half-witted old man, who spent his life in fishing for flounders from a
rotten old punt he had become possessed of. He earned a sort of living
that way; and seldom went near the shore during the day except to beg
for a herring or two for bait, when the boats came in. He got the
bait, but in an ignominious way; for the boys, stripping the nets,
generally saved up the 'broken' herring in order to pelt Daft Sandy
with the fragments when he came near. That is to say, they indulged in
this amiable sport except when Rob MacNicol happened to be about. That
youth had been heard to remark that the first he caught at this game
would pay a sudden visit to the dead dog-fish lying beneath the clear
waters of the harbour; and it was very well known among the urchins of
Erisaig that the eldest MacNicol had very little scruple about taking
the law into his own hand. When he found a bigger boy thrashing a
smaller one, he invariably thrashed the bigger one, just to keep things
even, as it were; and he had invented for the better guidance of his
brethren and associates a series of somewhat stringent rules and
punishments, to which, it must be acknowledged, he cheerfully submitted
himself. At the same time, he was aware that even the most moral and
high-principled government has occasionally to assert itself with rude
physical force; and although his hand was not particularly red, as
might have been expected, it was uncommonly hard, and a cuff from it
was understood to produce the most startling lightning effects in the
region of the eye.
Well, as they were nearing Daft Sandy's punt, Rob called out to him,
'Sandy, have ye had any luck the day?'
The little, bent, blear-eyed old man looked up from his hand-lines.
'No mich.'
As the boat was gliding past Rob flung a couple of herring into the
punt.
'There's some bait for ye.'
'Ay; and where are ye for going, Robert?' the old man said, as they
passed. 'Tak' heed. It's squally outside.'
There was no answer; for at this moment the quick eye of the chieftain
detected one of his kinsmen in the commission of a heinous crime.
Tempted by the light and steady breeze, Nicol had given way to
idleness, and had made fast the main-sheet, instead of holding it in
his hand, ready for all emergencies. This, and not unnaturally, on
such a squally coast, Rob MacNicol had constituted an altogether
unforgivable offence; and his first impulse was to jump down to the
stern of the boat and give the helmsman, caught _in flagrante delicto_,
a sounding whack on the side of the head. But a graver sense of
justice prevailed. He summoned a court-martial. Nicol, catching the
eye of his brother, hastily tried to undo the sheet from the pin; but
it was too late. The crime had been committed; there were two
witnesses, besides the judge, who was also the jury. The judge and
jury forthwith pronounced sentence: Nicol MacNicol to forfeit one penny
to the fund being secretly stored up for the purchase of a set of
bag-pipes, or to be lowered by the shoulders until his feet should
touch the ground in the dungeon of Eilean-na-Rona Castle. He was left
to decide which alternative he would accept; and it must be said that
the culprit, after a minute or two's sulking, perceived the justice of
the sentence, and calmly said he would take the dungeon.
'Ye think I'm feared?' he said contemptuously, to Neil and Duncan, who
were grinning at him. 'Wha was it that gruppit the whutteruck[1]? And
is there anything worse than whutterucks in that hole in the castle?'
'Ye'll find out, Nicol, my man,' said his cousin Neil. 'There's
warlocks. And they'll grup ye by the legs.'
'I'll save the penny anyway,' said Nicol, to whom a penny was a thing
of known and substantial value.
Now if any proof had been needed that Rob MacNicol's stringent sailing
rules were a matter of stern necessity, it was quickly forthcoming. On
this beautiful summer morning, with the sea smooth and blue around
them, they were sailing along as pleasantly as might be. But they had
scarcely got through the narrow channel leading from the harbour, and
were just emerging into Loch Scrone, when a squall of wind came tearing
along and hit the boat so that the lug-sail was almost flattened on to
the water.
'Run her up! Haul in your sheet!' yelled Rob to the frightened
steersman.
Well it was at such a moment that the main sheet was free to be hauled
in; for as the bow was put up to the wind, the varying squall caught
her on the other beam and threw her over, so that she shipped a bucket
or two of water. Had the water got into the belly of the sail, the
weight would have dragged her down; but Rob instantly got rid of this
danger by springing to the halyards, and, the moment the crank craft
strove to right herself, bringing sail and yard rattling down into the
boat. By this time, so fierce was the squall, a pretty heavy sea had
sprung up, and altogether things looked very ugly. When they allowed
the jib to fill, even that was enough to send the boat over, and she
had already a dangerous lot of water surging among the ballast; while,
when they were forced to put her head to the wind, she drifted with a
heavily running tide, and right to leeward was a long reef of rocks
that would inevitably crunch her into matchwood. The younger brothers
said not a word, but looked at Rob, ready to obey his slightest
gesture, and Rob stood by the mast calling out from time to time to
Nicol.
Matters grew worse. It was no use trying merely to keep her head to
the wind, for she was drifting rapidly, and the first shock on the
rocks would send her and her stone ballast to the bottom. On the other
hand, there was no open sea-room to let her run away before the wind
with a straining jib. At all hazards it was necessary to fight her
clear of that long ledge of rock, even if the wind threatened to tear
the mast out of the boat. So Rob himself sprang down to the stern and
took the tiller.
'Duncan, Neil, stand by the halyards now! When I sing out to ye, hoist
her--be ready now!'
He had his eye on the rocks all this time. On the highest of them was
a tall iron perch, painted scarlet--a warning to sailors; but from that
point long shelves and spurs ran out, the yellow surface of barnacles
growing greener and greener as they went deeper into the sea. Already
Rob MacNicol could make out some of these submarine reefs even through
the turbulent water.
'Now then, boys; up with her! Quick now!'
It was a venturesome business; but there was no help for it. The
moment the sail was half hoisted, a gust caught the boat and drove her
over until her gunwale again scooped up a lot of the hissing water.
But as she righted, staggering all the while, it was clear there was
some good way on her, and Rob, having had recourse to desperate
remedies, was determined to give her enough of the wind. Down again
went the gunwale to the hissing water; and the strain on the rotten
sheets of the old boat was so great that it was a wonder everything did
not go by the board. But now there was a joyous hissing of foam at the
bow; she was forging ahead; if she could only stand the pressure, in a
minute or so she would be clear of the rocks. Rob still kept his eye
on these treacherous shelves of yellow-green. Then he sang out,
'Down with her, boys!'
The black lug-sail rattled into the boat; there was nothing left now
but the straining jib.
'Slack the lee-jib sheet!'
The next minute he had put his helm gently up; the bow of the boat fell
away from the wind; and presently--just as they had time to see the
green depths of the rocks they had succeeded in weathering--the
war-galley of the great chieftain was spinning away down Loch Scrone,
racing with the racing waves, the wind tearing and hauling at her
bellied-out jib.
'Hurrah, my lads! we'll soon be at Eilean-na-Rona now, eh?' Rob shouted.
He did not seem much put about by that narrow escape. Squalls were
common on this coast, and it was the business of one aspiring to be a
fisherman to take things as they came.
'Come, set to work and bale out the boat, you bare-shanks lot! How
d'ye think she can sail with the half of Loch Scrone inside her?'
Thus admonished, the younger brothers were soon among the stone ballast
baling out the surging water with such rude utensils as they could
find. But the squall was of no great duration. The wind moderated in
force; then it woke up again, and brought a smart shower of rain
across; then, as if by magic, the heavens suddenly cleared, a burst of
hot sunlight fell around them, the sea grew intensely blue, the far
hills on the other side of Loch Scrone began to shine green in the
yellow light, and all that was left to tell of the squall that had very
nearly put an end to the great chieftain and all his clan was a quickly
running sea, now all sparkling in diamonds.
The danger being thus over, Rob once more delivered the tiller into the
charge of his brother Nicol, and went forward to his post of
observation at the bow. About the only bit of the imaginative voyage
on which he had started that had a solid basis in fact was the
existence of an old castle--or rather the ruins of what had once been a
castle--on the island called Eilean-na-Rona; and now that they were
racing down Loch Scrone, that small island was drawing nearer, and
already they could make out the dark tower and ivied walls of the
ancient keep. Far darker than the tower itself were the legends
connected with this stronghold of former times; but for these the
brothers MacNicol, who had seized on the place as their own, cared
little. It is true, they had some dread of the dungeon, and none of
them would have liked to visit Eilean-na-Rona at night; but in the
daytime the old ruins formed an excellent retreat, where they could
play such high jinks or hold such courtly tournaments as they chose.
