On to the Rescue: A tale of the Indian Mutiny/Book I

by William Gordon Stables

Book I

Chapter I. BALAKLAVA LODGE

AS that the moon red-rising over hills and woods?

" Surely no one could mistake the moon," one might say. Ah! true, reader mine; but had you been a perfect stranger in the glen, and had you been unable to tell which was east and which was west, you would have been for a few moments puzzled indeed; for turning your back to one fiery ball, you would have seen, glimmering in a blue -grey haze, and near to the horizon, precisely such another. Yes, that is the sun, and it gets larger and more crimson every moment, till it sinks from sight behind the far-off mountains.

And yonder is the moon, moving higher and higher every minute, getting a trifle smaller too, and less and less red, until her broad, round, yellow disc has shaken itself clear of the horizon's haze, and is shining softly, sweetly over hill and dale.

Then a star struggles out; then another, and it is night.

But not until three or four more stars dot the dark blue of the cloudless heavens, does the mavis cease to sing.

It is a wild, happy, ringing melody that of his, sound- ing out from the pine wood, and making echo ring from tree to tree.

WeD, that bird has reason to be happy. It is spring- time now, or soon will be. Already there are buds on the trees and on the hedgerows, wee green dots on the white-thorn, brown, sticky burgeons on the horse-chestnut, long, smooth buds on the sycamore. Already the goat willows are hung with silver, the leaves are out on the honeysuckle, and in the haughs not far from the river's brink half -open primroses are coyly hiding in the grass.

A happy, hopeful time for the mavis! His nest is built and lined, and well hidden in that low spruce tree. And only to-day his speckled-breasted mate laid one egg therein, black-ticked and turquoisine. Ah ! no wonder he sings, until the sight of the stars and the night wind, low whispering through the pines, drive him for shelter to his cosy nest.

Higher and higher rises the moon !

It is smaller still now, smaller and brighter, and its mellow light silvers streamlet and lake, silvers the village church spire that points heavenwards like a finger high above that cloud-land of fir-trees, silvers the dew that lies low in the meadow, silvers the gauzy mist that hangs over the woods, softens and spiritualizes everything.

And now that the moon is so high above the glen, and night has really and truly come, scarcely is there a sound to be heard, save now and then the fox-like barking of a farmer's collie.

Hark ! though, that is someone whistling, someone whistling a bright and merry melody as he comes trudging along by the edge of the wood, a dog by his side. The notes of the mavis even were not more blithe and happy than these.

But suddenly he stops.

" Bruce," he says, " come here."

Bruce, his honest sheepdog, is by his side in a moment, gazing up into his face with his ears well back on his neck, for he seems to know instinctively that he is about to listen to something that is not quite pleasant.

Willie Saunders lifts a forefinger to emphasize his words.

"Doggie," he says in Scotch, "ye maun gang hame. I 'm gaun, the nicht, where it is best ye shouldna follow. Hame, Bruce, hame ! "

Bruce gives just one pleading glance up into his master's face, but seeing no signs of relenting there, he turns and trots sadly homewards.

Willie Saunders buckles his plaid more tightly round him and trudges on. He walks in silence now for fully a mile; for Willie is kind-hearted, and would not like his gentle and loving collie to think his master could be happy without him.

But spring and youth -time are the seasons for song and love as well, and soon Willie begins to whistle once again, and then to sing, for whistling did not appear quite to meet the requirements of his case.

A blackbird near to her grass-lined nest crouches low as Willie passes her tree. Not through fear, for no one who could sing like that would harm a bird, but to listen. "There is music in that human biped's voice," he tells his wife; "and if my own song that Nature taught me were not so sweet and melodious, I might borrow some notes from him."

The mavis listens also, and, half-asleep though he is, he tries to remember some notes which, swaying on the tall larch-tree to-morrow, he will try to mimic.

But in the fresh green briard* yonder is a nest of a different kind. Thereon a lark sits low on her four dark-brown eggs, and near to her is her bonnie bold mate. He listens, but it is not with pleasure, for he sings in the clouds all day, and even at night there are times when he will mount in the starlight to trill his song, as if angels called to him to join their hymns, or as if he were so full of joy and happiness that he could not wait till day. He will not borrow the note of a human biped. No; he is the bird that Shakespeare sings of

" Hark 1 hark ! the lark at heaven's gate sings,

And Phoebus 'gins to rise, His steeds to water at those springs

On chalic'd flowers that lies ; And winking Mary-buda begin

To ope their golden eyes."

Springing corn.

But what cares Willie Saunders? Birds may like the song he sings, or birds may not. It comes straight from his young and happy heart, and, indeed, I am not at all sure that he is aware that he is singing, so full is that busy brain of his with thoughts of the pleasure that is before him.

The country is very still to-night up in this rural district of the North, yet it is but early in the evening. There is but little need for Willie to hurry, therefore, and if it were not that his steps seem to insist upon keeping time to his thoughts, he would not walk so quickly, for the dance will not begin till nine.

"First guests," he said half aloud to himself, "are seldom the most welcome. I 'll even slacken my pace."

As he did so he looked up into the bright starry, moonlit sky.

"What a heavenly night!" he murmured. "I never saw a clearer sky, nor one more darkly blue; and the stars look so big and bright and so near, it appears as if I could touch them with a salmon rod. And yonder is the moon, the sly old moon. If I walk slow she hardly moves; if I were to run ever so quickly she would keep pace by my side. How she nods and blinks and bobs at me. It really seems as if she knew my secret, and were wishing me joy."

"Only a cold, dead world" he was continuing his reverie " no atmosphere around it ; no bright and beautiful clouds to herald the sunrise; no grass or trees to clothe its glens with green; no water in its lakes, its streams all dry. Ugh ! it makes me shudder to think of it. And yet, may be, there was a time when the moon was young ; when forests waved in her straths and glens ; when her hills were clad with verdure ; when her blue lakes slept peaceful in the sunshine ; when streamlets and rills joined hand in hand, and went singing seawards over their pebbly beds; when cattle or kine, perhaps, roved over her meadows, and blithe-voiced birds sang joyously in her woodlands. A happy time for the moon, the days of her youth. If so, then fell coldness and blight and death. I wonder if it came suddenly, in the very midst of her joy ? Young lives are blighted at times. Ugh ! "

Had the night turned suddenly colder? he wondered, as he drew the looser folds of his plaid around his shoulders.

"I feel," he said now, "as if somebody were walking over my grave. Well, of course I have a grave som where; for not long ago the minister told me that as soon as a child was born into the world Death hurried away and dug his grave. That was only spoken figura- tively of course. But it wouldn't take a great deal to kill me a deal of grief I mean. Now, if Annie Lindsay is unkind to me to-night, I shall wish to be dead, as dead as yonder moon."

He had slackened and slackened his pace till now, as he spoke the last words, he stood stock-still, with his eyes on the ground.

Well, I am not in a position to calculate the amount of evil that grief in its bitterest form namely, that of unrequited love might work upon a sturdy young frame like that of Willie's, but to look at him now as he stands in the moonlight, to study him physically, one would think Willie Saunders would take a deal of killing. Though not more than twenty-one, he is sturdy and strong. The tweed kilt suit he wears, and the plaid, surely never before were worn by a more handsome young Scot. His brow is high and white, and his face is manly. Yet, had you criticised his features narrowly, you could not have helped noticing that there was an air of innocent simplicity in that face and in those light blue eyes that, although engaging enough to witness, would lead men of the world to believe he was easily moulded clay. Perhaps he was; but youths like Willie develop into heroes at times, when they become what sailors call " sea-fast."

Before a sailor can become so he must weather a few storms, and it is the same with men in their voyage across the sea of life. Storms of grief and trouble alone can make them brave and sea-fast, and grief indeed may oftentimes become the parent of fame.

Willie heaves a kind of half-stifled sigh, and resumes his journey. But he is not singing now ; neither is he whistling. He is simply thinking.

In his own half-shy and simple way he had long loved Annie Lindsay, but he had never told her so. He had often told his heart's story to the birds that sang in the woodlands; he had whispered it to the wild flowers, and breathed it in song to the winds; but as far as words went Annie knew nothing about it. Nor, strange to say, had Willie said a single word about it to Jack Morrison, although this young man was the best and dearest friend he had on earth, and a near neighbour as well as a friend.

ao On to the Rescue.

Annie Lindsay lived miles and miles up the glen in which we first meet Willie to-night. A light-hearted winsome lassie was Annie. She was just turned eighteen this very day, and it was to celebrate this event that her parents, who were very fond of her, permitted Annie to give a party. Indeed Annie herself had proposed it weeks ago. She was an only child, so was refused nothing at all events, her father never refused her anything.

Colonel Lindsay, her father, had won the Victoria Cross, gained his promotion, and lost a leg, all in one day at the battle of Alma. A one-armed soldier is passable, but a one-legged one is no longer capable of serving his Queen and country, so Lindsay had retired even before the war was over, and here he now lived, hearty and hale, and still in the prime of life. The good soldier had some private means, and this had enabled him to make his little place, which was called Balaklava Lodge, quite a beautiful spot. It had been a kind of a wildery anyhow, a turbulent little stream with a natural waterfall went roaring through the grounds; banks and braes covered with scented droop- ing birch trees, with here and there a tasselled larch; bold bluffs of rock clad with heather and furze or whins that in springtime was all a blaze of bloom, the scented home of the rose -linnet, and skite; and high above all, on a bold-terraced height, the old-fashioned house itself, with solemn pine trees waving dark above it. The whole was sheltered by green and heath-clad hills from the cold spring winds of north or east. It needed but little aid from art to change a spot like

Balaclava Lodge. 2!

this into a very romantic and lovely place indeed; and the Colonel spent all his time in his gardens and grounds, and with John, his gardener, was ever planning some new improvement.

Annie Lindsay I do not mean to describe, farther than to say she was petite, dark-haired, and very beautiful, because this is not a love story, but rather a tale

" Of moving accidents by flood and field, Of hair-breadth 'scapes i* the imminent deadly breach,"

and of many a wild adventure, reader, incidental to a soldier's life.

Annie's father and mother had taken great pains with her education and culture. She could play well and sing very sweetly, but above all she could talk and read well. It was just such a girl as this that was bound to captivate a hero like Willie Saunders, because she was out of the common ; that is, Annie was really a girl who had been brought up in refined society in the far South, and there- fore not like the maidens Willie Saunders was wont to meet at church, who, however fresh and bonnie they might be, were somewhat wanting in Ion ton.

Willie Saunders had known Annie for only a year and a half; but, dear me! that seems a lifetime to one in the days of youth. His father was what is called a laird in Scotland not a rich one, however. He simply owned the farm he cultivated, with its woodlands and sheep- hills, and its haughlands stretching along by the river- side, where, in many a smiling field, the corn is now sprouting green and tender, and where in autumn the song and the laugh will be heard all day long as the

22 On to the Rescue.

farm lads and lasses mow down and stook the yellow grain.

Before Colonel Lindsay bought that place at this glen head, Laird Morrison, who lived about two miles from Haven's Nest Willie's father's home was a very frequent visitor indeed both in summer and winter at the Nest, and if now his visits were not quite so numerous, it was only because both he and Laird Saunders went so often to spend the evening at the Colonel's house.

The trio had soon become very good friends indeed, and the darkest or stormiest winter's night that ever blew did not prevent the " twa lairds" from rolling their plaids about them and striding up the glen to Balaklava Lodge, to spend an hour or two with him, often listening to the wondrous stories the soldier had to retail concerning his life and wanderings. But Willie and his friend Jack always followed on, a few hours afterwards, to bring their parents back.

It was during these visits that Willie Saunders had lost his heart so irretrievably to winsome Annie Lindsay.

But why is he alone to-night, on this night of all nights? Well, the fact is that Jack had gone from home, but promised to turn up at Balaklava about ten or eleven. So his friend Willie has gone on without him.

Is Willie very sorry to do so ? I must candidly tell you he is not. Before the colonel came to the glen our hero had thought Jessie Morrison, Jack's young and only

Balaklava Lodge. 23

sister, the sweetest girl in all the countryside, and

perhaps she was ; but now

Anyhow, to-night Willie determines to know his fate. He had repeated to himself, over and over again as he was dressing, with more care than usual, the lines

" He either fears his fate too much,

Or his deserts are small, Who dares not put it to the test, To win or lose it all."

But now at a turn of the road he comes at last in full view of the Lodge, the lights from the windows of which struggle out through the tall pine trees, and do battle with the bright rays of the now clear and silvery moon.

The hustling noise of the waterfall or linn falls upon his ear in a kind of drowsy monotone ; but Willie pauses not to listen to anything. He must hurry on now.

One thing he knows, one thing he feels, and that is that he will return to-night either the happiest young man in all the glen, or a youth to whom life can have no more charms. Which will it be ?

Chapter II. A BIRTHDAY BALL AND WHAT CAME OF IT.

HAT, my lad," cried Morrison cheerfully when Willie entered the drawing-room, " are you all alone then ? "

"Yes," said Willie, smiling, "Jack has gone to Drumarran, and won't get here till pretty late, so I thought I wouldn't wait." The Colonel and the two lairds were having a three- handed game in a quiet corner, for Mrs. Lindsay could not join them to-night.

" Come and sit down then," said Laird Morrison, " and have a hand with us ; we want just one." Willie laughed now outright.

" No, thank you, sir. Would with pleasure, you know, but I really feel more like dancing."

" Quite right, my boy," said the Colonel, " go and enjoy yourself, if you don't dance at your age, you won't at ours. Off with you."

There was one special room in Balaklava Lodge that deserves just a passing word or two. This was quite an ideal sort of a room, and I hardly know what to call it.

A Birtnday Ball. 25

Happy thought! I shall shirk the responsibility of naming it at all, but leave the reader to do so. It opened then off one end of the drawing-room by a curtained doorway, but it was as large as three good-sized drawing- rooms. Quite a hall did you say, reader ? Yes, almost a hall, and it was lighted partly by a glass roof, it was lined as to its sides with shrubs of tropical foliage and beautiful flowers; to this extent therefore it was a gigantic conservatory, but there were seats here and there half-hidden by the greenery, and there were singing birds here, there, and everywhere to this extent it was an aviary, though the floor was laid for roller skating. " A rink," you say. Well possibly, but to-night there was an orchestra of violins, clarionets, and a harp at the farther end, and they were even now tuning up. " A ballroom ! " Thanks, I knew we would get at it presently.

