THE BATTLE OF THE CAUSEWAY
Patsy was a prison-breaker. She had not only resisted but defied lawful
authority. She had broken "with the armed hand" into one of his
Majesty's defended prisons. She had taken out men awaiting trial for
capital offences, and to finish all neatly, she or her followers had
burned the Castle of Stranryan.
As for Stair, the counts on his indictment were as the sands by the
seashore for multitude. There was no doubt that the sappers would earn
the thanks of their superiors, of the whole Board of Excise and of the
Office of Recruitment for the two services by handing over the two who
had so long terrorized the best efforts of their agents in Galloway.
Eben, as a thief and a traitor to his salt, would be an additional
prize. Surely all this was worth working and waiting for. So at least
thought Colonel Laurence, who had patiently followed them westwards till
he came across the tracks of Eben McClure when he prepared to swim
across to the island from the point of Orraland.
The days went slowly for Eben and Stair, who were waiting for the neaps
and the coming of the _Good Intent_. They sped fast for Patsy, who now
ran unashamed about the island with Stair's hand in hers. Never had
there been such a companion. Never had she been so happy.
What troubled the men most was the failure of Whitefoot to return. To
account for this, Stair had invented a score of reasons, in none of
which he believed himself. It was now Thursday and the day after next,
or more exactly during the early morning of Friday, they would see the
middle of the neaps. If at all the ridge would be fully uncovered then,
and in the absence of a strong south-wester (which now seemed unlikely),
the track might remain uncovered for a couple of hours.
All that day there had been unusual semaphore signallings and wavings of
flags on the heights facing the island; but Stair, anxious to keep Patsy
ignorant and happy as long as possible, still hesitated to tell her.
They had gone down to Leg-o'-Mutton Bay where the shells they called by
that name were to be found. An absolute silence reigned as they stood
together looking out towards the sunset playing on Screel and Ben Gairn,
till, with the tail of his eye Stair saw something moving along the
ridge above them.
He turned swiftly, and there was Whitefoot, but a Whitefoot who dragged
one foot painfully after the other, yet who, at sight of his master,
wagged his great tail and gave vent to his old "_Aaa-uch_" of joy. The
dog tried to bound towards them, but he had overestimated his strength.
He toppled forward, whereupon Stair ran to him and carried him down in
his arms. There was a bullet-hole behind his shoulder, but in spite of
that the dog had swam the strait to find his master.
Stair laid him down and Patsy hastily tore off the flounce of a dress to
bind about the wound. Stair took off his coat and wrapped Whitefoot in
it. But he was not easy, shaking his head and turning it about to
indicate that he had some message which must be delivered immediately.
To quiet him, Stair undid the collar and pulled out a little square
missive.
_"The 'Good Intent' will be with you and send a boat Friday morning!"_
As soon as Whitefoot saw the white half sheet in Stair's hands, he
crawled a little farther up on his master's knees. His beautiful eyes,
that were fixed on Stair's face, gradually blurred and grew filmy. He
moved his head restlessly as he was wont to do when seeking a caress.
Stair's hand was laid on his head to soothe him. Whitefoot stretched
himself out on his master's knees for the last time with the long,
contented sigh of one about to sleep, and shut his beautiful eyes for
ever. Only his tongue continued to lick his master's hand for another
moment or two.
"Oh, Stair," cried Patsy, "how he loved you--he died for you!"
"No, dear," said Stair softly, "for us!"
* * * * *
The next was a day of anxious tension. The long sinuous snakeback of the
shell-ridge showed black all its length at the bottom of the afternoon
ebb, but contrary to their expectations nothing moved in the camp of the
enemy. It was evident that they were waiting for the early morning. The
water would be at its lowest shortly after three, when the rush could be
made with sufficient light to see. This was the more necessary as there
were many quicksands to either side and in one or two places the ridge
was not quite continuous. The winter storms altered it, sometimes by
many feet, leaving isolated humps and mounds with quicksands about them,
which might easily trap the unwary. The enemy was evidently not going to
take any risks.
After Whitefoot's death Stair had perforce to tell everything to Patsy.
It was wonderful how it strengthened and reaffirmed her.
"Why did you not tell me?" she said. "Why did you take counsel with
everybody but me?"
"I did not," said Stair, smiling at her. "It was Eben who discovered
everything, and then came and asked me. I thought that there might be
nothing in it, and it was not till I was perfectly sure, that I saw the
necessity of disturbing you."
