A NIGHT MARCH.*

BY THE OLD FOREST RANGER.

"WELL, Doctor, how fares it with you this morning?" asked Mansfield, pulling aside the canvass door, and thrusting his head into the Doctor's tent, about two hours before daylight, on the morning succeeding the memorable elephant-hunt, which had so nearly proved fatal to poor Macphee.

"Wha's yon?" muttered the Doctor, with a grunt like a sick bear; partially opening his eyes, and suddenly closing them again, to exclude the light of the lantern which Mansfield carried in his hand. "What ails you, you misleer'd loon, to gang stavin' about the camp at this time o' night, wi' your cutty sark, and your lang spauls o' legs, and your bit lantern in your hand, for a' the world like the troubled speerit o' a departed tinkler, walking the earth in search o' his breeks? If you canna' sleep yoursel', sir, I wish ye would find some other place to play your cantraips in, and no disturb the rest o' honest folk, that want to sleep." And the Doctor, turning his back upon the unwelcome intruder with a stifled groan, and a catching of the breath, which showed that the effort cost him considerable pain, drew the bedclothes sulkily over his head, and settled himself as if determined to answer no further question.

"I beg your pardon, my dear Doctor, for disturbing you," replied Mansfield, smiling at the poor Doctor's crusty humour. "I merely came to inquire after your health, and to ask whether you are well enough to undertake a march this morning, for we have a long way to go, and it is high time for us to think of striking the camp, if we are to move." "Umph!" grunted the Doctor, tucking his knees up to his chin, and pulling the bedclothes farther over his head with an impatient jerk, as he felt the cold morning air creeping round the walls of the

tent.

"But I see you are still in great pain, and am afraid you must be more seriously injured than you at first supposed. Come, man, let me look at you. I suspect you ought to lose a little blood, or, at all events, a repetition of the hot fomentation you applied last night, might help to relieve you. Shall I call Heels, and desire him to prepare some hot water?"

"Where the deil did you learn the doctoring trade, may I ask?" growled the Doctor, thrusting his black muzzle from under the bedclothes, and looking askance at Mansfield over his shoulder: "do you suppose, sir, that I took out my degree at the College of Edinburgh for nathing? or that I am soft enough to lie here, and let mysel' be sticket, and plotted wi' hot water, like an auld soo, by a daft, harumscarum, throughother, bletherin' loon o' a sodger, that has nae mair knowledge o' the noble science of pharmacy than my Granny ?-and no that same-for she, honest woman, had some skill o' the rhumatis, and was no' an ill Howdy, at a pinch.-Awa! out o' that, I say, and dinna fash me nae mair wi' your havers, for I'm just perfect ramfeezled and disjaskit for want o' rest."

Continued from No. ccxi., p. 336.

"Well, well, Doctor," said Mansfield, striving to suppress a laugh, as he approached the bed, and patted the Doctor gently on the shoulder, "don't be so sulky about it, you old bear; there is no necessity for your moving, unless you like it; so keep yourself quiet, and try to sleep. I shall call you when breakfast is ready, and hope to find your temper improved, as well as your bodily ailments. Adieu, my old boy, and pleasant dreams to you."

"Come back here, Captain," cried the Doctor, poking his head from under the clothes, and extending his long bony hand towards Mansfield, who was about to retire." Come back here, I tell you, and shake hands with me. Hoot, fie, sir! what ails you to be in sic a dooms hurry? I thought ye might hae kent better than to hae taken a cankered body at his word, yon way."

"Well, old Sulky," said Mansfield, returning, and taking the Doctor's hand in his, "what is the matter now?"

"You maun excuse me," said the poor Doctor, squeezing his hand affectionately; "you maun excuse me, sir, for being a wee bit cankered ways this morning. Ye ken, sir, I'm gae short in the temper at the best o' times; and I'm so sair birzed and churted, that, between that and the want o'rest, I'm just a wee bit mair cantankerous than ordinar. It was an ill-done thing, it was an unco ill-done thing in me, sir, to speak sae short to you, to whom I owe my life; but I hope you'll excuse me, Captain, and believe that I'm no ungratefu', although the pain has made me a wee crabbit like."

"No, no, my dear Doctor," said Mansfield, returning the pressure of his hand. "I know your honest heart too well to suspect you of ingratitude and a little fretfulness is excusable in one who has passed a sleepless night of suffering; so pray, do not make yourself uneasy about it, but keep quiet; and, if you can only get a few hours sleep, I have no doubt you will awake in such a good humour, that a child might play with you."

