It was raining hard, and blowing too, and rain and wind kept up a
constant siege of the inadequate canvas stretched over the breach in
Ewen’s place of confinement, the drops pattering against it like small
shot. Ewen himself, shaved and wearing a clean shirt, but the same
disreputable kilt, was sitting on the seat which ran round the
embrasure, to which, with some difficulty, he could now hoist himself.
His object in so doing was to see out, but this morning there was
little to see when he had got there.
Ten days had passed since his momentous interview with Major Windham,
ten days of wearing, grinding suspense. Every hour, almost, he had
expected to learn of Lochiel’s capture. But, as day followed day, and
nothing of the sort occurred, nor, from what Sergeant Mullins told
him, was any attempt being made against Achnacarry, the spar of hope
which his visitor had flung to him began to have more sustaining
qualities. It did look as if Windham’s information were correct, and
that the clan was known to be in such force that it was not a mere
question of hunting down the wounded Chief, of plucking him out of the
refuge whose secret was a secret no longer. For the comfort of that
thought he had to thank the generosity of an enemy whom he had accused
to his face of an infamous action.
Major Windham had always been something of an enigma to Ewen, and the
depth of the concern which he had shown the other day still surprised
him. That he had personally attracted the English soldier would never
have occurred to him. Apart from wishing to clear himself of the
charge of treachery, Major Windham, he supposed, felt a somewhat
exaggerated sense of obligation for having been allowed to go free in
Edinburgh—though indeed some men might have resented that clemency,
and there had been a time when Guthrie’s insinuations had driven Ewen
to the belief that this was so. Yet now the remembrance of the night
in the shieling hut was no longer a draught of poison, but what it had
been at the time, that cup of cold water which holds a double
blessing.
But it was strange how accurate had been his foster-father’s
prophecy, that the man to whom the heron would bring him should alike
do him a great service and cause him bitter grief. Both predictions
had been fulfilled; and by the same act on Major Windham’s part.
Ewen himself seemed to have been forgotten by the authorities. The
same military surgeon came from time to time and grumblingly dressed
his wounds, but, though rough and quite devoid of consideration, he
was tolerably skilful, and the patient’s own splendid physique was
doing the rest, now that he had proper care and that his mind was a
little more at ease. Old Mullins, mindful alike of a substantial
_douceur_ from Major Windham and of his own good treatment by the
Highlanders, looked after him to the best of his ability, particularly
when he discovered him to be Dr. Cameron’s cousin. He still boggled,
however, at procuring the captive entirely new clothes (for how, he
said, should he account to Captain Greening for having the money to
pay for them), but he brought him better food than was provided, a
couple of clean shirts and a second blanket, and shaved him every
other day. But Captain Greening, whom Ewen loathed, he thought, even
more than he had loathed the brute Guthrie, never came near him now.
He had got what he wanted, presumably, and troubled no more about the
prisoner whom at one time he had had so assiduously watched.
The outcome of those horrible days and nights remained deeply branded
on Ewen’s soul: he was a traitor, if an unconscious and most unwilling
one; but the actual memory of them, and of the twenty-four hours in
Guthrie’s hands, he was now beginning, with the natural instinct of a
healthy mind, to put behind him. And with the slight relaxation of
tension due to Major Windham’s suggestion and the inactivity of the
authorities—due also to the wild hope which sometimes visited him, that
Lochiel was no longer near Achnacarry at all, and that they knew it—he
was beginning to feel the pressure of captivity, and would spend hours
peering hungrily through the narrow slits of windows. Even if, as
to-day, he could see little for the rain and mist, he could always
smell the blessed air, and he now screwed himself into a still more
uncomfortable position in an endeavour to get as much of this as
possible. Yes, the rain, as he thought, was stopping; the wind was
blowing it away. Often, on such a morning, on the braes above Loch na
h-Iolaire——
Several people seemed to be coming quickly up the stairs. The surgeon
and others? Ewen turned his head. No; when the door was unlocked and
flung open there came in three officers all unknown to him. The
foremost was of high rank, and Ewen, after a second’s astonishment,
realised that he could be none other than the Earl of Loudoun himself.
