[COPYRIGHT STORY]. THE LAST EAGLE

New Zealand Graphic, Volume XXXVI, Issue 17, 28 April 1906, Page 9

[COPYRIGHT STORY]. THE LAST EAGLE

By

the Hon. Mrs Arthur Henniker

Author of “ In Scarlet and Gray,” Etc.

THERE surely was never a more comfortable place to read or sleep in than the smoking-room in my friend Lawrence's country house in Suffolk. We had come in from shooting one mild November evening, myself and six other men, and .were sitting in huge arm-chairs by a fire Where the logs crackled pleasantly. Lawrence was pouring himself out a second cup of tea, and some of us had glasses of whisky and soda on tables at our elbows. We had discussed the incidents of the day, with more or less prosiness, at some length, for most of us were really fond of shooting “jjrop” and the conversation had drifted on from talk about well-known coverts to celebrated sporting places, and from thence to the subject of strange superstitions and legends connected with them. VI e had most of us contributed the original anecdote about omens in the shape of phantom-carriages, ghostly funeral processions, and so forth, when a Mr. Piggott, who lived in the neighbourhood, remarked: “1 know a rather curious story of the kind. It might possibly interest you —as I can give it at first hand?” We had none of us so far found Mr. Piggott an amusing companion, anti in consequence considered him mainly iu the light of a “gun,” for he was a remarkable shot. So it was not with much enthusiasm that Lawrence, as he put a little more sugar in his tea, said: “Well, come on then, Piggott, let us hear this experience of yours.’ Mr. Piggott scraped his throat and seemed a little nervous, but he warmed to his subject as he went on speaking, and I give his story as nearly as I can in his own words. "Many years ago I was a constant visitor at a well-known forest in the highlands—which belonged to an old friend of mine and my father’s. I would prefer not to give you his name, so will simply allude to him as Donald, which was his Christian name. It was a beautiful home, this castle of his, and lovely also in its surroundings, standing as it does by the edge of a broad loch bordered with birch and fir. and clusters of mountain ash. Overlooking the water is a treeless space on a cliff where two or three high boulders stand erect. Tradition gives this as the spot connected with the legend of which I am now going to tell you. ‘Very long ago the owner of the castle was a chieftain of infamous character, cruel, treacherous, hated by the poor, and feared by his equals. He had a young and beautiful wife, who had reason to dread and loathe him. Tradition has it that she was beaten, starved and insulted in every way by her husband, until her health broke down, and she could only manage to struggle with slow wanderings by the loch side. It chanced that one day a magnificent young golden eagle was eaught in a trap not far from the castle. With cruel glee the owner caused a small cage to be made, in which the terrified and beautiful creature was placed, overlooking the loch across which he had mnv proudly flown. One ean imagine with what reproach in his fierce defiant eves lie must have watehed the captors who jeered at him, with what despair he must have beaten his black-brown wings against the bars!

But there was no pity in the heart of the chieftain. The torture of any helpless creature afforded him a grim satisfaction, and it is even said that he fed the bird scantily. To the cage, morning and evening, crawled the unhappy lady who had the misfortune to be the wife of that evil man. I have no doubt that she brought the eagle any food that she could collect, that she watehed, with tearful eyes, his beautiful form growing thinner and more gaunt in his prison. One can picture the two poor creatures, captives both, looking across the water towards the distant purple of the hills, and at the burning sunset clouds, and wondering why the world should be. so full of pain as well as beauty, why the heart of man was so mean and cruel. Many times the lady, it is said, in spite of her husband's curses, besought him to let the bird go free. Kneeling at bis feet she wept and implored, while he laughed at her. “ ‘You shall be in your grave before he ever flies again,’ he answered. “As long as she could go out she used to sit on one of the rocks by the eagle’s cage. I believe, as do most animal lovers, that there must be some unexplained magnetic sympathy between us and them, by which they are aware of our pity, helpless though we may be to transform it into action. In some way or other it must be that this knowledge serves to alleviate the suffering of the dumb and innocent, surely one of life's greatest mysteries’ That fierce bird may have perhaps dimly guessed that in this sad woman watching him there was no mockery, but one who somehow shared his pain. But I must hasten towards the end of my story. “On a certain, bright, clay in October the lady never came to the crag. The sun danced on the surface of the loch, and turned the bracken to gold, but could give no warmth to a white face in the roon in one of the castle turrets still shown as Lady Margaret’s tower. And on the bare floor of the cage lay the wasted body of the golden eagle who had found release too, on that same lovely autumn morning. It is related that the lord of the castle came to the crag in the company of the wicked wife of a neighbouring chieftain, and that the two stood laughing by the dead body of one of his victims. They dragged it out of the little iron prison, and the man jeered, and kicked it with his foot. Then suddenly his eyes and those of his companion and one or two of his servants, who happened to be at hand, observed a boat of strange and foreign shape coming slowly across the loch towards the crag. In it sat an old white-bearded man of commanding aspect unknown to any of the spectators. Leaving his little skiff below, he advanced up the path, and came towards the owner of the castle and the infamous woman who stood by his side, tn impressive words he upbraided them for their, hardness of heart for the slow torture of the man’s dead wife, and the wild bird; and with uplifted hands he pronounced a curse upon him and bis successors. “For you, and for the children of your house,” said the unknown visitor, “shall the sight of the soaring eagle mean grief .and doom for all the years to come. In rain will you try to slay the bird; this will you never be able to do. Until,” and here he paused, “the curse upon your race shall be lifted by one of them who shall give his life for that of another.” The chieftain raised his arm to strike down the mysterious pilgrim, but it

