Gilian The Dreamer | Page 4

the sea gave light to the interior, that would
have been dull and mean but for the brilliant delf upon the dresser rack
and the cleanliness of all things and the smiling faces of Jean Clerk and
her sister. The hum of Jean's wheel had filled the chamber as he entered;
now it was stilled and the spinner sat with the wool pinched in her
fingers, as she welcomed her little relative. Her sister--Aliset Dhu they
called her, and if black she was, it had been long ago, for now her hair

was like the drifted snow--stood behind her, looking up from her girdle
where oaten bannocks toasted.
He stood with his bonnet in his hand. Against his will the grief of his
loss swept over him more masterfully than it had yet done, for those
two sisters had never been seen by him before except in the company of
their relative the little old woman with a face like a nut, and the sobs
that shook him were checked by no reflection of the play-actor. He was
incapable of utterance.
"O my boy, my boy!" cried Jean Clerk. "Do I not know your story? I
dreamt last night I saw a white horse galloping over Tombreck to
Ladyfield and the rider of him had his face in his plaid. Peace with her,
and her share of Paradise!"
And thus my hero, who thought so much upon the way of his message,
had no need to convey it any way at all.
CHAPTER II
--THE PENSIONERS
"Go round," said Jean Clerk, "and tell the Paymaster; he'll be the sorry
man to lose his manager."
"Will he be in his house?" asked Gilian, eating the last of his town
bread with butter and sugar.
"In his house indeed!" cried Jean, her eyes still red with weeping. "It is
easy to see you are from the glen, when at this time of day you would
be for seeking a gentleman soldier in his own house in this town. No!
no! go round to Sergeant More's change-house, at the quay-head, and
you'll find the Captain there with his cronies."
So round went Gilian, and there he came upon the pensioners, with
Captain John Campbell, late Paymaster of his Majesty's 46th Foot, at
their head.

The pensioners, the officers, ah! when I look up the silent street of the
town nowadays and see the old houses empty but for weavers, and
merchants, and mechanics, people of useful purposes but little manly
interest, and know that all we have of martial glory is a dust under a
score of tombstones in the yard, I find it ill to believe that ever wars
were bringing trade for youth and valour to our midst. The warriors are
gone; they do not fight their battles over any more at a meridian dram,
or late sitting about the bowl where the Trinidad lemon floated in slices
on the philtre of joy. They are up bye yonder in the shadow of the rock
with the sea grumbling constantly beside them, and their names and
offices, and the dignities of their battles, and the long number of their
years, are carved deeply, but not deeply enough, for what is there of
their fame and valour to the fore when the threshing rain and the
crumbling frost have worn the legend off the freestone slab? We are
left stranded high and dry upon times of peace, but the old war-dogs,
old heroes, old gentles of the stock and cane--they had seen the glories
of life, and felt the zest of it. Bustling times! the drums beat at the
Cross in those days, the trumpeters playing alluringly up the lanes to
young hearts to come away; pipers squeezed out upon their instruments
the fine tunes that in the time I speak of no lad of Gaelic blood could
hear but he must down with the flail or sheep-hook and on with the
philabeg and up with the sword. Gentlemen were for ever going to wars
or coming from them; were they not of the clan, was not the Duke their
cousin, as the way of putting it was, and by his gracious offices many a
pock-pudding English corps got a colonel with a touch of the Gaelic in
his word of command as well as in his temper. They went away
ensigns--some of them indeed went to the very tail of the rank and file
with Mistress Musket the brown besom--and they came back
Majors-General, with wounds and pensions. "Is not this a proud day for
the town with three Generals standing at the Cross?" said the Paymaster
once, looking with pride at his brother and Turner of Maam and
Campbell of Strachur standing together leaning on their rattans at a
market. It was in