Democratic Sentinel, Volume 6, Number 12, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 21 April 1882 — M’LEISH OF CAOLCHAIRN. [ARTICLE]

M’LEISH OF CAOLCHAIRN.

A pitch-daA night, rain falling in tor. rents, wind blowing gustily from every point of the compass at once. Two or three oil lamps flickeied feebly in the gloom on a struggling crowd of damp passengers, a chaotic mas i of luggage, and—no porters. Such were earliest impressions on being turned out of the L >ndon down train at West wood, the station for Cinqhaven, whither I and some half dozen other officers were boiw I, to complete our education by a course of musketry instruction.

“ Where’s Cinqhaven ? ” was my first very natural inquiry. “And how am I to get there ? ” Cinqhaven was “Across there” a civil official replied, pointing over an expanse of plowed field in the direction of the south pole. The one omnibus had, it appeared, departed with a small selection from the impat'ent crowd of belated travelers, but would be back again directly. . “ How soon ? ” I asked. “ Well, in about an hour or so.” I thanked him, committed my belongings to his care, and, with a benediction on my luck and the Colonel who had sent ine there plunged into the night. Outside the station I found an officer with his party, a sergeant and some privates, about to march to C.nqhaven and gladly joined them. I took for granted some one knew the way. I didn’t. Such a night I Rain pelting us viciously, wind blowing our fragmentary attempts at conversation away into space. Finally, at a point where five aoads met, and the wind and ram did their wickedest, we halted. Fire and candle-light streamed invitingly out of the unshuttered window of a low white house ; a sign creaked over our heads in the darkness, and, after a brief debate, in we all turned to the cozy kitchen of the Green Lion.

We were not unwilling to accept the landlady’s assurances that the storm would “blow itself out ” in half an hour or less. She invited us into her own snug parlor, and here, for the first time, I got a good look at my companion. He was a tall, handsome fellow, with dark complexion and curiously light, eager eyes—by name, I discovered, Oapt. Angus MacLeish, of the Thirtyfourth (Royal Cromarty) Highlanders. (Here I may introduce myself to my readers: Lieut. Jones, Royal North Wales militia.) Capt. MacLeish was rather stiff and high and mighty at first, I thought—very much the Highland chieftain, “ Caolchairn,” or some such pretty name, was, I found, bis correct designation. Still, I let him sea that I considered a Jones, of Prybwllych, the equal of any man in her Majesty’s service, and we gradually wgrmed into sociability over the landlady’s blazing fire and such refreshment as the Green Lion afforded. The landlady’s prediction was verified in less than the time mentioned. The storm blew over, the clouds parted, and a clear white moon shone out. Half an hour’s quick walking brought us to the top of the hill under which lay the little town of Cinqhaven. Its red rcofs look<?d pretty and picturesque in the moonlight beyond, and to westward the sea and marshes stretching away gray and mysterious; below us a row of lighted windows showed where the barracks stood.

“ That’s a welcome sight,” said MacLeish. “ Were you ever here befoi'e?” I asked. “Never. 1 only heard of the place last week —ah ! ” he stopped short. I looked round in amazement. He was standing upright and rigid, his eyes fixed on some point in the road before us, his forefinger extended. • “ Why, what’s the matter?” I asked, looking down the road—white and lonely—and seeing only a milestone standing out distinctly from the dark hedge. “There!” His eyes dilated with a fixed stare of horror, his breath came short and quick, and at last, with a sharp cry, he swayed forward and fell insensible on the path. I thought he tried to say something, but failed to understand him. The soldiers had halted, and two came rushing up, vociferating wildly in some unknown tongue. They knelt beside him and raised him, ail stark and white in the moonshine. I gave a few directions, to which they vouchsafed not the smallest attention ; but somehow they contrived to support him between them, and we proceeded to the barracks, no great distance fortunately. I questioned the sergeant, who had looked on meanwhile with undisturbed composure. He declined to commit himself to any opinion whatever. The privates were “ Caolchairn’s ” own people, puir ignorant Hieland bodies, who could hardly speak English. Could he understand Gaelic ? Weel, a word, or maybe twn. What had Capt. MaeLeish said as he fell? It sounded like “into my grave,” but he conldna be positcev. And here Sergt. Tulloch’s communications came to an abrupt stop, and I conld only extract in addition that the Highland-rs knew best what to do with their chief, and that ‘' he’s be a’ right the morn.”