Sitting there, he instinctively stiffened. With the opening of the
door the wind had swooped through the breach in the wall, and even the
Earl’s dark, heavy tartans fluttered for a moment. There was a sheet
of paper in his hand, and he wore a look of great annoyance.
“Mr. Cameron,” he said, like a man too much pressed for time to
indulge in any preamble, “when you gave us this information about
Lochiel’s hiding-place a couple of weeks since,” he tapped the paper,
“why did you name as the spot a mountain-side which does not exist
anywhere near Loch Arkaig?”
Ewen’s heart gave a bound so sudden and violent that he thought it
must suffocate him. What did Lord Loudoun mean? He stared at him
breathlessly.
“Come, sir,” said the Earl impatiently, “do not play the innocent! On
May 7 you gave Captain Greening a detailed account of a cave on a
mountain-side which Lochiel would be apt to use in an emergency, how
its whereabouts could be recognised, its concealed opening found, and
the rest. The mountain, according to you, was called Ben Loy. But you
made a slip—or something more intentional—for guides who know the
district well declare that there is no mountain of that name in the
neighbourhood, though it is true that there is a Glen Loy farther
down the Lochy, but much too far to serve as a convenient refuge from
Achnacarry. This makes nonsense of your information.” His voice was
warm with a sense of injury. “The mistake has only been discovered in
the nick of time . . . Why, what’s wrong with you, man?”
For Ewen, with an exclamation, had leant forward and buried his face
in his hands. Was it possible that his rebel tongue had, all unknown
to himself and to his inquisitor, undone so much of the harm it had
wrought? And how had he not realised it himself?
Lord Loudoun much mistook the cause of his emotion. “The slip can
easily be repaired, Mr. Cameron,” he said impatiently. “You cannot
possibly have meant any of the heights of Glen Loy—none of which,
moreover, appears to be called Ben Loy. It must be one of the other
names I have on this paper.—Come, my time is precious! I am about to
set out for Achnacarry to-day.” And as Ewen, really too much overcome
by his ‘slip’ to pay much attention to these adjurations, still
remained with his face hidden, a new note crept into the Earl’s voice.
“You are not, I hope, indulging in scruples _now_, Mr. Cameron? ’Tis too
late for that; nor is it any manner of use to withhold a part when you
have told us so much. We shall know the place when we come upon it.”
Ewen raised his head at last and looked at him, but still dizzily.
“_Withhold!_” he said. “Is it possible, Lord Loudoun, that you do not
know how such information as you have was extracted from me?”
“Extracted from you!” repeated the Earl. “Why, you gave it of your own
free will when you were asked for it; I have Captain Greening’s word
for that.”
“My own free will! Did Captain Greening tell your Lordship that he had
me watched and questioned day and night for nearly a week, hoping that
I should tell it in my sleep, as at last I did, unknowingly? While I
had life in my body he should never have got it otherwise!” And,
seeing clearly from Loudoun’s face that this was indeed news to him,
Ewen went on with more heat, “Whatever lies you were told by your
English underlings, how dare you, my Lord, believe that a Cameron
would ever willingly betray Mac Dhomhnuill Duibh?”
“Go and see if you cannot find Captain Greening this time, and bring
him here,” said the Earl to one of the officers. He took a turn up and
down, his hands behind his back, looking very much disturbed.
“I had no idea of this; ’tis a method which should never have been
used,” he muttered after a moment. It was evident that he entirely
believed the prisoner’s assertion. “But you must admit, Mr. Cameron,”
he went on mildly, “that I am not to blame for it, seeing that I was
not here at the time. And, as to believing that you made the
disclosure willingly, I confess that I ought to have remembered—since
I have the honour to be one myself—that a Highland gentleman does not
willingly betray his Chief.”
Yet, having elicited this _amende_, Ewen said nothing, his racial
distrust of a Campbell inclining him to wait for what was to come
next.
“I cannot pretend, however,” began the Earl again, “that I am sorry to
possess this information, since I am a soldier, and must obey orders.
In accordance with these, I set out to-day with two thousand men for
Loch Arkaig and Achnacarry.” He gave time for this news to sink in.
“But, Mr. Cameron, though our clans have unfortunately been at enmity
in the past, that shall not prevent me from treating Lochiel, when he
is in my hands, with all the regard due to his position and merit.”