"Thank you, thank you, Captain," said the Doctor, squeezing his hand hard; "it's o'er good o' you to forgie me so easily, and I'm just ashamed o' mysel' for giving way to pain, and lying here, girning like an auld wife. I believe it's best for me to rise after a', for I canna sleep; and, as there are nae bones broken, the exercise o' riding, and a good sweat, will, maybe, do me good.-Heels, ye black sinner!-Heels, I say! bring me my clothes." So saying, the Doctor, with one mighty effort, and one fearful grunt, kicked his long legs out of bed, and sat upright.

Mansfield, after trying in vain to dissuade him from his purpose-for the Doctor was as obstinate as a mule when once he got a crotchet in his head-lighted a candle from his lantern, and departed to rouse the camp, leaving the Doctor to be dressed by Heels, who was striving, as gently as possible, to insinuate his battered limbs into the legs and sleeves of his garments. This operation, however, was not completed without extorting sundry groans and curses from the irritable patient, who, between the twitches of pain, might be heard muttering, between his clenched teeth, "D-n the muckle black beast! I believe he has yerkit every bane in my body out o' its place; but I will hae my ain way, in spite o' him. I will rise, though the deil should girn in my face."

It is not yet within two hours of daylight; but the moon, although rapidly sinking towards the western horizon, and now partially concealed by the waving tree-tops, still sheds a broken light upon the drowsy camp, checkering the dew-bespangled grass with strange fantastic shadows, and ever-changing spots of sparkling light. The wandering night-wind sighs through the forest, wafting to the ear the melancholy murmur of the lonely river, as, in solitary grandeur, it glides along its dark mysterious course, far, far away into the unknown wilderness. But no sound of life is there-no living thing is seen to move in that sequestered spot. The white-robed figures of the natives, stretched at full length upon the ground, look like sheeted corpses in the cold moonlight. Silence reigns within the tents, and the death-like calm, which pervades the whole scene, tends to impress the mind of the beholder with a solemn feeling of awe, as if he gazed upon a scene, which, once indeed, had teemed with life, but over which the cold breath of the destroying angel had passed, during the silent watches of the night, leaving the forest winds, as they howled through the wilderness, to sing the dirges of the unburied dead.

But hark!--the cheerful notes of a bugle rise full and clear upon the morning air, rousing the startled echoes, which slumbered deep amidst the gloomy arches of the forest; and, at that joyous sound, the slumbering camp, which so lately presented an image of death, suddenly bursts into life, as if aroused from its trance by the mighty voice of a magician. The active Lascars are already busy in knocking up the tent-pegs; their wildly-chanted song keeping time to the rapid stroke of their mallets. The horse-keepers bestir themselves to rub down and saddle their masters' steeds; the proud animals snorting and pawing the ground, as if impatient of their long rest, and eager for the chase. A confused jingling of bells, mingled with the grunting of camels, and the faint lowing of oxen, announce that the beasts of burden are also ou the move. The dusky figures of the native servants, may be seen flitting about like evil spirits, and jostling each other, in the eager haste to pack up and despatch their masters' baggage. Groups of women and children, shivering in the cold morning air, crouch closely around the numerous fires, for which the old litter of the horses has furnished them a ready material; their gaudy-coloured dresses, picturesque figures, and graceful attitudes, now thrown out in strong relief against the dark background of trees, and again shrouded in comparative darkness, as the expiring fire, occasionally replenished by a handful of straw or dry leaves, suddenly sends up a bright sheet of bickering flame, and again subsides into a dull red glow. Here the kneeling form of a camel is distinctly seen by the light of a neighbouring fire, gnashing his long tusks, and threatening, with out-stretched neck, the busy natives who are employed in arranging his load; and there the gigantic form of the stately elephant may be faintly traced, advancing slowly from amidst the surrounding gloom, like a moving tower. Whilst, from the remoter clumps of trees, where the deepened gloom renders the actors of the busy scene invisible, the wild song of the camel-drivers, intermixed with hearty maledictions denounced against the ancestors of some restive brute, which unwillingly submits itself to be accoutred for the march, come faintly borne on the night wind. Old Kamah is the only one of the busy throng who appears unoccupied, as he leans

against the stem of a tree, smoking a cherost, and bearing in his hand a flaming torch, with which, in the capacity of guide, he has prepared bunself, to direct the steps of the travellers through the dark paths of the forest, as well as to scare any wild animal which may happen to cross their path during the hour of darkness which must intervene between the setting of the moon and the appearance of daylight.

In little more than half an hour from the time that the signal for morning had been given, every tent was struck, and the last camel loaded; and Mansfield, who maintained a sort of military discipline in his hunting camp, having remained to see the latest straggler quit the ground, our three friends mounted their horses, and, turning their backs upon the deserted camp-ground, struck into the forest by a different path from the one by which they had arrived; it being their intention to return to the Hills, by a circuitous route through the plains, where Mansfield expected to fall in with wild hog and antelope.