So he wa«. He appeared on parade right enough. 1 found that he and I were in the same section ; also, that of all the sixty officers that composed the “course,” he was the only one with whom I had the slightest acquaintance. He was in the same position, I fancy, so we fraternized to a certain extentwalked over to Poatstown together—the popular amusement of the period, and worked at the red book in company. He was an odd young fellow, as starchly repellent as a Spanish Don one moment, s and the next boyishly expansive and communicative. I think he was really desperately shy—the result of home breeding. He gave me a description of his Highland home one day, with its mountain and moor, loch and forest, where the MacLeishs lived in feudal state, naught appertaining to the dignity of a real Highland chieftain being lacking, from the pipers to the deadly feud. The MacLeishs, of Oaolchairn, and the MacLeishs, of Tuchoran, had killed, burned, betrayed, massacred and

generally made themselves mutually unpleasant from time immemorial. The two branches of this amiable family sprang from twin brothers, and, according to tradition, were to carry on the same bloodthirsty relations till they became simultaneously extinct. “And may 1 ask how you and the representative of the other line conduct yourselves when you happen to meet in society nowadays ? ” I inquired. MacLeish laughed. “We don’t meet. Tachoran was sold generations ago, and the MacLeish of that date died abroad. We have often tried to trace out his descendants, but with only partial success. Perhaps it’s as well,’’he continued, with an embarrassed laugh, “ for they say that, though we don’t slay and plunder nowadays, the —the curse is on us yet. When one of each Hue shall meet, there follows calamity.” Hooked as profoundly impressed as he could desire. “Ten years ago a clergyman in the South, Chaplain to a hospital, wrote to my father to say that his cousin, Fergus MacLeish, lay dying, mortally wounded in some discreditable brawl. My father, good man, started at once. He was in time to see the dying man, and to promise to befriend his only son, a boy of about 14. Fergus MacLeish died with his hand clasped in my father’s. It was their first and last meeting.” “Well, no harm came of it, I suppose’” “My father never saw his home again. He was killed in the great railway accident on the Great Northern.” “ What became of the boy ?” “ Young Fergus ? He was an utter good-for-nothing. My mother gave the Chaplain a carte blanche, and he did his utmost to reclaim him. It was no use. He was in and out of prison half a dozen times, and at last we shipped him off to the colonies: but I’m almost sure I met him last year at the Derby.” “ How did you know him ?” “By his likeness to myself. It’s curiously strong. A 1 so, by another mark—a cut on one eyelid—that gives him a most sinister look. The Chaplain mentioned it to me.” “ Did anything hanpen ?” I could not resist asking. MacLeish’s face grew “Don’t ask me—enough to ruin mv life, and make it little worth having from henceforward. Hullo I it’s 7 o’clock. Do you dine at mess to-night ?” and he left me to dress.

Still I got no nearer to any explanation of the occurrence on the first night of the meeting. He always avoided the Westwood road, I noticed; and another peculiar fact which struck me was the way in which his servant Alistor—his foster-brother, he told me—kept us constantly in sight. It was as if he expected me to do his master a mischief. Wherever he went Alistor’s red head and foxy eyes appeared at unexpected moments. One day MacLeish came into my room in great distress. An accident had happened in the town—a scaffold had fallen, and Alistor, who was passing at the moment, had been knocked down and injured—some iron-work had struck his head, and, it was feared, destroyed the sight of one eye. “He must go no to town as soon as he can travel. Everything that the best man there can do for him shall be done. I’ll trust him to no one here. My poor Alistor!”