They ran the boat into a little creek of the uninhabited island,
driving her right up on the beach for safety's sake, there being no
anchor. Then--Neil carrying a small basket the while and Duncan a coil
of rope--they passed through a wood of young larches and spruce, the
air smelling strongly of bracken and meadow-sweet after the rain; and
finally they reached the rocky eminence on which stood the ruins.
There was no way up, for tourists did not come that way, and the owner
of the island, who was a farmer on the mainland, had but little care
for antiquities. However, the lads found no difficulty. They swarmed
up the face of the crags like so many squirrels, and found themselves
on a grassy plateau which had once formed the outer courtyard of the
keep. Around this plateau were fragments of what in former days had
been a massive wall, but most of the crumbling masonry was hidden under
ivy and weeds. In front of them, again, rose the great tower with its
arched and gloomy entrance, and its one or two small windows, in the
clefts of which bunches of wallflower were growing. The only sign of
life about the old castle or the uninhabited island was given by two or
three jackdaws that wheeled about overhead, and cawed harshly in
resentment of this intrusion.
The great chieftain, Robert of the Red Hand, having now assembled his
kinsmen and allies in the ancient halls of Eilean-na-Rona, proceeded to
speak as follows.
'Nicol, my man, ye have been tried and convicted.'
'I ken that,' was Nicol's philosophical reply.
'Ye had no business to make fast the sheet of the lug-sail; ye might
have drooned the lot of us.'
Nicol nodded. He had sinned, and was prepared to suffer.
'Have ye ought to say against your being lowered into the dungeon?'
'I have not. Do you think I'm feared?' said Nicol scornfully.
'Ye will not pay the penny?'
'Deil a penny will I pay!'
'Nicol,' said his cousin Neil, with some touch of compassion--for
indeed he knew that the dungeon was a gruesome place--'Nicol, maybe you
have not got a penny?'
'Well, I have not,' said Nicol.
'Will I lend ye one?'
'What would be the use of that?' said Nicol; 'I would have to pay it
back. Do you think I'm feared? I tell you I am not feared.'
So there was nothing for it but to get the rope and pass it under
Nicol's arms, fastening it securely at his back. Thus bound, the
culprit was marched through the archway of the old tower into an
apartment that was but feebly lit by the reflected glare coming from
without. The other boys, as well as Nicol, walked very carefully over
the dank-smelling earth, until they came to what seemed to be a large
hole dug out of the ground, and black as midnight. This was the
dungeon into which Nicol was to be lowered, that he might expiate his
offence before the high revels began.
[1] _Anglice_, seized hold of the weasel.
CHAPTER II.
THE LAST OF THE GAMES.
But before proceeding to relate how the captive clansman was lowered
into the dungeon of the castle on Eilean-na-Rona, it will be necessary
to explain why he did not choose to purchase his liberty by the payment
of the sum of one penny. Pennies among the boys of Erisaig, and more
especially among the MacNicols, were an exceedingly scarce commodity.
The father of the three MacNicols, who was also burdened with the
charge of their orphan cousin Neil, was a hand on board the steamer
_Glenara Castle_, and very seldom came ashore. He had but small wages;
and it was all he could do, in the bringing up of the boys, to pay a
certain sum for their lodging and schooling, leaving them pretty much
to cadge for themselves as regarded food and clothes. Their food,
mostly porridge, potatoes, and fish of their own catching, cost little;
and they did not spend much money on clothes, especially in summer
time, when no Erisaig boy--except Rob MacNicol, who was a distinguished
person--would submit to the encumbrance of shoes and stockings.
Nevertheless, for various purposes, money was necessary to them; and
this they obtained by going down in the morning, when the herring boats
came in, and helping the men to strip the nets. The men were generally
tired out and sleepy with their long night's work; and if they had had
anything like a good haul, they were glad to give these lads twopence
or threepence apiece to undertake the labour of lifting the nets, yard
by yard, out of the hold, shaking out the silvery fish and dexterously
extricating those that had got more firmly enmeshed. Moreover, it was
a work the boys delighted in. If it was not the rose, it was near the
rose. If it was not for them as yet to sail away in the afternoon,
watched by all the village, at least they could take this small part in
the great herring trade. And when they had shaken out the last of the
nets, and received their wages, they stepped ashore with a certain
pride; and generally they put both hands in their pockets as a real
fisherman would do; and perhaps they would walk along the quays with a
slight lurch, as if they, also, had been cramped up all the long night
through, and felt somewhat unused to walking on first getting back to
land.
Now these MacNicol boys, again imitating the well-to-do among the
fishermen, had each an account at the savings bank; and the pence they
got were carefully hoarded up. For if they wanted a new Glengarry cap,
or if they wanted to buy a book telling them of all kinds of tremendous
adventures at sea, or if it became necessary to purchase some more
fishing-hooks at the grocer's shop, it was their own small store of
wealth they had to look to; and so it came about that a penny was
something to be seriously considered. When Rob MacNicol had to impose
a fine of one penny, he knew it was a dire punishment; and if there was
any alternative, the fine was rarely paid. The fund, therefore, which
he had started for the purchase of an old and disused set of bagpipes,
and which was to be made up of those fines, did not grow apace. Of
course, being a chieftain, he must needs have a piper. The revels in
the halls of Eilean-na-Rona lacked half their impressiveness through
the want of the pipes. No doubt, Rob had a sort of suspicion that, if
ever they should grow rich enough to buy the old set of bagpipes, he
would have to play them himself; but even the most ignorant person can
perceive that to be one's own piper must at least be better than to
have no piper at all.
And now the captive Nicol MacNicol was led to the edge of this black
pit in the floor of the lower hall of the castle. On several occasions
one or other of the boys had been lowered, for slighter offences, into
this dungeon; but no one had ever been condemned to go to the
bottom--if bottom there were. But Nicol did not flinch. He was
satisfied of the justice of his sentence. He was aware he deserved the
punishment. Above all he was determined to save that penny.
At the same time, when the other three had poised themselves so as to
lower the rope gradually, and when he found himself descending into
that black mole, he looked rather nervously below him. Of course he
could see nothing. But there was a vague tradition that this dungeon
was haunted by ghosts, vampires, warlocks, and other unholy things; and
there was a chill, strange, earthy odour arising from it; and the walls
that he scraped against were slimy and damp. He uttered no word,
however; and those above kept slowly paying out the coil of rope.
Rob became somewhat concerned.
'It'll be no easy job to pull him back,' he said in a whisper.
'It's as deep as the dungeon they put Donald Gorm Mor into,' said his
cousin Neil.
'Maybe there's no bottom at all,' said Duncan, rather awe-stricken.
Suddenly a fearful thing happened. There was a cry from below--a quick
cry of alarm; and at the same moment they were startled by a wild
whizzing and whirring around them, as if a legend of fiends had rushed
out of the pit. With a shriek of fright Duncan sprang back from the
edge of the dungeon; and that with such force that he knocked over his
two companions. Moreover, in falling, they let go the rope; when they
rose again they looked round in the twilight, but could find no trace
of it. It had slipped over the edge. And there was no sound from
below.
Rob was the first to regain his senses. He rushed to the edge of the
hole and stooped over.
'Nicol, are ye there?'
His heart jumped within him when he heard his brother's voice.
'Yes, I am; and the rope too. How am I to get up?'
Rob turned quickly.
'Duncan, down to the boat with ye! Loosen the lug-sail halyards, and
bring them up--quick, quick!'
Duncan was off like a young roe. He slid down the crags; he dashed
through the larch-wood; he jumped into the boat on the beach.
Presently he was making his way as quickly back again, the halyards
coiled round his arm so as not to prevent his climbing.
'Nicol!' shouted Rob.
'Ay?'
