So they parted for the second time; and when the two girls had gone some way towards Lochgarra House, Mary said, —
"Yes; but all the same I told him I was sorry."
And then again she turned and looked. Donald Ross had passed through the village, and was now going up to the Free Church minister's cottage.
"Käthchen," said she, rather absently, "there are a good many of them about here who seem to hate me; but I know there is not one of them who hates me as he does. And what had I to do with the pulling down of Heimra Castle?"
And that afternoon, as she stood at one of the windows in the tower, looking away out to sea, she saw the little white-winged yawl making for Heimra Island. She knew who was at the tiller – the man before whom she had abased herself, craving, and craving in vain, for some word of consideration and sympathy.
"Proud and implacable," she said to herself; and her wounded spirit was sore within her, and perhaps a trifle indignant, too; but she would make no further utterance. He had asked for silence and forgetfulness; and he had the right to say what was to be.
Meanwhile the message that Mary had sent to the Fishery Board in Edinburgh had been duly received and considered; and when, after two or three days' interval, the answer came back to Lochgarra, it was to the effect that the alien lobster fishermen had either been misinformed or were making wilful mis-statements: the Fishery Board had not given them the right to build huts, and, indeed, had no power to confer any such right. At once Mary sent for Hector the head-keeper; and bade him seek out Archie MacNicol, and convey to him this news.
"And tell him from me," she said, "that all he has to do is to explain to these men that they have no right to come here and build huts and use the fishing-grounds that naturally belong to the crofters in possession; and that they must go – and go peaceably."
"Would Miss Stanley be for having a sheriff's-officer over from Dingwall?" suggested the tall and handsome keeper, in his serious way.
"No, no, not at all!" she said. "The men must go, when they learn they have no right to be here. And if they refuse to go, haven't we got our own policeman?"
"Very well, mem," said Hector, and he left.
It was towards the dusk of evening, and raining heavily; but all the same Hector found Big Archie at work in his little bit of a garden. When Archie heard the news, he struck his spade in the ground, and stood upright.
"Aw, that's the fine news!" he exclaimed, joyfully, in Gaelic. "And we will soon be putting an end to the squatters now, Hector! Was I not saying it myself that they had no right to come here? – but now there is the message from the Fishery Board; and we will soon have the devils away from the lobster-ground. And when there is good news coming, you will be for taking a dram with me, Hector?"
Well, it is said there was once a Highland keeper who refused a glass of whiskey; but his name and neighbourhood are not known now. Hector followed Big Archie into the cottage, and there a black bottle was produced. Thereafter, the two men, having lit their pipes, set out through the dark and wet again, for Hector was returning to his own home, and Archie was going a certain distance with him in search of the Gillie Ciotach.
The stiff glass of whiskey had warmed Big Archie's heart; and as he strode along, the huge and heavy-shouldered giant grew garrulous.
"The young lady that has come here," said he, in his native tongue, "you know as well as I do, Hector, she means very well, but it is not the place for her at all. I say it is not the place for her at all. What can a young lady know about the price of sheep and the price of lobsters? It is a foolish thing! The place for her, now, Hector, that place is London, at the court of the Queen, among the great ladies, in their fine clothes and jewels. You think I do not know about such things; but I do know; for I myself have relations with London; and it is from London I am hearing every fortnight, from Corstorphine. And the other day, when she was in my boat, I was saying to myself 'There is a fine and beautiful lady to be sitting in a coarse lobster-boat; and it is at the court of the Queen she ought to be; and not going about asking people to put in better chimneys, and the like of that. A woman – a woman has no right to be at the head of an estate; and I am not sure that the law allows it; maybe she is here only through Purdie, and he the master of the estate. Just think of that, Hector – if it is only Purdie that keeps out Young Donald from the estate: would not that be a thing to be considered? Now you know I am not from this place myself; I am from much farther south; but I am a Gael; I have no love for any Albannach or Sassunnach coming into this country against the wishes of the people; and if it is only Purdie, aw, God, it's myself that would willingly give Purdie a crack on the head. And think of young Donald of Heimra coming into the estates, would it not be a grand day that, Hector? – ay, and many a gun fired off, and the bagpipes, and flags, and taking the horses out of the carriage. Sure I am the Gillie Ciotach would go mad that day."
