THE EVE OF ALL-HALLOWS;

OR,

ADELAIDE OF TYRCONNEL;

A ROMANCE.

IN THREE VOLUMES.

By MATTHEW WELD HARTSTONGE, Esq. M. R. I. A.

VOL. I.

LONDON:

FOR G. B. WHITTAKER, AVE MARIA LANE.

1825.

TO

SIR WALTER SCOTT, OF ABBOTSFORD, BART.,

&c. &c. &c.

(WITH WHOSE KIND PERMISSION,)

THE FOLLOWING TALE OF ERIN

IS RESPECTFULLY INSCRIBED,

BY HIS EVER OBLIGED FRIEND

AND FAITHFUL SERVANT,

THE AUTHOR.

Molesworth-street, Dublin,

February 1, 1825.

CONTENTS

CHAPTER I.

[Pg 1]

It was upon a dark and lowering afternoon, the 30th day of October, one thousand six hundred and——the day preceding The Eve of All-Hallows, when the Rev. Doctor [Pg 2]M'Kenzie, at that time Chaplain to his Grace the Duke of Tyrconnel, and who had been for some time in the ancient realm of Scotland, on a visit to his kind relatives and friends in that hospitable land, had formed a resolution to depart for the shores of Ireland, to meet his noble patron. When, in pursuance of this intention, he embarked on board "The William Wallace of Ayr," the sails of the vessel were unfurled, and the signal-flag was seen streaming from the pendant of the main-top-gallant, all giving true and significant indications that the sea-worthy vessel was upon the eve of sailing, and her destination was known to be for the northern coast of Ireland.

Torrents of rain had showered down during the entire of the day, as is not unusual at that advanced autumnal period; these were accompanied with loud peals of thunder, while continuous sheets of lightning illumined and flashed throughout the darkly tinted horizon, which were succeeded by frequent squalls of wind, that at intervals dying suddenly away, served but to make the returning [Pg 3]roaring blast the more tremendous and disheartening.

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

[Pg 4]

The reader may well imagine, from all these previous preparations, that the vessel and crew were on the point of sailing; when, hark! the hoarse exclaiming "halloo!" and the clattering hoofs of horsemen in full gallop, were heard sounding sullenly on the ear, and next loudly thundering their deep echoes through the hollow and deserted streets of Ayr, which rivetted the sailor to the deck, and at once, as if by magic influence, paralyzed and arrested his motions. The rapid progress of the strangers exciting the curiosity of the sailors, called forth in a no less degree the astonishment of the quiet and peaceable burghers of the good and loyal town of Ayr, who were then about to retire to repose. Two horsemen now advanced, their wearied steeds pressed onward with the utmost velocity; who halting for the instant at the brig of Ayr, inquired with breathless and hurried anxiety, if a boat did not there await in readiness to convey passengers on board "The William Wallace?" But the boat was gone! The few sailors, however, [Pg 5]or fishermen, who

loitered on the quay, said in reply, that they had gude reason to ken that the Bonnie Wullie had not slipped cables, sic warstling winds had blown sic a hurricane, that the gude and bonnie ship was unco snug in harbour.

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

[Pg 6]

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

He was enveloped in a plaid, and wore a Highland bonnet, richly surmounted with plumes; the stranger was nearly breathless from fatigue and the rapidity of his flight, for such it seemed to be; added to which the pallid brow and glaring eye-balls, gave strong and powerful demonstrations that there existed some other more influential, though latent source—perchance, it was of sorrow! which affected him even still more than bodily fatigue. But still these might have been only mere suspicions, suggestions probably unjustly awakened at the interesting moment, from the lateness of the hour, the hasty, embarrassed approach of the stranger; and added to all this, his impatience and manifest anxiety to embark. It might be assumed that "the sum and front" of all amounted to no more than this. What then of the extraordinary or the marvellous could by possibility attach to [Pg 7] circumstances that doubtless any individual, placed in similar situations, must unavoidably have felt, and betrayed a strong and equal portion of awkwardness and embarrassment to have encountered?

