MARY STEWART. Yes, yes, Morag will bring out the food for ye to
carry back. It is under the hay in the barn, well hid. Morag will
bring it.--Go, Morag, and bring it.
(MORAG _enters other room or barn which opens on right._)
STEWART. Mother, I wonder at ye; Morag would never tell--never.
MARY STEWART. Morag is only a lass yet. She has never been tried.
And who knows what she might be made to tell.
STEWART. Well, well, it is no matter, for I was telling you where
I left them, but not where I am to _find_ them.
MARY STEWART. They are not where you said now?
STEWART. No; they left the corrie last night, and I am to find
them (_whispers_) in a quiet part on Rannoch moor.
MARY STEWART. It is as well for a young lass not to be knowing.
Do not tell her.
(_He sits down at table; the old woman ministers to his wants._)
STEWART. A fire is a merry thing on a night like this; and a roof
over the head is a great comfort.
MARY STEWART. Ye'll no' can stop the night?
STEWART. No. I must be many a mile from here before the day
breaks on Ben Dearig.
(MORAG _reënters._)
MORAG. It was hard to get through, Dugald?
STEWART. You may say that. I came down Erricht for three miles,
and then when I reached low country I had to take to walking in
the burns because of the snow that shows a man's steps and tells
who he is to them that can read; and there's plenty can do that
abroad, God knows.
MORAG. But none spied ye?
STEWART. Who can tell? Before dark came, from far up on the
slopes of Dearig I saw soldiers about; and away towards the
Rannoch Moor they were scattered all over the country like black
flies on a white sheet. A wild cat or anything that couldna fly
could never have got through. And men at every brig and ford and
pass! I had to strike away up across the slopes again; and even
so as I turned round the bend beyond Kilrain I ran straight into
a sentry sheltering behind a great rock. But after that it was
easy going.
MORAG. How could that be?
STEWART. Well, you see I took the boots off him, and then I had
no need to mind who might see my steps in the snow.
MORAG. You took the boots off him!
STEWART (_laughing_). I did that same. Does that puzzle your bonny
head? How does a lad take the boots off a redcoat? Find out the
answer, my lass, while I will be finishing my meat.
MORAG. Maybe he was asleep?
STEWART. Asleep! Asleep! Well, well, he sleeps sound enough now,
with the ten toes of him pointed to the sky.
(_The old woman has taken up dirk from table. She puts it down
again._ MORAG _sees the action and pushes dirk away so that it
rolls off the table and drops to the floor. She hides her face in
her hands._)
MARY STEWART. Morag, bring in the kebbuck o' cheese. Now that all
is well and safe it is we that will look after his comfort
to-night. (MORAG _goes into barn._)--I mind well her mother saying
to me--it was one day in the black winter that she died, when the
frost took the land in its grip and the birds fell stiff from the
trees, and the deer came down and put their noses to the door--I
mind well her saying just before she died--
(_Loud knocking at the door._)
A VOICE. In the King's name!
(_Both rise._)
MARY STEWART. The hay in the barn, quick, my son.
(_Knocking continues._)
A VOICE. Open in the King's name!
(STEWART _snatches up such articles as would reveal his presence
and hurries into barn. He overlooks dirk on floor. The old woman
goes towards door._)
MARY STEWART. Who is there? What do you want?
A VOICE. Open, open.
(MARY STEWART _opens door and_ CAMPBELL OF KILMHOR _follows_ CAPTAIN
SANDEMAN _into the house. Behind_ KILMHOR _comes a man carrying a
leather wallet_, JAMES MACKENZIE, _his clerk. The rear is brought
up by soldiers carrying arms._)
SANDEMAN. Ha, the bird has flown.
CAMPBELL (_who has struck dirk with his foot and picked it up_).
But the nest is warm; look at this.
SANDEMAN. It seems as if we had disturbed him at supper. Search
the house, men.
MARY STEWART. I'm just a lonely old woman. You have been
misguided. I was getting through my supper.
CAMPBELL (_holding up dirk_). And this was your toothpick, eh? Na!
