Chapter 2 - Page 2

learned from the history of the period. It is enough for our purpose
to say, that all Scotland was indignant at the terms on which their
legislature had surrendered their national independence. The general
resentment led to the strangest leagues and to the wildest plans. The
Cameronians were about to take arms for the restoration of the house of
Stewart, whom they regarded, with justice, as their oppressors; and
the intrigues of the period presented the strange picture of papists,
prelatists, and presbyterians, caballing among themselves against the
English government, out of a common feeling that their country had been
treated with injustice. The fermentation was universal; and, as the
population of Scotland had been generally trained to arms, under the act
of security, they were not indifferently prepared for war, and waited
but the declaration of some of the nobility to break out into open
hostility. It was at this period of public confusion that our story
opens.

The cleugh, or wild ravine, into which Hobbie Elliot had followed the
game, was already far behind him, and he was considerably advanced on
his return homeward, when the night began to close upon him. This
would have been a circumstance of great indifference to the experienced
sportsman, who could have walked blindfold over every inch of his
native heaths, had it not happened near a spot, which, according to
the traditions of the country, was in extremely bad fame, as haunted
by supernatural appearances. To tales of this kind Hobbie had, from his
childhood, lent an attentive ear; and as no part of the country afforded
such a variety of legends, so no man was more deeply read in their
fearful lore than Hobbie of the Heugh-foot; for so our gallant was
called, to distinguish him from a round dozen of Elliots who bore the
same Christian name. It cost him no efforts, therefore, to call to
memory the terrific incidents connected with the extensive waste upon
which he was now entering. In fact, they presented themselves with a
readiness which he felt to be somewhat dismaying.

This dreary common was called Mucklestane-Moor, from a huge column of
unhewn granite, which raised its massy head on a knell near the centre
of the heath, perhaps to tell of the mighty dead who slept beneath, or
to preserve the memory of some bloody skirmish. The real cause of
its existence had, however, passed away; and tradition, which is as
frequently an inventor of fiction as a preserver of truth, had supplied
its place with a supplementary legend of her own, which now came full
upon Hobbie's memory. The ground about the pillar was strewed, or rather
encumbered, with many large fragments of stone of the same consistence
with the column, which, from their appearance as they