I was able to assist in making arrangements for his stay in town, and both master and man were inordinately grateful. I went with MacLeish to see him off at Westwood. There had been an agonizing scene when he heard that the oculist would require him to be at least a month under treatment. He refused to go—wept, expostulated, implored MacLeish on his knees not to send him away—at least so I guessed, for the conversation was carried on in Gaelic. MacLeish promised to go up and see him every week—argued, coaxed, jested, and at last ordered him sternly to be silent and obey, and the poor fellow submitted. Tears were in his one visible eye when we said good-by at the station, and he poured out what seemed to be a flood of impassioned warning. MacLeish answered good-humoredly, saying in English: “You will find me safe enough, you foolish fellow. Don’t you think Mr. Jones here can take as good care of me here as you?” Alistor turned suddenly upon me, scanning my face with his sharp eye. “Are you in truth his faithful friend ? ”

I was too amazed to reply. “ Let all who wish well to Oaolchairn stand by him now, for his dark hour is at hand.” MaeLeish hurried him into the train, and I saw no more of him. We walked back together down the memorable Westwood road. “Can you guess what he means?” asked MaeLeish, after long silence. “ Not in the least,” I replied. “Do you remember that night we came ? ” “ Perfectly;” I answered. We turned the corner as I spoke, and the broad white road to Cinqhaven sloped down the hill at our feet—with the mile-stone standing out white and distinct against the dark hedge. MaeLeish stopped. “There, by that stone, on that night, stood Fergus MaeLeish. I saw him as clearly as I see you now. He held ou* his hand and said : ‘ Welcome 1 we are waiting you, Gaolchairn.’ His face was clear in the moonlight. It was the face of a dead man.”

“ I don’t believe a word of it,” I said energetically, to assure myself I was not frightened. “Do as you please,” said MaeLeish, coldly. “It was evident,” I reasoned, taking counsel with myself, “that poor MacLeish’s brain had become diseased : living all his life in a bogie-ridden Highland stronghold, in an atmosphere of Gaelic superstition. He would be better without Alistor hovering about him and ministering to his fancies, and I must do my best to drag him in society. He certainly hates the sightof his fellowcreatures as much as any man I know. ” Accordingly, next day, instead of “our usual secluded seat on the shingle, by a deserted Martello tower, I suggested that we should take our books to the parade, study in public being a Cinqhaven fashion.

‘' Where’s the parade ? I’ve never seen it yet,” he remarked. I marched him eastward forthwith. It was half-past 12‘ on a bright autumn morning, the sun was shining, the sea dancing, bevies of pretty children frolicking on the shingle, and three of the prettiest girls in Cinqhaven taking a brisk turn after bathing. The very prettiest bowed to me, and looked as if we might come and talk to her if we liked; but all that MaeLeish said was; “It was a bad place for working, and that he wanted to go to the town and buy some red ink.” “This way,” I said. “You don’t mean to say you’ve not been near the Lady’s avenue ?” We turned through a gate into the cool shade of some pollard elms that made a bowery walk across some lowlying meadows to the *town. “ Some dead-and-gone county lady—bless her considerate soul—planted this grove and bequeathed it to the town. It’s the prettiest thing in Cinqehavea.” “The town doesn’tsoem to appreciate it,” said MaeLeish. “It has been let go to the bad. These trees want thinning and some young ones planting in those gaps ” “The Mayor and corporation are awakening to a sense of their duties, I see,” I said, presently. “They are actually] breaking up the ground and getting fresh earth in. I suppose it’s twenty years since it was done—and it will be twenty more before it’s done again.”

MacLeish did not answer. He seized my arm suddenly and pointed with outstretched finger to the last elm of the avenue. , , . “There!” he gasped; “there he is again.” I saw nothing but two wheelbarrows, a plank, and two spades sticking upright in the newly-broken earth. “ Hold up!” I said. “ Don’t faint here, for heaven’s sake 1” and I shook him roughly. He looked at me vacantly, and I hurried him on. Presently he passed his hands across his eyes and drew a deep breath.