Na! We ken whaur we are, and wha we want, and by Cruachan, I
think we've got him.
(_Sounds are heard from barn, and soldiers return with MORAG. She
has stayed in hiding from fear, and she still holds the cheese in
her hands._)
SANDEMAN. What have we here?
CAMPBELL. A lass!
MARY STEWART. It's just my dead brother's daughter. She was
getting me the cheese, as you can see.
CAMPBELL. On, men, again: the other turtle doo will no' be far
away. (_Banteringly to the old woman_) Tut, tut, Mistress Stewart,
and do ye have her wait upon ye while your leddyship dines alane!
A grand way to treat your dead brother's daughter; fie, fie, upon
ye!
(_Soldiers reappear with_ STEWART, _whose arms are pinioned._)
CAMPBELL. Did I no' tell ye! And this, Mrs. Stewart, will be your
dead sister's son, I'm thinking; or aiblins your leddyship's
butler! Weel, woman, I'll tell ye this: Pharaoh spared ae butler,
but Erchie Campbell will no' spare anither. Na! na! Pharaoh's
case is no' to be taken as forming ony preceedent. And so if he
doesna answer certain questions we have to speir at him, before
morning he'll hang as high as Haman.
(STEWART _is placed before the table at which_ CAMPBELL _has seated
himself. Two soldiers guard_ STEWART. _Another is behind_ CAMPBELL'S
_chair and another is by the door. The clerk_, MACKENZIE, _is seated
at up corner of table._ SANDEMAN _stands by the fire._)
CAMPBELL (_to STEWART_). Weel, sir, it is within the cognizance of
the law that you have knowledge and information of the place of
harbor and concealment used by certain persons who are in a state
of proscription. Furthermore, it is known that four days ago
certain other proscribed persons did join with these, and that
they are banded together in an endeavor to secure the escape from
these dominions of His Majesty, King George, of certain persons
who by their crimes and treasons lie open to the capital charge.
What say ye?
(STEWART _makes no reply._)
CAMPBELL. Ye admit this then?
(STEWART _as before._)
CAMPBELL. Come, come, my lad. Ye stand in great jeopardy. Great
affairs of state lie behind this which are beyond your simple
understanding. Speak up and it will be the better for ye.
(STEWART _silent as before._)
CAMPBELL. Look you. I'll be frank with you. No harm will befall
you this night--and I wish all in this house to note my words--no
harm will befall you this night if you supply the information
required.
(STEWART _as before._)
CAMPBELL (_with sudden passion_). Sandeman, put your sword to the
carcass o' this muckle ass and see will it louse his tongue.
STEWART. It may be as well then, Mr. Campbell, that I should say
a word to save your breath. It is this: Till you talk Rannoch
Loch to the top of Schiehallion, ye'll no' talk me into a yea or
nay.
CAMPBELL (_quietly_). Say ye so? Noo, I widna be so very sure if I
were you. I've had a lairge experience o' life, and speaking out
of it I would say that only fools and the dead never change their
minds.
STEWART (_quietly too_). Then you'll be adding to your experience
to-night, Mr. Campbell, and you'll have something to put on to
the other side of it.
CAMPBELL (_tapping his snuff-box_). Very possibly, young sir, but
what I would present for your consideration is this: While ye may
be prepared to keep your mouth shut under the condition of a
fool, are ye equally prepared to do so in the condition of a dead
man?
(CAMPBELL _waits expectantly._ STEWART _silent as before._)
CAMPBELL. Tut, tut, now, if it's afraid ye are, my lad, with my
hand on my heart and on my word as a gentleman--
STEWART. Afraid!
(_He spits in contempt towards_ CAMPBELL.)
CAMPBELL (_enraged_). Ye damned stubborn Hieland stot. (_To_
SANDEMAN) Have him taken out. We'll get it another way.