The mention of the Gillie Ciotach recalled the keeper to his own immediate affairs.
"If you see Gillie Ciotach, Archie," said he, "perhaps you will give him a word of caution. The other evening I heard a shot up by the Crom-allt; and I did not look. But the next time I hear a shot, I will look; and if I catch Gillie Ciotach, I will break his gun over his head, yes, and I will shoot his thief of a dog, too; for I am not going to get myself into trouble on account of the Gillie Ciotach. This you know, Archie, that when old Mr. Stanley was here, there was not much goodwill; and perhaps some of us may have shut our eyes a little; but things are different now; for here is my sister Barbara telling me again and again that the Baintighearna is the kindest lady she has ever known in the world, and that it is not at all what Purdie wishes to have done that she means to have done. Well, well, that is not my business; but my business is to look after myself; and I am not going to get into trouble on account of Gillie Ciotach."
At this point the two parted; and Big Archie went on to the inn. But he did not enter by the front-door; he passed round by the stable-yard, and made his way to a small lighted window that was partly open. He peeped in and listened at the same time – with a grin of satisfaction on his face, for he had found what he sought.
There were three men in this little sanded parlour, which was a sort of adjunct to the inn. They were seated round a table on which was an oil-lamp; and in front of each man stood a small pewter measure and also a glass. Two of the men were middle-aged, and of a sailor-like type; the third was a young fellow of about four-and-twenty, whose bronzed complexion, regular features, and short-cropped curly brown hair made him rather good-looking, only that in regarding him one did not notice these things so much as the dare-devil expression of both eye and mouth. He also was dressed in something of sailor-like attire; while his broad Balmoral bonnet, pushed far back on his brown curls, revealed the fact that in his earlier youth he must have received a mighty slash along the side of his forehead. This was the Gillie Ciotach; and the Gillie Ciotach was singing – in high and nasal tones, while his two companions listened solemnly. Yet this was not really a melancholy song, this Linn an aigh, for it described the happy state of affairs that existed long ago, when the heather yielded abundance of honey, and the pastures abundance of milk, when there was no rent to pay, when any one could fish or shoot wherever he pleased, and when there was neither hatred nor fighting, nor thirst of wealth. Indeed, there was perhaps a touch of sarcasm in the verses; for the refrain informed whosoever might wish to know at what period of the world's history this golden age existed that it was An uair bha Gàilig aig na h-eòin– that is to say, When all the birds in Gaelic sang. However, whether the song was or was not intended to be merry, the audience received it in precisely the same fashion: when it ended, the one said 'Ay, ay' in a sad tone; the other sighed deeply; and then each mechanically proceeded to pour out a glass of whiskey. The Gillie Ciotach did likewise; by all three the whiskey was drank in absolute silence; there was a pause of internal meditation – and at this point Big Archie thought fit to open the door and enter, for he had been long enough out in the rain.
And no sooner had he told his story than the dare-devil leapt to his feet, a wild delight in his eyes.
"Aw, Dyeea, this is a fine thing!" he cried, sniffing the battle from afar. "I tell you now we will make short work of it – we will drive the squatters into the Minch, and if the devils can swim across the Minch, let them swim across the Minch, and if they cannot swim across the Minch, they can go down to their master below! Come away, boys, and make the preparation; for there will be a gay dance to-morrow!"
The big giant caught him by both shoulders, and threw him back into the chair.
"Did you hear me?" said he (but there was an ominous mirth in his eyes too). "Peaceably, peaceably; the Baintighearna says peaceably – they are to go peaceably."
"Aw, is it peaceably?" the Gillie Ciotach cried, with a loud laugh. "Well, if they will go peaceably, that is very good; but if they will not go peaceably, then we will make them sing a little song to-morrow – by God, Archie MacNicol, we will make them sing 'Farewell to Fiunary,' and maybe it is on the wrong side of their mouth they will be singing the 'Farewell to Fiunary!"
CHAPTER IX.