"You will never treat me as a child again?" she had her hands on his
sleeve now, and was looking up into his face.
"No," he said, "I know too well who carried me off here, breaking
prisons to get me--and has not known what to do with me since!"
"Oh, don't say that, Stair. I love you very dearly--more than I thought
possible."
He gazed at her for a moment, saw that his time had not yet come, and
then gently patted her cheek, so gently that she did not resent the
caress. All that day they watched the curving trenches from a little
angle of the tower from which a rifle could be brought to bear on the
shell causeway. That afternoon seemed everlasting. It was a clear, still
twilight, and they did not dine till nearly midnight. If the _Good
Intent_ were to send a boat it would be to the back of the island which
the tide never left. Indeed, Leg-o'-Mutton Bay was the only spot where a
boat could land. There was always deep water there.
At one o'clock Stair saw a ship's lights very far away. It was very
doubtful, even supposing that she were the _Good Intent_, that she could
be there in time. But in the crucial hours, Eben the Spy proved himself
wonderfully helpful and encouraging. His Uncle Kennedy never promised
without keeping his promise. There might be a bit of a skirmish as the
men were coming over, but he could warrant that they would be safe on
board along with Captain Penman before ever a soldier set his foot on
the island. On this he would pledge his life.
In view of all the facts this was not very convincing, but all the same
it was distinctly cheering.
The blank night wore to a kind of grey over the sea, though the land was
still in deep shadow. Across the grey ran the coils of the black
causeway. The light was coming fast now and for the first time Eben lost
his equanimity of spirit. He was in haste to have them gone out of the
Tower.
"Take Mrs. Stair down to the landing-place, sir," he pleaded, "take her
to the little cove where the boat will come in. They may be on the
shell-track any time now."
And as he spoke both Stair and he heard and recognized the loud rattle
of a ship's anchor chain.
"There," he cried, "off with you! There is not a moment to lose. Ah,
there they come. But that is only the first of them. I can easily stop
these. Out at the back door! The wicket in the wall is open. Keep on
through the hollow and you will find the boat ready. Do not wait for me.
I have my own life arranged for. Do not fear for me!"
He hustled them out with a haste which left them no time for
explanation. The men who were hastening across the causeway had less
than a mile to run. It was, however, by no means easy going, and it
would take them at least ten good minutes. Stair took Patsy down to the
Shell Bay by the safest path, and even before they reached it they could
hear the beginning of a fusillade in their rear. The boat from the _Good
Intent_ was already on the way, rowed by four sturdy seamen, yet it
seemed to them both as though she would never arrive. They looked behind
them, expecting every moment to see a rush of men come at them over the
crown of the island.
Stair could stand it no longer. He must see what was going on, and he
mounted the rough sides of the little heathery knoll called quaintly Ben
Rathan. Patsy would not be left behind and he found her at his side. She
could, in fact, have been there long before him.
But what they saw struck them dumb.
In a rough trench at the island end of the shell causeway, and quite
clearly evident beneath them in the young light of the morning, were
three figures, two of them obviously dummies, but with guns at their
shoulders and hats on their shapeless heads. Bounding hither and
thither, now along the top of the trench, now rising breast-high to fire
was a man so like Stair Garland that Patsy had to look again at the
blond giant beside her to make sure. Then they understood.
It was the ex-spy clad in the cast-off suit which Stair had taken off
the first morning after their coming to the island. Stair's well-known
bonnet with its tall feather was on Eben's head, and after every shot or
two, he waved it in the air and shouted to the assailants to come on.
The half-dozen sappers who had tried the first rush were now lying flat
behind stones, and one lay bunched up as if wounded. The false Stair ran
to and fro firing the muskets over the shoulders of his auxiliary
potato-sacks. Then he shouted again defiantly, and leaping to the
cliff's edge where he stood clear against the sky-line, he fired again.
Patsy could see the mud-and-water spurt up from where the bullet struck.
From the mainland a score more of men took the pathway, keeping as
widely apart as possible. These were Colonel Laurence and his first
reinforcement. Up went the feathered bonnet in the air as Eben dived
back into his rude trench.