Well, by a doorway near to the place where the music was stationed, you could enter a well-lighted and real conservatory, and thence you might emerge on to a beautifully-kept lawn. If you crossed this, behold, you were on a strong but rustic bridge above the linn, and this would lead you to sweet-scented birchen woods that rose over the braeland, and that to-night were bathed in a flood of silver moonlight. Annie, on this particular evening, looked like like well I do not really know altogether what to liken her to, for similes of all sorts that are worth anything have been used up over and over again. "Fairy" won't do for Annie, she hadn't fair, floating hair, short green skirts and a gilded tinsel wand. No, she wasn't a bit like a pantomime fairy. " Houri of paradise !" How would that suit ? " Too far fetched."

26 On to the Rescue.

"A vision of beauty?" Vision of fiddlesticks; no, let me cut the gordian knot and simply call her a fascinating and pretty girl neatly dressed in white, with a pink rose in her bosom and one in her dark, bonnie hair. There were roses also on her cheeks.

But she wore no diamonds except those that sparkled in her eyes, and no jewellery of any sort ; only clasped around her neck was a double chain of pearls that her father had brought from India long, long ago.

After all what need has a girl like Annie Lindsay to be adorned with gold or jewels ? Leave such gewgaws to maids who are in the sere and yellow leaf. My petite heroine was robed in the beauty of her own innocence and youth. She needed nothing else.

But later on that night there was a song sung by a bold young student from the University that seemed just to suit Annie, and Willie Saunders felt that he wanted to choke the fellow, because as he sang he cast languishing looks towards Miss Lindsay.

You know the song, reader, and if you don't, the sooner you learn both words and melody the better for you. One verse runs thus

" Her brow is like the snaw-drift,

Her neck is like the swan ; And her face it is the fairest That e'er the sun shone on."

The student who sang this lovely old song took not the slightest notice of Willie Saunders, when he came up a few minutes afterwards to claim Annie's hand for the next waltz. Beautiful dreamy music it was, and as the young couple went floating around the floor, there was no one in the room who did nob take notice of their dancing. The two seemed made for each other, seemed indeed to be the very embodiment of the music that was being played.

Willie wanted to choke that University man now more than ever. What right had he to dance so well. What right had he to dance with Annie Lindsay anyhow. Why he was positively whispering in her ear, his face far closer to hers than it had any right to be. Was he making love, Willie wondered, and then he wondered which way this young fellow went home, for he had half a mind to lie in wait for him in a wood, and to challenge him to fight as he passed.

But the music ceased at last, yet the bold student still lingered by Annie's side ; and she had had her tablets in her hand.

Willie Saunders would not see any more of this. He rushed through the conservatory and out to the lawn.

The hum of the waterfall fell on his ear and calmed him, and the night air cooled his heated brows. He took a few turns up and down on the grass, then returned. He found Annie sitting alone in a corner, looking some- what sad ; but she made room for him on the sofa, and welcomed him with a smile.

Willie forgot everything now save her presence. He even postponed the fight with the student sine die. He would let the fellow live a little longer. The fellow at this moment appeared to be enjoying himself very much indeed, dancing with a young lady of quite a different stamp from Annie.

"The next two dances are ours, Annie," said Willie Saunders.

Annie inclined her head, and smiled.

" Suppose now," he added, " we dance the first, and sit the second ? "

" Oh, that would be very delightful ! "

" Come, then."

Willie Saunders's dancing of waltzes attracted no special notice of a very nattering nature, at all events. It was not so airy or so graceful as that of the University man. It was not the poetry of motion, at least not quite. There was not much poetry in the motion, for instance, when Willie cannoned off one couple and completely floored another. Our hero thought it was the correct thing to retire after that, so he led his smiling partner to a seat.

" Waltzing isn't my strong point," he said, wiping his brow.

" I rather think," said Annie mischievously, " that it is a very strong point."

" Now, Annie, you 're laughing at me. I wish I could dance as well as that student fellow ; you might care for me more.

"But," he added, "after all, waltzing is not dancing; and I think in a Highland reel I can hold my own even with him. Are you warm ? "

" It is warm."

"Do come and take a turn on the moonlit lawn, then."

Willie's heart seemed to be playing at pitch and toss as he spoke. Would she refuse ?

But she did not.

He left her in the conservatory for a few moments, and flew round to the hall to fetch thence a soft little snow- white Shetland shawl.

With this floating around her shoulders Annie looked like a sylph. So Willie thought, and so he told her.

" Only," he added somewhat clumsily, " you are ever so much more beautiful than any sylph that ever was born ; that is, if sylphs are born."

" I couldn't say ; I never saw one except in a picture."

Annie was looking at the moon, and Willie Saunders was looking at Annie.

They moved slowly across the lawn, and soon found themselves on the rustic bridge that spanned the canon. They stopped for a moment to gaze down at the misty linn, then strolled on once more, Annie's hand resting lightly on Willie's arm.

There was a seat not far away on the braeland, and just under the boughs of two spreading birch -trees, the sweet, healthful perfume of whose leaves scented the air.

Many times and oft they had sat here before, reading, or studying botanically the specimens of wild flowers they had collected in their rambles over the moorlands and hills.

But that was in summer, and very happy Willie Saunders had been then.

He was less so now, solely because he felt awkward and shy and stupid. He would have given a good deal just then for the affable and cheerful mannerism of the student whom he called " that fellow who danced."

" You 're sure you are not cold ? "

He made that remark once, he made it twice, and when he made it the third time within two minutes, not having spoken a word during the intervals, she looked up into his face and laughed.

She could not help it, rude though it might seem. Then he blushed, and felt more like a fool than ever; but speak he must now, and speak he did, though the commencement of his speech was not by any means elegant.

" Oh," he said, " I don't care whether you are cold or not ! I mean," he added awkwardly, " that when I asked the question I don't think I knew what I was saying. Oh, bother, I wish I was that fellow who danced ! Seems to me, Annie, that I can't do anything right. I can't dance, and I can't talk, and "

" What is the matter with you to-night, Willie ? " said the girl, looking at him wonderingly.

He grew desperate now.

" I 'm going to tell you a story ; I "

" Tell me a story ? " laughed Annie. " Why, you will want to sing a song next. But is the story a very long one ? because I 'll be missed, you know."

" No, it is not a very long one, but it is a very old one."

" Oh, if I 've heard it before, better not tell it."

" You never heard it from me before, Annie."

The young man was now looking so solemn and miserable that Annie was getting frightened.

" Is there anything the matter, Willie ? "

" Yes, very much the matter ; I 'm in love ! "

"Oh, is that the story?"

"That is the story. Just listen one moment, won't you ? "

"Yes, with all the pleasure in the world, because, mind you, if there is going to be a wedding, I am going to be there."

" Certainly, I mean you to be." Willie was getting braver now every minute. "The fact is, Annie, the wedding would be nowhere without you. You see "

" Go on, I am all attention."

"You see I am an only son, and my dear mother and father are both very fond of me. Well, our place is very pretty, and I I I "

" You thought of getting married ? Is that it ? *

"That is it. I half told mother, and she seemed so happy about it. But I haven't spoken to the young lady yet; only I made up my mind I would do so to-night."

"Well, if I were you, Willie, I should, and I think I can guess who it is."

" Do guess then."

" You danced with her twice to-night."

"I did."

" Her brother has not come. Am I right ? "

She she hasn't got a brother that ever I heard of."

1 What, is not Jessie Morrison the young lady ? "

4 No, Annie Lindsay, it is you ! "

Those two lines of asterisks represent the fall of the curtain on Scene IL Act I. of this story. I have told

32 On to the Rescue.

you already that ours was not a love tale in the true sense of the word, so I could not keep it up a moment longer.

But see, the curtain rises once more, and the scene is once more the woods and wilds, the hills and dales, still bathed in the soft light of the moon. But, oh, how sadly shorn of her beams and her beauty the moon appears to Willie Saunders now, as he goes plodding homewards all alone! The trees around him and the hedgerows, green-budding in the hopes of summer soon to come, look cold and dismal now. The wind still whispers through the pine trees, but there is no music in its murmur now. The brooklets went merrily singing over their pebbly beds when Willie passed this way only a few hours agone. They are singing even now, but it is in a sad and mournful key. The song is "A lilt o' dool* and sorrow."

What answer had Annie Lindsay made to Willie that caused him such grief ? Perhaps she hardly knew herself. It was a disjointed one anyhow. She felt sorry for Willie. She liked him. She had liked him from the first. But she had never thought it would come to this. Marriage she had never dreamt of yet. Besides, she was too young, and and well, she said no more, but burst into tears.

She dried her eyes at last, however. Duty was duty. Her mother would miss her, and also her friends.

Willie led her as far as the conservatory, and there they parted. He would not go in just yet, he had said,

• Grief.

A Birthday Ball. 33

but take a turn or two all by himself. But she had taken his hand in hers in a kindly, sisterly way at the door of the conservatory, and as she gazed up into his face her blue eyes swam in tears.

He never forgot that look.

" You 're not angry, are you, Willie ? " It was all she had said.

Half an hour after this Willie had gone back into the ball-room.

Jack Morrison was dancing with Annie. She looked very, very happy.

Willie sighed, and retraced his footsteps towards the conservatory. He sat himself down in a corner. Nearly half hidden he was by a bank of sweet-scented flowers.

Presently two young ladies sat down near him, evidently unaware of his presence.

Here is a brief epitome of the conversation Willie had been obliged to listen to :

"Yes, and they do look a nice couple! Jack is so tall and manly. He is just my beau-ideal of a young laird."

" More like a highland chief."

" Well, yes, like a highland chief, the sort you see in books and on the stage."

" And it really is all arranged, you say ? "

" Oh, yes, I had it from Mrs. Chataway, and you know she knows everything. In three weeks' time they will be called in the church."

" Do you think Miss Lindsay will have any tocher* ? *

Fortune.

34 On to the Rescue.

"Not much, I suppose; but I think it is a real love match ; and I am quite sure, from what I know of Jack Morrison, that he would be the last man in the world to think of marrying for money."

" Well, I 'm sure I hope they will be happy."

Willie groaned, and was discovered.

He had arisen slowly from his seat after this, taken one last look into the ball-room.

Jack stood beside Annie Lindsay.

He was talking low.

She was looking down and nervously crushing some rose leaves in her white fingers.

How bitter Willie had felt at that moment.

"She has crushed more than rose leaves to-night," he said half aloud. " She has crushed a life."

He had turned away at once.

He had gone round to the hall and thrown on his plaid.

Then bidding good-bye to none, had left the house, had almost fled from it indeed.

No wonder, then, that all beauty had gone from the landscape, and all music as well. The mournful cry of the brown owl, as it flew past him overhead, was more in accordance now with his feelings than song of mavis or glad melody of blackbird would have been.

When he reached home at last he went straight to his own room.

His faithful collie lay on the rug, and rose to bid him a loving welcome.

At first Willie Saunders rudely repelled his advances, and poor Bruce looked truly wretched.

A Birthday Ball. 35

" What have I done, master ? " he seemed to plead. " Oh, master, what harm have I done ? "

"No, no, doggie, it isn't you, it isn't you. I have still someone to love me, though it be but a dog."

Willie Saunders threw himself on the rug, and hiding his face in the faithful collie's mane, burst into tears.

Chapter III. THE HIGHLAND SEER.

HEN Willie Saunders awoke next morning, for a few brief moments he felt a heavi- ness at his heart that he was unable immediately to account for. Then he re- membered all, and his great sorrow came welling over his heart and brain, and almost swamped his reason.

" I don't feel over well." That was the excuse he made to his mother that day, as he sat before an almost untasted luncheon. " Caught cold, I suppose," he added, observing her looks of concern. " Oh, I 'll soon get over it, mother dear ! I 'll go and walk it off, or I 'll work it off.

" Bruce and I," he added, " will go for a run, I think, away over the hills. I 'm almost too old for bird-nesting, but I like to look at the eggs, and I like to see the birds, because they seem so happy. I 'll take some bread and cheese with me in my bag. The fresh mountain air is sure to give me au appetite. Come, Bruce. By-bye, mother; it may be supper-time before I get back, but you 'll know I 'm not lost."

The feeling next to grief, now uppermost in Willie's heart, was one of bitterness bitterness towards almost everyone and everything. The world had suddenly grown colder, he thought. Probably it had always been cold to him, though he had not observed it. No one in it, at all events, cared anything for him now.

For a time as he trudged onwards en route for the hills, he tried to hug this thought to his heart He felt a pleasure in melancholy, a pleasure in being a lonely soul that no one loved. This was certainly a very morbid state of mind to be in, but there was no doubt some excuse to be made for the poor fellow.

When he gained the top of a neighbouring hill he threw himself listlessly down on his back, and Bruce, who had been trained to this trick, lay down to form his master's pillow.

The cool breeze was calmative in the extreme, so too was the stillness all around. You might have heard the lambs bleating on the braelands, and the loving call of their answering dams, the purring of the grouse, and now and then the scream of the whaup high in air ; but all else was still and quiet.

Calmness begets health in a case of illness like Willie's, and his brain soon gave evidence of returning to a better frame. He grew less and less bitter. The world was surely not all so black as he had painted it. His mother loved him. Ah ! indeed she did, and his simple-hearted father too, though he was never of a demonstrative nature.

And then he had Bruce. Ah ! there is a deal of comfort reader, to be obtained from the love of a faithful dog. His master is all the world to him. Others may hate you, may turn from you ; but your dog has always a welcome for you, always a soft tongue to lick your hand, always a fountain of unfathomable love for you, and you alone, dwelling deep down in his dark brown eyes. Surely this is something to be thankful for in a cold and selfish world like ours.

But at this moment Willie's thoughts reverted more to his mother than to anyone else. For never until this morning had he kept a secret from her. And had he not even told her a lie. He feared he had. Well, one good resolve he could make, and did make, that as soon as he regained his home that night he would tell her alL Not that he wanted pity or consolation ; this was an impossibility under the circumstances. No ; all he wanted or expected was a little sympathy in his great sorrow, and forgiveness for having kept anything hidden from her.

After making this resolve he felt a little happier, and sighed a kind of sigh of relief.