(CAMPBELL _rises._ STEWART _is moved into barn by soldiers._)
CAMPBELL (_walking_). Some puling eediots, Sandeman, would applaud
this contumacy and call it constancy. Constancy! Now, I've had a
lairge experience o' life, and I never saw yet a sensible man
insensible to the touch of yellow metal. If there may be such a
man, it is demonstrable that he is no sensible man. Fideelity!
quotha, it's sheer obstinacy. They just see that ye want
something oot o' them, and they're so damned selfish and thrawn
they winna pairt. And with the natural inabeelity o' their brains
to hold mair than one idea at a time they canna see that in
return you could put something into their palms far more
profitable. (_Sits again at table._) Aweel, bring Mistress Stewart
up.
(_Old woman is placed before him where son had been._)
CAMPBELL (_more ingratiatingly_). Weel noo, Mistress Stewart, good
woman, this is a sair predeecament for ye to be in. I would jist
counsel ye to be candid. Doubtless yer mind is a' in a swirl. Ye
kenna what way to turn. Maybe ye are like the Psalmist and say:
"I lookit this way and that, and there was no man to peety me, or
to have compassion upon my fatherless children." But, see now, ye
would be wrong; and, if ye tell me a' ye ken, I'll stand freends
wi' ye. Put your trust in Erchie Campbell.
MARY STEWART. I trust no Campbell.
CAMPBELL. Weel, weel noo, I'm no' jist that set up wi' them
myself. There's but ae Campbell that I care muckle aboot, after
a'. But, good wife, it's no' the Campbells we're trying the noo;
so as time presses we'll jist "_birze yont_," as they say
themselves. Noo then, speak up.
(MARY STEWART _is silent._)
CAMPBELL (_beginning grimly and passing through astonishment,
expostulation, and a feigned contempt for mother and pity for
son, to a pretence of sadness which, except at the end, makes his
words come haltingly_). Ah! ye also. I suppose ye understand,
woman, how it will go wi' your son? (_To his clerk_) Here's a fine
mother for ye, James! Would you believe it? She kens what would
save her son--the very babe she nursed at her breast; but will
she save him? Na! na! Sir, he may look after himself! A mother, a
mother! Ha! ha!
(CAMPBELL _laughs._ MACKENZIE _titters foolishly._ CAMPBELL _pauses to
watch effect of his words._)
Aye, you would think, James, that she would remember the time
when he was but little and afraid of all the terrors that walk in
darkness, and how he looked up to her as to a tower of safety,
and would run to her with outstretched hands, hiding his face
from his fear, in her gown. The darkness! It is the dark night
and a long journey before him now.
(_He pauses again._)
You would think, James, that she would mind how she happit him
from the cold of winter and sheltered him from the summer heats,
and, when he began to find his footing, how she had an eye on a'
the beasts of the field and on the water and the fire that were
become her enemies--And to what purpose all this care?--tell me
that, my man, to what good, if she is to leave him at the last to
dangle from a tree at the end of a hempen rope--to see his flesh
given to be meat for the fowls of the air--her son, her little
son!
MARY STEWAET. My son is guilty of no crime!
CAMPBELL. Is he no'! Weel, mistress, as ye'll no' take my word
for it, maybe ye'll list to Mr. Mackenzie here. What say ye,
James?
MACKENZIE. He is guilty of aiding and abetting in the concealment
of proscribed persons; likewise with being found in the
possession of arms, contrary to statute, both very heinous
crimes.
CAMPBELL. Very well said, James! Forby, between ourselves, Mrs.
Stewart, the young man in my opeenion is guilty of another crime
(_snuffs_)--he is guilty of the heinous crime of not knowing on
which side his bread is buttered.--Come now--
MARY STEWART. Ye durst not lay a finger on the lad, ye durst not
hang him.
MACKENZIE. And why should the gentleman not hang him if it
pleesure him?
(CAMPBELL _taps snuff-box and takes pinch._)
MARY STEWART (_with intensity_). Campbell of Kilmhor, lay but one
finger on Dugald Stewart and the weight of Ben Cruachan will be
light to the weight that will be laid on your soul. I will lay
the curse of the seven rings upon your life: I will call up the
fires of Ephron, the blue and the green and the gray fires, for
the destruction of your soul: I will curse you in your homestead
and in the wife it shelters and in the children that will never
bear your name. Yea, and ye shall be cursed.