THE BATTLE OF RU-MINARD
All that night there was marching and counter-marching, and whipping up of recruits, and drinking of whiskey, and singing of Gabhaidh sinn an rathad mòr.9 Big Archie and his peaceful, or pseudo-peaceful, counsels were no longer heeded; the movement had been taken up by the younger fellows, headed by the mischievous Gillie Ciotach; and the belief became general that orders had been received from the Fishery Board in Edinburgh to the effect that the Ru-Minard squatters were forthwith to be driven into the sea. And if the aliens should refuse to be so driven – should stand up in defence of their little bits of homesteads – what then?
"It is a lesson they will want," said the Gillie Ciotach, gaily, to his comrades (they were having a friendly glass together, in a barn lit up by a solitary candle), "not to come thieving on other people's lobster-ground, and building huts wherever they like, and not a penny of rent to the holder of the croft. It is a lesson they will want; and it is a lesson they will get – to take back home with them, and keep the others from coming here. Well, now, this is my opinion, that the best thing for giving a man a rap over the head is a tiller. A tiller with a handle to it – aw, that is a fine convenient thing!"
"I am going to take an oar over my shoulder," said a brawny young Hercules.
"And the more fool you, then," said the Gillie Ciotach, who was a blunt-spoken youth. "For I will tell you this, Feargus: if you strike at a man with an oar, and he steps aside so that you miss him, then he has you at his mercy – it does not need a wise man to show you that. Aw, God, a tiller is a fine thing, when the wood is strong – it is a tiller that will be my orra-an-donais*10 to-morrow." He broke into a loud laugh. "We will teach them to be telling lies about the Fishery Board! – and it is little they are thinking now that to-morrow they will be singing *Farewell, farewell to Fiunary!"
In the morning it was found that the rain had ceased; but worse than rain was threatening; for all along the west the skies were of a heavy and thunderous purple – a louring dark wall, as it were – while torn shreds of grey cloud were being blown along in advance, the precursors of a gale. Mary and Käthchen were both at the window, looking out at the angry heavens and the livid sea beneath, when the maid Barbara came quickly into the room. For the moment Barbara had lost her pretty shyness of manner; she was breathless and excited; her eyes were full of apprehension.
"Oh, mem," she said, "do you know what is happening? They have gone aweh up the road, a great many of the young lads, and others; and they have sticks with them; and they are singing Gabhaidh sinn an rathad mòr. Oh, I am sure there is harm coming of it! They were saying something of the strange fishermen out at Ru-Minard – and there will be fighting."
A sudden dismay filled Mary's heart – dismay, and a curious sense of helplessness. To whom could she turn for aid in such a crisis – and with every moment a thing of value?
"Barbara," she said quickly, "I must have some one to go with me. Is Hector there?"
"No, mem, he went up the hill this morning."
"Or Hugh?"
"No, mem, he was going over to Cruagan, to arrange about the heather-burning, so I was hearing him say."
Then Mary turned to her friend.
"Käthchen, who is there? Shall we ask the Minister?"
"Of course, he is the very person to ask – if you really mean to go, Mamie. But do you think you should?" Käthchen asked, with serious eyes. "It sounds like an open riot."
"I don't care – I must try what I can do – for I fear I am responsible," Mary said, in a kind of desperation; and then she turned to the young Highland lass: "Barbara, we shall want the carriage at once – as soon as ever the horses can be put to. Tell Sandy we are going over to find Mr. Pettigrew; he can come along and meet us. Tell him not to lose a second."
And almost directly afterwards the two girls were out-of-doors, hurrying along to the other side of the village, where was the Minister's cottage. Käthchen was unmistakeably frightened; but all the same she ventured to say —
"Well, Mamie, your friends in London have almost given up asking when you are going to marry your cousin – you have kept him at arm's length so long. But I think if Mr. Meredyth were here just now, he would have a very good chance."
"Why?" said Mary, with a certain coldness.
"Because you want a man's assistance and advice," said Käthchen. "Isn't it as clear as daylight? The moment this news comes, you look round for some man to help you. Is the head keeper there? No. Or the under-keeper? No. Then you think of the Minister – anybody so long as he is a man. All quite natural, of course. Only I think if Mr. Frank Meredyth were here – and you finding yourself in constant trouble and perplexity – well, I think he would soon take up a very important position. He might even persuade you to let him send in to Inverness for a wedding-ring."
"People don't get married in order to make peace among their tenantry!" said Mary, a little proudly.