“As his kinsman,” replied Ewen to this, “I thank your Lordship for the
intention, even though I trust that you may never have the chance of
carrying it out.” Why had the Campbell become thus smooth-spoken, and
was it true that he was going with so overwhelmingly large a force
against Lochiel?
Before Lord Loudoun could offer any further remarks, Captain Greening
came in, apologising that he should have been sought for twice, and
evidently ignorant of what was in store for him. The Earl cut short
his excuses.
“Why did you assure me, Captain Greening, that the information about
Lochiel obtained from Mr. Cameron of Ardroy here was given of his own
free will? Mr. Cameron tells me that, as the result of unceasing
persecution on your part, it was dragged out of him in sleep, which is
a very different matter!”
Somehow Captain Greening, while appearing to have his eyes fixed
respectfully on his superior, contrived to shoot a glance of a very
different nature at Ewen.
“If your Lordship believes that story,” he said with a scarcely
concealed sneer, “it does credit to your Lordship’s nobility of
disposition—as well as to Mr. Cameron’s powers of invention! Sleep! As
if he could have given all that detail in his sleep! But the tale may
serve to patch the hole in his reputation, though I’ll wager he was no
more asleep than you or I!”
“You are a pretty consummate scoundrel, are you not!” observed Ewen
softly.
“Yet, whether he was asleep or awake, my Lord,” went on Greening
quickly, “I submit that what I said was perfectly correct—no force of
any kind was used. I certainly had no intention of misleading your
Lordship on that point, when you asked me that question in order to
satisfy . . . a somewhat indiscreet enquirer after Mr. Cameron.”
But Lord Loudoun, frowning heavily, declined to be drawn into a side
issue. “It was playing with words, sir, to call information thus given
‘voluntary’. I am very much displeased at the means employed. And even
so, as might have been foreseen, the matter was bungled, for the
information itself, on which you led me to rely, is not complete!”
“Not complete!” stammered Greening, flushing. “My Lord——”
“No, sir, it is not complete—and only now, within an hour or so of
setting out for the neighbourhood, has its insufficiency been
discovered! The guide, who knows that district well, swears that there
is no mountain of the name of Ben Loy anywhere near. And Ben Loy is
the name you have written here.”
Captain Greening almost snatched the paper from the Earl’s hand, and
ran his eyes feverishly over it.
“My Lord, the guide is perhaps mis——”
“I tell you that he knows that part of the country like the palm of
his hand,” interrupted Lord Loudoun angrily. “It might, he says, be
any of the three mountains whose names are written below. But how can
I hope to surprise Lochiel if I have to go searching every brae-side
near Loch Arkaig for this cave? And I tell you further, Captain
Greening, that this ridiculous wrong name, occurring thus, gives me
very much to doubt whether the whole description be not the product of
. . . of a dream, or of imagination—whether this cave near a waterfall
is to be found on any mountain-side whatever, be the mountain called
what it may!”
In the extremely mortified silence which ensued on Captain Greening’s
part at this, Ewen saw his opportunity.
“I was wondering,” he observed mockingly, “how long your Lordship
would be before you discovered the real value of Captain Greening’s
dirty work!”
“Do not believe him, my Lord,” urged Greening, his light, womanish
voice roughened by rage and disappointment. “If I cannot answer for
the name of the mountain, I can, by God, for the rest! Had you seen
the prisoner’s face when I read over to him next morning what he had
told me, you would know that his description was accurate enough. It
is only a question of finding out which mountain he had in mind, and
if your Lordship will give me half an hour or so with him——”
Lord Loudoun turned on him. “You have mismanaged this business quite
enough,” he snapped. “I do not desire you, Captain Greening, to meddle
with it any further. Nor is Mr. Cameron asleep now.”
There was that in Captain Greening’s expression as he turned away,
biting his lip, which suggested that he would not consider that state
necessary for his purpose.
Ewen shut his eyes and leant his head against the wall. The Earl and
his two officers were talking together in low voices, and he longed
for them to go away and leave him to turn over, as if it were a grain
of gold out of a muddy river, the thought of this wonderful and saving
slip of the tongue. He could not understand how he came to have
stumbled so mercifully; was it because in his illness he fancied
himself at times back in the shieling on that mountain which was, he
believed, called Beinn Laoigh, the calf’s mountain? That he had not
himself noticed the mistake in the name when Captain Greening read
over to him, next morning, what he was pleased to call his deposition,
he could, after all, understand; the horror of the accuracy of the
rest had too much swamped his soul. He tried now to calculate how much
security was given back to the secret place by his happy blunder, but
it was not easy.