CAMPBELL. (_Startled--betrays agitation--the snuff is spilled from
his trembling hand._) Hoot toot, woman! ye're, ye're--(_Angrily_) Ye
auld beldame, to say such things to me! I'll have ye first
whippet and syne droont for a witch. Damn thae stubborn and
supersteetious cattle! (_To_ SANDEMAN) We should have come in here
before him and listened in the barn, Sandeman!
SANDEMAN. Ah, listen behind the door you mean! Now I never
thought of that!
CAMPBELL. Did ye not! Humph! Well, no doubt there are a good many
things in the universe that yet wait for your thought upon them.
What would be your objections, now?
SANDEMAN. There are two objections, Kilmhor, that you would
understand.
CAMPBELL. Name them.
SANDEMAN. Well, in the first place, we have not wings like crows
to fly--and the footsteps on the snow--Second point--the woman
would have told him we were there.
CAMPBELL. Not if I told her I had power to clap her in Inverness
jail.
MARY STEWART (_in contempt_). Yes, even if ye had told me ye had
power to clap me in hell, Mr. Campbell.
CAMPBELL. Lift me that screeching Jezebel oot o' here; Sandeman,
we'll mak' a quick finish o' this. (_Soldiers take her towards
barn._) No, not there; pitch the old girzie into the snow.
MARY STEWART. Ye'll never find him, Campbell, never, never!
CAMPBELL (_enraged_). Find him! Aye, by God I'll find him, if I
have to keek under every stone on the mountains from the Boar of
Badenoch to the Sow of Athole. (_Old woman and soldiers go
outside._) And now, Captain Sandeman, you an' me must have a word
or two. I noted your objection to listening ahint doors and so
on. Now, I make a' necessary allowances for youth and the grand
and magneeficent ideas commonly held, for a little while, in that
period. I had them myself. But, man, gin ye had trod the floor of
the Parliament Hoose in Edinburry as long as I did, wi' a pair o'
thin hands at the bottom o' toom pockets, ye'd ha'e shed your
fine notions, as I did. Noo, fine pernickety noansense will no'
do in this business--
SANDEMAN. Sir!
CAMPBELL. Softly, softly, Captain Sandeman, and hear till what I
have to say. I have noticed with regret several things in your
remarks and bearing which are displeasing to me. I would say just
one word in your ear; it is this. These things, Sandeman, are not
conducive to advancement in His Majesty's service.
SANDEMAN. Kilmhor, I am a soldier, and if I speak out my mind,
you must pardon me if my words are blunt. I do not like this
work, but I loathe your methods.
CAMPBELL. Mislike the methods you may, but the work ye must do!
Methods are my business. Let me tell you the true position. In ae
word it is no more and no less than this. You and me are baith
here to carry out the proveesions of the Act for the Pacification
of the Highlands. That means the cleaning up of a very big mess,
Sandeman, a very big mess. Now, what is your special office in
this work? I'll tell ye, man; you and your men are just beesoms
in the hands of the law-officers of the Crown. In this district,
I order and ye soop! (_He indicates door of barn._) Now soop,
Captain Sandeman.
SANDEMAN (_in some agitation_). What is your purpose? What are you
after? I would give something to see into your mind.
CAMPBELL. Ne'er fash aboot my mind: what has a soldier to do with
ony mental operations? It's His Grace's orders that concern you.
Oot wi' your man and set him up against the wa'.
SANDEMAN. Kilmhor, it is murder--murder, Kilmhor!
CAMPBELL. Hoots, awa', man, it's a thing o' nae special
significance.
SANDEMAN. I must ask you for a warrant.
CAMPBELL. Quick then: Mackenzie will bring it out to you.
(CLERK _begins writing._ SANDEMAN _and soldiers lead_ STEWART
_outside_, CAMPBELL _sits till they are out._ CLERK _finishes_,
CAMPBELL _signs warrant--and former goes._ CAMPBELL _is alone,
save for_ MORAG CAMERON, _who is sitting huddled up on stool by
fire, and is unnoticed by_ CAMPBELL.)