"Is he coming here in August?" asked the shrewd Käthchen.
"Fred wants me to ask him," Mary said, briefly; indeed, at such a time she was not thinking of any suitor; she was thinking of what might even now be going forward on the shores of Minard Bay.
The Rev. Mr. Pettigrew received the intelligence of the rising with a calm and gentle compassion.
"Dear me, dear me!" he said, in his high-pitched, unnatural voice, and he thoughtfully stroked his long and straggling beard. "What a sad thing to think of, when brethren might be living together in peace and ahmity! The heart of man is full of dangerous possibeelities – it is a sad thing to think of – at this season of the year, when all nature seems to know that the verdant spring is around us – when all is harmony and peace – to think that angry passions should arise in the heart of man – "
"Yes, but won't you come at once, Mr. Pettigrew?" said Mary, with distress in her eyes. "We may be able to do something to prevent bloodshed. The carriage will meet us – we may be able to overtake them."
But the Minister paused to consider.
"No doubt," said he, reflectively, "to prevent the shedding of blood is an admirable thing, a commendable thing, and praiseworthy. But there are times and seasons when even the wisest counsel is of no avail – when the heart of man is as a fiery steed, untameable, not to be bridled; and in these times and seasons, what is demanded of us is a judeecious sympathy, a constant sympathy, a sympathy that does not take sides, but longs for the return of peace and good will. Strange, indeed, that at this time of the year – "
"But won't you come with us at once, Mr. Pettigrew!" Mary said, in her despair. "The carriage will meet us. We must try what we can do. You see, I am in a measure responsible. I told them what the Fishery Board had said – that the stranger fishermen had no right to build huts – and – and I hoped they would go away quietly – but if there is to be fighting, then surely it is the Minister who should come and try to make peace."
"Ah, the carriage?" said Mr. Pettigrew, thoughtfully, as he took down his hat from a peg in the lobby. "That is well considered – well considered. For if in their anger these misguided craytures should take to throwing of stons, the carriage could be closed. Ay, ay, that is very well now; and if their wrath should be intemperate – for who can gauge the stubbornness of man? – then the carriage can be driven away at any moment. But what a sad thing to think of – sad thing! – when all might be dwelling in peace and ahmity – in peace and ahmity."
However, it was no consideration of personal safety that was uppermost in Mary Stanley's mind at this moment; indeed, so anxious was she to overtake the rioters that she and her two companions had very nearly got back to Lochgarra House before they met the carriage. Then the horses were turned round; and on they drove – past the brawling stream – past the larchwoods – and up to the height commanding a view of Minard Bay. And here, at the top, they encountered the first human being of whom they could ask the news. It was John the policeman. The plump, roseate, good-natured Iain was calmly seated on a low wall by the roadside; and he was unconcernedly regarding the wide stretch of white sand across which some small black figures were now seen to be in motion.
"What are you doing here, John?" said Mary, indignantly.
"I was just looking," said Iain, with an amiable smile – and he glanced in the direction of the people crossing the white sands.
"Yes, but why are you waiting here?" said she. "Don't you know that there is likely to be fighting? And it is your duty to prevent that!"
"They will be telling me," said Iain, slowly and comfortably, "that the strange fishermen have no right to be in the place. Very well, then. And if they are to be put out of the place, it's not for me to interfere. If they are wrong, let them go aweh; and if they will not go aweh, they will have to be put aweh."
This seemed a sound argument – to John.
"But what did the Lochgarra people say to you as they went by?" Mary demanded. "Didn't you see they were armed with sticks? Don't you know there will be fighting and bloodshed?"
"Aw, there may be a brokken head or two," said John, with a demure smile.
"Well, it is your duty to prevent that! These men have no right to take the law into their own hand. If the strangers will not go peaceably, they must be removed by the law – not by beating them with sticks. And you are standing back here – and letting them do what they like!"
"And if they tek to fighting," said John, "it's not me that can stop them."
This also seemed painfully true.
"But you can do something," she insisted. "You can warn them. You can take their names. You can threaten them with a prosecution. You can tell them that – that – Mr. Pettigrew, who is it that prosecutes here? – the Sheriff at Dingwall?"