Then he heard a movement to the door. Thank God, they had done with
him! No, feet were approaching him again. He opened his eyes and saw
Lord Loudoun standing looking out through one of the narrow windows
only a few feet away. Save for him, the room was empty, though the
door remained ajar. Evidently the Earl desired a measure of privacy.
“I am very sorry about your treatment, Mr. Cameron,” he began, his
eyes still fixed on the narrow slit. “It has been an unfortunate
business.”
“Which, my Lord,” asked Ewen coolly, “my treatment or the information
which proves to be worthless?”
“I referred, naturally, to your treatment,” said Lord Loudoun with
dignity (but Ewen did not feel so sure). “However, you must admit that
I may fairly consider the other affair a . . . disappointment. As a
soldier, with my duty to carry out, I must avail myself of any weapon
to my hand.”
“Evidently,” commented his prisoner. “Even of one which is not very
clean!”
Lord Loudoun sighed. “Alas, one cannot always choose. You yourself,
Mr. Cameron, had no choice in the matter of your disclosure, and are
therefore in no sense to blame. . . . I should wish everyone to know
that,” he added graciously, turning round and looking down at him.
“Then our wishes coincide, my Lord, which is gratifying,” observed
Ardroy. “And is it to discuss with me some means of compassing this
end that your Lordship is good enough to spare time for this interview
now?”
Although Lord Loudoun could not possibly have been insensitive to the
irony of this query, it apparently suited him to ignore it. In fact he
sat down upon the stone bench, on the opposite side of the embrasure.
“Chance made your revelation incomplete, Mr. Cameron,” he said, giving
him a rather curious look. “Yet, if the missing link in the chain
_had_ been there, the same . . . blamelessness would have covered it.”
Ewen, his eyes fixed upon him, said something under his breath and
gripped the edge of the seat. But the Earl went on meaningly, “There
is still time for the true name of that mountain to have been . . .
_spoken by you in your sleep_!”
And still his captive merely looked at him; yet Lord Loudoun evidently
enjoyed his gaze so little that his own seemed to be caught by the
breach in the wall, and stayed there.
“This room appears a very insecure place of confinement,” he murmured.
“Has that thought never occurred to you?”
Ewen was still looking at him. “I cannot walk, much less climb, my
Lord.”
“But with a little help from outside, a little connivance,” suggested
the Earl, gazing at the breach. “Sentries, I am afraid, are sometimes
both venal and careless . . . especially when the commander is away.
But I dare say the negligence would be overlooked at head-quarters, in
view of the—the exceptional circumstances.” There was a little silence
as he turned his head and at last looked the Highlander in the face
again. “Is it useless to hope that you will see reason, Mr. Cameron?”
“_Reason!_” exclaimed Ewen. Contempt had warmed to rage by this time.
“Treason is what you mean, you false Campbell!” With difficulty he
shuffled himself along the seat to a greater distance. “I wish I had
the use of both my legs! I like ill at any time to sit upon the same
seat with a son of Diarmaid, and to sit near one who after all that
fine talk tries to bribe me to betray my Chief, who offers me my
liberty as the price of his——” And he somehow dragged himself to his
feet, and stood clutching at the corner of the wall, breathless with
anger and effort.
Lord Loudoun, his smile completely vanished, was on his feet, too,
as flushed as his prisoner was pale. “You _have_ betrayed him,
Cameron—what use to take that tone? You might as well complete the
disclosure . . . and if your pride will not stomach the gift, I’ll not
offer you your liberty in exchange. I had already made you an offer
which would mend your self-esteem, not hurt it. Here’s another: tell
me what is the real name of that mountain and I’ll engage that Lochiel
shall never know who told us of the cave upon it!”
“And I’m to rely on nothing but a Campbell’s word for that!” cried
Ewen, still at white heat, but sinking down again on the seat despite
himself. “No, thank you, my Lord; the security’s not good enough! Nor
am I going to tell you the name on any security, so you were best not
waste your time.”