'I am lowering the halyards to ye. Fasten them to the end of the rope.'
'I canna see them.'
'Grope all round till ye come to them.'
And so, in process of time, the end of the rope was hauled up, and
thereafter--to the great relief of every one--and to his own, no doubt,
Nicol appeared alive and well, though somewhat anxious to get away from
the neighbourhood of that dungeon. He went immediately out into the
warm summer air, followed by the others.
'Man, what a fright I got!' he said at last, having recovered his
speech.
'Ay, and so did we,' Neil admitted.
'What was't?' said he, timidly; as if almost afraid to put his own
fears and suspicions into words.
'I dinna ken,' Neil said, looking rather frightened.
'Ye dinna ken!' Rob MacNicol said, with a scornful laugh. 'Ye ought to
ken, then. It was nothing but a lot of bats; and Duncan yelled as if
he had seen twenty warlocks; and knocked us over, so that we lost the
rope. Come! boys, begin your games now; the steamer will be in early
the day.'
Well, it seemed easier to dismiss superstitious fears out here in the
sunlight. Perhaps it had been only bats, after all. Warlocks did not
whirr in the air--at least, they were understood not to do so. Witches
were supposed to reserve their aerial performances for the night-time.
Perhaps it was only bats, as Rob asserted. Indeed, it would be
safer--especially in Rob's presence--to accept his explanation of the
mystery. At the same time the younger boys occasionally darted a
stealthy glance backward to that gloomy apartment that had so suddenly
become alive with unknown things.
Then the games began. Rob had come to the conclusion that a wise
chieftain should foster a love for national sports and pastimes; and to
that end he had invented a system of marks, the winning of a large
number of which entitled the holder to pecuniary or other reward. As
for himself, his part was that of spectator and arbiter; he handicapped
the competitors; he declared the prizes. On this occasion he ensconced
himself in a niche of the ruins, where he was out of the glare of the
sun, and gracefully surrounded by masses of ivy; while his relatives
hauled out to the middle of the green plateau several trunks of
fir-trees, of various sizes, that had been carefully lopped and pruned
for the purpose of 'tossing the caber.' Well, they 'tossed the caber,'
they 'put the stone,' they had wrestling-matches and other trials of
strength, Rob the while surveying the scene with a critical eye, and
reckoning up the proper number of marks. But now some milder
diversions followed. Three or four planks, rudely nailed together, and
forming a piece of rough flooring about two or three yards square, were
hauled out from an archway, placed on the grass, and a piece of
tarpaulin thrown over it. Then two of the boys took out their
Jew's-harps--alas! alas! that was the only musical instrument within
their reach, until the coveted bagpipes should be purchased--and gaily
struck up with 'Green grow the rashes, O!' as a preliminary flourish.
What was this now? What but a performance of the famous sword-dance by
that renowned and valiant henchman, Nicol MacNicol of Erisaig, in the
kingdom of Scotland! Nicol, failing a couple of broadswords or four
dirks, had got two pieces of rusty old iron and placed them cross-wise
on the extemporised floor. With what skill and nimbleness he proceeded
to execute this sword-dance,--which is no doubt the survival of some
ancient mystic rite,--with what elegance he pointed his toes and held
his arms akimbo; with what amazing dexterity, in all the evolutions of
the dance, he avoided touching the bits of iron; nay, with what
intrepidity, at the most critical moment, he held his arms aloft and
victoriously snapped his thumbs, it wants a Homeric chronicler to tell.
It needs only be said here that, after it, Neil's 'Highland Fling' was
a comparative failure, though he, better than most, could give that
outflung quiver of the foot which few can properly acquire, and without
which the dancer of the 'Highland Fling' might just as well go home and
go to bed. The great chieftain, having regarded these and other
performances with an observant eye, and having awarded so many marks to
this one and to that, declared the games over, and invited the
competitors one and all to a royal banquet.
It was a good deal more wholesome than most banquets, for it consisted
of a scone and a glass of fresh milk apiece--butter being as yet beyond
the means of the MacNicols. And it was a good deal more sensible than
most banquets, for there was no speech-making after it. But there was
some interesting conversation.
'Nicol, what did ye find in the dungeon?' Duncan said.
'Oh, man, it was a gruesome place,' said Nicol, who did not want to
make too little of the perils he had encountered.
'What did ye see?'
'How could I see anything? But I felt plenty on the way down; and I'm
sure it's fu' o' creeping things and beasts. And then when I was near
the foot, I put my hand on something leevin', and it flew up and hit
me; and in a meenit the whole place was alive. Man, what a noise it
was! And then down came the rope, and I fell; and I got sich a dour on
the head!'
'Nothing but bats!' said Rob, contemptuously.
'I think it was houlets,' [1] said Duncan, confidently; 'for there was
one in the wood when I was gaun through, and I nearly ran my head
against him. He was sitting in one of the larches--man, he made a
noise!'
'Ye've got your heads filled with nothing but witches and warlocks the
day!' said Rob, impatiently, as he rose to his feet. 'Come, and get
the things into the basket. We maun be back in Erisaig before the
_Glenara_ comes in.'
Very soon thereafter the small party made their way down again to the
shore, and entered the war-galley of the chieftain, the halyards being
restored to their proper use. There were no more signs of any squall;
but the light steady breeze was contrary; and as Robert of the Red Hand
was rather anxious to get back before the steamer should arrive, and as
he prided himself on his steering, he himself took the tiller, his
cousin Neil being posted as look-out forward.
It was a tedious business this beating up against the contrary wind;
but there was nothing the MacNicols delighted in so much as in sailing,
and they had grown to be expert in handling a boat. And it needed all
their skill to get anything out of these repeated tacks with this old
craft, that had a sneaking sort of fashion of falling away to leeward.
However, they had the constant excitement of putting about; and the day
was fine; and they were greatly refreshed after their arduous pastimes
by that banquet of scones and milk. Nor did they know that this was to
be the last day of their careless boyish idleness; that never again
would the great chieftain, heedless of what the morrow might bring
forth, hold these high frolics in the halls of Eilean-na-Rona.
Patience and perseverance will beat even contrary winds; and at last,
after one long tack stretching almost to the other side of Loch Scrone,
they put about and managed to make the entrance to the harbour, just
weathering the rocks that had nearly destroyed them on their setting
out. But here another difficulty waited them. Under the shelter of
the low-lying hills, the harbour was in a dead calm. No sooner had
they passed the rocks than they found themselves on water as smooth as
glass, and there were no oars in the boat. For this oversight Rob
MacNicol was not responsible; the fact being that oars were valuable in
Erisaig, and not easily to be borrowed, whereas this old boat was at
anybody's disposal. There was nothing for it but to sit and wait for a
puff of wind.
Suddenly they heard a sound--the distant throbbing of the _Glenara's_
paddles. Rob grew anxious. This old boat was right in the fairway of
the steamer; and the question was whether, in coming round the point,
she would see them in time to slow.
'I wish we were out of here,' said he.
As a last resource, he threw the tiller into the boat, took up the
helm, and tried to use this as a sort of paddle. But this was scarcely
of any avail; and they could hear, though they could not see, that the
steamer was almost at the point.
The next moment she appeared; and it seemed to them in their fright
that she was almost upon them--towering away over them with her
gigantic bulk. They heard the scream of the steam-whistle, and the
sharp 'ping! ping!' of the indicator, as the captain tried to have the
engines reversed.
It was too late. The way on the steamer carried her on, even when her
paddles were stopped; and the next second her bows had gone clean into
the old tarred boat, cutting her almost in two and heeling her over.
She sank at once. Then the passengers of the steamer rushed to the
side to see what should become of the lads struggling in the water; the
mate threw overboard to them a couple of life-buoys; and the captain
shouted out to have a boat lowered. There was a great confusion.
Meanwhile, all this had been witnessed by the father of the MacNicols,
who had stood for a second or two as if paralysed. Then a sort of
spasm of action seized him, and, apparently not knowing what he was
about, he threw open the gangway abaft the paddle-box and sprang into
the sea.
[1] _Anglice_, owls.
CHAPTER III.
ALTERED CIRCUMSTANCES.
