Shield not the murderer!"_ In the morning Campbell went to the
hiding-place of the guilty man and told him that he could harbor
him no longer. "You have sworn on your dirk!" he replied; and
the laird of Inverawe, greatly perplexed and troubled, made a
compromise between conflicting duties, promised not to betray
his guest, led him to the neighboring mountain, and hid him in
a cave.
In the next night, as he lay tossing in feverish slumbers, the
same stern voice awoke him, the ghost of his cousin Donald stood
again at his bedside, and again he heard the same appalling words:
_"Inverawe! Inverawe! blood has been shed. Shield not the murderer!"_
At break of day he hastened, in strange agitation, to the
cave; but it was empty, the stranger was gone. At night, as he
strove in vain to sleep, the vision appeared once more, ghastly
pale, but less stern of aspect than before. _"Farewell, Inverawe!"_
it said; _"Farewell, till we meet at TICONDEROGA!"_
The strange name dwelt in Campbell's memory. He had joined
the Black Watch, or Forty-second Regiment, then employed
in keeping order in the turbulent Highlands. In time he became
its major; and, a year or two after the war broke out, he went
with it to America. Here, to his horror, he learned that it was
ordered to the attack of Ticonderoga. His story was well known
among his brother officers. They combined among themselves to
disarm his fears; and when they reached the fatal spot they told
him on the eve of the battle, "This is not Ticonderoga; we are not
there yet; this is Fort George.
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