"Nay, but I am considering that there is much of reason in what John says," observed the Minister, in his lofty sing-song; "and perhaps we should do well to follow his example, and remain as spectators and witnesses. I perceive that this carriage cannot be closed; and therefore I do not think it would be prudent – rather would it be rashness, and culpable rashness – to go forward amid a storm of angry passions. Surely it would be more prudent for us to remain here, with the constituted representative of law and order?"
"But I am not going to remain here. John." she said, peremptorily, to the young policeman. "get up in front. Sandy, drive on quickly; we may get between those people yet, before the mischief has begun."
And so the horses went forward again – rattling away down the stony hill until they reached the soft and sandy road skirting the bay. The little township of Minard was quite deserted, save for the women, who stood in small groups in the fields or at the cottage-doors, watching what was going forward out there towards the long headland. Not that they could see very much, once the black figures had crossed the white breadth of sand; for the morning was dull and sombre; and the rocks of Ru-Minard, along which the crofters and fishermen were now making their way, were dark. But this much was obvious, that at a certain point the crowd stopped; while two of their number went forward – one of these being of gigantic size.
"This is Big Archie," said Mary, almost to herself, "and I warned him that he must get them to go away peaceably."
And no doubt it was as a deputation carrying peaceful proposals that Big Archie and his companion were now going forward to certain huts scattered just above the rocks, where also a number of dark figures could be dimly descried. Peaceful or not peaceful, the negotiations at all events involved delay; and this delay enabled the party in the carriage to drive along the road as far as was practicable; then the horses were stopped, and Mary got down to follow the rioters on foot. It was in vain that the Minister sought to dissuade her with plaintive remonstrances; she intimated to him that he could remain in the carriage if he chose. Käthchen, on the other hand, though she was thoroughly frightened, had but the one and sole idea – to remain by Mary Stanley's side, whithersoever she went. As for the easy-going Iain, he was distinctly inclined to hang back.
"What can I do?" said he, with occult amusement in his eyes. "If they will brek one another's heads, how can I prevent it? If it is right that these men should go aweh, and if they will not go aweh, they cannot complain if they get their heads brokken for not going aweh."
But Iain's humorous indifference did not last very long. Mary, hurrying forward, and with eyes anxiously straining, could make out that the two men were now returning to their friends; presently the blustering wind blowing in from the sea brought a sound of confused and prolonged cheering; and she now perceived that the scattered assemblage was moving on. At the same moment there was the sharp report of a gun; and then it was that the policeman's face grew grave.
"Is there going to be murder?" said he.
She did not answer him; she was running now – and Käthchen by her side.
"We must – go right into the middle of it," she said, panting for breath, "and then – perhaps they will stop."
At first the Lochgarra and Minard fishermen advanced but slowly and cautiously upon the huts, not knowing where the enemy might mass himself. The fact is the aliens had been taken unawares; for while they were as determined as men could be to defend their homesteads, they had no time to seek for arms, supposing they could have obtained any, while up here on the rocky knolls there were no stones. They were running hither and thither about the huts, picking up any bit of wood or any broken oar they could find; but when they made a sort of group of themselves, to await the onset of their antagonists, it was clear that timber had failed them, and other weapons they seemed to have none. But there they stood, dauntless, sullen, silent – the sea behind them – their outnumbering foes in front.
And now the invaders knew what was expected of them. It was a shrill cry from the Gillie Ciotach that led the great hoarse volume of their cheers; and then, with all kinds of minatory exclamations, they rushed forward on the devoted band. Who could resist this whirling, tempestuous, compacted shock? For two or three wild seconds there was inextricable confusion; and snap here, snap there, cudgel met cudgel, or descended on solid crown; but it was all over directly; and the next phase of the battle was that the aliens, as if by one common impulse, had turned and fled – fled pell-mell down the rocks and towards the shore, their foes pursuing with fierce and joyous cries. And here it was that Mary Stanley made her appearance – breathless, dishevelled – trying to throw herself in the way of Big Archie, who was leading the pursuit.
"Archie!" she called to him. "How dare you! Let those men alone! I command you!"