“Then,” said the Earl, and there was a new and dangerous note in his
voice, “I warn you that Cameron of Lochiel will have the mortification
of knowing that it was a Cameron who betrayed him. But I repeat that
if you will give it to me——”
“There is one place the name of which I feel at liberty to give you,”
interrupted Ewen, half closing his eyes, in which the light of battle
was gleaming. “I think I should be doing my Chief no harm if I told
you the way——” He paused as if uncertain, after all, whether to go on,
and Greening and the two other officers, who, hearing voices raised,
had reappeared in the doorway, pressed quickly forward.
Lord Loudoun fell into the trap. “The way to where?” he asked eagerly.
“The way to Moy,” answered Ewen, and the glint in his eyes was plain
to see now. “To Moy in Lochaber—there _is_ a place of that name
there. Though whether you will encounter a second Donald Fraser too I
don’t know.”
Lord Loudoun gave a stifled exclamation and grew very red.
Consternation overcame his officers. The too-famous ‘rout of Moy’, as
Ewen had well guessed, was not mentioned in the Earl’s hearing. But
the Earl was the first to recover himself.
“You are not only insolent but foolish, Mr. Cameron. When Lochiel
falls into my hands I shall not now be inclined to keep silence on the
subject of his refuge, whether he is found in it or no, and it will
depend upon me whether he is told that you made your disclosure about
it involuntarily, as you declare that you did, or of your own free
will.”
And thus did the Earl of Loudoun, a not ill-natured nor inhumane man,
who in calmer moments would have been ashamed of such an impulse,
threaten to use a calumny which he knew to be such in order to bring a
captive foe to heel. The merest sign of pleading on the Cameron’s part
and he would have relented. But nothing was farther from Ardroy’s mind
than pleading. All he craved, in his wrath, was a fresh weapon with
which to draw blood. He found it.
“But you may not capture Lochiel at all,” he said with an appearance
of carelessness. “He may have followed your Lordship’s example when,
after your amusing performances on the Dornoch Firth, you ran away
from your captured troops and sought safety in Skye. Only,” he added
venomously, “in my Chief’s case, it will be _after_ the battle, not,
as in yours, John Campbell, _before_ it!”
The effect on Lord Loudoun, who was no coward, of this really
undeserved interpretation of his misfortunes was all that Ewen could
have wished. His hand clenched on his swordhilt. “By God, sir, if we
were . . . elsewhere . . . I’d make you pay for that!”
And alike from him, fourth earl of his line, representative peer
of Scotland and royal aide-de-camp, and from the defiant, ragged
young man on the seat before him, with his French training and his
natural courtesy (which an Englishman had not long ago thought
almost excessive), there slipped for a moment the whole cloak of
eighteenth-century civilisation, and they were merely two Highlanders,
heirs of an age-long feud, waiting to spring at each other, dirk in
hand, amongst the heather. The metamorphosis lasted but a second or
two, and they were themselves again, but John Campbell had had his
answer; he knew better now the temper with which he had to deal than
to expect an appeal for mercy, much less the revelation he coveted.
“I am only sorry that your future is not likely to allow of your
giving me satisfaction for that insult, Mr. Cameron,” he said grimly,
and turned his back upon him. “Captain Greening, you will have the
prisoner removed from this room to some securer place of confinement.
But bear in mind, if you please, that he is not to be ill-treated.”
And, without another look behind him, he left the room. Nor was his
going devoid of dignity.
As the hated Diarmaid tartan vanished Ewen’s whole body relaxed
against the wall. But he soon became aware that Captain Greening had
stayed behind, and was standing there in Loudoun’s place addressing
him, his delicate features contorted with rage.
“If I had only guessed, you dirty cattle-thief, that you had fooled me
after all! It would not have taken a fortnight to get the real name
out of you somehow!” His teeth ground together. “Perhaps in the
dungeons you’ll learn at least to keep a civil tongue in your head, as
long as it is on your shoulders.” He flung away towards the door, then
turned again. “Yes, smile while you can! ‘Not to be ill-treated’, eh?
We’ll see about that when the Earl is gone, my fine Highlander!”