“My grave—or his!” he muttered. He said no more till we reached the barracks, when he turned to me quite calmly and collectedly : “ Laugh as you will—it can do no harm. I Have seen him again. The third time will be the last.” And he closed the door gently upon me. I hadn’t a chance of making many friends among the Cinqhaven residents, sociable and agreeable as they were, ana was pleasantly surprised to meet some Welsh friends established in one of the parade houses for the season. They were a gay, hospitable set, with half a dozen pretty daughters, and as many sons, all holiday-making as hard as they could. Something was always going on at the Pryse-Davieses, and I and many of my friends were made cordialy welcome at any time. I conveyed numerous invitations to MacLeish—all politely but firmly declined. A picnic to Eastcliffe bay—a boating party up the river to Lynas castle—an afternoon dance; finally a seat on the drag to Northwold races. On our return from our walk up the avenue, I found yet another of Miss Winnie Pryse-Davies’ pretty little notes lying on my table, and a second addressed to Oapt. A. MacLeish. “ A dance after the races! Bless the girls, what constitutions they have ! Is it worth while bothering MacLeish to go, I wonder ? What can make them so crazy to cultivate his acquaintance ?” I gave no encouragement to Miss Winnie’s hopes of his acceptance when I met her on the parade that evening. “Such a shame!” she said. “We want you all to come in uniform. It will make the room look so much, better. Yours is lovely, I know—but a Highland Iress !” “Well, there are some 93d men here. Shall I bring them ?” “Oh, as many as you can, by all means, but I had set my heart on your 11’ghland chief. ’ Here three more Miss Pryse-Davieses hurried up excitedly and delightedly. “ He’s coming, Winnie. Here’s his note ! ”

I conld hardly believe my eyes. “Why not?” said MacLeish "to me that night. “I’ve been very ungracious to your kind friends. Let me off the races, and I’ll be as civil as you please ill the evening. Next Friday, is it ? Well, I hope they won’t make a late affair of it. I’m going to shoot in the match on Saturday.” So it befel that on Friday evening a resplendent figure presented itself in my room. Caolchairn in full war-paint. “ Why, you are as bejeweled as an old dowager going to court,” said I, gazing on him with respectful admiration. “ You’d be worth something if you were melted down ! ” He was in high spirits ; as excited as any schoolgirl at the prospect of a dance ; asked me no end of questions about the Miss Pryse-Davieses, and made me solemnly promise him introductions to all of them. “By thejway,! ough tto have somemoney with me,’ I said as we pas <ed through the barrack gate. “We may want a cab home.” “ Nonsense ; it’s a splendid night; besides, I’ve plenty.” And he drew out his purse as he stood under the l >.mp. “ No, it’s all gold ; what a nuisance ! ” I noticed a pair of hungry eyes gleaming out of the darkness as he poured the money back, and I saw a ragamuffin figure move slowly off. “ Lucky there are two of us,” I thought. It was a brilliant little dance. The rooms were prettily and gayly decorated, the local confectioner had surpassed himself in the supper, and the Pryse-Davies gills looked as fresh as if they had not passed a whole day under a broiling sun on the race-course. “ Is this wise ?” I asked Miss Winnie, as we stood in the open French window of the dining-room that looked on to the parade. “Wdat? the open air? Oh, it never does me any harm; and the moon is rising so exquisitely.” “I didn’t mean that exactly ; but is it safe to leave these windows open ? Look at the mob out there. The races have brought all the vagabondage of the country together.

There was a small inclosure in front of the house, and over the dwarf wall a crowd of shabby-looking people were gazing in at the brilliantly-lighted room. “ I’ll send two of the men round to order them off,” she said. The last that departed looked round at me with the curious eager eyes I had seen before. Meanwhile the fun was becoming rather fast and furious. They were getting up reels. One of the Highland officers had brought liis bagpipes, on which the miscreant was a distinguished amateur performer. MaeLeish &as one of the noisiest and gayest there. I could hardly recognize the proud, reserved boy I knew. The Pryse-Davieses were bewitched with him and he with them. “ What has come to you, MaeLeish?” I asked, when I came upon him, sitting in a dark comer alone, his face buried in his hands. He looked up with a queer, wild smile. “I’m not mad, Jones, or melancholy. I’m fey ; that’s what it is.” “ Come home now, there's a good fellow— it’s past 2, and you wanted to be early. ” “Not a bit of it! I’vo a valse with Miss Winnie, and half a dozen other dances to dispose of.” The other men departed by degrees. MaeLeish staid on to the last, and I with him. ’ I might have left him, but some instinct detained me. At last we took leave.