The sailors kept calling now from the boat, eagerly, imperiously. It was
necessary for them to return. Patsy was placed on board and Stair wished
to go back and help to defend the island. He could not leave Eben
McClure thus. But Patsy was out on the shingle in a moment. If Stair
went back so should she. Eben McClure had given her a letter which, he
said, would explain everything. It was only to be read aboard the _Good
Intent_ after the anchor was up.
So they put about and in a few minutes they were having their hands
wrung off by Captain Penman on his own quarter-deck.
"I am glad to see you," he cried. "I thought I heard firing. They must
have been pretty close--not much sea-way in your last tack, eh? But come
below. You will find everything in my cabin. The owner said most
particular that it was to be made all spick and span for you. Honoured I
am to see you again on my ship, Mistress Garland!"
As they turned the corner of Isle Rathan, Stair and Patsy could see that
the sham defences had been carried with a rush, and that something lay
very still behind the hastily-dug trench. Patsy's keen eyes noted that
it was still wearing Stair's bonnet.
She turned and ran below weeping bitterly.
"Oh, Stair, they do not love you better than I!" she wailed as she clung
passionately to him; "no--not though they die for you, and I am only a
drag on you. For I love you! I love you--and I too would die for you!"
Her arms were about her husband's neck and her lips were pressed for the
first time to his.
"Dear," he answered softly, "perhaps you were meant to live for me!"
* * * * *
The letter which Eben had given to Patsy was a very simple one.
"Dear Sir and Madame" (it read), "if we are hard-pressed I am going
to fight them off to give you time to get away. I was a bad man
till Mr. Stair believed in me. I think it an honour to die for him
and for his wife. Madame, be kind to him, for he deserves it. There
is no such man in this world, I do assure you of that.
"Your obdt. humble servant,
"E. McCLURE.
"P.S.--I should like Mr. Stair to tell my uncle that I
did not disgrace the family name."
In a letter left in charge of Captain Penman, Kennedy McClure had sent
Patsy a packet of banknotes with his love. The emigrants were to be
taken to Leghorn and landed there. Thereafter they could remain at Pisa
or Florence as suited them best till the storm blew over and their
friends made arrangements. Miss Patsy must not mind taking a little
money now, for he had meant her to be his heir ever since he had charged
himself with her future by helping her to run away from princesses and
suchlike great people in London. And as for Stair Garland, he really had
been owing him all that and more for a long time.
* * * * *
It was the autumn of the year after Waterloo when they next set foot on
Scottish soil. They might have come sooner, but while Napoleon ruled
communications were difficult, and now there were three of them to think
about. Recently, however, Kennedy McClure had died of a sudden
apoplectic seizure and had left Stair a rich man. But the estate was one
which needed very constant and personal attention.
Uncle Julian they had already seen twice in Florence and once in Rome.
Old Brunschweig was also dead and there was more than a likelihood that
the Princess would not bear the title of Princess much longer. She would
lose her rank, but she would be rich enough and happy enough to make up
for any loss of dignity under the name of Mrs. Julian Wemyss.
Adam Ferris and Miss Aline received them on the quay. She had got the
house of Ladykirk in order for them. She had opened up the orchard
portion and given them the whole of the east wing to themselves. She
would be more than ever in the garden among her flowers. The stables
also were at hand. Stair would need many horses for his riding if he
meant to follow in the footsteps of Kennedy McClure, and she could
never, never bide to see her darling enter as a bride into a house with
the mischancy name of Supsorrow. Besides, she herself had no heirs, and
it was not meet that Ladykirk and Balmacminto should go to any other
than Patsy. It would fit in fine with the Ferris properties some day,
when young Kennedy Ebenezer Garland thought of settling!
So she chattered as they drove through Stranryan, and the folk flocked
to their doors to see the strange foreign lady and gentleman whose names
even they had not yet heard. On this point Mr. Ferris had thought it
best to be silent, and with some difficulty had persuaded Miss Aline to
do the same.
Well, she agreed, they would be tired, the poor things. What need to
have all the mob at their heels shouting and "yellyhooing"?
But when they passed the blackened walls of the ancient prison, which
had not been touched since that last dire rising of the Bands under
Patsy's leadership, husband and wife clasped hands under cover of the
carriage-rug, and Miss Aline smiled as she caught them doing it, which
pleased her better than many fortunes.
It was of a surety the new day, and all the ill old times of struggle
and passion had passed away--as well from their hearts as from the old
mother Province which they loved.