But without further interlocution we proceed onward with our tale. The stranger hastily, but urgently, inquired if the vessel would immediately sail? Upon his being answered in the affirmative, and the boat on the instant having been hauled down to take him on board, he promptly flung into it a small valise, which he had carried at his saddle-bow, and instantly springing after it himself, was followed by his attendant. When placed in the boat, he took his station at the stern, where, enveloped in his plaid, he sat immoveably silent, wrapped in gloomy meditation. Upon the stranger's having reached the ship, he still seemed deeply absorbed in thought; the same continued gloom and silence were preserved, while with hurried strides ever and anon he stately paced the [Pg 8]deck. At intervals, however, he would suddenly stop, and then he would deeply and intently muse within himself, with folded arms, and dark and lowering brow. Upon his valise was his address written, "Colonel Davidson,——Brigade;" the term or epithet preceding the word

"brigade," was torn off, whether by accident or intention did not appear.

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

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

"Weel," rejoins the comrade, "it is a donsie night, but I'm nae fasht my cantie carl! whare we a' maun gang togither, a' that's kenspeckle, sae nae mair Claivers!" [Pg 9]

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

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

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

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

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

"Is the vessel bound for Ireland?"

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

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

"Short time there were for gratulating speech."

Suddenly sounds like the mournful cadence of the plaintive Æolian harp, were heard [Pg 10]above the waves; but no shape, no form, was visible, not even in shadowy indistinctness: but solemn musical sounds, wherever they might have proceeded from, and mocking the human voice, only were heard, sad, slow, and solemn, as the choral chant, De mortuis.

THE SPIRIT OF THE STORM.

LOQUITUR.

THE DIRGE.

[Pg 11]

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

Every succeeding blast of wind bore increased terror as it swept along, and every startling sound excited suspense and dismay. Again the howling tempest burst forth, and raged with loud and renovated force, what time the stately stranger, or more correctly to [Pg 12]speak, Colonel Davidson, in deep apparent despondency, was incontinently observed furiously to pace to and fro the deck, as if in a state of mental aberration. He appeared of more than mortal size to the terrified eyes of the beholders; his action was wild and frantic. At one time he walked with such rapidity as if pursued by an enemy; anon he would suddenly halt, and, folding his arms, gaze upon the troubled deep, which seemed in unison with his troubled mind. Next, loudly he uttered a deep and contrite groan; when having rapidly pushed aside his plaid, he drew forth dirk, sabre, or sword, whatever it might be, which brightly glistened in the lightning flash; and then, with hurried impulse, he at once precipitated it down the side of the vessel into the foaming waves. It sunk with a hissing

noise, and its descent was accompanied by a fiend-like laugh, which arose from the billows; while at the moment, in a deep, base, sepulchral tone, the chorus of the dirge again fearfully was chanted from the waves:

Fuimus, Non Sumus!

[Pg 13]

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

The unearthly dirge and chorus, as has been before observed, were long remembered by Doctor M'Kenzie, who was then in bed in the cabin below; and he has been often heard to express his feelings deeply excited [Pg 14]upon this awful occasion; and to declare, that to the last expiring moment of his existence, he never could forget the mysterious sounds of that ominous night!

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

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

They scarcely had been a few hours at sea, bound on their destined track, when again, with resumed fury, the storm returned. They consequently were obliged to make several tacks, still endeavouring to force their way upon the perilous voyage. The harbour of Ayr is a dangerous one, and to attempt to regain it were to encounter greater danger than what might eventually await the navigators upon the open seas. For a length of time they beat between the isles of Arran and the Firth of Clyde; when at last the [Pg 15]wind changing, the breeze blew fair from the north-east, while the staunch vessel proceeded on her watery way. They were now sailing along the deep-indented and romantic coast of Ayrshire, when wearied by the eternal tacking to and fro, the heat and pent-up-air, and all the dull monotony and purgatorial misery of the cabin of a ship, Doctor M'Kenzie ascended the deck, and thence inhaled the invigorating and refreshing breeze, while intently, with admiring gaze, he surveyed the bold and broken masses of those picturesque

shores, which had become strongly illuminated by the bright lightning flashes then briskly darting over the wild masses of rock, bank, and brae, and glanced athwart steeple, fort, and tower, o'er lofty peak and promontory; when suddenly again all was immersed in darkness! Yet he perceived that this interesting scene totally failed to attract the stranger's attention, who had returned about the same time on deck that the Reverend Chaplain had done, and continued with persevering pertinacity to pace it, as upon the preceding day.