fell helpless at his side; Silently and majestically the stranger strode down the cliff, entered his boat, and passed slowly out of sight. In the evening as the lord of the castle strode over the moor, he heard above his head the two sharp shrieks rapidly repeated that he knew to lie the eagle’s note. He looked upwards helplessly to see a magnificent bird sweeping through the air. That same night a retainer, whom he had wronged, stabbed him in the back, and after a few days of agony he died—■” Mr Piggott paused. “That’s not half a bad legend,” said Lawrence. “Now for your modern part of the story,” another guest remarked. “Shan’t 1 weary you?" enquired Mr Piggott. * We re assured him and he continued. “As I told you when I begun, I used in former days to lie a frequent visitor at the Castle, which belonged to my friend, Donald . Of course I. and all the other guests, had heard of the legend of the eagle, and the curse pronounced by the strange pilgrim, on Donald’s family. But we never talked much about it : and I, especially, was chary of mentioning the subject, for on several occasions, by a curious coincidence, I knew that misfortune had come to my friends after a golden eagle had been seen. How well I remember one particular Sunday evening when, strolling home across the moor, after a long walk with Donald, he alluded to the subject. “‘l’m half ashamed to own it, Jack.’ he said laughing, “but I’d give a good deal to get one golden eagle shot, and show that the story about my ancestor doesn’t hold good now. You know I'm a soft-hearted fellow about birds, ami when I succeeded I had every one of those accursed pole-traps on the estate taken down; but I should just like once to see the dead body of an eagle that bad been killed on my property, I own. He had hardly spoken when, soaring majestically over a hill to our right, we both suddenly eaught sight of an enormous bird. We stood still, watching his easy powerful flight till lie disappeared over a far-off crag. Donald gave a half-nervous laugh. “ ‘That’s the first eagle I've seen this autumn!' he said. Then he added: ‘After I last saw one I got the news of the failure of the bank which ruined my poor brother.’

“He was very silent all the way home and also at dinner. The following morning a telegram was brought in containing the news of the death of his second son in India. A few years later whe« I was staying with him. again one of his daughters mentioned that she and a cousin had seen an eagle elose to the loch. The next day sh’e became seriously ill, and for some time her life was despaired of. Not very long afterwards I went to visit Donald once more, and on my arrival fourd the whole family rattier excited at the prospective arrival of a relation of my host's, who it appeared. Imd only been invited from a strong sense of duly on the part of my kind old friend. The girls were sitting at tea in the delightful drawing-room overlooking the loch when I arrived, feeling rather stiff after my long coach drive. There was never, surely, a more pleasant room than that one! The huge bow window with its cushioned seats overlooked a garden ablaze with (lowers, dahlias, sweet-williams, snap-dragon, blue cornflower and crimson stocks. Below the terrace walk was a border of mountain ash tree, overhung with scarlet clusters. Further down was the broad loch; beyond, the range, of hills, looking like purple velvet in Hie evening glow. Elsie, my favourite of the girls, was kneeling on the floor by the window, tying a bunch of red berries in the black Pomeranian, dog’s collar. Marjory was sitting on one of the cushioned scats knitting socks. Jean was preparing to pour out tea. The mother and hostess with her sweet face and white hair, smiled a warm welcome as I came in. “ ‘This is our pleasant tea together, let me tell you!’ cried Elsie. ‘Papa has insisted upon asking a horrible hoy from Glasgow for a whole fortnight!’ said Marjory. ‘’’Ho is the son of a poor relation/ explained my host's wife, ‘and Donald only lately heard of his being employed now as a clerk in Glasgow. I think my husband was quite right to ask him. but these selfish girls won t hear a word in his favour.'. “ 'One outsider like that spoils everything. mother darling,’ exclaimed Jean, as she gloomily poured out my tea. “‘The little brute will be. here in live minutes!’ said Elsie, warmly embracing the Pomeranian as she spoke. And in five minutes, truly enough, the unfortunate and unwelcome young man made his appearance. I am bound to say that we wore none of us favourably impressed. He was short, with a pale, unhealthy complexion, a cast in one eye, and lie wore his hair brushed up in :i way that Elsie explained to me stamped him as ‘hopeless.’ He—l will call him Angus —was very nervous, lie had an irritating way of saying ‘Pardon me?’ at the top of his voice, if he failed to understand a speaker's mourning, His hands were clammy, his handkerchief was saturated with cheap perfume. Looking back on those days at the castle, I still feel twinges of deep regret, when 1 think of the way we treated