Even with this big steamer coming right down on them, Rob MacNicol did
not lose his head. He knew that his two brothers and his cousin Neil
could swim like water-rats; and as for himself, though he would have
given a good deal to get rid of his boots, he did not fear being able
to get ashore.
But there was no time to think.
'Jump clear of the boat!' he shouted to his companions.
The next second came the dreadful crash. The frail old boat seemed to
be pressed onwards and downwards, as if the steamer had run right over
her. Then Rob found himself in the water, and very deep in the water
too. The next thing he perceived was a great greenish-white thing over
his head; and as he knew that that was the hull of the steamer, he
struck away from it with all the strength at his disposal. He
remembered afterwards experiencing a sort of hatred of that shining
green thing, and thinking it looked hideous and dangerous, like a shark.
However, the next moment he rose to the surface, blew the water out of
his mouth, and looked around. There was a life-buoy within a yard of
him, and the people on the steamer were calling to him to lay hold of
it; but he had never touched one of these things, and he preferred to
trust to himself, heavy as he felt his boots to be. It was the others
he was looking after. Neil, he perceived, was already off for the
shore, swimming hand over hand, as if a swordfish were after him.
Nicol was being hauled up the side of the steamer at the end of a rope,
just as he had been hauled up from the Eilean-na-Rona dungeon; and his
brother Duncan had seized hold of the helm that had been cast loose
when the boat went down. Satisfied that every one was safe, Rob
himself struck out for the side of the steamer, and was speedily hauled
on board, presently finding himself on deck with his two dripping
companions.
The strange thing was that his father was nowhere to be seen, and even
the captain looked round and asked where John MacNicol was. At the
same moment a woman, all trembling, came forward and asked the mate if
they had got the man out.
'What man?' said he.
She said she had been standing by the paddle-box, and that one of the
sailors, the moment the accident had occurred, had opened the gangway
and jumped into the water, no doubt with the intention of rescuing the
boys. She had not seen him come up again, for just as he went down the
steamer backed.
At this news there was some little consternation. The mate called
aloud for John MacNicol; there was no answer. He ran to the other side
of the steamer; nothing was visible on the smooth water. They searched
everywhere, and the boat that had been lowered was pulled about, but
the search was in vain. The woman's story was the only explanation of
this strange disappearance; but the sailors suspected more than they
dared to suggest to the bewildered lads. They suspected that old
MacNicol had dropped into the water just before the paddles had made
their first backward revolution, and that in coming to the surface he
had been struck by one of the floats. They said nothing of this,
however; and as the search proved to be quite useless, the _Glenara_
steamed slowly onward to the quay.
It was not until the next afternoon that they recovered the body of old
MacNicol; and from certain appearances on the corpse, it was clear that
he had been struck down by the paddles in his effort to reach and help
his sons. That was a sad evening for Rob MacNicol. It was his first
introduction to the cruel facts of life. And amid his sorrow for the
loss of one who, in a sort of rough and reticent way, had been very
kind and even affectionate to him, Rob was vaguely aware that on
himself now rested the responsibility for the upbringing of his two
brothers and his cousin. He sat up late that night, long after the
others were asleep, thinking of what he should do. In the midst of
this silence the door was quietly opened, and Daft Sandy came into the
small room.
'What do ye want at this time o' night?' said Rob angrily, for he had
been startled.
The old, bent, half-witted man looked cautiously at the bed, in which
Neil lay fast asleep.
'Whisht, Rob, my man,' he said in a whisper; 'I waited till every one
in Erisaig was asleep. Ay, ay! it's a bad day this day for you. And
what are ye going to do now, Rob? Ye'll be taking to the fishing?'
'Oh, ay; I'll be taking to the fishing!' said Rob bitterly, for he had
been having his dreams also, and had turned from them with a sigh. 'Of
course I'll be taking to the fishing! And maybe ye'll tell me where I
am to get 40 pounds to buy a boat, and where I am to get 30 pounds to
buy nets? Maybe ye'll tell me that, Sandy?'
'The bank----'
'What does the bank ken about me? They would as soon think of throwing
the money into Loch Scrone.'
'But ye ken, Rob, Coll Macdougall would give ye a share in his boat for
12 pounds.'
'Twelve pounds! Man, ye're just daft, Sandy. Where am I to get 12
pounds?'
'Well, well, Rob,' said the old man coming nearer, and speaking still
more mysteriously, 'listen to what I tell ye. Some day or other ye'll
be taking to the fishing; and when that day comes I will put something
in your way. Ay, ay; the fishermen about Erisaig dinna know
everything; come to me, Rob, my man, and I'll tell ye something about
the herring. Ye are a good lad, Rob; many's the herring I've got from
ye when I wouldna go near the shore for they mischievous bairns; and
when once ye have a boat and nets o' your own I will tell ye something.
Daft Sandy is no so daft, maybe. Have ye ony tobacco, Rob?'
Rob said he had no tobacco; and making sure that Daft Sandy had come to
him with a pack of nonsense merely as an excuse to borrow money for
tobacco, he bundled him out of the house and went to bed.
Rob was anxious that his brothers and cousin, and himself, should
present a respectable appearance at the funeral; and in these humble
preparations nearly all their small savings were swallowed up. The
funeral expenses were paid by the Steamboat Company. Then after the
funeral, the few people who were present departed to their own homes,
no doubt imagining that the MacNicol boys would be able to live as
hitherto they had lived--that is, anyhow.
But there was a kindly man called Jamieson, who kept the grocery shop,
and he called Rob in as the boys passed home.
'Rob,' said he, 'ye maun be doing something now. There's a cousin of
mine has a whisky shop in the Saltmarket in Glasgow, and I could get ye
a place there.'
Rob's very gorge rose at the notion of his having to serve in a whisky
shop in Glasgow. That would be to abandon all the proud ambitions of
his life. Nevertheless, he had been thinking seriously about the duty
he owed to these lads, his companions, who were now dependent on him.
So he swallowed his pride and said,
'How much would he give me?'
'I think I could get him to give ye four shillings a week. That would
keep ye very well.'
'Keep me?' said Rob. 'Ay, but what's to become o' Duncan and Neil and
Nicol?'
'They must shift for themselves,' the grocer answered.
'That winna do,' said Rob, and he left the shop.
He overtook his companions and asked them to go along to some rocks
overlooking the harbour. They sat down there--the harbour below them
with all its picturesque boats, and masses of drying nets, and what not.
'Neil,' said Rob to his cousin, 'we'll have to think about things now.
There will be no more Eilean-na-Rona for us. We have just about as
much left as will pay the lodgings this week, and Nicol must go three
nights a week to the night school. What we get for stripping the nets
'll no do now.'
'It will not,' said Neil.
'Mr. Jamieson was offering me a place in Glasgow, but it is not very
good, and I think we will do better if we keep together. Neil,' said
he, 'if we had only a net, do ye not think we could trawl for cuddies?'
[1]
And again he said, 'Neil, do ye not think we could make a net for
ourselves out of the old rags lying at the shed?'
And again he said, 'Do ye think that Peter, the tailor, would lend us
his old boat for a shilling a week?'
It was clear that Rob had been carefully considering the details of
this scheme of co-operation. And it was eagerly welcomed, not only by
Neil, but also by the brothers Duncan and Nicol, who had been
frightened by the thought of Rob going away to Glasgow. The youngest
of all, Nicol, boldly declared that he could mend nets as well as any
man in Erisaig.
No sooner was the scheme thoroughly discussed, than it was determined,
under Rob's direction, to set to work at once. The woman who kept the
lodgings and cooked their food for them had intimated to them that they
need be in no hurry to pay her for a week or two until they should find
some employment; but they had need of money, or the equivalent of
money, in other directions. Might not old Peter, who was a grumbling
and ill-tempered person, insist on being paid in advance? Then, before
they could begin to make a net out of the torn and rejected pieces
lying about the shed, they must needs have a ball of twine. So Rob
bade his brothers and cousin go away and get their rude fishing-rods
and betake themselves to the rocks at the mouth of the harbour, and see
what fish they could get for him during the afternoon.