[Pg 16]

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

All these were passed by unlooked at and unobserved by the singular and silent stranger; those classic shores of fame, destined in subsequent ages to be immortalized in the ever imperishable song of the tender and inimitable Burns; these scenes, the favourite haunt of his "Tam o' Shanter," the rich and verdant lawns, and the romantic rocky braes of lordly Cassilis. All these delightful scenes were passed by unheeded, for the stranger did not even look to shore, but studiously turned his eyes seaward; and wrapt in deep, moody, mournful meditation, he seemed to rejoice in the bounding billow, and in the roar of the tempest. Not the mighty towering pyramid, of stupendous height, the colossal craig [Pg 17] of Ailsa,[3] which now they sailed past, could arrest his eye; nor the fierce wild scream of the osprey, on its summit, could strike his ear, although joined in hoarse, sullen, and dissonant chorus, by myriads of the Solan tribe, that plumaged its surrounding base; while other sea-fowl, like a misty-halo, hovering in mid-air, crowned its conic crest.

[Pg 18]

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

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

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

None now remained upon deck except such of the crew as were upon immediate duty, and who were lashed to the masts; the hatchways were closed down, and the sea, in mountain cataracts, burst over the deck with impetuous roar; while overpowered [Pg 19]with fatigue, perhaps too with fear, the passengers fell into a sound sleep. Thus passed away the first tempestuous night of their voyage.

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

"The storm-swept Orcades," [4]

in a boisterous swollen sea, and beneath a darkened sky. Sorry we are here to have it our duty to narrate that the vessel, probably from the straining of her timbers, unhappily sprung a leak. All hands instantly were at their post, and the crew exerted them-selves to the utmost in closing the chasm, and incessantly, without respite or intermission, plying every pump; and at length their efforts providentially fully succeeded: for what will not determined resolution do, [Pg 20]and persevering unabating energy achieve! Relieved from this imminent and impending danger, once more they proceed on their perilous course, amid this fearful warfare of the elements.

The entire of this eventful day the storm raged with unabated fury, the wind continuing still in the same point, and onward tumultuously they were driven by force of wave and wind. Towards night-fall the vessel came close to the Feroe Islands, where it shortly got hemmed in amid a cluster of rocks, not noticed in their charts. The night was pitch-dark. However, after an interval, the clouds partially giving way, the moon, which was nearly full, arose, and afforded a sufficient friendly light for the Captain to ascertain the extent of the danger which he had to encounter. He immediately caused the gunwale to be lightened, by throwing the guns overboard, which effectually raised her, and the waves of the returning tide assisted in extricating the vessel from imminent peril. They at length happily succeeded in clearing the vessel from her jeopardy, and [Pg 21]rescuing the crew from impending destruction. Still, however, it was momentarily dreaded that a new leak might break forth, or that the vessel, bulging upon other unknown rocks,

might go to pieces, and the sufferers be swallowed up by the treacherous and remorseless deep. These apprehensions continued throughout the entire day.

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

"While to the helm unfaithful still she lies."

The masts now became dreadfully shattered from the intensity of the storm. Dangers and difficulties so increased, that all hopes of safety seemed nearly at an end. Upon Providence, nevertheless, still the hapless crew devoutly placed their trust; the Captain, from the very perilous situation in which they were placed, was compelled to try one desperate remedy, namely, to cut away the shrouds, and stay, and with all possible expedition to hew down the mizen-mast. During this awful operation the crew did not conduct them-selves like men without hope, [Pg 22] although around them all was danger and despair! They felt, however, fully aware that little less than a miracle could extricate them from the horrors which surrounded them. With instant promptitude having obeyed and executed the orders of their Captain, with bold and skilful celerity they soon lightened the vessel, which bounded with desperate rapidity into the vast and boundless German Ocean: the watery world was now all before them, and Providence their guide!

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

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