that unhappy boy.—We were not, of course, outwardly rude, but we continued to let him distinctly feel that he was not one of us. He bore all our slights with dog-like submission, ami in a few days’ time it was clear to every observer that he was an abject slave to any whim of Elsie’s. He used to watch her laughing face across the dinner table with a pathetic admiration, lie allowed her to chaff and bully him and make him run errands, with scarcely ever a word of thanks for his trouble. “ ’Angus, you should -say ‘sofa’ not 'eoueh,' I heard Miss Elsie explaining to him one morning. " ‘J will try and remember,’ murmured Angus flushing painfully. “ ’And don't please let me hear you talking of a- ‘conveyance’ again! Say a ’carriage’ or a dog eart, or whatever it is!’ . "‘All right, Miss Elsie!’ I half fancied that there were tears in his eyes. When he had left the room Elsie explained to me that she had offered in answer to a request of his, to fell him of some of his social and verbal mistakes. ’’’l am afraid you enjoy doing it,’ I Said, looking half .reproachfully into her blue eyes. "‘Of course I do! Oh! Mr Piggott, isn't he hopeless, poor boy!’ She went singing out of the room, and after luncheon she ordered her pony-eart to drive her to a neighbouring shooting lodge. Tw> of the guests were out stalking that day, and Donald andl were taking it easy, strolling about the place and discussing little improvements to be made in buildings. “ ‘I wish,’ said my dear old friend to me. ‘that the girls would be a bit nicer to that poor young fellow! You, Piggott, you might perhaps give them a hint?’ ■‘■l’m afraid T haven't always been very civil myself,’ I said remorsefully. " 'Well, just try and let him down easy when he makes mistakes, poor chap. He’s had uo chance, and after all he is our cousin. His mother was ab-

solutely a lady, but she died when he was born.’ "1 remember so well the kind look in Donald's eyes,—honest eyes overhung with white eyebrows. He was incapable of giving pain, always tender and generous to anything weak, or poor, or un-hu-ky. I wish there were more now like him. Veil, we strolled down the road by the outbuildings and kennels, past the belt of old firs of which my friend was so proud, out on to the moor. It was a glorious evening—with just a suspicion of autumn in the pure air that made one feel young and happy. Over the heather we strode, talking of many things, grave and gay. Suddenly Donald started and lifted his arm skywards. I looked up quickly. Yes, there was no mistake. The huge breadth of wing—the wonderful majestic motion, could only belong to one living creature. I made a few commonplace remarks on the growing scarcity of the King of birds. ’’ ’My neighbours preserve them.’ said Donald slowly. ‘So would I, if 1 could kill one first.’ “The air seemed to have grown suddenly colder, and the hills more grey and dim. It was an hour before we got down to the road again. My dear hostess was at the first iron gate leading up to the castle. The sight of her sweet face made me fed as if a wintry wind had struck me. She came, very calmly and slowly, towards Donald. 1 glanced at him. and saw that he was quite white. ’’ ’There is bad news, Jeannie, my darling’;’ he whispered, bending over her. ’’ ‘Yes—Elsie’s new pony took fright, and ran away with her in the cart.—No -—no —God be thanked —she is only badly shaken.’ "Donald covered his face with both hands. "Aftei- a pause—- ’’ ’But you said bad news, my dear?’ “ ’Yes. Poor Angus saw the pony running away. He. ... he stopped it but he was knocked down and dragged along. . . .’ “ ‘He stopped it? . . . he saved her? Donald spoke very low, but I heard the words clearly. “ ’Yes, my dear, he saved her.’ “ ’God bless him!’ “'I stayed behind and watched the pair, his arm through hers, going down the broad gravel road. The evening sun had come out very brightly. The bullfinches hopped about in the birches, and a robin began a long, sweet song just above nry head. The house beemed very still as I entered it. Presently Marjory, who looked as if she had been crying, came out of the boudoir. ’’’Oh! Mr Piggott,’ she said, ‘you have heard ?’ ’’.‘Elsie is safe, thank Heaven!’ “ ‘Yes—she is all right. Only shaken —she is lying down. But that poor boy, that poor boy!” “‘He is still alive?’ “ ‘Yes, .and he suffers.’ ‘“Does he know he saved her?’ “ ’1 believe he does.’ “ ‘Then he is happier than any of us.’ A pain like a knife was cutting at my throat just then. I assure yon; “ ’Oh. Why were we all so—so horrid ?’ “ ’Oh! my dear,’ I cried, ‘he doesn’t, lie can’t mind that now! And it is we who are humbled, he who must be. joyful and proud—and at peace.’ “A doctor was coming dow n the stairs, lily face must have asked him a question, for he shook his head. “ ‘No. no one could save him. It is only a question of hours, a day perhaps.’ ‘•’lie was a plucky little fellow!’ I cried. ‘■’Splendid.’ said the doctor. And he wont downstairs, only just turning round to say tiiat he would come back again later on. “I shall never forget th.? next morn' ing at breakfast. It seems like yesterday. You know how bright and gay a Scotch breakfast table looks? —and this was one of the prettiest ever seen, with the old silver, and the bowls of green and blue pottery for porridge, and the glasses full of stocks and sweet peas. On the loch the sunlight was dazzling, and the hill outlines cut ont absolutely, clearly against a radiant sky. Elsie who looked very lovely, but whit? and sad, was eating nothing. I noticed, and she hardly spoke. She is a grandmother now, but I can see her, as she looked then, as plainly as if five and twenty years had not passed—with her black and white check frock, and a sky