Our shortest way home was through Lady’s avenue, and I took it without reflection. Half way through the grove MaeLeish stopped. He had forgotten some nonsensical commission of one of the girls. “I’ll overtake you,” he said. “I must go back.” I was too provoked with him to argue, but walked on ; then sat down in the gloom on an overturned wheelbarrow and waited. Someone passed me a few minutes later. He was in the full light of the moon, and I recognized the same shabby figure I had seen twice before—a young, broad-shouldered, slouching rough. He seemed to disappear suddenly behind one of the trees as a footstep approached and MacLeish’s voice was heard singing a valse tune. I caught a glimpse of his Glengarry and plaid as he crossed a streak of moonlight, and the next moment heard a sudden exclamation. There came a scuffle—blows—and before I could reach them a heavy fall—a groan. MaeLeish was on his knees struggling to rise, held down in the grasp of a fallen man. He shook him off as I got up, and staggered to a tree, against which he leaned, panting and breathless. “He tried to garrote me, and when I managed to twist out of his hands dealt me a heavy blow on, the head. I only struck him once in self-defense. Is he damaged ? ” I turned the fallen man over on his back. He lay-still. I dragged him to the moonlight. “MaeLeish! He’s dead!” But MaeLeish had dropped on his

knees beside him, and was gazing into the dead face with a face as ghastly, “ Fergus I Fergus MacLeish! Have We met? At last I” He rose perfectly panic stricken. It was his cousin, he was assured, and indeed the likeness would have convinced me of the fact without the additional evidence of the marked eyelid. MacLeish was distraught with terror. It was murder he had done; he should die a felon’s death. Nothing I could say would reassure him. “Leave him here. Who’s to know anything about him ? ” I said at last. “ Society is well rid of him. What on earth are you going to do now ? ” He had seized one of the pickaxes left by the laborers, and was digging in fierce haste under the last elm tree. “ grave was<to be here,” he said. “ He came to show me the spot” I suppose it was a mad thing to do, but seeing him resolved I turned to with the spade and helped him. The earth, being newly laid, was light and easily moved, and we soon made a trench deep enough for a grave. Then we laid the body gently down, and shoveled the earth in with feverish haste. The broad staring moon showed every pebble on the pathway, every leaf on the earth. We removed all traces of the struggle, replaced the tools, and hurried home in utter silence.

MacLeish held out his hand without speaking, as he stopped at his own door. I took it without hesitation. I am glad to remember that. He fixed his wild, woful eyes on me for a moment, and then hurried away. I was too excited and horror-stricken to think, and I lay down, dreading the hours that had to pass before morning. Strange to say, I slept quietly and dreamlessly far into the next day, and when I awoke I could not realize the tragedy in which I had taken part. “ I’ve dreamed it all,” I kept saying to myself; “ and a dream is soon forgotten. I’ll go and have a swim and then see if the Pryse-Davies girls are’ out on the parade. It must be all a nightmare.” Still, persuade myself as I might, there were two things I could not do—pass down the avenue or face MacLeish. Where was he, I asked his servant Gene to the ranges. I would go and meet the party returning. It would be best to get the first meeting over in public. I walked quietly along the pretty country lane, listening for the well-known crack of the rifles. All was silent. Then, at a turn of the road, I came suddenly upon a dozen figures or so walking slowly and silently. Four of them bore a hurdle, on which lay something with an officer’s cloak thrown over it. “ What is it ?” I asked, though I knew beforehand what the very words of the reply were going io be, somehow. “Poor MacLeish! He was in the butts, and came out to look at the target They had ceased firing at it. We were shooting at long range, and some one—l don’t know who—fired at the wrong target. Shot through the heart, he dropped without a cry, stone-dead.” I left Cinqhaven that night, and will never set foot there again as long as I live.—7'Ae Argosy.