But very little indeed did Big Archie care for her commands; it was another consideration altogether that at this moment caused himself and his companions to pause. For the fugitives, as soon as they gained the beach, had taken refuge behind two boats drawn up there; and as the boats, with their spars and sails astern, and their lobster-creels and barrels at the bow, offered excellent shelter, while the beach afforded unlimited ammunition, the battle was not yet over. In truth, the stones that were now flying through the air decidedly checked the ardour of the pursuers; and it was at this moment that Mary again got up to Gilleasbuig Mòr.
"Archie!" she said, indignantly.
An accidental stone struck her on the shoulder. She did not mind. But another and a sharper one struck her on the wrist; and inadvertently she drew up her hand with a piteous little cry. She had been cut over the bone; blood was flowing profusely; and at sight of that, Big Archie – his eyes blazing with wrath – seemed to go mad altogether.
"Aw, Dyeea!" he cried; and he ran forward and leapt into the boat, on to the middle thwart; he sprang out on the other side; and began to lay about him with his cudgel as with the hammer of Thor, smiting and scattering his enemies in all directions. But she was after him in a moment – nimbly getting round the stern of the boat – and before he had wholly wreaked his vengeance, she had him by the arm. And here her interposition did save bloodshed; for the men, finding her between Big Archie and themselves, refused to throw the stones they had hastily picked up; quietude was secured at least in this corner of the battlefield.
But indeed the general interest had already been attracted elsewhere. When Mary turned to see what was going on landwards, she happened to notice certain small wavering shreds of pink. It was a very pale pink; on a clear day, it would hardly have been visible; but against the lurid sky it was distinct enough.
"What is that?" she said, with a sudden, conscious fear, to Big Archie.
The huge, heavy-shouldered fisherman (who was keeping an eye on his discomfited foes as he led the way round the stern of the boats) glanced towards the rocky knolls that had been the scene of the first onslaught, and said grimly, —
"It wass the Gillie Ciotaeh he wass bringing a can of petroleum with him this morning, and lobster-creels will be easy to set on fire."
"Do you mean to say they are burning down those poor men's huts?" she demanded, in a perfect agony of helplessness. "Archie, what is to be done? Why does not the policeman interfere?"
"Aw, it is no use now," said Big Archie, with much composure. "They are ahl on fire already – and a good job, too! – for we won the fight, and that is a proper end to it."
"And this is how you have kept your promise to me!" Mary said, in accents of bitter reproach.
"As sure as death, mem," said the big good-natured giant, "I wass doing everything Miss Stanley said – peaceably, peaceably. When I went to them this morning, I wass saying to them 'You hef no right here.' They said, 'We hef the right here.' I said 'It is no use telling lies; for Miss Stanley she has written to the Fishery Board; and they hef given you no right whatever.' And then I says 'It is a fine thing for you to come here and tek what piece of land you want, and build your houses on it, and you not paying a penny of rent to the man that has the croft.' Then they said 'The land is not worth anything; it is only rock.' Then I says 'That is not your business, as you know very well; and other people hef to pay rent for it, whether it is rock or good land; and it is impudent men you are to come and tek things for nothing. I am from Tarbert on Loch Fyne,' says I, 'and it's stealing they would be calling that down there.' Well, mem, they were not liking that – "
"I should think not!" said Mary. "Is that what you call asking them to go away civilly and quietly?"
"But they would not go aweh at ahl, mem!" Archie protested, still looking towards those pink shreds of flame (and alas! for the poor discomfited aliens – they had emerged from their shelter, and gone a few yards up the beach, and were also regarding, hopelessly enough, the distant crowd and the work of destruction). "They were growing more and more impudent, mem; and they said they would not go aweh; and I said we would drive them aweh; and they said we could not do it. And then says I to them 'Do you see the carriage yonder? – for if you can mek out the people, it is the proprietor herself, and the Minister, and the policeman, and they are come down to see that you go aweh from this place ahltogether, and, by God, if you do not go aweh, we will drive you into the sea, and set fire to your houses.' 'You cannot do it,' says they – "
"But how dared you tell them that we had come down for any such purpose," said Mary, indignantly, "when we only came to prevent violence?"
"And how wass I knowing that, mem?" said he cunningly. "But I am sure there wass only the one end to it in any case, when they began to pick up the sticks. And we were not going to hef the land stolen, and the lobster-ground tekken up, and be beaten as well; for a man cannot stand everything, and we had sticks as well as they had sticks – "