Then his heart reverted to Annie Lindsay and to Jack Morrison, and the bitterness all returned to his heart. He did not blame Annie so very much. She had seemed co love him. She had confessed to liking him. What could she more ?

But Jack Morrison, the friend of his boyhood, the almost brother.

" Bah ! " he cried aloud, " what is such friendship worth ? "

He would never see Annie more. On this he was resolved, and he would avoid Jack in every way he could, and treat him with cold contempt if they met. He must not meet him, though, if such meeting could be obviated. He might say things to Jack that were better far unsaid. He might oh, the thought for all the bitterness he bore him was too dreadful to contemplate ! he might strike Jack. And Jack was such a gentle, honest-eyed fellow, so good-natured and kind too. Fancy hitting Jack ! Fancy Jack's blood upon his knuckles and hands ! The very thought made him shudder. His good angel tried to get a word in edgeways just here.

"What harm has Jack really done you ?" said the good angel. " It may not be Jack's fault. Are you sure even that the story is all true ? Are you "

But Willie drove the good angel right straight away out of his heart, and opened its portals wide for the demon of bitterness to enter in and dwell.

I think, as his historian, that Willie Saunders made a very great mistake. To harbour anger or enmity even against our enemies does harm even to ourselves, because anger is a heart depressant. If we would live long and healthful lives in this world, and, let pessimists say what they like, it is a beautiful one, and there is far more of joy and gladness in it than there is of grief and sorrow, we must avoid every feeling of the rnind that causes dejection.

Well, if it be foolish to continue angry even against our enemies, it is ever so much more silly to be angry against a brother or friend, and to be so without a cause, or without making positively certain that the cause does really exist, is a downright sin, and one that will assuredly be recorded against us if we do not repent and get forgiveness.

I will give Willie Saunders the credit of a kindly heart at all events. I have no more right to judge him harshly than he had to judge his friend Jack hurriedly. And I believe that if my hero had lain on that breezy hilltop only a short time longer, and had considered the whole situation, the demon of bitterness would once more have been banished far away, and the good Angel of Charity have taken its place. But poor "Willie was tempest-tossed, in a manner of speaking. His grief was very real. He felt that his young life was not only clouded, but rent with a rending that time itself would fail to repair. He must get up and move on, rest only made him chafe the more.

So he walked on and on and on, caring little whither.

Bruce, the collie, must have wondered what his master meant by all this walking without any apparent result.

There was a result however that the dog could not appreciate, for there seemed to come to Willie's heart at length some surcease of sorrow. A kind of listless, dreamy feeling, born of the exercise, the sunshine, and the fresh pure air, took its place, and he seated himself on a grassy knoll not far from where a stream, escaping from a little lake, came tumbling down the glen. A very high-spirited and impetuous rivulet it had been at first, just as most human beings are in the days of youth. But now, when near to the bottom of this bonnie glen, it was far less mad in its career, and although sometimes roaring over its stony bed, it sometimes went quite to sleep in quiet flowery nooks, where rushlets bent down their tufted heads to kiss it. From these pools brown and speckled trout leapt up occasionally with joyous spring, entirely regardless of a keen -eyed otter, that was hungrily watching them from his den in the rocky bank.

The rocks all round were heather-clad ; green now, but when autumn should come, they would be bright with the crimson and purple glory that neither pen nor pencil ever yet did justice to. There was beauty enough in the glen, however, albeit summer was yet a long way ahead to give, pleasure even to "dowie"* Willie Saunders, as he gazed around him. For a wealth of spring tints were scattered widely over bush and brake and brae. See how lovely those curling fern-fronds are, and the grass itself green- nodding in the gentle breeze. There are few flowers out yet, it is true, only the mauve-coloured day-nettle, and the day-nettle with wee white bells, and the starry golden dandelion, and the modest primrose. Pretty beetles with shining metallic backs go creeping hither and thither, each bent no doubt on some little but highly important business of his own, while ever and anon one of these creeps up and up a stem of grass, then, lifting its horny jacket, spreads gauzy wings and goes floating away out into the sunshine.

Here comes a great bee flying fiercely round and round and humming a song to himself. He was sent out by his queen, he tells Willie, to gather honey, but where in all the world is he likely to find any.

Here comes a bright yellow butterfly flying slowly straight ahead, and not coquetting round and round as it would in summer time. Born a little too soon perhaps* and can't find a mate, and wonders why it was put into the world at all, at all.

And here is another big bee just coming home to his bike or hive, in the very bank on which "Willie and Bruce are sitting. But the foolish fellow is unable to find the entrance thereto. He thinks twenty times over that he has it, and twenty times over he is dis- appointed.

" Let me see," says the bee considering, " there was first a dock-leaf and then a day nettle, and then then ; oh, yes, then a bit of hemlock ! Ho ! ho ! I Ve found the hole at last." And in he pops.

There was something soporific in the air, perhaps, and in the droning sound that the bee had made ; or the bronze-backed beetles that climbed the heather or grass stems and flown away in quest of adventure, may have taken "Willie's thoughts and spirit with them away and away and away till landed in dreamland. I do not know, bat this I am certain of, that this hero of ours fell fast asleep.

He awoke at long last, but he lay still for a short time before opening his eyes, as one will at times, wondering where he was.

"And a' these braes were red wi' blood" it was a voice almost close to his elbow "blood dyed the grass

• These early butterflies, however, have not, as many suppose, recently

burst from the chrysalis, but have been born in autumn and hybernated ll the winter.

and eke the heather cowes;^[1] blood and brains were on the very stanes, and the streamlet and linn ran red wi' the blood o' the slain, but aye the fearfu' fight raged on and on."

Willie had raised himself on his elbow and was gazing wonderingly at the speaker, whom he soon however succeeded in recognising as a curious but harmless old man who, armed with a huge pole or sapling, used to roam about in these wilds, and who was called Fey Eraser.

The word "fey" is meant to express a peculiar kind of madness that is supposed to take possession of some people who are soon to die an accidental or unnatural death. But if Eraser was " fey " he had been " fey " for twenty years and over, and was not dead yet.

"Daft" would have been a better adjective by which to describe Eraser's mental condition than "fey." But there he sat at any rate, whether daft or fey, looking neither to the right hand nor to the left, and talking, if I may so express myself, as if some one were talking through him, and he were but the medium of some spiritualistic demonstration.

Strangely enough Bruce, the collie dog, although an excellent guard, had never either barked or growled at him.

Fey Eraser was a very old man some averred that he was over a hundred but he was straight as a rush, though lean and bony. He was dressed in a tattered kilt of shepherd tartan, with a jacket to match. His beard was long and white, and from underneath his broad blue, well-worn bonnet his grey hair escaped in

"The fearfu' fight," he continued, "raged on and on; the air aroun' resounded wi' the fearfu' cries, the mingled screams o' pain, the oaths, the thuds as sword met shield, as skulls were cloven and shoulders split. Lowlan's and Hielan's had met in deadly tulzie; but Lowlan's must win or die in the glen. For ahint them, though miles and miles awa', was the town, the city, they had come out to defend, and there, weepin' wifes and bairns were awaitin' for the husbands and faythers they ne'er again might see."

" Did the Lowlands win ? "

It was Willie Saunders who spoke now.

And the seer for seer indeed he seemed replied, without taking his eyes from the hills, "The Lowlan's won that fearfu' fight. Back towards their mountains the clans were driven, yet quarter had they nane. But ever at a rock or at a river ford they made the other stand, and there the corpses lay next day in dozens for the eagles to devour, for the corbies to pick."

The seer turned slowly round now, and his eyes and Willie's met.

Willie shuddered somewhat, for those of the seer were of a strange granite -grey colour, and as low in the head as if the man had lain for months in the grave.

" You are young," he said ; " you are strong, you are bonnie. It isn't for the like o' you to stay at home in peacefu' glens when your country's cause beckons you abroad to fight, when the blood o' slain soldier and civilian reeks hot to heaven on Asia's sunny plains. It isn't for the like o' you to rest in peace when the tulwars o' a savags foe are dripping red wi' the blood o' murdered wives and bairns. Eise, lad, rise, and help to avenge the woes o' Scotia's sons and daughters ! Love is the plaything o' the carpet knight; the sword, the sword, is the weapon for men and for heroes. Eise, lad, rise, your country needs you ! "

Fey Fraser, by means of his sapling or pole, had helped himself to his feet, and as he spoke the last words he towered 'twixt Willie and the evening sky, gaunt and awful, till even Bruce appeared frightened; but instead of seeking safety in flight, he lifted his chin in air and gave vent to a mournful howl or wail that the very rocks and hills re-echoed.

"Fraser," said Willie, "I would speak I would ask you M

But the wandering seer behaved as if he neither saw nor heard. He turned slowly round and glided silently away down the glen, and Willie gazed after him until his strange figure was hidden behind a rock.

Could there be any truth, Willie began to think, in the words the seer had uttered ?

If there was, then he was fated to be a soldier. Why should he not be ? True, he could not enter the army as an officer and gentleman, as many of his forbears had done, winning both honour and distinction; but he could carry a gun and bayonet for the Queen, and a man might be a gentleman, even though serving in the ranks.

Was there really going to be war? Willie would not care to be an idle soldier. In times of peace he thought he would repine, but in action and in change of scene he could forget his sorrow, forget his love. Well, if he could not, he at least knew how to die. He might be better dead. In the grave there is forgetfulness, and it might be that when she heard that her lover had fallen, sword in hand, she might drop a tear to his memory.

All mere sentiment. All mere romance I hear some one remark. The sentiment and romance of a love- stricken youth not long out of his teens.

Well, perhaps ; yet it is as well to remember that many a hero who has fought and bled in his country's cause, can trace the commencement of his career to sentiment just like this. I myself would never speak lightly of any feeling of the mind that should move a young man to action and to deeds.

This old Fey Eraser, who, by the way, had himself been a soldier in the days of his youth and manhood, might possibly be but a dotard, but the country-side thought him a seer. There are more things in heaven and earth than are dreamt of in our philosophy. The possession by some old men of second sight has been believed in for ages in Scotland, especially in the High- lands. They thought that this man possessed it

His looks, his motions, and his bearing were strange and almost fearful. Even as he gazed at his retreating figure, lines from that weird poem of Campbell's re- curred to Willie's mind, and some of them were really a propos.

" Locliiel, Lochiel ! beware of the day, For dark and despairing my sight I may seal ! But man cannot cover what God would reveal. T is the sunset of life gives me mystical lore, And coming events cast their shadows before."

Willie sat there, deeply buried in thought, till the shadows of evening began to gather round him. A long strip of orange-red light lay along the western horizon; but in the east the stars had already begun to twinkle, and presently the moon rose slowly over the mountains.

" It is my destiny ! It is my fate ! Bruce, my dear dog, I am going to be a soldier."

And Willie Saunders walks slowly homewards now; but he had made a resolve, and he would keep it.

Chapter IV. A PEACEFUL SCENE MOTHER AND SON.

SHE soldier or sailor who has no home-life to think about when far away, no cottage, be it ever so humble, to which his thoughts can revert by night in camp or on deck on the lone sea, is to be pitied.

Do you remember, reader, the beautiful poem called " The Soldier's Dream " ?

Let me transcribe a few lines. Miss them, or skip them, if you do not care for them; but do not forget that we have soon to journey afar to scenes of adven- ture and strife, and it is only by contrasting the agremens of Peace and War that we can decide on their relative merits or demerits.

But the soldier in the poem had laid him down to sleep, thinking, no doubt, about his far-away, peaceful home in England or in bonnie Scotland.

" Our bugles sang truce for the night-cloud had lower'd,

And the sentinel star? set their watch in the sky ; And thousands had sunk on the ground overpower'd, The weary to sleep, and the wounded to die.

" When reposing that night on my pallet of straw

By the wolf -scaring faggot that guarded the slain, At the dead of the night & sweet vision I saw, Ajid thrice ere the morning I dreamt it again."

It was a dream of home that this soldier had dreamt, and he thought he was back once more among his friends, back among the green fields and rolling hills that in his boyhood he had so often wandered over. The mountain goats were bleating, and upwards from the cornfields floated the song the glad reapers sang. And here was his own little cottage, and his joyful wife and children to welcome him home. As they kissed him a thousand times o'er, no wonder they pleaded with him to stay.

" ' Stay, stay with us ; rest, thou art weary and worn ! '

And fain was their war-broken soldier to stay ; But sorrow returned with the dawning of morn, And the voice in his dreaming ear melted away."

Ah ! there is pathos in that poem, and even my own exptrience of life abroad tells me there is also truth in every line.

Take a glance now at the peaceful home of our would- be soldier, Willie Saunders, and I believe you will think with me that the grief which led him to take leave of it must have been bitter indeed. I have but to close my eyes for a moment, and the whole scene rises up before my mental vision. A wide-spreading glen it is, almost a strath, in fact. Eoom enough here for field and farm, forest and stream, between the wooded banks of the rapid river and the rugged hills or mountains.

50 On to the Rescue.

A village nestles among a mass of foliage at the very bottom of it, a straggling sort of a village, showing but little from a distance save the rooftops, one or two white gables, and the tall steepled church. If you pass through its principal street and keep on for half a mile, you will come to a road leading off to the left, that will take you straight to Willie's home the Kaven's Nest. The road winds upwards and bears the name of loaning, which is equivalent to saying that the farm stands on elevated ground. It does, for as soon as the loaning broadens out, you find yourself on quite a plateau, and keeping on to the right you come to the steading, a beautiful roomy square of tall stone buildings surrounding a well-paved courtyard, with its byres, its stables, coach-houses, its mill and grain loft, but nothing to offend the eye or sense of smell, such as the slimy pools and manure heaps that exist on English farms. There is here neither sight nor sound nor loathsome odour to annoy the eye or disgust the senses; nay, and if you even enter the byres, you would wish to linger there, so sweet is the breath of the sleek fat kine.

The dwelling-house itself stands not far from the steading; it does not keep proudly aloof therefrom, as some more modern-built houses do. It is Laird Saunders's house, the laird is a farmer, and he is not one whit ashamed of his calling.

The house altogether is so quaint and intricate, that without a diagram pen fails to describe it. Goodness only knows how old it was in some parts, nor how recent in others, for since its erection it must have been greatly added to and altered.

