Daily Kennebec journal. [microfilm reel] (Augusta, Me.) 1870-1975, 1870-03-04
Daily Aennebff yournal.
"BoyNIE PRINCE CHARLIE"

of CullOden, that "bOnnle frlnce CharHe
lay hid amongst the passes in Glen Nor.
iston, and dared not move out. for posted
far and wide from the point of Ben Attow
to Beauley were the English red-coats. II
was known that the prince was in hiding
in the glen, and the English Government
were resolved to intercept him in any at
tempt he might make to reach the sea-
coast But there were some who, death
and exile Drawing" were bent on reieas-
ing him from his perilous position.
'sYell no forget me entirely, Mary
hinny, if so be ye'd never see me mar GIN
this night be over. lis lang, ureafy
way I'm travelling cen, and there's name
so surefooted but wha'll slip ane DAY
Kiss me ance MAR, and gle me your word
veil think on your Jamie till ye meet MIN
again; it might be on airth. but it may be
in heaven"
.sWhat for are We so downcast this cen,
Jamie? This mony a time we've walked
frae Invermoriston to Caenacroich syne We
put the pack upon yer shoulder. Cheer
up, mon, and sure I'll ne'er forget We tll
we're back hame on the morn. 1e max
me street. wi Your dolefu' wailings."
"Dinna greet, lassie; it may be I'm
wrang, but I've weight that presses
uON Ii lily ildiIt anu lOtCbouNs sssa 100 II.
for we twa. But gin return, or gin Ia
asleep amang the stones in the glen, It's a
one syne we maun meet again. My lassie
and NV king are a the warld to me-"
The pedlar shouldered his pack and
slowly wound his way down the little path
from the Highland clachan. At the foot of
a mound he stood and looked back.
The last rays of the setting sun dyed the
rich brown heather of the matched cottage
to "a ruddier hue, and turned the fiaxen
locks of his Mary to a halo of gold.
The high hills behind formed a back
ground of deep indigo to the picture, and
fondly the pedlar gazed on that well-known
scene; then, waving his hand to the tall
girl who stood shading her eyes from the
sun TO look after him, resumed his course.
1t led him over mountains and moors,
through woods of pine-trees, and by the
foaming, tumbling river Moriston.
1t was still frosty winters night; each
footstep that he took rustled the dying
leaves or resounded along the highway.
The moon, gradually rising from the bed
of clouds, illumined the whole scene, gave
a mysterious wilderness to the snow-capped
distant mountains, and sparkled diamond
like upon the crystal drops of dew and
hoar-frost by the roadside. The feathery
birch-trees, all brown and bent by their
frequent contests with the wind, now
rested motionless from their ceaseless
murmurings. Nothing disturbed the quiet
save the pedlar's footsteps, for the very
deer accustomed to his frequent journeys
to and fro, knew him, and lay still in their
coverts Often and often had he trod that
path, whistling gaily, perhaps, as he went
or thinking of his Mary but now he trod
gloomily, drearily, no sound on his lips
but the dull, dread presentment weighing
down his heart.
'sWhist y sounded n voice suddenly in
his ear, and the pedlar started back several
PAGES. A tall gillie stood before him, hav-
ing risen as it were. from the very earth it
self. The pedlar's alarm was, however,
short-lived. He recognized friend, and
it was with "Weel met, Sandy. Fran
where spring We ?" that he advanced with
outstretched hand.
The gillie took it aud replied
'Ye're late mon. I've been waiting for
We this hour and mair. / came from ane
we know" pointing with his finger toward
the rocks beside the Moriston, ''wb0 bids
me tell you dinna gang yer road this night.
The glen is chock flu % red-coats. and We
might weel be mistaken for ane We are
not, and frae those mistakes there's no
turning back. Ye know weel ye're unco'
like him in the face
.And do We think, Sandy, It's a for
nought I'm made SO unco' like him? If
so be by such mistake he were enabled
TO leave his den i the rocks, where he
lies mair like puir BEAST than the king
o. this land, would ii be wad hinder sic
blessedness9 Tis little sic puir lad as |
can do for him; buty mauna stop me frae
that little"
Sandy returned no answer. The senti-
ment was to nearly akin to his own feel |
ings for him to contradict it, yet after his
commission he dared not encourage it. |
Farewell mon.n was all he said, and
sprung into the thickets.
The pedlar continued his march, deep in
thought. By-and-by the glen opened out
wider; the trees ceased, meadows and
moors approached the river banks, the
hills receded further back on each side,
and then rose sky-wards more loftily than
before, more rugged and bare. Now again
they approached nearer as the pedlar
gained the head of the glen--the Caen-
acroich, as it is called. A tributary tor
rent came roofing its water into the Nor
riston, and far off the sound Of water fall
ling over the rocks broke upon the pedlars
ear. The gray dawn was just stealing
across the horizon when he neared his
destination. The end was very close but
what was that end to be? There is another
sound besides the falling waters to be
heard now as the pedlar skirts round
turn in the road. It is the regular tramp
to and fro of a man on guard-of SEN
tinel.
HALT" cries stern voice, and instantly
two soldiers, one from each side of the
road, darted forward.
The pedlar also sprang forward with an
involuntary instinct of self-preservation !;
but it was too late. He was caught and
pinioned.
"Who are you? and what is your bust
ness?n were the questions now addressed
to him. But he returned no answer.
at is the devil himself" chimed in a
third voice, leaping from bank. ''Shoot
him, boys before he escape. know him
well.
Tie him to that tree" said the first
soldier, land we'll make short work OF
the REBEL