Meanwhile he himself went along to the shed which was used as a sort of
storage-house by some of the fishermen; and here he found lying about
plenty of pieces of net that had been cast aside in the process of
mending. This business of mending the nets is the last straw on the
back of the tired-out fisherman. When he has met with an accident to
his nets during the night, when he has fouled on some rocks in dragging
them in for example, it is a desperately fatiguing affair to set to
work to mend them when he gets ashore, dead beat with the labours of
the morning. The fishermen, for what reason I do not know, will not
entrust this work to their wives; they will rather, after having been
out all night, keep at it themselves, though they drop off to sleep
every few minutes. It is not to be wondered at, then, that often,
instead of trying to laboriously mend holes here or there, they should
cut out a large piece of torn net bodily and tack on a fresh piece.
The consequence is, that in a place like Erisaig there is generally
plenty of netting to be got for the asking; which is a good thing for
gardeners who want to protect currant bushes from the blackbirds, and
who will take the trouble to patch the pieces together.
Rob was allowed to pick out a large number of pieces that he thought
might serve his purpose; and these he carried off home. But then came
the question of floats and sinkers. Sufficient pieces of cork to form
the floats might in time be got about the beach; but the sinkers had
all been removed from the cast-away netting. In this extremity, Rob
bethought of rigging up a couple of guy-poles, as the salmon-fishers
call them, one for each end of the small seine he had in view; so that
these guy-poles, with a lump of lead at the lower end, would keep the
net vertical while it was being dragged through the water. All this
took up the best part of the afternoon; for he had to cadge about
before he could get a couple of stout poles; and he had to bargain with
the blacksmith for a lump of lead. Then he walked along to the point
where the other MacNicols were busy fishing.
They had been lucky with their lines and bait. On the rocks beside
them lay two or three small codling, a large flounder, two good-sized
lythe, and nearly a dozen saithe. Rob got hold of these; washed them
clean to make them look fresh and smart; put a string through their
gills, and marched off with them to the village.
He felt no shame in trying to sell fish: was it not the whole trade of
the village? He walked into the grocer's shop.
'Will ye buy some fish?' said he, 'they're fresh.'
The grocer looked at them.
'What do you want?'
'A ball of twine.'
'Let me tell ye this, Rob,' said the grocer, severely, 'that a lad in
your place should be thinking of something else than fleein' a dragon.'
[2]
'I dinna want to flee any dragon,' said Rob, 'I want to mend a net.'
'Oh, that is quite different,' said the grocer; and then he added, with
a good-natured laugh, 'Are ye going to be a fisherman, Rob?'
'I will see,' Rob said.
So he had his ball of twine--and a very large one it was. Off he set
to his companions.
'Come away, boys, I have other work for ye. Now, Nicol, my man, ye'll
show us what ye can do in the mending of nets. Ye havena been telling
lies?'
Well, it took them several days of very hard and constant work before
they rigged up something resembling a small seine; and then Rob affixed
his guy-poles; and they went to the grocer and got from him a lot of
old rope on the promise to give him a few fresh fish whenever they
happened to have a good haul. Then Rob proceeded to his fateful
interview with Peter the tailor.
Peter was a sour-visaged, gray-headed old man, who wore horn-rimmed
spectacles. He was sitting cross-legged on his bench when Rob entered.
'Peter, will ye lend me your boat?'
'I will not.'
'Why will ye no lend me the boat?'
'Do I want it sunk, as ye sunk that boat the other day? Go away with
ye. Ye're an idle lot, you MacNicols. Ye'll be drooned some day.'
'We want it for the fishing, Peter,' said Rob, who took no notice of
the tailor's ill-temper. 'I'll give ye a shilling a week for the loan
o't.'
'A shilling a week!' said Peter with a laugh. 'A shilling a week!
Where's your shilling?'
'There,' said Rob, putting it plump down on the bench.
The tailor looked at the shilling; took it up, bit it, and put it in
his pocket.
'Very well,' said he, 'but mind, if ye sink my boat, ye'll have three
pounds to pay.'
Rob went back eager and joyous. Forthwith, a thorough inspection of
the boat was set about by the lads in conjunction; they tested the
oars; they tested the thole-pins; they had a new piece of cork put into
the bottom. For that evening, when it grew a little more towards dusk,
they would make their first cast with their net.
Yes; and that evening, when it had quite turned to dusk, the people of
Erisaig were startled with a new proclamation. It was Neil MacNicol,
standing in front of the cottages, and boldly calling forth these words:
"IS THERE ANY ONE WANTING CUDDIES? THERE ARE CUDDIES TO BE SOLD AT THE
WEST SLIP, FOR A SIXPENCE A HUNDERD!"
[1] 'Cuddies' is the familiar name in those parts for young saithe.
'Trawling,' again, means there the use of an ordinary seine.
[2] 'Fleein' a dragon'--flying a kite.
CHAPTER IV.
FURTHER ENDEAVOUR.
That was indeed an anxious time when the four MacNicols proceeded to
try the net on which they had spent so much forethought and labour.
They had no great expectation of catching fish this evening; their
object was rather to try whether the ropes would hold, whether the
floats would be sufficient, and whether Rob's guy-poles would keep the
net vertical. So they got into the tailor's boat, and rowed away round
the point to a sandy bay where they had nothing to fear from rocks on
this their first experiment.
It was, as has been mentioned in the previous chapter, nearly dusk--an
excellent time for catching saithe, if saithe were about. The net had
been carefully placed in the stern of the boat, so that it would run
out easily, the rope attached to the guy-pole neatly coiled on the top.
Rob was very silent as his two brothers pulled away at the long oars.
He knew what depended on this trial. They had just enough money left
to settle with their landlady on the following evening; and Nicol's
school-fees had to be paid in advance.
They rowed quietly into this little bay, which, though of a sandy
bottom, was pretty deep. Rob had resolved to take the whole
responsibility of the experiment on himself. He landed his brothers
and his cousin, giving the latter the end of the rope attached to the
guy-pole; then he quietly pulled away again from the shore.
When the length of the rope was exhausted, he himself took the guy-pole
and gently dropped it over, to prevent splashing; and as he did so the
net began to pay out. He pulled slowly, just to see how the thing
would work; and it seemed to work very well. The net went out freely,
and apparently sank properly; from the top of the guy-pole to the stern
of the boat you could see nothing but the line of the floats on the
smooth water. But the net was a small one: soon it would be exhausted;
so Rob began to pull round towards the shore again. At the same time
Neil, who had had his instructions, began to haul in his end of the net
gently, so that by and by, when Rob had run the boat on the beach, and
jumped out with his rope in his hand, the line of floats began to form
a semicircle that was gradually narrowing and coming nearer the shore.
It was a moment of great excitement, and not a word was spoken. For
although this was ostensibly only a trial to see how the net would
work, each lad in his secret heart was wondering whether there might
not be a haul of fish captured from the mysterious deep; and not one of
them, not Rob himself, could tell whether this very considerable weight
they were gradually pulling in was the weight of the net merely, or the
weight of fish, or the weight of seaweed.
The semicircle of the floats came nearer and nearer, all eyes striving
to pierce the clear water.
'I hope the rope'll no break,' said Rob, anxiously, for the weight was
great.
'And it's only seaweed!' said Duncan, in a tone of great disappointment.
But Rob's eye had been caught by some unusual appearance in the water.
It seemed troubled somehow; and more especially near the line of floats.
'Is it?' said he; and he hastily bade Duncan take the rope and haul it
gently in. He himself began to take up handfuls of small stones, and
fling them into the sea close by the two guy-poles, so that the fish
should be frightened back into the net. And as the semicircle grew
still smaller, it was very obvious that, though there might be seaweed
in the net, it was not all seaweed. By this time the guy-poles had
been got ashore; they were now hauling at the net itself.
'Quicker now, boys!' Rob called out. 'Man alive, look at that!'
All the space of water now enclosed by the net was seen to be in a
state of commotion; the net itself was being violently shaken; here and
there a fish leapt into the air.
'Steady, boys! Don't jerk, or ye'll tear the net to bits!' Rob called
out in great excitement.