A Peaceful Scene. 51

Just take one peep at the kitchen, because it is really and truly Scottish, and especially Northern Scottish. Laird Saunders, you will observe, did not believe in what is called the bothy system for his men-servants. The bothy is little more than an outhouse roughly furnished, in which men live and cook and sleep, in a far more rude and primitive way than do pioneers in the Australian bush.

The laird's men-servants had their meals in the kitchen then. The back-door is sheltered by a roomy porch quite closed in, so that in winter, however wildly the wind may roar and howl, it cannot sift the snow in beneath the door to invade the kitchen itself. This kitchen is very large. You could not roast an ox here at the fireplace, but you might a whole sheep. Yes, it is a low fire with an immense iron crane over it, on which half a dozen pots at a time can swing in comfort ; a hearth on which logs of wood and peat can burn, a hearth that a dozen happy and contented faces can scarce encircle on a winter's forenight. The rafters above the kitchen are visible, not plastered over, and from these hams hang and bunches of onions dry ; they are crossed too with shelves, where cheeses may " win." The furniture is simple and strong, one long tall dais, one large table against the wall where the men dine or have supper, stools, chairs, and a bookshelf.

In a corner by the fire is a high-backed chair of huge dimensions, and of an evening it is no unusual thing for the laird himself to sit here and tell stories to the lads and lasses round the fire, mingling therewith many a word of good advice, and now and then a quotation from

52 On to tht Rescue.

Holy Writ. Then every night the laird reads a chapter in the parlour and says a prayer, the servants filing quietly out afterwards and soon going to bed; for early hours are the rule at the Haven's Nest.

In front of the house is a very pleasant rose lawn, and this is separated from the garden proper by a high ivy- covered wall. One might, if one chose, call it the kitchen garden, but it is not wholly devoted to vegetables, nor to fruit either, for here are all things combined truly an old, old-fashioned garden. The gravelled walks are bordered with broad grassy bands, inside these is the brown soft earth sacred to flowers of many a hue, such as soent the air around them, and need but little tending. Primroses, primulas, and auriculas of every colour, daisies, lupins, carnations, pinks a goodly show indeed, with at regular distances along these borders alternate rose and gooseberry trees. Not standard roses, that would have spoiled the whole effect, and substituted primness for breadth ; no, these rose trees grew from their own roots, and the glorious roses when dew-laden bent groundwards or even rested on the earth itself. A delightful spot this, Sandie used to think, in which to spend a summer's evening with a favourite author; and when tired of reading or lounging in the heather-thatched summer-house one has only to open a door in the wall, and lo ! here are the green fields. Away down beneath spreads out the bonnie glen, with the smoke of the village cottages curling up through the trees, and beyond a broad shining elbow of the silvery river.

If inclined for solitude you must turn your back towards the village, and by a devious footpath ascend the

Mother and Son. 53

brow of the hill. A few minutes' walk will take you to as lonesome a scene as you could wish to gaze upon. For a tall-treed pine wood waves on this hilltop, and when you enter this you seem to leave the world far behind and beneath you, so still and silent is all around ; nought of life to be seen save occasionally a hare or a rabbit scuttling swiftly across the footpath; nought to be heard save the song of the blackbird or mavis, or the love-cooing of the cushat dove deep down in yonder thicket of spruce. But push on and in twenty minutes or less you will be clear of woodland and forest, then for miles on each side of you spreads out a heather-clad peaty tableland, a wild and wide hobgoblin moor.

"When Willie Saunders and his collie returned that night, he took the nearest cut through the garden and across the daisied lawn, over which the light was stream- ing from the parlour window.

His mother sat sewing in her easy-chair by the cosy fire ; his father had gone to bed. But supper was spread for the wanderer.

"Late, boy, late," said the mother, smiling fondly oo her son. " I am sure you must be hungry."

" Oh, yes," said Willie, " of course I am hungry, and so is Bruce, so we will both have supper together."

He was unusually silent while he ate, and as this was not his usual form, Mrs. Saunders now and then cast an uneasy glance at his face.

Having finished, he took a low stool by her lap, on

54 On to the Rescue.

which he leant his arm as he gazed for a time into the fire.

" Where have you been all day ? "

" Over the hills and far away, mother. And whom do you think I met ? "

" Your friend the colonel, perhaps, and your sweetheart his daughter. Is that so ? "

"Ha, ha, ha!" Willie laughed. "Now, what littla birdie told my mother I ever dreamt of sweethearts ? "

His mother did not answer directly. She passed her hand over his brow and hair caressingly.

" To see my boy is to love him," she murmured.

" Mother, I must tell you all now. I have been dread- fully wicked in not doing so before, but I could not till now. You have always been so good to me, and I knew I should have your sympathy ; still, I could not tell jou this morning. But I have been alone all day among the woods and wilds and solitudes, and see everything more clearly now."

He paused for a moment.

" Mother," he resumed, " I am heart-broken ! Don't answer yet. You see it was all my own fault. I was a fool! I mistook her friendship sisterly regard, I might call it for love, and I asked her to to to promise to marry me. But "

" Willie dear, of whom are you talking ? "

" Didn't I tell you ? Of Annie, of course Miss Lindsay."

" And she refused you ? "

"With tears and sorrow, mother, that I know were genuine ; but still "

Mother and Son. 55

His mother sighed.

" How time has flown," she said mournfully. " I cannot think of you, Willie, as anything but a child. A child you are still to me, and now you talk of being married ! "

"Oh, mother, I did not mean just yet! But I just wanted to make sure that Annie would some day be mine/'

" Some day Annie may, dear son."

" Ah ! no, no, no," cried Willie woefully ; " she is going to be married, I was told or, rather, I overheard it to Jack Morrison. That makes it all the more bitter. Because he never told me, the friend of his boyhood, me who would have died for him, his secret, never told me a word about it.

"Mother," he continued, "no one knows how much I liked Jack. Had he not kept his wooing secret, had he been square with me, had he come and said to me, 'Willie, I love Annie Lindsay, and I am going to ask her to be my wife,' then, oh, believe me, mother, I never, never, would have breathed a word of affection to the girl, and Jack should never, never, have known that I loved her too. I should have been a true friend to both for ever and for aye.

"Do not try to comfort me, mother. My heart is broken. I have lost my love, I have lost my friend, and Jack's duplicity stabs me to the quick ! "

What could Willie's mother say to comfort him ? Nothing. She spoke, it is true. She told him he was young, that he would outlive all his care and sorrow, that he was not even old enough to know his own heart,

56 On to tJu Rescue.

and that Jack's conduct was no doubt capable of being satisfactorily explained

Willie only groaned.

" I 'll try to forget," he said.

" And," he added, " I 'll try to forgive even Jack, But, mother, I will never see him again, at least not until my regiment returns from the war."

" Willie, are you awake ? " his mother cried.

"I am awake, mother, and what I am going to tell you is true."

Then he told her about his meeting with Fey Eraser and his strange prophecy.

"The ravings of a madman, Willie. Surely my boy has more sense than to listen to such a poor, daft man as that!"

"He is very, very* old," said Willie, as if talking to himself; "and very old people may catch glimpses of things that we cannot fathom or see ; voices may whisper to them that we cannot hear.

" ' The sunset of life gives them mystical lore, And coming events cast their shadows before.' "

Mrs. Saunders was silent, and when Willie looked up he noticed that the tears were falling a-down her cheeks. He must be the comforter now, and right manfully he buckled himself to the task.

He spoke of all the good that foreign travel, or mixing with strange peoples in strange lands, was capable of effecting in a well-trained mind; and he spoke of the bright side of a soldier's life, of the pomp and panoply of war, of the honour and glory attached to it, and of his certainty of rising in the regiment he should choose, even should it be but to wield the sword of a brave sergeant. Then he told her the time would soon, soon fly, and that he would come home, when he did come, for good, and never go away again, and that then they would be happier than ever.

His mother only wept, still silently wept.

" If, mother," he said, seeing that all other arguments failed, "if, dear mother, I go abroad, I may forget my grief; I may live it down. If I stay here at home, and brood over it, as sure as the -sun will rise to-morrow, mother, in a year or two at most I shall be in the grave. I am not a boy now, mother. I might have been a boy two days ago; I am now a man. But 'I will not be a soldier, though to me it means life, without your consent I see a life of happiness yet in store for me if I go. If I stay I only see "

" What, Willie ? "

" A coffin and a grave ! "

Willie's mother dried her eyes now.

" YQU must go, dear boy, and I will pray for you."

" Spoken like my own brave mother," said Willie ; and he kissed her hands fondly and reverently.

" And now," he said, " let us change the subject. Let us talk of something more pleasant than even war."

They sat for hours beside the fire, Willie building castles in the air, his mother listening, sometimes sigh- ing, it is true, buta of ten times smiling; and before they both retired that poor mother was at least beginning to be reconciled to the inevitable.

On Willie's bedroom mantelpiece he found a letter that had come that afternoon in his absence.

It was an invitation to spend a fortnight with a friend in Inverness.

"I'll go," said Willie to himself. "Yes, I shall go to-morrow morning. I dread to meet Jack. In after life I may be able to forgive him; but if we met now, oh, I fear what would come of itl"

Chapter V. SERGEANT McKiNNON, OF THE GALLANT 93rd.

ILLIE SAUNDEKS did not leave home next day. He busied himself in packing his things for his fortnight's sojourn in the Highlands of Inverness.

His faithful collie, Bruce, never left him for a moment, trotting after him when he left the room or went out into the garden, and lying beside him in the house watching the preparations for the journey.

"I cannot take you, Bruce. You must be a good dog, and stop at home to watch over my mother."

Bruce wagged his tail, as if in acquiescence; but he sighed, and looked very sad. He was but a young collie, barely yet a year and a half old, but wondrous wise nevertheless, for the Scottish collie possesses sagacity and reasoning power that is almost human in a measure. When Willie had packed his box he laid himself down beside the honest dog on the rug, and placed one arm around his shaggy neck.

" Don't you grieve, dear doggie," he said, talking 59

60 On to the Rescue.

just as if Bruce could understand every word he said. "Don't you grieve, because, although I am going away, it will not be for very long only for a fortnight, or a month at most, this time, Bruce, and it will enable you, doggie, to reconcile yourself to my absence. Be- cause, dear boy, my next journey will be a very much longer one, for I'm going far, far across the sea to fight for my Queen and my country. I shall go away, Bruce, only carrying a gun and a bayonet, but I may come back who knows ? with a sergeant's sash around my waist and a sergeant's sword by my sida And all the time I am away, Bruce, you will keep near to my mother, and guard her safely for me till I come back again."

Bruce had got one of Willie's wrists hooked to the rug with a bonnie white paw, and was lovingly licking his hand with his soft pink tongue.

Willie patted and kissed his bawsent brow, then slowly rose to go and seek his mother and tell her he was all

Now Willie's parents had given him money enough to take him as a saloon passenger in the steamer from Aberdeen to Inverness, but as in a short time he would have to rough it as a private soldier, he determined to begin roughing it at onoe. So he took a steerage ticket

It was late at night before the steamer arrived from Leith, for the wind blew high and was dead ahead. But Willie had found himself a bundle of canvas in the goods' shed on the quay, and rolling his plaid around him, went to sleep as soundly as if he had been in his own bed at home.

Sergeant McKinnon, of tJte Gallant 93rd. 61

So sound asleep was he indeed that he did not hear the first nor the second steamer bell. A sailor, however, came to find a box, and discovered his whereabouts.

" Hullo ! matie, are ye gaun wi' the steamer ? Man, you'll need to hurry. She'll be aff in five minutes. Here, I'll carry your box for the price o' an ounce o' tobacco."

" I 'm going to carry my box rnysel'," said Willie ; " but here 's the price o' the tobacco a' the same. Ye deserve that and mair for waukin' me."

And with the box on his back Willie marched over the gangway, and forward to the steerage.

This was no such easy task, for the deck was covered with sheep, and through these he had to force his way.

The steerage was a lively place, but certainly not a very pleasant one. However, our hero went below. It was right in the bows of the vessel, with a table athwart- ships in the centre, and lockers all round. There were human forms huddled up on these lockers, and Willie thought he would throw in his lot with them, so he snuggled up in a corner, and having nothing now on his mind soon went fast asleep again.

It was a good thing for him he slept, for the wind had gone round to the north-west by west, and was blowing about a gale dead off the land. He had been often to sea, however, and so was not troubled with mal-de-mer. It was five o'clock in the morning before he awoke, only to find that the vessel had broken down, and being unable to make much sail, had been blown a long way out of her course.

62 On to the Rescue.

"Half-way to Norway mebbe," said the steward when Willie asked him where they were,

"Dinna believe him, laddie," said a Highland soldier, whose dark tartan and buttons indicated him as belonging to the old 93rd, " dinna believe him. Stewards and sailors o' a' sorts are born leears.

"Here," he added to three of his comrades who lay asleep on deck with their heads pillowed on their canvas bags, " here, you lazy chiels, are ye gaun to sleep a' day ? Get up and let 's ha'e a dance."

He kicked one; that one awoke and kicked his two neighbours, and soon all three were up, and wide enough awake. They had whisky and oat - cakes, then shouted for the piper. It was evident enough those soldiers had no intention of letting down their hearts.

They danced ram-reel * after ram-reel to the sound of the bagpipes, but they soon tired of this.

" Is there no lassies about ? " cried one.

Then first one bundle pulled itself up off the lockers, then another, and another. They were lassies certainly, but very sleepy-looking.

" Hurrah ! " cried the soldiers. " Come along, my dearies. Play up, piper. Gie 's the ' High Road to Linton.' Hooch!"

The lassies laughed, but they danced all the same. And so the ball once begun was kept merrily up till breakfast-time. The dancing had not spoiled anybody's appetite.

• A reel in which men only are dancing.

Sergeant McKinnon, of the Gallant 93rd. 63

But by this time the repairs below were completed, and by-and-by the ship's head was turned westward, and she went paddling on her voyage to the capital of the Scottish Highlands.

The sergeant of this gay party of soldiers was a stalwart young fellow, apparently not much older than Willie himself ; but he was as brown as the back of a fiddle or a well-burned brick.

Willie was glad indeed to make his acquaintance, which he did at the breakfast-table, and they afterwards went on deck together.

They were very glad to be permitted to go on the bridge between the paddle-boxes, for the odour from the sheep and pigs below was by no means over-pleasant. Here they sat them down.