blue ribbon ot her neck, and the light on her brown hair. Donald was trying to read the “Scotsman,” but I know he was not taking a word in. Marjory and Jean and two guests made an occasional observation, but no one had the heart to pursue any subject for long. The dining-room door opened, and the doctor came in. He beckoned to Donald, and the girls turned very' white. 1 thought Elsie would have fainted. Her father came up to her and touched her gently on the shoulder. Then he went out with the doctor. She rose and followed them, and when she reached the door I saw her tremble and clutch wildly and half blindly at a chair. I ran towards her and put my arms round her.

“ ‘No—let ine go—l want to go, Mr Piggott,’ she said—in an odd hoarse voice.

“We went together up the stairs, two long flights, into Lady’ Margaret’s loom in the turret where Angus lay. He opened his eyes and they rested for a moment on Elsie. She, -walking quite firmly, went towards his bed, and knelt down* at his side. Then she bent her fair head with its shining brown hair and kissed him—one long kiss on his poor plain face that looked now so strange and solemn. I turned away. A rebin was singing near the open window, and everything was very beautiful and full of sunshine and peace. Suddenly, from a long way off came the sound of a gun. Donald lifted his head. One —two shots, distinct and clear. The doctor glanced at the open window, then at the face on the pillow. . . .

“When I went down into the draw-ing-room I found a little group of people gathered there, aimlessly looking out at the crimson, yellow and blue flowers, from which such sweet perfumes floated in towards us. I joined them and we waited on silently. Presently the doctor and Donald came in. '“ ‘He did not suffer at the end’—said the former. But Donald could not speak. He seemed to be dreaming, and scarcely

to waken when a gillie entered, anS spoke to him. 1 ’’ ‘Malcolm is at the door ..... ' (he called Donald by his surname, as tlic Highlanders do.) He bids me tell you he has shot a fine golden eagle, an hour or so since.’ “We all started and Elsie gave * littl« ery. ; “‘An eagle?’ said poor old Donald 1 , and his voice shook. ‘ls the bird thero —actually there!’ “ ‘Yes; he is ont on the steps * J 1 “We all trooped into the sunshine. “There, lying on the stones at our feeB was a splendid dead bird. I own that I felt a pang of great pity as I looked afl him. A film was drawn over his fiercer eyes, his yellow toes and strong blaek claws were turned helplessly upwards. The light shone on the beautiful pointed reddish feathers on his head; on his glowing wing coverts. “ ‘He's a grand old bird,’ said Malcolm solemnly—in an awed voice. “ ’We’ll bury him on the top of the crag.’ said Donald —‘and he shall have a stone to mark the place where he lies.? Then he glanced up at the turret window’, behind which lay sleeping an obscure and despised member of his proud race who had lifted the curse Mr Piggot paused—“ And from that day to this,” he added, “no golden eagle has ever been seen near my old friend’s home, which now belongs to the son.” “It's a curious story, Piggott,” said Lawrence. “And so you do believe in the curse on the family, and the sacrifice, and all that ;” “The whole thing may only have been a series of strange coincidences, after all,” grunted a square-faced stock broker, trying to suppress a yaw’n. "Well, I give you the story for what it is worth,” Mr Piggott said. “If we could explain everything it would be an infernally dull world to live in,” was Lawrence's verdict;—and then the dressing gong rang, as he spoke, am# we went upstairs to get ready for dinner.