M'Gillviray's Dream

A Forest-Ranger's Story. JUST nineteen long years, Jack, have passed o'er my shoulders Since close to this spot we lay waiting the foe; Ay, here is the mound where brave Percival moulders, And yonder's the place where poor Norman lies low; 'Twas only a skirmish — just eight of our number Were stretch'd on the sward when the fighting was done; We scooped out their beds, and we left them to slumber, The bold-hearted fellows went down with the sun. The month was October — young Summer was peeping Through evergreen forests where Spring, still supreme, Spread all the rich tints that she had in her keeping On tree, shrub, and bush, while each brooklet and stream With babblings of joy ran along to the river — But, hang it, old man, I am going too far; I talk as I used to when from Cupid's quiver Flew darts of affection my bosom to scar. I'm not much at poetry, Jack, though I've written Some nonsense in verse when my heart was aglow With what they call love — have you ever been smitten By some artful minx who deceived you? What, no? By Jove, you've been lucky; but, Jack, I'm digressing. Our quarters were here, under Lusk, and we made Our camp in the church without asking a blessing; This place is still known as the Mauku Stockade. I'd fought with Von Tempsky along the Waikato; I'd seen the green banks of that fair river dyed With British blood, red as the plumes of the rata When Spring scatters scarlet drops thick in her pride. I cared not for danger, and fighting was pleasure, The life of a Ranger was one of romance — A dare-devil fool ever ready to measure A savage's length with my rifle. 'Twas chance That sent me among them; I lived but for glory; My comrades were all of good mettle and true, And one was a hero; I'll tell you his story — God rest poor M'Gillviray — brave-hearted Hugh! I knew him for years, Jack, and shoulder to shoulder He stood by me often when swift leaden hail Whizzed close to our ears. Ah! old man, I was bolder In those valiant days than I'm now. To my tale: — The morning was gloomy, and Hugh sat beside me; We'd chumm'd in together for two years or more; I found him a brick, and he said when he tried me In front of the foe, “Dick, you're true to the core!” Enough — we were friends, and in trouble or danger We stuck by each other in camp and in fray. How often we find in the breast of a stranger The heart of a kind brother throbbing alway With warmest affection, responsive and tender — Hugh's breast had a tenant like this, and I knew In him I'd a brother, a friend, a defender, Prepared for whatever a brave man might do. The morning was dark, and the outlook was dreary; I noticed my comrade was sitting alone, All thoughtful, disconsolate, pallid, and weary, “Why, where has the gladness of yesterday flown? Come, tell me, Hugh, why you are gloomy this morning; What change has come over my light-hearted mate? You've not” (and I laughed) “had a Banshee's death-warning, Have Brownies or Goblins been sealing your fate?” He turned his pale face, while his eyes, full of sorrow, Met mine, and it seemed like the gaze of the dead; I spoke once again: “Hugh, we'll meet them to-morrow, Fierce Rewi is coming this way.” Then he said — “Why am I sad? Ah, comrade kind, We cannot tell why shadows fall Across the soul and o'er the mind; We cannot tell why dreams recall Old scenes endeared by mem'ry's spell, Old haunts where love and sorrow met, Old spots where airy castles fell, And Hope's young sun for ever set; We cannot tell why thought should leap Across the ocean's wide expanse, And through the telescope of sleep Review the dead years at a glance; We cannot tell—— But why should I Philosophize? We know we're here, And for the wherefore and the why, That problem suits the sage and seer, But not the soldier. Listen, mate — I'm not a coward, for I've stood Full face to face with death, and fate Has led me safe through scenes of blood; But now my hour is drawing nigh, Life's battle now is nearly done, For me to-morrow's arching sky Shall canopy no rising sun.” “Why, comrade, you but jest,” I said; “You shouldn't joke with me, you know; To-morrow's sun shall shine o'erhead, And see us watching for the foe.” “Nay, comrade, we must part to-day, A hand has beckon'd through the gloom, And signalled me away, away To brighter realms beyond the tomb; You smile and count me as a slave Of superstition — be it so; My vision stretches o'er the grave; I travel where you cannot go. Ah! friend, you were not nursed beneath The Highland hills, where every glen Is filled with those who've conquered death — Is tenanted with ghosts of men. Ah! friend, your feet have never trod The mighty Bens, whose summits grim Approach the starry gates of God, Where heaven grows bright and earth grows dim. The legendary lore that clings Round Highland hearts you have not felt, Nor yet the weird imaginings Which stir the spirit of the Celt. Well, hear my story — listen, pray, And I'll explain why I am sad And in a downcast mood to-day. You smile again and deem me mad — Last night I was again a boy Light-hearted 'mong my native hills, Filled with a bright, ecstatic joy, And pure as my own mountain rills; I stood beneath old Monagh Leagh, Nor far from rugged Dumnaglass, And in the distance I could see Wild Farracagh's romantic Pass; A monarch proud, a youthful king, Alone with nature there I stood, At peace with God and everything, For all His works seemed fair and good; But best and fairest of them all Was she who came to meet me there, — I little thought dreams could recall Those silken waves of sunny hair, That tender smile, those eyes of blue, The magic of whose flashing glance Inflamed my soul with love, and threw A glamour round me, — joyous trance! We met last night just as of old, And Elsie nestled by my side, While playing with each tress of gold I whispered, ‘Lassie, be my bride.’ The sweet soft answer came — why dwell On that dear moment of delight? Our heaven was in that Highland dell, Where all seemed beautiful and bright. We parted, and my dreaming soul On Fancy's pinions forward flew O'er five short years, and reached the goal That love and hope had kept in view. Oh, joyous day! a merry throng Were gathered on the Clachan green; The villagers, with dance and song, Held jubilee; that happy scene Is treasured in my memory still. I hold again that little hand; I hear the whispered word, ‘I will!’ I lead her through that cheerful band, While Donald Beg, and Fergus Mohr, And Angus Dhu — the pipers three — Strike up, while marching on before, The pibroch of M'Gillviray. Oh! how the wild notes brought a flood Of mem'ries bright and glories gone, When, for the Royal Stuart blood. Our chief led great Clan Chattan on To famed Culloden's field: — 'Tis past, That marriage scene with all its charms And winter comes with freezing blast, To find my young wife in my arms, And all the villagers in tears Assembled round us — she was gone; The prize was mine a few short years, And I was now alone, alone. Oh! what had I to live for then? One clasp, one look, one fond caress, And flying far from each proud Ben, With sorrow deep as dark Loch Ness, I left my humble Highland home, To gaze on Monagh Leagh no more. With blighted heart I crossed the foam And landed on New Zealand's shore; You know the rest——” “But what has all This home-sick dreaming got to do With death, my friend?” “I've got a call To meet my Elsie.” “Nonsense, Hugh!” I laughed, but still his brow was sad; “Cheer up and chase this gloom away, There's pleasure yet in life, my lad.” “I tell you we must part to-day; I have not told you all that passed Before me in my dreaming hours. This day, with you, shall be my last. True friendship, Dick, has long been ours. And we must part in love, my friend, — You smile again — well, time will prove My premonition true; — The end Is drawing nigh; — Behold my love, My life, my Elsie, on you hill, — Ay, yonder hill is Monagh Leagh — Just listen, friend, she's calling still, And still the dear one beckons me Away — the sun upon the peaks Is blushing crimson o'er the snow. Behold! how bright its rays and streaks Are dancing on Loch Ness below; Rich violet and purple clouds A tabernacle form on high, Behind whose folds the starry crowds Lie hidden in the silent sky — 'Tis there, 'tis there, the same fond face, Which, but a few short hours ago, Pressed close to mine; just in this place My Elsie stood, and, bending low, She whispered in an icy breath, ‘Oh! Hugh, behold thy spirit-bride. I'm here for thee; prepare for death. Thy soul to-morrow, by my side, Shall trace the scenes we loved of yore. Again, my Hugh, my husband brave, We'll watch the Highland eagle soar; We'll see the heath and bracken wave. Ah! Hugh, the spirit-sight is keen; We cross the ocean with a glance; We know not time — ' She left the scene, And I awakened from my trance; But let us change the subject, mate; Let's have a smoke; — Hark! there's a shot — One, two, three, four! we mustn't wait — Where are our rifles? Ah! we've got The darkies now. See, see, they dance Before our eyes; hear how they yell! There goes the order for advance — There's Norman out and Percival.” M'Gillviray ceased, and we ran to the door, Prepared to advance where our officers led; Both Hill and O'Beirne were well to the fore, While Norman and Percival rushed on ahead. Flash! flash! went our rifles; we followed their track, And in through a gap in the timber we broke; We loaded again, and they answered us back — The rebels, I mean — as they plunged through the smoke. “Now, back to the camp, lads; we've scattered the swine; They've tasted enough of our metal to-day!' Twas Percival spoke, and we fell into line, And back through the break in the bush took our way. We reached but the centre, when out from the bush That skirted each side with its branches and logs The Maoris in crowds, with a yell and a rush, Encompassed us: — “Boys, give the treacherous dogs A taste of our true British pluck!” — a wild cry, As a tomahawk's stroke cut the sentence in twain, Went in through the woodlands and up to the sky, And Percival lay in the front of the slain. Oh, God! in my ears still rings yell after yell. I see the bright tomahawks dripping with blood; The wild demons looked as if painted in hell; They leaped through the thicket and burst from the wood. Outflanked and outnumbered, our officers dead, A handful of men in the grasp of the foe, What could we have done in such stress? so we fled When Norman and Wheeler and Hill were laid low. We reached the old church, but the savages stay'd To butcher the wounded and mangle the slain; They vanished ere night in the forest's dark shade, To steer their canoes o er Waikato again. At daybreak we went to the scene of the fray, To bury our comrades and bid them adieu, And near a small mound where five savages lay We found brave M'Gillviray sleeping there too. Five warrior chiefs proved the work he had done; They fell by his hand ere his soul went to God; He smiled in the face of the bright morning sun That shone on the purple streaks o'er the green sod. I planted a wattle to mark where he sleeps — I wonder where is it? — Ah, there stands the tree! By Jove, it's in blossom, too! See how it weeps Rich tears of bright gold o er the hillock where he Is resting in peace. Is he dreaming there still Of Elsie, his bride, and his dear Highland glen? This life is a puzzle, Jack; fight as we will, We're nothing at last but the shadows of men. The substance soon blends with the blossoms and weeds That spring to the surface; and as for the soul. Perhaps it may flourish or fade in its deeds, Or find in some other bright planet its goal.