Although the storm had died away, there was still a bit of sea on, but the motion was considered by Willie rather pleasant than otherwise.

Sergeant McKinnon lit his short and well - coloured meerschaum.

" You 're not used to life in the steerage, I can see," he said, after a few puffs.

" Well, the fact is," said Willie, " my father gave me money to pay saloon fare, but "

"You spent it. Just like what a student would do. Oh, I know them well ! "

" Oh, no, it wasn't that ! and I am not a student, only as I am going to be a soldier I thought the sooner I learned to rough it the better."

" A soldier are you going to be, sir ? "

It will be observed that the worthy sergeant now

64 On to the Rescue.

added the " sir." He thought he was talking to a cadet or junior officer.

"What regiment are you going to have a commission in?"

Willie Saunders sighed.

"Alas ! " he said, "no such luck for me as a commission; I am going to enter the ranks, sergeant."

The sergeant turned to look at him.

" Now look here, young fellow, I liked your appearance the moment I saw you foot the floor.* You have a grand physique, and a handsome, happy-go-lucky sort of a face ; but you 're a gentleman's son ; I could see that from a glance. And you've quarrelled with your folks. That much I can guess. Well, take my advice, lad ; go home like a man, and ask them to forgive you. You will never repent it. The army, or rather the ranks, are not for the like of you."

"Sergeant MeKinnon, you are awfully kind and good, but your advice comes too late. I have made up my mind : I am, going into the ranks. Either that or I shall olie. No, I have not quarrelled with father; it is worse than that."

" Fallen in love, and been jilted ? "

" That 's it."

" Poor boy. God help you ! "

Sergeant MeKinnon extended his hand, and Willie Saunders knew he had made a friend.

"A fellow feeling makes us wondrous kind."

• Banco.

Sergeant McKinnon, of the Gallant 93rd. 65

" I too have been through the fire."

" Have you been in love, and and "

"Jilted. Give it the right name, my boy. Women are wondrous beings."

" And you got over it ? "

"Years and years ago. Do / look like a love-sick swain now?"

" No, that you don't."

"Well, lad, I'm glad I've met you. Of course you will join the gallant 93rd ? "

" It must be a Highland regiment," said Willie ; " but whether yours or not I cannot say. It is like this, you know, I want to join a regiment that will soon go on foreign service. It will kill me to stop at home."

"Bravo! That is ours. I have heard that we are soon to be ordered off to China. You'll have learned the goose-step before then."

Willie laughed.

"I know that already, and all the drill a single man can be taught. My mother's father was a Major McGregor. He died two years ago, but he dearly loved a soldier's life, and there is very little he did not teach me. He used to have Peter McKay and me always at sword-stick too, and I never saw a better swordsman than Peter."

"And pray who is Peter?"

" Well, Peter is simply our oow-bailie, an honest, good- looking, strapping lad of twenty, or nearly. He has been with us all his life."

"I suppose he is fond of you?"

"Ay, and I of him."

66 On to the Rescue.

"What's your name?"

"Willie Saunders."

" Does Peter know you are going to 'list ? "

"I didn't tell him."

"Well, do tell him, and ask him to come with you."

"That I will," said Willie.

"And now, sergeant," he continued, "you are going to Inverness to recruit, aren't you?"

"True enough."

" Have me as No. 1 ? "

"Not to-day, lad; not to-day. I want you to think well over the matter. If I hadn't taken a sort of a fancy for you, I should have seen to you and enrolled you at once, but I won't. A week may work wonders. Come to me at the end of a week, and I'll put you to rights. Meanwhile, think.

"The army is rough on youngsters like you," he added, " that have never been over their own glen- head, but I doubt not you'll come to like it."

"I know I shall if there be plenty of fighting."

"Lord love the laddie; you'll have more of that than you can wag your stick at. But don't imagine that war means honour and glory for the man in the ranks."

" What does it mean then ? "

" Mean ? " said Sergeant McKinnon. " It would take an hour to tell you what all it means. It means im- plicit obedience to begin with. A man must jump " the sergeant spoke the word as quickly and sharply as if he had been on parade "he must jump at the word of command, as if a pin were stuck in him.

Sergeant McKinnon, of the Gallant 93rd. 67

When he gets an order he must think of nothing but the word obey. He is a mere machine, or rather part of a machine; nay, he is even less than that. A watch has wheels, and wheels have cogs. Your private soldier is but one of the cogs, and must do his duty when his turn comes just as regularly and just as un- thinkingly. Do you follow me ? "

"I believe I do."

" Obedience then, lad, to the sergeant, or corporal even, above you is the first duty of the private."

" Yes ; my grandfather has told me so."

""Well, if you mean to rise in the army and you see I have you must be clean and orderly in all your habits; temperate too to a degree, and always pleasant and cheerful, without being servile or sycophantic even to the officer. An officer, if he be a gentleman, hates a lickspittle.

"Now, Willie Saunders, you may think it is easy to be all I tell you. And so apart from home pleasures and temptations in times of peace it is; but, lad, during a campaign ah ! then is the time of trial When you're tired, sleepy, hungry starving perhaps weary and war-worn, then I can tell you it takes all the courage and strength of mind the bravest man possesses, to always yield implicit obedience with will- ingness, alacrity, and cheerfulness."

"Yes."

" It isn't in the field so much that this is so difficult, I've seen men half dead with fatigue, sore-footed, and hardly able to lag along, change into the brightest and briskest lads you ever saw when the enemy suddenly

68 On to the Rescue.

hove in sight, ay, and fight like heroes for hours under fire. But obedience comes hardest when a man is tired, and has not the excitement of fighting to stir him up. Your officer may be tired then, mind you, and querulous also, and it is hard enough to obey such a man at such a time with cheerfulness. But if you do, he will not forget it, nor will he forget you.

" No, lad, all the honour and glory likely to come your direction during a campaign is precious small. You must just be content to imagine you have it, you must love your flag for your flag's sake, and the regiment because you are in it, and because its prestige has been handed down to you to maintain. Then, you know, there is always the old country to think about, and the friends at home. You want to return to them, if ever you return at all, with an untarnished name, and with a face you can hold up before the world.

" You know, I dare say, Willie Saunders, that ancient Spartan mothers used to give their shields to their sons before they went to battle

" ' Here is your shield, my son/ a mother would say. ' Return with it, or return on it.' "

• Yes," said Willie, " but we have not such mothers

now."

" Dear lad," said the sergeant, " you are going to be a soldier. Well, let this thought ever lead you on to duty, the thought that you have such a mother, and a very exacting one she is. That mother is your country."

"Thank you," said Willie, "I shall ever try to remember that."

" Now one word more. You are going to join the 93rd.

Sergeant McKinnon, of the Gallant 93rd. 69

I know and feel you are ; that is, if you join the army at all."

" That I certainly shall."

" Well, I hope to have you in my company."

" I shall be delighted."

"But stay. Here you and I are talking together as equals. In the service, on parade, or on duty, I may often seem exacting, stern, and all that. You 'll believe, nevertheless, won't you, that I am not unfriendly ?"

14 1 will"

"Well, shake hands, lad; I hope there is a bright future before you, or "

" A soldier's grave."

The sergeant laughed.

"You ll get a good deal of your poetry and romance knocked out of you, my boy, before you're long in the ranks. And perhaps just as well. Duty is what we want most of, you know. Duty, duty, duty ! And I feel sure from the looks of you that you won't forget that. The grandson of a MacGregor will not disgrace either himself or the colours he fights beneath.

"But mind you, Willie, I don't want to banish all romance and poetry from your nature. A soldier, and especially a Scottish soldier, has always an element of that deep down in the bottom of his heart. We Scotch are soldiers born, you know, and who would not fight for a land like ours. You mind what Scott says " ' Land of brown heath and shaggy wood, Land of the mountain and the flood, Land of my sires, what mortal hand Can e'er untie the filial band That knits me to thy rugged strand.'

"Yes, Willie, a true Scotsman is nothing if not patriotic, and it seems to me that patriotism and poetry are so far from being incompatible, that they very often go hand in hand."

" I think, Sergeant McKinnon," said Willie, laughing, " that the goddess of poetry was not very far away when you were born."

" Perhaps not, lad, perhaps not. But even in my short time in the service I 've come through enough to scare poetry clean away."

"Well, sergeant, I suppose poetry won't fill the porridge-pot."

"No, nor will she help to staunch a bleeding wound or extract a bullet ; but song and poetry have often helped to keep the spirits of our soldiers up, and incite them to many a gallant deed.

"Just the night before the great battle of Inkermann, Willie, our soldiers might have been heard singing in camp. And hear what the poet says about this

" ' 'Twas strange, in that dark hovel drear, With war's impending horrors near, Those homely Scottish tones to hear,

Or list the vocal flow Of sad but sacred home-love hlent With chivalrous and bold intent, And thoughts on deadly conflict bent, And battle's wildest throe.

" ' Blame not the uncouth melodies,

From Nature's holy source upheaving, That, mingled with the keen wind's sighs,

Regret and grief alike relieving. No recreant will that soldier prove

Within whose valiant breast The gentle thoughts of .woman's love

With warlike ardours rest.''

Sergeant McKinnon, of the Gallant 93rd. 71

"But come, young man, I've made you sad; so we shall change the subject. See, there is land on the lee bow. In three hours' time we will be safe in Inverness. Did it ever occur to you, Willie, that a sailor's life is a happy one ? "

" No ; but I think it takes a man with a happy-go-lucky kind of nature to be a sailor."

"True. Well, a soldier, you know, who sees a good deal of foreign service, sees life 'in every form, on the ocean as well as on the land. But I must go below now. I've got to look after Tommy Atkins, you know. Your private soldier who never means to be anything else but a private soldier, is very apt to take all out of life he can, and this isn't always the best thing he can do for his health. Ta, ta, Willie Saunders, I'll see you again. Mind this, Fort George is the head-quarters of Sergeant McKinnon for a few months ; but you may tumble across him on the streets of Inverness with a whole wisp of coloured ribbons fluttering from his bonnet."

" Ta, ta ! " said Willie ; " and there is one thing I feel pretty sure of "

"And what is that?"

" I'll tumble across Sergeant McKinnon somewhere."

Then the sergeant went below.

Willie's friend was a second cousin, a clergyman, who lived in a beautiful strath not far from Loch Ness.

He was very pleased indeed to see his young friend. Indeed, he gave him a hearty Highland welcome, and

72 On to the Rescue.

just did his very best to let him have a really good time of it.

He tried nevertheless to dissuade him from going as a soldier, but Willie only smiled and said nothing.

Very quickly did that fortnight fly away ; then Willie Saunders stopped another week, to enjoy a little more trout fishing in the lochs. The scenery all around here was wildly, grandly beautiful. But as the minister was too stout to walk far, our hero had to take his fishing excursions by himself, accompanied only by the parson's collie. Being alone therefore he began to think too much, and all his old love for Annie Lindsay, as well as his bitterness against Jack Morrison, seemed to return with double force.

So one evening he told his cousin that next day he meant to go to Inverness and seek out the bold sergeant.

" Ah ! well, my boy," said his cousin somewhat sadly, " it is your fate ; so go, if you must, and mind you return safe."

" Yes," said Willie, " with my shield, or on it."

Willie bade his cousin a long farewell next day, and took the steamer at Inverfarigaig to Inverness, along the loch and the lovely canal.

When he arrived in the town he found that the steamer from Aberdeen had not yet. come in, and was not expected for hours.

There is little difficulty in spending a few hours pleasantly enough in the beautiful capital of the High-

Sergeant McKinnon, of the Gallant 93rd. 73

lands, but Willie Saunders went down in time to meet the boat all the same.

Almost the first person he saw in the bows as she came in was his father's honest cow-bailie, Peter McKay.

Peter was waving his Scotch bonnet, and seemed delighted to see his foster-brother.

" How are you, Peter ? "

" Man ! " said Peter, " I 'm better now ; but sich a nicht I had!"

"Was it stormy?"

" Man, I dinna ken. I lay on deck under a bit o' tarry sailcloth, and my head on a coil o' ropes a' the time. Sick ? Man, sickness is nae name for it."

" But you 're going to be a soldier with me ? "

" Ptather ! "

" Well, come and feed, for you do look rather green."

A good dinner put life and courage in Peter once more, and he told Willie, as the two went trudging along the street, that he now felt bold enough to fight the French or Russians either.

"Ha! my boy," cried Sergeant McKinnon, coming suddenly round the corner, with many a gay ribbon fluttering in his bonnet. " So we meet again ! "

"Yes, sergeant, and right happy I am. And this is Peter McKay. We are both ready to join."

" Spoken like heroes ! Come on ; we 'll soon make you soldiers ! "

The piper came up at this very moment. McKinnon took four ribbons from his pocket, and fastened them to the young fellows' bonnets; the pipes struck up, and away they marched.

And before they had gone half a mile and this was to McKinnon's lodgings the sergeant had hooked two more recruits, almost as tall and handsome as Willie Saunders and Peter McKay themselves.

No wonder the sergeant felt happy.

But Willie bargained with the sergeant for a few days' grace, that he might run home and see and bid farewell to his father and mother, and dear old Bruce, the collie.

This was willingly granted, and a rendezvous at Aber- deen barracks was appointed.

Just one week from this date Willie and his foster brother were en route for Dover.

They had begun their soldier-life in earnest.

Chapter VI. OFF TO THE WARS.

THE time flew on.

Willie Saunders and his foster-brother, Peter McKay, had been soldiers for nearly a whole year, and all this time they were stationed at Dover. It was a somewhat monotonous life for Willie. He would much sooner have been ordered abroad at once to India or to Persia, where there was a chance of seeing some active service.

However, this was not to be. His friend Sergeant McKinnon told him he need not expect it.

" We don't send Johnnie Eaws out for foreign service," he said, smiling at Willie's enthusiasm and desire to be what he called a soldier in downright earnest. "Stick to your drill, my lad. Think about it on parade. Study it when off. Dream about it at night. You've got the makings of a good soldier in you. Don't forget all I tell you. I am your father and your mother both, mind you."

Well, what better advice could he have had? He followed it.

His officers soon saw that Willie Saunders was no muff. That he had the "grit" in him, as Captain G phrased it.

One day, about four months after joining the regi- ment, Willie's name happened to be mentioned at the mess-table.

