Evening star. [volume] (Washington, D.C.) 1854-1972, 1856-06-21
EVENING STAR
THE sPoRTsMAN's ADVENTURE.
1 SCOTTISH TALE.

A SCOTTISH TALE.
During the early part Of the summer, in the
| year 18-, ithsppened that two young sports
men in the highlands Of Scotland, wearied by
long days shooting, were approaching
hillside spring, famous in that wild district
for the GOODNESS and pureness of its waters.
| They had Just reached the brow of the eleva-
tioE overlooking the rural fountain, when they
saw young girl, in the first blush of woman
| ly beauty, close by the spring. 80
| She was sitting on q low rock that rose by
the side of the fountain, her dimpled elbow
| resting on the cliff, and her head leaning on
her hand. Her figure was slight and sylph-
like, yet exquisitely proportioned. Her hair
was golden in color, and flowed in natural
ringlets. on her shoulders :. 80 -r
"See was L not right ?' said one in a whis
| per to his companion She had been gath
ering lilies; there are some still in her hand.
| But let as descend" !"
| The speaker had besn leaning carelessly on
his gun as he spoke, and, now, preparatory to
proceeding, threw it to his shoulder. UnfOr-
tunateiy the trigger caught in bramble, and
tho piece went off, lodging its contents in his
side. He staggered and fell .- .
GOOD heavens"' cried his companion,
| springing to his assistance, and lifting the
| wounded man up, "are you killed ?'
The young girl We have described had been
buried 10 a profound reverie. but at the report
|
to see whence it proceeded In moment she
| caught sight of the wounded m an lying on the
| heather above her, while his friend, lying on
4 one knee, supported the head of the sufferer.
| As soon as the sportsman saw the girl was
watching him, he shouted and waved his arm
for help -.-'
The timid Scottish maiden, who but a mo-
| ment before was on the point of flying, now
| turned and began to ascend the hill side.
| My poor friend" F" said the sportsman, dofT-
ing his hat as she approached, " has met with
an unfortunate accident, and do not know
| what &c do, or where to bear him
| A deep blush dyed the girls cheek as she
encountered the gaze Of a stranger, but it
passed off Immediately, and, with presence
of mind worthy of one older, she stopped down
| to see if the wounded man was dead.
| g He breathes still, " she said, as she broke
of a delicate leaf from one Of her lilies and
held it to his nostril and looking at his COM
| pan ion, she continued, do you think you
| could carry him to the spring?' 'l
The sportsman answered by carefully lift
ing his friend up in his arms and bearing him
down the hillside, the young girl following.
."Place him here" she said, pointing to the
| slightly elevated bank, " and lean his head
| against the rock. Everything" she cOntin-
ued, now depends on your getting a surgeon
soon. If you Will follow that path to your
| right around the turn of the HILL you will
Il
you can take and ride to the little town of
Abernethy, some FIVE miles off, where fortu-
| nately a surgeon may be had At the cabin
| you will find shepherd or two-tell them to
bring some bedclothes and a settee, on which
| to carry your friend to the house. 1t Is an
| humble place, but better than the hillside
| By the time you get back with the surgeon we
| shall have your friend in comfortable bed,
and 1 hope doing better"
| She spoke with so quick a perception of
| what was best to be done, and did il so COM
| pOsedly, that the sportsman, submitting him
self entirely to her guidance, fastened to ex
| ecute her commission.
| When he had vanished around the hill the
young girl took some water in her hands and
| began to bathe the face of the wounded man
But he still lay insensible, and she persisted
In her task for some time, without any signs Of
| life being percepuble. ..... 80
| "Alas ~ she said, q he is dead and vet
but half an hour ago he was in the full
| strength of manhood. 1t cannot bel have
heard" she continued eagerly, as if sud-
| den thought had struck her, and she began to
tear open his vest to get at the wound, /" that
| my grandsire'died at Culloden from the blood
coagulsting in the wound, when, if a surgeon
had been by he might have been saved. What
it this should be the case here ?"
| She had by this time barred sufficient of his
| person to get at the orifce Of the wound The
4 u.
| stopped down and tenderly commenced wping
away the CONCEALED blood. She had not been
long engaged in her task of mercy when the
wounded man stirred, and opening his eyes,
fixed them earnestly upon her
| Where am I!'' he inquired, for his men,
| Ory was yet vague. "Ahi L rememLer-my
| gun went off. But where is Harry?"
| eff you moan your friend, % said the young
| lady, =" he is gone for a surgeon. have con-
4 a. watch
| come to carry you to our cabin And here
| they come" she exclaimed, clasping her
| hands, equally glad to conclude this embar-
| RAISING tete g tete and to see the wounded man
placed in a situation of more comfort
"Heaven bless you!' said the sufferer,
| with emphasis you have saved my life
In a few moments the wounded man was
placed on a settee. brought by the shepherds,
| and the little cavalcade wended its way to-
| ward the cabin. The maiden walked last,
and by her side stalked sadly the two dogs Of
| the sufferer; and the dumb animals, with a
| sense almost human. as if appreciating her
kindness to their master, looked up affection
| ately into her face every few steps. The cabin
was like those existing everywhere in the
highlands rude but cheerful habitation,
| but was both larger than usual, and adorned
with more taste inside.
In about two hours the friend of the suffer
er returned, bringing with him the surgeon,
than an hour, and when he came forth the
young girl was sitting anxiously by the fire,
in company with a middle aged woman, the
wife of one of the shepherds.
"Oh, Miss Heller" said the old surgeon,
answering the inquiry of her eyes, you have
saved the life Of as brave lad as ever shot
muir-cock or stalked red deer. 1 know all
about it, you see, lassie; you came of a gen.
erous and gallant race" and he patted her
head as father would that of a favorite
daughter, adding, as if t. himself. " It's
pity the Southron has the broad acres that
were once her ancestors; and that she, COM
ing of a cheftain's line, should have nothing
but a cabin and a few bits of hill side for a
flock or two of sheep"
The next day the wounded man was pro-
nounced better, but still in very critical po-
sition; and his removal was forbidden by the
old surgeon.
aye maun keep him here awhile yet, las
sic" he said, addressing Helen "and I'm al
most persuaded veil hae to be his nurse. He