For behold! when they had hauled this great weight up on the shore with
a final swoop, there was something there that almost bewildered them--a
living mass of fish floundering about in the wet seaweed--some
springing into the air--others flopping out on to the sand--many
helplessly entangled in the meshes. It was a wonderful sight; but
their astonishment and delight had to give place to action.
'Run for the boat, Nicol! There's more where they came from!' Rob
shouted.
Nicol rushed along to the boat; shoved her out; pulled her along to
where his companions were; and backed her, stern in. They had no
bucket; they had to fling the fish into the bottom of the boat. But
this business of stripping the nets--shaking out the seaweed and
freeing the enmeshed fish--was familiar to them; and they all worked
with a will. There was neither a dog-fish nor a conger in all the
haul, so they had no fears for their hands. In less than a quarter of
an hour the net was back in the boat, properly arranged, and Rob ready
to start again--at a place farther along the beach.
They were soon full of eagerness. In fact, they were too eager; and
this time they hauled in with such might and main that, just as the
guy-poles were nearing the shore, the rope attached to one of them
broke. But Rob instantly jumped into the water, seized the pole
itself, and hauled it out with him. Here, also, they had a
considerable take of fish; but there was a heavy weight of seaweed
besides; and one or two rents showed that they had pulled the net over
rocks. So they went back to the former ground; and so successful were
they, and so eagerly did they work, that when the coming darkness
warned them to return to Erisaig, they had the stern of the boat nearly
full of very fairly-sized saithe.
Neil regarded this wonderful treasure of the deep, as he laboured away
at his oar.
'Man, Rob, who could have expected such a lot? And what will ye do
with them now? Will ye send them to Glasgow by the _Glenara_?--I think
Mr. M'Aulay would lend us a box or two. Or will ye clean them and dry
them, and sell them from a barrow?'
'We canna start two or three trades all at once,' said Rob, after a
minute or two. 'I think we'll sell them straight off, if the folk are
no in bed. Ye'll gang and see, Neil; and I'll count the fish at the
slip.'
'And what will I say ye will take for them?'
'I think I would ask a sixpence a hundred,' said Rob, slowly; for he
had been considering that question for the last ten minutes.
At length they got in to the slip; and Neil at once proceeded to inform
the inhabitants of Erisaig, who were still lounging about in the dusk,
that for sixpence a hundred they could have fine fresh 'cuddies.' It
might be thought that in a place like Erisaig, which was one of the
headquarters of the herring-trade, it would be difficult to sell fish
of any description. But the fact was that the herring were generally
contracted for by the agents of the salesmen, and shipped directly for
Glasgow, so that they were but rarely retailed in Erisaig itself;
moreover, people accustomed to herring their whole life through
preferred variety--a freshly-caught mackerel, or flounder, or what not.
Perhaps, however, it was more curiosity than anything else that brought
the neighbours along to the west slip, to see what the MacNicols had
been about.
Well, there was a good deal of laughing and jeering, especially on the
part of the men (these were idlers: the fishermen were all gone away in
the boats); but the women, who had to provide for their households,
knew when they had a cheap bargain; and the sale of the 'cuddies'
proceeded briskly. Indeed, when the people had gone away again, and
the four lads were by themselves on the quay, there was not a single
'cuddy' left--except a dozen that Rob had put into a can of water, to
be given to the grocer in the morning as part payment for the loan of
the ropes.
'What do ye make it altogether?' said Neil to Rob, who was counting the
money.
'Three shillings and ninepence.'
'Three shillings and ninepence! Man, that's a lot. Will ye put it in
the savings bank?'
'No, I will not,' said Rob. 'I'm no satisfied with the net, Neil. We
must have better ropes all the way round; and whatever money we can
spare we maun spend on the net. Man, think of this now: if we were to
fall in with a big haul of herring or Johnnie-Dories, and lose them
through the breaking of the net, I think ye would jist sit down and
greet.'
It was wise counsel, as events showed. For one afternoon, some ten
days afterwards, they set out as usual. They had been having varying
success; but they had earned more than enough to pay their landlady,
the tailor, and the schoolmaster; and every farthing beyond these
necessary expenses they had spent on the net. They had replaced all
the rotten pieces with sound twine; they had got new ropes; they had
deepened it, moreover, and added some more sinkers to help the
guy-poles. Well, on this afternoon, Duncan and Nicol, being the two
youngest, were as usual pulling away to one of the small quiet bays,
and Rob was idly looking around him, when he saw something on the
surface of the sea at some distance off that excited a sudden interest.
It was what the fishermen call 'broken water'--a seething produced by a
shoal of fish.
'Look, look, Neil!' he cried. 'It's either mackerel or herring; will
we try for them?'
The greatest excitement at once prevailed on board. The younger
brothers pulled their hardest to make for that rough patch on the
water. Rob undid the rope from the guy-pole, and got this last ready
to drop overboard. He knew very well that they ought to have had two
boats to execute this manoeuvre; but was there not a chance for them if
they were to row hard, in a circle, and pick up the other end of the
net when they came to it? So Neil took a third oar: two rowing one
side and one the other was just what they wanted.
They came nearer and nearer that strange hissing of the water. They
kept rather away from it: and Rob quietly dropped the guy-pole over,
paying out the net rapidly, so that it should not be dragged after the
boat. Then the three lads pulled hard, and in a circle, so that at
last they were sending the bow of the boat straight towards the
floating guy-pole. The other guy-pole was near the stern of the boat,
the rope made fast to one of the thwarts. In a few minutes Rob had
caught this first guy-pole: they were now possessed of the two ends of
the net.
But the water had grown suddenly quiet. Had the fish dived and escaped
them? There was not the motion of a fin anywhere: and yet the net
seemed heavy to haul.
'Rob,' said Neil, almost in a whisper, 'we've got them!'
'We havena got them,' was the reply; 'but they're in the net. Man, I
wonder if it'll stand out.'
Then it was that the diligent patching and the strong tackle told. The
question was not with regard to the strength of the net, it was rather
with regard to the strength of the younger lads; for they had succeeded
in enclosing a goodly portion of a large shoal of mackerel, and the
weight seemed more than they could get into the boat. But even the
strength of the younger ones seemed to grow into the strength of giants
when they saw through the clear water a great moving mass like
quicksilver. And then the wild excitement of hauling in; the
difficulty of it; the danger of the fish escaping; the warning cries of
Rob; the clatter made by the mackerel; the possibility of swamping the
boat altogether, as all the four were straining their utmost at one
side. Indeed, by an awkward tilt at one moment some hundred or two of
the mackerel were seen to glide away; but perhaps that rendered it all
the more practicable to get into the boat what remained. When that
heaving, sparkling, jerking mass of quicksilver at last was
captured--shining all through the brown meshes of the net--the younger
lads sat down quite exhausted, wet through, and happy.
'Man, Rob, what do you think of that?' said Neil in amazement.
'What do I think?' said Rob; 'I think that if we could get two or three
more hauls like that I would soon buy a share in Coll MacDougall's boat
and go after the herring.'
They had no more thought that afternoon of 'cuddy'-fishing after this
famous take. Rob and Neil--the younger ones having had their
share--rowed back to Erisaig; then Rob left the boat at the slip, and
walked up to the office of the fish-salesman.
'What will ye give me for mackerel?' he said.
The salesman laughed at him, thinking he had caught a few with rods and
flies.
'I'm no buying mackerel,' said he; 'no by the half-dozen.'
'I've half a boat load,' said Rob.
The salesman glanced towards the slip, and saw the tailor's boat pretty
low in the water.
'Is that mackerel?'
'Yes, it is mackerel.'
'Where were you buying them?'
'I was not buying them anywhere. I caught them myself--my brothers and
me.'
'I do not believe you.'
'I cannot help that, then,' said Rob. 'But where had I the money to
buy mackerel from any one?'
The salesman glanced at the boat again.
'I'll go down to the slip with you.'
So he and Rob together walked down to the slip, and the salesmen had a
look at the mackerel. Apparently he had arrived at the conclusion
that, after all, Rob was not likely to have bought a cargo of mackerel
as a commercial speculation.