" He is a gentleman's son," said one. " I could tell that whenever I saw him."

" Ah," said another, " they, as a rule, make deuced bad soldiers."

" Well," said Captain G , " that all depends. Many

a gentleman's son enlists because he has gone thoroughly to the bad. His father cuts him off with a shilling."

"Yes," said a lieutenant, "and having taken the shilling from the father, he turns it into two by taking one from the Queen."

" That 's it," said G ; " and it is this sort of youth

that makes a bad soldier. It is impossible for him to reclaim himself all at once, and, as often as not, he deserts. But Saunders hasn't the look of a fellow of this sort."

"No," said the lieutenant; "and I have heard that it was a love affair that drove him to enter the army."

"Well, anyhow," continued Captain G , "as I

said, he has got the grit in him; and he doesn't want to have an easy life of it either. I'll give you an instance. Just to try him, you know for I wouldn't have a gentleman as my servant for all the world I called him into my room one day last week. 'You are a smart lad,' I said, 'and you keep yourself and all your accoutrements tidy and nice. I wouldn't mind

having such a young fellow as you to be my servant. Will you come ? ' Well, boys, you should have seen how his face changed from joy to sadness. He positively grew white at first, and gasped a littla Then he grew red. But he did not answer at once. 'What is your reply ? ' I said. He spoke now, and to the point too ' Sergeant McKinnon told me,' he said, ' and I Ve heard my grandfather, who was in the army, say the same, that a soldier's first duty was to obey. If you command me to be your servant, sir, I will be so, but '

"'But what, my lad?' 'I'd ten hundred thousand times rather be in the ranks,' he answered. I simply said ' Good ! ' and there was no more about it."

Not long after this Willie found himself promoted to corporal.

Well, one day early in April of that awful year for India 1857 Willie was coming along one of the principal streets of Dover. He had been for a long walk with his foster brother, and was returning towards his quarters when he met Sergeant McKinnon. The sergeant seemed joyfully excited about something.

He turned sharp on his heel, and entering a quiet inn, where he seemed to be known, beckoned to Willie and Peter to follow him.

The landlord's daughter nodded and smiled to the sergeant, and hastened to show the three of them into a tiny but cosy room.

"Just three glasses of bitter, Ellen," said the sergeant. "Now, Willie," cried McKinnon; "you'll have your wish at last. Guess what the news is ! "

" Got the route ?"

" That 's it."

" Hurrah !" shouted Willie. " Peter, aren't you glad ? Now we'll have a chance of seeing what war really means."

" I hope you 'll like it, boys," said the sergeant. " But war is something you soon may tire of."

"War!" cried Ellen, entering with the beer at that moment. "Who talks of war?"

"Ellen, lassie," said the sergeant, as she stood beside him still holding the tray in her hand, " you won't forget the gallant 93rd, will you ?"

She grew as pale as death.

"Oh, Fergus," she pleaded, "say that you are only joking. Say it isn't true. You're not going ?"

" Ah, Ellen, the best of friends must part ! Yes, we Ve got the route. We 're going to China. You 'll soon hear the bagpipes playing ' Farewell to Lochaber.' "

Poor Ellen ! a very pretty English girl she was, with a slender willowy figure and large wondering blue eyes.

These eyes began to fill with tears, as she now gazed incredulously at Sergeant McKinnon.

McKinnon had a splendid full-toned baritone voice of his own, and he now commenced singing that sad Highland lament, which has sounded like a death-knell in the ears of many a loving wife and maiden, as husband and sweetheart were marching along the crowded streets to join their ship for foreign service

"Farewell to Lochaber and farewell to my Jean,
Where happy wi' thee I hae mony a day been ;
But Lochaber no more, and Lochaber no more,
We 'll maybe return to Lochaber no more."

There was something in the song and the way in which the sergeant sung it that was irresistibly pathetic.

Ellen had hardly heard the last wailing line ere she burst into such a fit of weeping and sobbing as Willie Saunders had never before listened to.

Sturdy McKiunon sprang up and took the poor girl in his arms, while Willie and his foster brother rose and stood by the window looking out, or pretending to, at the early spring flowers in the garden.

The grief of Ellen was for a time distressing to witness, and it told a tale too, it told even those two young soldiers that the girl dearly loved the dashing Highland sergeant. But he managed to soothe her at last, assuring her that although the regiment really was ordered abroad, as all regiments must be at times, it might not start for months yet, and when they did go it would not likely be for a long time, as they were only going to China. The Highlanders would, he said, make short work with Johnnie Fookoo, and would then be ordered home, and after that

Well after that, Willie and his companion heard no more, for their sergeant had lowered his voice, but what he told poor Ellen no doubt had the desired effect, for when the lads looked round after a time, she was standing by his shoulder and smiling hopefully, while he held her soft white hand in his.

" Oh," she said, " it will be a woeful parting, but I 'll count every day and hour until you return. Oh, Fergus, you 'll come safe home, won't you, and you won't run into any kind of danger, will you ?"

'* Highland soldiers never do," said Fergus smiling.

" And you too, poor boys. Oh, won't it be nice when I see you all again! Take care of your sergeant, boys," she added with a bonnie blush. "Mind he is my sergeant as well as yours."

" I assure you," said Willie Saunders, " we will take all the care we can of our sergeant, Miss Ellen, and bring him safely back to his country and to you."

From the first moment of their entrance into this house, there had been no attempt on the part of this poor girl to conceal the affection she had for Fergus McKinnon. Her's was the sweet abandon of love, but the abandon of complete innocence. To her Fergus was the greatest of all heroes. Who could help loving such a man, so handsome, so dashing, so brave ? Why should she be ashamed of innocent, heartfelt love like this. On the contrary she was proud of it, and glad rather than otherwise that people should know she loved him, and that he was her Sergeant McKinnon.

Willie Saunders was gazing at her wonderingly and somewhat sadly. He was thinking then of home. He .was thinking of the Lodge at the glen-head, and that last night in the moonlight with Annie Lindsay by his side.

What a different world would this have been for Willie, had sweet Annie Lindsay only loved him with half the love that Ellen bore for Fergus.

Ellen was not slow to observe the pathos of that far- away gla-nce, and with a woman's instinct she was quick to read its meaning.

" Just look at that poor boy," she said kindly. "Oh, I can tell easily that he has left a sweetheart in bonnie Scotland."

Willie Saunders heard no more. He muttered some incoherent words, then hurried from the room. Had he stayed there another half minute he would have burst into tears just as Ellen had done, and this would not have looked very soldierly.

Many times during the next month did Willie and his foster brother drop in of an evening to the cosy little Albyn Inn, and from her soft and gentle manner towards him, our hero felt perfectly sure that Fergus McKinnon had told Ellen something of his sad story.

That was a busy month indeed for the gallant 93rd. It was busy in many different ways, for there is much to be done in a regiment that is being sent abroad almost unexpectedly. I must do the Sutherlands the credit of saying, however, that if it had been actually necessary they could have been all ready to embark in three days' time.

However, many men were unfit for foreign service; these had to pass the doctors and be sent to hospital or discharged; then there were men whose time was expired, or soon would be, these also must go. So that the ranks of the 93rd got considerably thinned one way or another, and must be made up to their full strength, the corps numbering when complete, well-nigh twelve hundred all told.

The extra strength to fill up the gaps was obtained from draughts of men from the other kilted regiments, especially from the 79th, the 92nd or Gordon Highlanders, and from the 42nd or " gallant forty-twa," usually called " The Black Watch."

Sad enough was the farewell of the 93rd to Dover, for the soldiers or Scotties, as they were called both men and officers, had made many friends during their stay in the town and in the country round about.

There waa no lad however in all the brave regiment more sorry to part with his lass, than was Fergus McKinnon to bid adieu to gentle Ellen Grey. And hers was a grief that words cannot easily describe, so this farewell I must pass over.

But the sergeant told "Willie Saunders afterwards, that, although he did all he could to keep up the poor girl's heart, he had a presentiment that he should never hold her in his arms again, never again gaze down into her sweet face.

" Well," he said, laughing lightly, though I am sure the laugh did not come from his heart, " it is a soldier's fate you know, Willie. I suppose I shall be killed."

Willie himself could have been granted leave to run home and see his mother, but did not request it. The truth is that every bush, brake, and brae in the dear old glen, every woodland and tree, would have brought back reminiscences of his boyhood, that he was trying for a time to forget. Oh, ouly for a time, he assured himself on this point. After many years he would return, he trusted, and his now aching, "voidsome" heart would be healed he hoped.

But what he would have dreaded most of all was a meeting with Annie, for his old love would be re-kindled, and the consequences would be assuredly fatal to his prospects in life.

So he made up his mind not to go home.

On the other hand both his mother and father made up their minds to come and see their boy before he left the country. Not at Dover, but at Portsmouth, at which sea- port the greater portion of the regiment were to embark.

Here at Portsmouth a great honour awaited the 93rd, they were reviewed by Her Majesty Queen Victoria herself, and by the good old Colin Campbell, afterwards Lord Clyde. How the 93rd loved this splendid soldier, none knew save those whom he had so often led to victory.

The soldiers loved their Queen, but I can assure you, reader, that the greatest part of that wild huzzaing was for the soldier himself, and our Queen, God bless her, knew it, and did not feel one little bit jealous.

Sir Colin took a fatherly leave of the old Sutherlands. He would never see the lads again, he thought, never again see their sable plumes nodding in the wind, never more see their tartans wave, or hear their battle-cry, or the skirl of their warlike bagpipes.

He was getting old, if not old already, and all he longed for now was those few years of well-earned rest which all soldiers are entitled to, betwixt the camp and the grave.

But little did the gallant Sir Colin know, or the men to whom he spoke, how, when, and where they were all to meet again.

Chapter VII. "WE'LL HAE NANE BUT HIGHLAND BONNETS HERE."

^[2] THE last tears were shed, the last farewells were spoken, and the transport that bore the bulk of the regiment was far away at sea.

England, with its long, white chalky cliffs, had been left days ago. the Mauritius, a steam troopship in which were the bulk of the regiment, had sailed from Portsmouth abont the second week in June, and was already across the dreaded Bay of Biscay.

There was nothing very dreadful about the Bay on this occasion, however ; the bo's'n assured Fergus McKinnon that in weather like that which they were now enjoying they might cross in a dinghy boat

The weather began soon to get sensibly hotter, however, and by the time they reached the beautiful island of Madeira the heat was almost tropical.

But delightful breezes blew and cooled the air, so that the voyage was very pleasant indeed.

Awnings were spread fore and aft, whenever this was possible, and did not interfere with the sailing of the ship; for whenever a good and fair wind blew it was taken advantage of, so that coals might be saved; our Government, whether Liberal or Conservative, holding the same views precisely as regards coals in the service. They buy and supply us with the cheapest and worst for economy's sake, and tell us not to burn them if such extravagance can possibly be avoided. Thus, then, in the matter of fuel, a Liberal Government becomes Conserva- tive, but a Conservative Government is never Liberal.

Although under sail the Mauritiiis did not make a very fine show, it was very pleasant when fires were banked. There were then no smuts blowing about the deck, nor cinders as big as hailstones lying on the white saloon tablecloths.

Well, soldiers are soldiers even at sea, and a transport is not really a man-of-war. Bravely though our army officers can fight and rough it on shore, when on board a trooper they do not object to have their little comforts, so they were even permitted to lounge in chairs under the awning, and listen of a forenoon to the dulcet music of the band, while they dreamily read their novels or magazines. Fancy, if you can, a naval officer in a deck chair. But such an anomaly was never seen or heard tell ot

I was myself brought up with a round turn once by Commander Me Hardy of the Penguin, a gunboat in which I served. I was very young in the service then, and had one forenoon seated myself for a moment on the skylight.

The captain, as Me Hardy was called by courtesy, was on the bridge.

" Quartermaster ! " he shouted, " bring the doctor a chair."

I took the hint, and went below.

But poor Me Hardy was a bit of a martinet. One day, for example, I was going on shore on the African coast in one of our own boats. When about half-way, as the sun was broiling my skull, I ventured to elevate my umbrella.

But suddenly astern of us, from the quarter-deck of our saucy little craft, came the stentorian hail :

" Boat aho oy ! "

" Ay, ay, sir."

"Who is that officer with an umbrella up in a British man-o'- war's boat ? "

Collapse of the umbrella !

Collapse of the officer also !

Neatness and tidiness were the rule of the day and night too on board the transport. Not a rope's end was ever seen out of its place, not a sheet uncoiled, the decks were kept as white as piano keys, never a tuft of rope yarn was left lying about, the guns were polished black as ebony, the lanyards were little coils of snow, every- where the woodwork was polished, and the brasswork, if only that on the top of a belaying pin, shone like burnished gold.

I need not say that both soldiers and sailors were always neat and clean, and a prettier sight than a Sunday morning inspection, it would surely have been difficult indeed to have imagined.

But after all the soldiers had little else to do save to eat and drink, to lounge, to smoke, to read, and to tell stories.

But after dark a crowd of cheery souls, both soldiers and sailors, would always be found at the forecastle-head, smoking the calumet of peace and swapping yarns.

Sing-songs too were got up, and some of the officers did not consider it infra dig. to visit the men in their quarters or mess-places, and do all they could think of to make things easy and comfortable for them.

Although a sergeant of the status of Fergus McKinnon must not as a general thing keep company with the rank and file, or with those but a grade higher, still our young hero Willie Saunders was a friend moreover no one was likely to overlook the fact that Willie was a gentleman albeit only a corporal So the sergeant and he were very much together during the passage of the Mauritius to the Cape, when duty permitted such intimacy.

It was from Fergus that Willie one evening received the following brief account of the career of Scotland's favourite general, Colin Campbell.

It was given more in the form of a conversation than anything else, and there were more listeners around the stalwart sergeant than Willie and Peter, but it was so dark it would have been difficult to have told who was there, or whether they were soldiers or sailors.

One thing was unmistakable enough, every man, whether Jack-o'-tar or Tommy Atkins, was smoking.

" Poor Sir Colin," began Fergus, " I fear we will never see him more. Who has a light ? "

Several hands were advanced towards him, and the sergeant soon lit a large cigar. He seldom if ever smoked a pipe on board, but he never bought a cigar on shore or afloat. This is only another way of saying that McKinnon was well liked by the officers, whether naval or military.

