time; and, as she was in the habit of taking early morning walks, it might well be supposed that, tempted by a gleam of fine weather after the night's storm, she had ventured out, and that the subsequent heavy rain had detained her in the shelter of some distant cavern or sheiling till its violence had abated. Weak and exhausted she entered the house, and was received with the utmost delight by her friend, who had been in the greatest alarm on her account. Miss Mackay, who was evidently too weak for much conversation, spoke of having been seized with a fainting fit, of her inability to send word where she was to the castle; and her friend, occupied in attending upon her obvious wants, readily credited the few words which implied rather than told what it was desirable she should believe, and, in anxiety for her health and comfort, all farther questions were forgotten. Here Miss Mackay's share in the perils of the rebellion |