'Well, I will buy the mackerel from you,' he said. 'I will give you
half-a-crown the hundred for them.'
'Half-a-crown!' said Rob. 'I will take three-and-sixpence the hundred
for them.'
'I will not give it to you. But I will give you three shillings the
hundred, and a good price, too.'
'Very well, then,' said Rob.
So the MacNicols got altogether 2 pounds 8 shillings for that load of
mackerel: and out of that Rob spent the eight shillings on still
further improving the net; the 2 pounds going into the savings bank.
It is to be imagined that after this they kept a pretty sharp look-out
for 'broken water;' but of course they could not expect to run across a
shoal of mackerel every day.
However, as time went on, with bad luck and with good, and by dint of
hard and constant work whatever the luck was, the sum in the savings
bank slowly increased; and at last Rob announced to his companions that
they had saved enough to enable him to purchase a share in Coll
MacDougall's boat. Neil and Duncan and Nicol were sorely disinclined
to part with Rob; but yet they saw clearly enough that he was getting
too old to remain at the cuddy-fishing, and they knew they could now
work that line of business quite well by themselves. What Rob said was
this:
'You see it is a great chance for all of us that I should get a share
in the boat; for what I make at the herring-fishing will go into the
bank along with what you make at the trawling by the shore. And who
knows, if we all work hard enough, who knows but we may have a
herring-skiff all to ourselves some day? And that would be a fine
thing to have a herring-skiff to ourselves, and our own nets; and all
that we earned our own, and not in debt to any one whatever.'
Of course that was a dream of the future; for a herring-skiff costs a
considerable sum of money, and so do nets. But in the meantime they
were all agreed that what Rob counselled was wise; and a share in Coll
MacDougall's boat was accordingly purchased, after a great deal of
bargaining.
A proud lad was Rob MacNicol the afternoon he came along to the wharf
to take his place in the boat that was now partly his own. His
brothers and cousin were there to see him (envious a little, perhaps;
but proud also, for part of their money had gone to buy the share). He
had likewise purchased second-hand a huge pair of boots that were as
soft and pliable as grease could make them; and he carried a brand-new
yellow oilskin in his hand that crackled as he walked. Neil, Duncan,
and Nicol watched him throw his oilskin into the boat, and go forward
to the bow, and take his place there at the oar; and they knew very
well that if there was any one who could pull a huge oar better than
Rob MacNicol, it was not in Erisaig that that person was to be found.
Then the big herring-skiff passed away out to the point in the red glow
of the evening; and Rob had achieved the first great ambition of his
life.
CHAPTER V.
THE HIGH ROAD.
That was not a very good year for the herring-fishing on this part of
the coast; but at all events Rob MacNicol learned all the lore of the
fishermen, and grew as skilled as any of them in guessing at the
whereabouts of the herring; while at the end of the season he had more
than replaced the 12 pounds he had used of the common fund. Then he
returned to the tailor's boat, and worked with his brothers and cousin.
He was proud to know that he had a share in a fishing-skiff; but he was
not too proud to turn his hand to anything else that might help.
These MacNicol boys had grown to be greatly respected in Erisaig. The
audacity of four 'wastrel laddies' setting up to be fishermen on their
own account had at first amused the neighbours; but their success and
their conduct generally, soon raised them above ridicule; and the women
especially were warm in their commendation. They saw how Rob gradually
improved the appearance of his brothers and cousin. All of them had
boots and stockings now. Not only that, but they had white shirts and
jackets of blue cloth to go to church with on Sunday; and each of them
put twopence in the collection-plate just as if they had all been sons
of a rich shopkeeper. Moreover, they were setting an example to the
other boys about. Four of these, indeed, combined to start a
cuddy-fishing business similar to that of Rob's. Neil was rather
angry; but Rob was not afraid of any competition. He asked the new
boys to come and see how he had rigged up the guy-poles. He said there
were plenty of fish in the sea; and the market was large enough. But
when the new boys asked him to lend them some money to buy new ropes he
distinctly declined. He had got on without borrowing himself.
It was a long and dreary winter; but Nicol had nearly finished with his
schooling; and the seine-net had been largely added to; and every inch
of it overhauled. Then the cuddy-fishing began again; and soon Rob,
who was now nearly eighteen, and remarkably firm-set for his age, would
be away after the herring.
One day, as Rob was going along the main thoroughfare of Erisaig, the
banker called him into his office.
'Rob,' said he, 'have ye seen the skiff[1] at the building-yard?'
'Ay,' said Rob rather wistfully, for many a time he had stood and
looked at the beautiful lines of the new craft. 'She's a splendid
boat.'
'And ye've seen the new drift-net in the shed?'
'Ay, I have that.'
'Well, ye see, Rob,' continued Mr. Bailie, regarding him with a
good-natured look; 'I had the boat built and the net bought as a kind
of speculation; and I was thinking of getting a crew through from
Tarbert. They say the herring are beginning to come about some of the
western lochs. Now I have been hearing a good deal about you, Rob,
from the neighbours. They say that you, and your brothers and cousin,
are sober and diligent lads; and that you are good seamen, and careful.
Then you have been a while at the herring fishing yourself. Now do you
think you could manage that new boat?'
'Me!' said Rob, with his eyes staring, and his face aflame.
'I go by what the neighbours say, Rob. They say ye are a prudent lad,
not over venturesome; and I think I could trust my property to ye.
What say ye?'
In his excitement at the notion of being made master of such a
beautiful craft, Rob forgot the respect he ought to have shown in
addressing so great a person as the banker. He blurted out--
'Man, I would just like to try!'
'I will pay ye a certain sum per week while the fishing lasts,'
continued Mr. Bailie, 'and ye will hire what crew ye think fit.
Likewise I will give ye a percentage on the takes. Will that do?'
Rob was quite bewildered. All he could say was--
'I am obliged to ye, sir. Will ye wait for a minute till I see Neil.'
And very soon the wild rumour ran through Erisaig that no other than
Rob MacNicol had been appointed master of the new skiff, the _Mary of
Argyle_; and that he had taken his brothers and cousin as his crew.
Some of the women shook their heads; and said it was a shame to let
such mere lads go to the herring-fishing--for some night or other they
would be drowned; but the men, who knew something of Rob's seamanship,
had no fear at all; and their only doubt was about the younger lads
being up to the heavy work of hauling in the nets in the morning.
But their youth was a fault that would mend week by week. In the
meantime, Rob, having sold out his share in MacDougall's boat, bought
jerseys and black boots and yellow oil-skins for his companions; so
that the new crew, if they were rather slightly built, looked smart
enough, as they went down to the slip to overhaul the _Mary of Argyle_.
With what a pride they regarded the long and shapely lines of her--the
yellow beams shining with varnish; the tall mast at the bow, with its
stout cordage; the brand-new stove, that was to boil their tea for them
in the long watches of the night; the magnificent oars; the new sheets
and sails--everything spick and span. And this great mass of ruddy
netting lying in the shed, with its perfect floats and accurate
sinkers--this was not like the makeshift that had captured the cuddies.
Then on the morning that the _Mary of Argyle_ put to sea on her trial
trip, her owner was on board; but he merely sat on a thwart. It was
Rob who was at the tiller; Rob wanted to try the boat; the owner wanted
to observe the crew. And first of all she sailed lightly out of the
harbour, with the wind on her beam; then outside, the breeze being
fresher, they let her away down Loch Scrone, with the brilliant new
lug-sail bellying out; then they brought her round, and fought her up
against the stiff wind--Rob's brief words of command being obeyed with
the rapidity of lightning.
'Well, what do ye think of her?' said Mr. Bailie to his young skipper.
Rob's face was aglow with pride.
'I think she's like a race-horse!' he said. 'I think she would lick
any boat in Erisaig Bay.'
'But it is not to run races I have handed her over to ye. You must be
careful, Rob; and run back if there's any squally weather about. I'll
no be vexed if you're over cautious. For ye know if anything was to
happen to one of they lads, the people would say I had done wrong in
lippening[2] a boat to such a young crew.'