" No," he continued, " I don't think we 'll see Sir Colin again, and we all liked, ay, we loved him. I mean every man who ever fought under him."

" That 's true," said more than one voice.

"Ah! I can hear," said Fergus, "though I can't see, that there is more than one man of the old 93rd not far from my elbow ; well if I say what isn't true, they are welcome to contradict me or to put me right.

"But brave Scotch Colin was a pretty strict disci- plinarian, though he dearly loved his soldiers, and would often go a long distance out of his way to see the sick and wounded. Just one fault had Colin."

" A fault ? " said a voice,

" Ay, a fault, lad, but it was one in the right direction. He was, in a manner of speaking, too brave or too fool- hardy; and I for one never saw an officer more cool under fire than he, nor more cool either in the thick of a bayonet charge, when pistols rang or cracked, when cold steel met cold steel, and men clutched men in the throes of death ! "

"Hear! hear!"

"But what makes you think, sergeant," said Willie, " that we will never see him more ? "

" Because," said the sergeant, " there is a limit to even the life of a lucky soldier. I knew Sir Colin more intimately in the Crimea than did a good many men. I was very frequently in his company, and I had grown so that I could almost tell what he was thinking about by looking at him ; for mind you, men, though the old soldier's face be a pretty stern one, it is wondrously expressive. Sir Colin is getting old, not so much through years, mind you, as from exposure. He is war-worn, and he is just a trifle weary. He needs rest."

The sergeant paused for a moment, puffing so vehemently at his big cigar, that the light from its tip illumined the faces of his listeners around him.

" You may think me boastive, boys, and perhaps I am, but I am proud to tell you that I believe I was the last man I don't say commissioned officer of the 93rd that the General spoke to. It was the day after the review, and I was passing the door of the Fountain Hotel, when I met Sir Colin.

" Much though I loved him, I would not have dared to have spoken. I would have saluted and passed on, but he stopped me.

" ' McKinnon, isn't it ? ' he said, ' used to be an orderly of mine in the Crimea. Well, I 'm glad I tumbled across you. Good friends we used to be/

" ' Yes, Sir Colin ; and I make bold to say I wish you were going to China with us.'

" Sir Colin laughed. ' Be just like old times, wouldn't it?' he said. 'But, ah! my lad, it isn't to be. Look at my grey hairs. However, my good wishes and my prayers will ever be with the brave old 93rd, that fought so bravely for me and our country at Balaklava !

"'Good-bye again, McKinnon. If you do return, and if I am alive, don't pass my door. The old soldier will always be glad to see you. But '

" ' But what, Sir Colin ? '

" He gave me his hand. It felt thin and cold in mine, and I could see some moisture in his eyes as he quoted just two lines of a bonnie old song

" ' A boding voice says in my ear We're parting now to meet no more.'"

Again the sergeant pulled hard at his big cigar for a few moments.

" Let me see," he resumed. " Sir Colin is getting on in years. He must be in his sixty-fifth year. Yes, for he was born in the month of October, 1792. He belonged you know, boys, to the good old though not numerous clan of the McLivers.^[3] But his mother was a Campbell, and when he entered the army in 1808 he adopted her name.

"He was just as brave when a boy of seventeen as he is now; for we find that he not only gained credit by his conduct in the face of the foe in the Peninsular War and during the sad expedition of Walcheren, but we know for a fact that he was the leader of a forlorn hope at the assault on San Sebastian. Lord Lynedoch officially declared that Captain Colin Campbell, while lieutenant of the 9th foot, behaved with conspicuous gallantry and intrepidity at the storming of the convent redoubt in the advance of San Sebastian, and afterwards at the assault upon that fortification, on both of which occasions he was severely wounded ; also in a battle near Irun, during which the enemy was compelled to retire from a strong position they held on the Bidassoa.

"At this time Colin Campbell was but twenty years of age, and it is related of him that in order to par- ticipate in the glory of that battle he deserted from the hospital.

" This of course was duly reported by the surgeon-in- chief to his commanding officer. It would have been a great breach of discipline even had he been almost well, but his wounds were very far indeed from being healed. Such conduct as this could not be overlooked, so he found himself hauled up ' planked/ as you sailors call it and severely reprimanded; but there was a rider appended to this reprimand which must have quite taken out the sting of it, for he was told that but for his gallant conduct in the field his misconduct would have met with a far more heavy punishment.

" Concerning his deeds of prowess and daring in the field of battle, Sir Charles Napier, some years after this, while presenting new colours to the gallant 98th, of which Campbell was now one of the chief officers, referred as follows: 'Yonder,' he said, 'stands Lieu- tenant-Colonel Campbell, and right well do I know that, if need should be, the soldiers of the 98th would follow him as boldly as did those gallant men of the glorious 9th, who fell fighting around him in the trenches of San Sebastian.'

"I am not a book, boys, else I could give you the whole history of brave old Sir Colin ; but if I were a book I should need to be a volume as bulky as a big ha' Bible to tell you all his life or recount to you all his gallant deeds in, for example, the American War of 1814, the West India War, the Chinese War of 1842, and the Sikh War of 1848. After the latter war he was made a Knight Commander of the Bath. Sir Charles Napier himself it was who wrote to Colin telling him of his promotion 'for deeds done during this war' and for his steady coolness and military precision as a commander of the forces, and adding that no man ever wore the distinction who had won it better.

"Well, boys, he certainly won that distinction well on many a hard-fought field, for in this Sikh War, as he himself phrased it, he had the good fortune to be present in every engagement or affair during the whole campaign wherever there was anything to do, even to the pursuit of Dost Mahommed as far as the fatal Kybor Pass.

" Poor Sir Colin ! Even at this time, although he was but fifty- seven years of age, he had begun to weary of warfare and long for rest. Fact is, lads, he was tired; but although he suggested retirement altogether from a life of activity a life on the war-path

'"Why/ he told a friend, 'should I desire to remain any longer on the active list ? There are better men than I am in the army, and my carriage stops the way. Honour and glory is all very well, but I have had enough of even that; and now I believe I have enough money one way or another to save my family from privation and smooth in some measure my own path- way to the grave, I want to go; I want to enjoy now some of the blessings of peace. I know all about war that is worth knowing"

"Well, this seems to me, lads, more like the peevishness that is begotten of physical wear and tear and mental anxiety than anything else. We have all of us felt somewhat like it after a campaign, and thought that we should never, never care to fight again or seek for glory in the camp or tented field; and then we have been surprised to find, after a few weeks of rest and furlough, that we had a whole jugful of go left in us yet, that it wasn't possible to expend in any other way than by activity in the field.

"Sir Colin's sword was not to be sheathed yet not by a long chalk, my lads and he permitted himself to be persuaded to remain some years longer in India, engaged in what is possibly the hardest and most fatiguing of all kinds of warfare, namely, frontier or border work. And those wild hill tribes in the Afghanistan glens and straths gave him plenty to do and plenty to think of. About the beginning of 1853 he joyfully told a friend after mess one night that he would soon be in England now. ' I feel like a schoolboy,' he said, ' going home for the holidays, but, dear me!' he added, 'how the time has flown, and I am four years older since my last big grumbla Ah! well, they won't ask me to stay in India any more. I bid adieu to it for ever, and to warfare too.'

" ' You will long to be back in camp, I do believe,' said his friend, laughing.

" ' It will be in my dreams then,' said Sir Colin. ' No, I shall not be idle altogether. I shall cultivate flowers, perhaps, and grow Scotch kail and things.'

" Hullo ! T must light another cigar. Splendid smokes these ; they are Captain C/s pets. But I suppose you are tired of my yarning about good Sir Colin ? "

"No! no!" from several.

" Well, the bold and daring Sir Colin did not have a very long time to rest and grow Scotch kail and things after all, for in 1854 the war broke out, and our Scottish hero burnished up his rusty sword once more. Perhaps he had been pruning bushes with it. But if the blade was rusty the hand that held it and the brain that directed it were as active as ever. He assumed command of the Highland Brigade. We all know what Campbell did in the Crimea, and how bravely he fought. We 93rd men have no occasion to be ashamed of Balaklava, or the thin red line of Highlanders that withstood the hosts of the enemy."

" Hurrah for Colin Campbell ! " cried a man.

" Ay, lad, hurrah ! indeed. And it has always seemed to me that the great soldier's example and cheerfulness of manner were in themselves alone equal to a small army. ' He had unbounded confidence in Lord Kaglan,' says one of his biographers, 'and towards the latter end of the Crimean campaign, during the very worst times of that weary winter, the experienced old soldier never took a gloomy view of matters. He was quick to recognise Lord Kaglan's great difficulties. He was quick to see that the work cut out for him was none the less heavy and hard from the fact that Britain had embarked on the serious operation of invading the Crimea after a peace that had lasted forty years, with her army greatly reduced in numbers and with administrative services calculated only for peace work or colonial requirements, and with moreover a total want of that organisation which alone can ensure success in war.'

" But for all this I say Sir Colin Campbell took nothing but the most hopeful view of things in the trenches, and in spite of discontent and murmuring, which by the way he never would listen to or permit in his hearing, he felt confident that success would finally crown the endeavours of the allied armies.

" Nor was he mistaken.

"People said we made peace too soon, and that the Russians had neither been humbled nor punished enough. I am but a simple sergeant, boys, but my opinion is that we Highlanders, and Englishmen too, can look upon this peace as a peace with honour, and look back to that long and bloody war as one that redounds to the courage and pluck of every man who ever drew a claymore, wore a kilt, or donned a Hielan' bonnet And, as Wattle Scott

says

" ' Ne'er in battle-field throbbed heart more brave Than that which beats beneath the Scottish plaid.'

"I mind well the words of Sir Colin," continued the sergeant, " as he took leave of his brave John Hielan'aien before embarking for his native land.

" 'Good-bye, lads, good-bye,' he said, and as reverentially as if we had been his superiors did he lift the feathered bonnet he had asked and obtained permission of Lord Eaglan after Alma to wear for the rest of the campaign, instead of the cocked-hat of a general. 1 Good-bye ; my warfare is over at last, for I feel that I now am old. Nevermore then shall I be called upon to serve my Queen and country. Nothing will now remain to me save the memory of my many campaigns, and the memory of the enduring, hardy, unselfish soldiers with whom I have been associated, and whose name and glory will live in the hearts of their countrymen for ever and for aye. Good-bye, lads, good-bye, but though you may see me not again, go where I may, the thought of you shall accompany me, and cheer my few remaining years with the glorious recollections of the hardships and dangers we have endured and confronted, hand in hand, shoulder to shoulder. And never will a bagpipe sound near me without carrying my thoughts away back to those bright days, when I was at your head wearing the bonnet that your courage gained for me, and those honourable decorations on my breast I owe to you and you alone. Good-bye.'"

"The battle of Alma was gained almost wholly by Highlanders, was it not sergeant?" said Willie Saunders.

" Ay, lad, ay, it was the battle of the Gael, for after the light Division had taken a redoubt, it was retaken by the enemy. Then was brave Campbell's time to shout the war cry of the old Montrose, ' On wi' the tartan.' The tartan did rush on, and with a will too, and the Eussian columns were soon shattered and scattered in flight. Oh, it was a great, a glorious day !"

"You were there, sergeant?"

" I had that honour, thank heaven.

" But it is in a letter, I think to Colonel Vincent, that Sir Colin himself says : ' The gallant 42nd continued their advance, and, by my orders, were followed by two other Highland regiments, who formed in echelon as soon as they gained the left brow of the Alma. On gaining the height, we found the foe that we had driven from the redoubt endeavouring to reform upon two large masses of Russian troops, that were advancing over the plateau to meet the attack of the 42nd. The men were too much pumped to think of charging, so they opened fire as they advanced in line, at which they had been well practised, and finally drove with terrible slaughter not only the fugitives from the redoubt before them, but the two large masses of men that had been advancing to check their onslaught.'"

"Where were the Guards at this time?" asked Willie.

" They weren't in it," said the sergeant, " nor anywhere near it. That I can testify, and we have Sir Colin's own printed words to prove it. ' During these operations,' he writes, ' the Guards were far away to the right, and quite removed from the fight. It was a fight of the Highland Brigade.'

" Yes, boys, the Guards, when they saw the grand final rush, began to press forward to share in the glory and capture ; but Sir Colin cheered on his men, shouting aloud, ' We 'll hae none but Highland bonnets hera'

"Sir Colin Campbell's return to Glasgow, his native city, after the peace was a hero's triumph. He was a kindly soul and dearly loved even the street Arabs, for when these in a wild rush had clambered up behind his carriage, and were waving their grimy bonnets over his head, the good old man did naught but smile, and would not permit the police to remove them."

"But I'm savin', sairgent," said Peter McKay, who spoke but seldom, " Was there no' a sang written aboot the Alma ? "

" That there was, Peter," replied the sergeant, " and if yon men will join in the chorus I'll sing it where I stand."

"me 'II bae nane but ibfgblanfc Bonnets bere."*

"Alma, field of heroes, hail !
Alma, glorious to the Gael,
Glorious to the symbol dear,
Glorious to the mountaineer ;
Hark, hark to Campbell's battle-cry !
It led the brave to victory,
It thundered through the charging cheer,
' We 'll hae nane but Highland bonnets here.'

Chorus:
We 'll hae nane but Highland bonnets here,
We ll hae nane but Highland bonnets here,
It thundered through the charging cheer,
We 'll hae nane but Highland bonnets here.

M See, see the heights where fight the brave 1
See, see the gallant tartans wave !
How wild the work of Highland steel,
Where conquered thousands backward reel 1
See, see the warriors of the North
To death or glory rushing forth ;
Hark to their shout from front to rear,
' We ll hae nane but Highland bonnets here !'

Chorus:
 We ll hae nane but Highland bonnets here,
We ll hae nane but Highland bonnets here,
Hark to that shout from front to rear,
We ll hae nane but Highland bonnets here.

• This song was written by Alex. Maclagan, and inscribed to Sir Colin

Campbell.

Air "The Campbells are Coming," but sung more slowly, with force and action. G. S.

"Nane but Highland Bonnets" 99

" Braver field was never won,

Braver deeds were never done,

Braver blood was never shed,

Braver chieftain never led ;

Braver swords were never wet

With life's red tide when heroes met,

Braver words ne'er thrilled the ear,

' We ll hae nane but Highland bonnets here.' Chorus We 'll hae nane but Highland bonnets here, We 'll hae nane but Highland bonnets here, Braver words ne'er thrilled the ear, We 'll hae nane but Highland bonnets here.