As the door slammed behind his guardian the contemptuous smile died
off Ewen’s face, and, lowering himself with some difficulty from the
stone bench, he lay down on the pallet below and pulled his plaid over
his head. Now that the clash of the interview was over he felt shaken
and sick. A great consolation had indeed emerged from it, but even
that consolation could do little for him against the immediate anguish
of knowing that the hounds were on the trail at last, and the quarry
perhaps unsuspecting. How could Lochiel escape so large a force? He
and his few hundreds would be surrounded as in a net; he would be
killed or captured even if he did not take to the cave on Beinn
Bhreac. And, if he did, chance might always lead the pursuers straight
to it. Could Ewen in that hour have sent a message to Lochiel he would
willingly have bought the privilege not merely by his own death—that
went without saying—but by a death in any manner protracted and
horrible. Yet no suffering could buy that chance; there was nothing to
do but lie there helpless, at the lowest ebb of dejection, and hear
from the camp the drums and bugles of departure.
At last came evening, and Mullins with food and water.
“Is there any news, Sergeant?” asked Ewen, raising himself.
“Yes, sir, His Royal Highness the Duke’s expected here to-morrow with
nine regiments of foot and some horse. And Captain Greening ain’t in
charge of prisoners no longer; his Lordship saw to that before he
left—seems he was annoyed with the Captain about something or other.
I can’t say as I’m sorry. But I’m afraid, Mr. Cameron, you’re going to
be moved from here to-morrow, and put in one of them nasty places they
call the dungeons, though they ain’t scarcely that, so to speak,
and——”
Ewen cut short this bulletin. “You can put me in my grave for all I
care at present! It’s the expedition to Loch Arkaig I want news of. Is
there _none_?”
“No, sir, how could there be, so soon?—Bless me, how wild you look!
Have you kin in those parts?”
“More than kin,” said Ewen brokenly. “My heart and my honour . . . O
God, send a mist, a storm—send someone to warn him!”
* * * * * *
Next day Cumberland and his ten regiments marched in from Inverness.
But of this great stir Ewen heard nothing. He was down in a damp
little cell under the fort, with fever once more in his blood,
fighting a desire to knock his head against the wall. The old
sergeant, who still had charge of him, could tell him nothing of what
he wanted to know, save that there was report of great burnings going
on down the Glen, and of quantities of cattle driven off.
So Ewen had to endure the suspense as best he might until the
following evening, when a light suddenly streamed through the open
door, and a kilted figure was roughly pushed down the steps by a
couple of redcoats. But in the short-lived radiance Ewen had
recognised the tartan of his own clan.
“Who is it—are you from Loch Arkaig?” he asked hoarsely, raising
himself on his heap of straw.
“Aye; Alexander Cameron from Murlaggan,” answered the new-comer. “My
sorrow, but it is dark in here! Who are you—a Cameron also?”
Ewen dragged himself to one knee. “Lochiel . . . Lochiel—is he safe?
Tell me quickly, for God’s sake!”
The Cameron groped his way to the corner. “Yes, God be praised! There
were but a handful of us captured; the rest scattered while the
redcoats were fording the river of Lochy.—There, honest man, sure
that’s good news, not bad!”
For—the first time in his grown life—Ewen was shaken by uncontrollable
sobs, by a thankfulness which tore at his heart like a grief.
Alexander Cameron sat down by him in the straw, seeming very well to
understand his emotion, and told him more fully the story of what had
happened: how the Argyll militia with Lord Loudoun had at first been
mistaken for a body of MacDonald reinforcements which were expected,
but distinguished in time by the red crosses on their bonnets; how
the Camerons had thought of disputing the passage over Lochy, but,
realising the overwhelming force of the enemy, had withdrawn swiftly
along the northern shore of Loch Arkaig, so that by the time the
latter got to the neighbourhood of Achnacarry the Chief must have been
well on his way to the wild country at the head of the loch, where
they would never pursue him. But the burnings and pillagings had begun
already, and one could guess only too well the heavy measure of
vengeance which was going to be meted out in Lochaber.
The two men lay close together that night under one plaid for warmth,
and Ewen at last knew a dreamless sleep. Not only had Lochiel escaped,
but he was not likely ever to hear now that the secret of the cave by
the waterfall had been partly betrayed; nor, if he had left the
district altogether, would he be tempted to make use of it in the
future. The horror was lifted.