'Well, sir,' said Rob, boldly, 'ye have seen them work the boat. Do
they look like lads who do not know what sailing a boat is?'
Mr. Bailie laughed, and said no more.
Then came the afternoon on which they were to set out for the first
time after the herring. All Erisaig came out to see; and Rob was a
proud lad as he stepped on board (with the lazy indifference of the
trained fisherman very well imitated) and took his seat as stroke oar.
The afternoon was lovely; there was not a breath of wind; the setting
sun shone over the bay; and the _Mary of Argyle_ went away across the
shining waters with the long white oars dipping with the precision of
clock-work. It was not until they were at the mouth of the harbour
that something occurred which seemed likely to turn this brave
setting-out into ridicule.
This was Daft Sandy, who rowed his punt right across the path of the
_Mary of Argyle_, and, as she came up, called to Rob.
'What is it ye want?' Rob called to him.
'I want to come on board, Rob,' the old man said, as he now rowed his
punt up to the stern of the skiff.
'I have no tobacco, and I have no whisky,' Rob said, impatiently.
'There'll be no tobacco or whisky on board this boat so long as I have
anything to do with her; so ye needna come for that, Sandy.'
'It's no for that,' said Daft Sandy, as, with the painter of his boat
in one hand, he gripped the stern of the skiff with the other.
Now Rob was angry. Many of the Erisaig people would still be watching
their setting-out; and was it to be supposed that they had taken this
doited old body as one of the crew? But then Daft Sandy was at this
moment clambering into the boat; and Rob could not get up and fight
with an old man, who would probably tumble into the water.
'Rob,' said he, in a whisper, as he fastened the painter of his punt,
'I promised I would tell ye something. I'll show ye how to find the
herring.'
'You!' said Rob, derisively.
'Ay, me, Rob, I'll make a rich man of you. I will tell you something
about the herring that not any one in Erisaig knows--that not any one
in Scotland knows.'
'Why havena ye made a rich man of yourself, Sandy?' said Rob, with more
good nature.
The half-witted creature did not seem to see the point of this remark.
'Ay, ay,' he said, 'many is the time I was thinking of telling this one
or telling that one; but when I would go near it was always "Daft
Sandy!" and "Daft Sandy!" and there was always the peltin' wi' the
broken herring--except from you, Rob. And I was saying to myself that
when Rob MacNicol has a boat of his own, then I will show him how to
find the herring, and no one will know but himself.'
By this time the MacNicols had taken to their oars again; and they had
pulled outside the harbour, the old punt still astern. Then Rob had to
speak plainly.
'Look here, Sandy, I will not put ye ashore by force. But I canna have
your punt at the stern of the boat. It'll be in the way of the nets.'
But the old man was more eager than ever. If they would only pull into
the bay hard by, he would anchor the punt and leave it. He begged Rob
to take him for that night's fishing. He had discovered a sure sign of
the presence of herring--unknown to any of the fishermen. What was the
phosphorescence in the sea?--the nights were too clear for that. What
was the mere breaking of the water?--a moving shoal that might escape.
But this sign that the old man had discovered went to show the presence
of large masses of the fish, stationary and deep: it was the appearance
on the surface of the water of small air-bubbles. He was sure of it.
He had watched it. It was a secret worth a bankful of money. And
again, he besought Rob to let him accompany him; Rob had stopped the
lads when they were throwing herring at him; Rob alone should have the
benefit of this valuable discovery of his.
Rob MacNicol was doubtful; for he had never heard of this thing before;
but he could not resist the importunities of the old half-witted
creature. They pulled in and anchored the punt; then they set forth
again, rowing slowly as the light faded out of the sky, and keeping a
watch all around on the almost glassy seas.
There was no sign of any herring; no solan geese sweeping down; no
breaking of the water; and none of the other boats, so far as they
could make out, had as yet shot their nets. The night was coming on,
and they were far away from Erisaig; but still old Sandy kept up his
watch, studying the surface of the water, as if he expected to find
pearls floating there. And at last, in great excitement, he grasped
Rob's arm. Leaning over the side of the boat, they could just make out
in the dusk a great quantity of minute air-bubbles rising to the
surface of the sea.
'Put some stones along with the sinkers, Rob,' the old man said in a
whisper, as if he were afraid of the herring hearing; 'go deep, deep,
deep.'
Well, they quietly let out the seemingly interminable drift-net as they
pulled gently along, and when that was accomplished they took in the
long oars again. Nicol lit up the little stove, and proceeded to boil
the tea. The bundle containing their supper was opened, and Sandy had
his share and his can of tea like the others.
They had a long time of waiting to get over through the still summer
night, but still Rob was strangely excited, wondering whether Sandy had
really, in pottering about, discovered a new indication of the
whereabouts of the herring, or whether he was to go back to Erisaig in
the morning with empty nets. There was another thing too. Had he
shown himself too credulous before his companions? Had he done right
in listening to what might be only a foolish tale? The others began to
doze off; Rob not. He did not sleep a wink all night.
Well, to let out a long drift-net, which sometimes goes as deep as
fifteen fathoms, is an easy affair, but to haul it in again is a sore
task; and when it happens to be laden, and heavily-laden, with
silver-gleaming fish, that is a break-back business for four young
lads. But there is such a thing as the nervous, eager, joyous,
strength of success; and if you are hauling in yard after yard of a
dripping net, only to find the brown meshes all bestarred with the
silver herring,--then even young lads can work like men. Daft Sandy
was laughing all the while.
'Rob, my man, what think ye o' the air-bubbles now? Maybe Daft Sandy
is no sae daft. And do you think I would be going and telling any one
but yourself, Rob? Do you think I would be going and telling any one
that was throwing the broken herring at me, and always a curse for me
when I went near the skiffs, and not once a glass of whisky for an old
man? Well, Rob, I will not ask you for a glass of whisky. If you say
it is a teetotal boat, it is a teetotal boat; but you will not forget
to give me whole herring for bait when you are going out of the bay?'
Rob could not speak; he was breathless. Nor was their work nearly done
when they had got in the net with all its splendid gleaming treasure.
There was not a breath of wind; they had to set to work to pull the
heavy boat back to Erisaig. The gray of the dawn gave way to a glowing
sunrise; when they at length reached the quay, dead-beat with fatigue
and want of sleep, the people were all about.
They were dead-beat; but there were ten crans of herring in that boat.
And you should have seen Rob's air when he counselled Neil and Duncan
and Nicol to go away home and have a sleep, and when he loftily called
on two or three of the boys on the quay to come in and strip the nets.
But the three MacNicols were far too excited to go away. They wanted
to see the great heap of fish ladled out in baskets on to the quay.
Mr. Bailie came along not long after that, and shook hands with Rob,
and congratulated him; for it turned out that while not another Erisaig
boat had that night got more than from two to three crans, the _Mary of
Argyle_ had turned ten crans--as good herring as ever were got out of
Loch Scrone.
Well, the MacNicol lads were now in a fair way of earning an
independent and honourable living, and this sketch of how they had
struggled into that position from being mere wastrels--living about the
shore like so many curlews--may fitly cease here. Sometimes they had
good luck, and sometimes bad luck; but always they had the advantage of
that additional means of discovering the whereabouts of the herring
that had been imparted to them by Daft Sandy. And the last that the
present writer heard of them was this, that they had bought outright
the _Mary of Argyle_ and her nets from the banker; and that they were
building for themselves a small stone cottage on the slope of the hill
above Erisaig; and that Daft Sandy had been taken away from the
persecution of the harbour boys to become a sort of general
major-domo--cook, gardener, and mender of nets. Moreover, each of the
MacNicols has his separate bank account now; each has got a silver
watch; and Rob was saying the other day that he thought that he and his
brothers and his cousin ought to take a trip to London (as soon as the
herring-fishing was over), for perhaps they might see the Queen there,
and at any rate they could go and have a look at Smithfield, where the
English beheaded Sir William Wallace.
FINIS.
[1] Though the herring-skiffs are so-called, they are comparatively
large and powerful boats, and will stand a heavy sea.
[2] _Lippening_--trusting.