" Let glory rear her flag of fame,

Brave Scotland cries, ' This spot I claim,'

Here will Scotland bare her brand,

Here will Scotland's lion stand,

Here will Scotland's banner fly,

Here Scotland's sons will do or die,

Here shout above the symbol dear,

' We ll hae nane but Highland bonnets here.' Chorus We ll hae nane but Highland bonnets here, We ll hae nane but Highland bonnets here, It thundered through the charging cheer, We 'll hae nane but Highland bonnets here."

That last ringing chorus was joined in by many of the sailors, and by several young officers who had come forward.

"Bravo, McKinnon, bravo!" cried the officers, and the clapping of hands was something to be remembered. But it was scarcely finished before the sergeant had betaken himself below.

McKinnon was brave.

But McKinnon was shy.

Chapter VIII. WILLIE AND JACK.

WHILE the good ship Mauritius goes ploughing on her way, southward ho ! before the merry trade winds, and calm and peace seem to dwell in every heart on board, I must take the opportunity of harking back a little way in my story, and returning to the glen where Willie Saunders was born and reared.

"VVe must even go as far back as the night of Annie Lindsay's birthday-ball.

Annie had engaged herself to Willie for more than one other dance that evening; but one was to be something special, viz., the gay, grand old Eeel o' Tulloch. Much earlier that night poor Willie had looked longingly forward to this dance, and for more reasons than one. First, because he wanted to take the shine out of that 'Varsity fellow, who thought he could dance because he could glide through a dreamy waltz ; and, secondly, because he felt certain that ere that dance took place, he would have a claim to Annie Lindsay's hand that no one else in the room could boast of.

But, alas ! and alas ! before the time for the reel came that scene by the moonlit canon had taken place, and Willie had gone fled.

The time had come, but the man had not.

Annie waited for him anxiously while the musicians were tuning up, then did a thing which it is quite unusual for a young lady to do; but the circumstances in this case were exceptional. She went to look for him.

She looked in the conservatory. He was nowhere there. He was nowhere on the lawn. Where could he be? Could he have gone back to the rustic seat under the drooping birchen foliage, she wondered. Fearfully she crossed the bridge, trembling a little as she gazed for a moment over it down to where, far beneath her, the linn roared white in the moonlight, then hurrying on to find that the seat was empty.

As she regained the bridge a dreadful thought got possession of her mind that for a moment almost caused her heart to stand still. Could he, oh, surely he could not have thrown himself over the bridge ? And yet there was a possibility, for never in all her life would she be likely to forget the look of anguish that came over his face when she refused to become his affianced bride. She was so confused now that she hardly remembered what she had said to him, what she had answered him, what she had told him. Had she said that she did not love him ? She hoped she had not, because because well, because she did, just a little.

No, no, Willie could not, would not have done anything so dreadful. He was too good and too brave for that! She hurried away from the bridge all the same ; for voices seemed to be mingling with the roar of the linn, and repeating themselves in her bewildered brain.

Once more on the moonlit lawn, going wearily back towards the conservatory, with drooping head and a load of fear and sorrow and doubt at her heart that worda cannot express.

Ha! she has a happy thought. He may have gone home. Well, she could easily ascertain; for he wore a plaid, and he always carried a hazel crook or Highland alpenstock.

She ran briskly now round to the hall door. It was ajar. She pushed it open and went in.

There was many a plaid there and several crooks, but Willie's crook and plaid were gone.

The fear left her heart now, but the sorrow remained.

He had gone. He had left her in anger, and she would never, never see him more. Of this she felt convinced.

All gaiety and joy had departed. She went back to the ball-room. She suffered another dance or two, but complained of being tired and weary.

When the ball came to a conclusion at last, and all the guests had gone, Annie made haste to get to her own room.

She threw herself on the bed without undressing.

When the morning sun shone in through her window Annie was sound asleep, still undressed, but her pillow was wet with tears.

When day after day went by and Willie came not, she, Annie Lindsay knew the cause of Ms absence; and when her parents began to wonder at his seeming neglect a neglect so unusual in him then she told them all.

The evening after the ball Jack Morrison had ridden up to the glen-head to call at Balaklava Lodge.

"I had half-expected to find Willie here," he said. "I can't make it out at all. He seemed to disappear all at once from the ball-room that night, though I made sure we would walk home together.

"I called at the Raven's Nest and saw his mother. She appeared a little distressed about something, but all she knew I 'm sure she told me ; namely, that Willie had not appeared to be over well, and that he had gone a long way over the bills to try to dispel a headache."

" I think," said Mrs Lindsay, " he must have , been indisposed, and that too somewhat suddenly, for he went awa'y and said good-bye to no one."

" Ah ! " said Jack smiling, " indisposition would account for it then, for he naturally thought that if he came to say good-bye he would be prevailed upon to stay on.

"The worst of it is," continued Jack Morrison, "I'm off to Aberdeen on business of the very greatest im- portance, and won't be able to see Willie for two whole weeks. Remember me most kindly to him. I Ve written bim a note to say that I'm going to the Granite City, and that when I come back I hope to give him a glad surprise."

I must mention here, parenthetically, that Willie Saunders had received this letter, and had instantly torn it in pieces and thrown it behind the fire.

"Glad surprise, indeed!" had been his words. "I know what his glad surprise is ; and this after a lifetime of pretended brotherly affection ! "

And the bitterness of "Willie's heart was increased tenfold for a tima

"And may I ask," said Colonel Lindsay, "what takes you to Aberdeen, Jack ? "

"Oh, I don't mind letting you into the secret, only keep it dark, you know ! "

" As dark as Erebus ! " said the soldier.

" Well then it is this, I want to see a bit of the world. I don't want to be mewed up at an old farm-steading all my life, even though it is to be mine when poor dear father wears away. Don't you see ? "

"Well, Jack, I follow you so far, but I don't quite gather from what you have said in what particular way you are going to gain your desideratum."

"That's what I'm coming to. I saw an advertise- ment in the Aberdeen Herald for the services of a young man it said young gentleman of good educa- tion to proceed to" India to enter a magistrate's office. The salary offered is very good, and the position, it seems to me, excellent. The candidate must be young I 'm not old ; he must be tall and strong I 'm not a dwarf; and just feel that biceps, Colonel Lindsay, and look at that hammer of a hand. He must be a good Latin scholar and write well I've taken many a prize for classics, and I write a clear and readable fist, you know. Finally, he must be of good moral character and healthy. Well, sir, the minister of our parish will testify that I never stole a horse, and as to being healthy, why, my looks should tell them that; and if there be any doubt about the matter, let them just place a one pound tender, juicy rump-steak, smothered in well-browned onions and flanked by mealy potatoes, before me, and the doubt will vanish like snowflakes in a river. I tell you what it is, Colonel Lindsay, I'm the winning candidate. You just wait a week or two, and see."

"Well, I wish you all the success in the world, my lad; but what does your father say about it?"

"The fact is, sir, I haven't told father yet. And I don't mean to till I am sure of the appointment."

"But you won't go away against your father's wishes, Jack, surely ? " said Mrs. Lindsay.

"No, Mrs. Lindsay; that I will not. But when daddy sees how anxious I am to get a peep at the world in a laudable way, and all the rest of it, I feel sure he will have no objections. Only, remember, the secret is all with you as yet."

"I'll keep it faithfully," said Lindsay and his wife.

"And so will I," said Annie sadly enough.

There were over twenty candidates for that situation to go to India, for the emoluments were good, and there was a fair chance of the successful competitor rising to a position of some standing in India.

Jack Morrison went away and stayed away for a whole week and over. He certainly made as good a show physically as anyone, but there were brighter and cleverer youths applied for the vacancy, so Jack came home again somewhat heartless and hopeless.

However, nothing would be decided for some weeks. Two things happened in one day some time after this. Willie Saunders returned home, and, strangely enough, on the same day came a long, official-looking blue envelope addressed to John Morrison, Esq., &c., && John Morrison, Esq., was Jack

Jack was elected.

" Hurrah ! " cried Jack ; and off he bounced to find his father.

Jack thought he would make sure of his daddy first, and did, for the lad was very eloquent in pleading his own cause. Then the mother had to be won over.

She was grief-stricken.

But as Jack's daddy represented that it seemed really to be Providence, and that it must be for Jack's good, and moreover that they ought to be proud of their son rather than otherwise, Mrs. Morrison slowly yielded.

Away went Jack now, with his letter in his pocket, up to Balaklava Lodge, riding on his sturdy brown cob. Jean was this cob's name, and no one knew her way about better than she did. Jean had belonged to a doctor before Jack got hold of her, but he had de- veloped her considerably. You see, the young fellow was fond of animals, and he had found out one interest- ing fact concerning the mare that many people who ride horses would do well to take a hint from, namely, that she knew nearly everything that was said to her. For example, she knew the names of places. Jack would smooth her ears kindly before mounting.

"Jean," he would say, "we are going to Boortree to-day." Or it might be Knockando, or Balaklava, or any other place within ten miles. After telling her this Jack would mount and away Jean would trot, and after a time she never made a mistake. Arrived at the house or farm, Jack jumped off, hitched the reins loosely to the pommel by a plan of his own, and went about his business. Jean looked after herself.

To-day, however, Jack was so full of life and joy and energy, that trotting would not meet the requirements of the case, and Jean must gallop.

Arrived at Balaklava lawn, Jack leapt nimbly to the ground, and bolted in through the lawn casement window. No one was in the room except Annie, who came forward smiling to meet him.

Jack caught her in his arms and fairly hugged her.

" Wish me joy, Annie," he cried, " I 'm appointed over all the other candidates. Hurrah ! I don't know how to express my triumph and delight. Have I really dis- arranged your frills and frizzliebobs and furbelows? Never mind, sissie dear, your big brother Jack for mind you I feel just like a brother to you will bring you such

a lovely shawl from India, and if you 're good he 'll

Hullo ! here comes your father. Wish me joy, Colonel Lindsay, I 'm accepted."

" Accepted !" said the Colonel, looking first at Annie, then at radiant Jack. " Accepted ! Why this is the first time I knew there was anything between you two."

"Ha, ha, ha!" laughed Jack. "Well that is good. Why it isn't Annie that, has accepted me I never thought of asking Annie but Bitters and Co., Limited. Read that."

Jack thrust the long official envelope into the soldier's hand. The soldier stuck his pince nez on, and read the letter, then he held out his hand.

" I do wish you joy, my lad, with all my heart. Bitters and Co., Limited. Strange name !"

"Yes; but there will be nothing bitter about the situation, and no limit to my fun and enjoyment out in India. Would you like a few tiger skins, Annie, or a white elephant, or any little thing of that sort ? If so, 1 ll send it like a shot."

He stopped all the afternoon, and started to ride home a little before sunset.

He was coming trotting easily along from Balaklava Lodge, singing to himself, while the sun big and red sank low towards the western woods, flooding all the glen with a strange purple light, and shimmering across the loch in a broad band of crimson.

Jack had been singing to himself, and Jean had leant one ear back to listen, for she was very fond of music, as most horses are. I don't think that at that moment there were two more as happy young fellows as Jack Morrison in all the glen. But this happiness of his was doomed to be damped before he was many minutes older, and that too in a most unexpected way.

"I'll just ride on to Eaven's Nest," he had said to Jean. " Eaven's Nest, old girl, you know it, don't you ?"

Jean moved her ears and nodded ground wards with her nose, as if to say, " Give me a slacker rein, and I 'll have you there before you can say stirrups."

The road down which he was riding came only from Balaklava, so that anyone meeting him could not help knowing where he had been. A little farther along it struck the main highway leading through the great glen, making a bend to the left just here.

And it was just at this junction, or a little way beyond it, that, greatly to his delight, Jack saw Willie Saunders coming straight towards him, Willie and Bruce.

Willie made a slight or momentary halt when he saw his quondam friend, as if uncertain what to do, but im- mediately after came straight on.

Jack, with a little cry of surprise and joy, jumped right off his mare and held out his hand.

Young Morrison, though quite as tall, if not taller, was not so strikingly handsome in face and bearing as Willie Saunders. He looked what he was and nothing more, a happy-go-lucky, guileless young farmer. And the smile that now illumined his innocent almost boyish face, and nickered around his sparkling eye, was a really genuine one.

"Ha! Willie, you truant," he cried, "I was going straight to the Nest. I 've got something to tell you that will surprise you. Eejoice with me, Willie, I 'm going to be Why, Willie, what is the matter ? "

Willie only looked at him with cold and haughty surprise. Jack started as if shot. Indeed he seemed almost turned to stone.

" Willie ! " he gasped, " that look to me"

Bruce, the honest, bawsent-faced collie, had rushed up to welcome and fawn upon Jack, and in the bitterness of his heart Willie smote him lightly with his cane.

The poor dog uttered a whine rather than a cry, a whine of disappointment, wonder, and surprise.

But his master only turned his back and walked on.

Bruce looked back at 'Jack Morrison, and sorrow the deepest was expressed in every lineament of his sagacious face.

" You can see it isn't my fault," the dog had seemed to say. Then he trotted on after Willie, his tail low towards the ground, and his very head bent down with sorrow.

When fairly out of sight, with trees between him and Jack, he stooped down and kissed the dog's neck.

" There ! there ! Bruce, my own dear dog," he said, " I am not angry with you. No, no, no.

" We won't be long together now. May Heaven forgive me, my faithful Bruce, that I even made pretence to strike you. Strike you, Bruce ! And friends so few in this cold world. No, no.

"And I pray too," he had added, "that God may forgive me for treating poor Jack so. But I cannot, could not help it. Yet that look of his I shall never, never forget."

Then Willie had sunk down upon the green bank, and covering his face with his hands seemed for a time quite broken down with grief, while, sorely puzzled by all this, Bruce stood close by his side. His canine nature could not fathom or understand, but he knew his master was in trouble and sorrow, and he could lick his hands, and this he did with much concern in his brown eyes, and very, very fondly.

It had been but a few days after this that Willie Saunders met the sergeant at the rendezvous in company with Peter McKay and joined the gallant 93rd.

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1. stems
2. Pronounced "hay," not "ha."
3. Pronounced Macleevers.