CAMPBELL (_as one speaking his thoughts aloud_). I've been beaten
for a' that. A strange thing, noo. Beforehand I would ha'e said
naething could be easier. And yet--and yet--there it is!... It
would have been a grand stroke for me.... Cluny--Keppoch--Lochiel,
and maybe ... maybe--Hell! when I think of it! Just a whispered
word--a mere pointed finger would ha'e telled a'. But no! their
visions, their dreams beat me. "You'll be adding to your
experience to-night, Mr. Campbell, and have something to put to
the other side of it," says he; aye, and by God I have added
something to it, and it is a thing I like but little--that a
dream can be stronger than a strong man armed.--Here come I,
Archibald Campbell of Kilmhor, invested with authority as
law-officer of the Crown, bearing in my hand the power of life
and death, fire and the sword, backed up by the visible authority
of armed men, and yet I am powerless before the dreams of an old
woman and a half-grown lad--soldiers and horses and the gallows
and yellow gold are less than the wind blowing in their
faces.--It is a strange thing that: it is a thing I do not
understand.--It is a thing fit to sicken a man against the notion
that there are probabeelities on this earth.--have been beaten
for a' that. Aye, the pair o' them have beat me--though it's a
matter of seconds till one of them be dead.
MORAG (_starting into upright position and staring at him; her
voice is like an echo to his_). Dead!
CAMPBELL (_turning hastily_). What is that!
MORAG. Is he dead?
CAMPBELL (_grimly_). Not yet, but if ye'll look through this window
(_he indicates window_) presently, ye'll see him gotten ready for
death.
(_He begins to collect articles of personal property, hat, etc._)
MORAG. I will tell you.
CAMPBELL (_astounded_). What!
MORAG. I will tell you all you are seeking to know.
CAMPBELL (_quietly_). Good God, and to think, to think I was on the
very act--in the very act of--tell me--tell me at once.
MORAG. You will promise that he will not be hanged?
CAMPBELL. He will not. I swear it.
MORAG. You will give him back to me?
CAMPBELL. I will give him back unhung.
MORAG. Then (CAMPBELL _comes near_), in a corrie half-way up the
far side of Dearig--God save me!
CAMPBELL. Dished after a'. I've clean dished them! Loard, Loard!
once more I can believe in the rationality of Thy world. (_Gathers
up again his cloak, hat, etc._) And to think--to think--I was on
the very act of going away like a beaten dog!
MORAG. He is safe from hanging now?
CAMPBELL (_chuckles and looks out at window before replying, and
is at door when he speaks_). Very near it, very near it. Listen!
(_He holds up his hand--a volley of musketry is heard. KILMHOR
goes out, closing the door behind him. After a short interval of
silence the old woman enters and advances a few steps._)
MARY STEWART. Did you hear, Morag Cameron, did you hear?
(_The girl is sobbing, her head on her arms._)
MARY STEWART. Och! be quiet now; I would be listening till the
last sound of it passes into the great hills and over all the
wide world.--It is fitting for you to be crying, a child that
cannot understand; but water shall never wet eye of mine for
Dugald Stewart. Last night I was but the mother of a lad that
herded sheep on the Athole hills: this morn it is I that am the
mother of a man who is among the great ones of the earth. All
over the land they will be telling of Dugald Stewart. Mothers
will teach their children to be men by him. High will his name be
with the teller of fine tales.--The great men came, they came in
their pride, terrible like the storm they were, and cunning with
words of guile were they. Death was with them.... He was but a
lad, a young lad, with great length of days before him, and the
grandeur of the world. But he put it all from him. "Speak," said
they, "speak, and life and great riches will be for yourself."
But he said no word at all! Loud was the swelling of their wrath!
Let the heart of you rejoice, Morag Cameron, for the snow is red
with his blood. There are things greater than death. Let them
that are children shed the tears.
(_She comes forward and lays her hand on the girl's shoulder._)
MARY STEWART. Let us go and lift him into the house, and not be
leaving him lie out there alone.
[CURTAIN]