The moon had by this time set; and, notwithstanding the light of the torch which old Kamah carried in front, the horsemen found some difficulty in preventing their horses from falling in the rugged path, along which, in spite of the deepened gloom, occasioned by the overhanging trees, their savage guide pursued his onward course, with a steadiness of purpose, and swiftness of foot, which appeared almost miraculous.

A little more than an hour's riding sufficed to carry them through the denser part of the forest, which was traversed almost in silence; the constant attention necessary to prevent their horses from stumbling over roots of trees, and other impediments, keeping them too fully occupied to admit of much conversation; neither did they encounter any of the savage denizens of the forest, although, more than once, a suspicious rustling among the branches made the poor Doctor's heart rise to his throat, and forced upon his recollection, with fearful distinctness, all the ghastly tales he had ever heard of night attacks from tigers and wild elephants.

The first gray tints of morning were beginning to appear, as they emerged from the dense bamboo jungle, and entered a romantic valley, flanked by lofty hills, wooded almost to the top, and terminating in abrupt rocky crags, which reared their gray and thunder-riven suinmits to the clouds.

Streaks of purple and gold are spreading gradually over the eastern sky, against which is traced the fine bold outline of the mountain, which appears to rise perpendicularly from the path, like a wall of black marble; but darkness still broods over the valley, and the silence of night is unbroken, save by the distant sound of falling water, or the wild plaintive cry of a stray plover.

"The Lord be about us! what na eldrich skirl is yon?" whispered the Doctor, seizing Charles's arm with a convulsive grasp, as the silence was suddenly broken by an unearthly voice, apparently amongst the rocks above, uttering a loud and sudden Waugh O! Waugh Ö! followed by a half-suppressed scream, as of a person in the act of being strangled. "Oh! Maister Charles, hear to that-what can it be? It is surely something no canny."

Waugh O! Waugh O! replied that wild mysterious voice, so close, that it appeared to the Doctor to be shrieking in his very ears—then an awful pause, and again the wailing cry was heard, but at so great a Feb.-VOL. LV. NO. CCXVIII.

Р

distance, that it appeared to proceed from some wandering spirit of darkness, flitting from place to place with more than mortal speed.

"Why, I really do not know what to make of it," replied Charles: "I should take it to be the voice of some wild animal, probably a hyena, only that I am puzzled to account for the sudden and noiseless manner in which it moves from place to place."

"Na! na! Maister Charles, there is something no just so canny as a wild beast there, take my word for it. But we had better ride on and ask the Captain; for if we bide here any longer, it will, may be, come and grip us in the dark." So saying, the Doctor clapped spurs to his horse, and cantered after Mansfield, who had now got some distance ahead.

"Heard what?" asked Mansfield, smiling at the anxious manner with which the Doctor inquired whether he had "heard yon."—" Do you mean the owl ?"

"The Hoolet, sir?"

"Yes, just the Hoolet, as you call it; for I can assure you the savage cry you heard just now, although I confess it sounds rather unearthly, is nothing more than the cry of the great horned-owl. Often and often, during my rambles in the forest, have I been warned of the approach of day by that same ghostly watchman, and well do I know his ugly voice.'

"A Hoolet! a Hoolet!" cried the Doctor. "Od, sir, do you think to mak a fool o' me, and gar me believe that sic an unearthly skirl as yon, came frae the throat of a Hoolet, or ony other bird that ever was hatched? Na, na, sir! I'll no believe the like o' yon-you maun no hae heerd it right that sound was na uttered by ony craiter o' this world, and sae some o' us will find to our cost ere lang."

"What the devil do you suppose it is then?" asked Mansfield impatiently.

"Whist, Captain! speak laich, for ony sake," whispered the Doctor, drawing closer to him, and seizing him by the arm. "It's the Banshee,* sir-its the Banshee, as sure as I'm a miserable sinner; and tak my word for't, nae good ever comes o' hearing her ill-omened wail." "A Hoolet, indeed! Na, na, that's nae Hoolet!" and the Doctor shook his head mournfully; for although a sensible man in other respects, he had never been able entirely to divest himself of the superstitious ideas which had been instilled into his mind, almost with his mother's milk, and like many of his countrymen, in the same sphere of life, fully believed in the existence of that harbinger of death, the Banshee.

"Well, well, Doctor," replied Mansfield, laughing, "you, being a Scotchman, ought to know more about the Banshee than I do; but if that be she, I can only say, her style of singing does but little credit to the country from whence she came."

"She was na singing-she was greeting," replied the Doctor, with great naiveté.

"Well, laughing or greeting, she has a cursed ugly voice of her own. But hark ye, Doctor," continued Mansfield, unslinging his rifle, and

A peculiar sort of spirit, indigenous to the Highlands of Scotland and Ireland, which attaches herself to particular families, and is heard sighing and wailing previous to the death of any of its members.