"KAIN TO THE KING THE MORN!"
The night was dark and yet clear; the sea still; not a whisper stirred
in the birch-woods nor along the shores; the small red points of fire,
that told of the distant village, burned steadily. And here, down near
the edge of the water, were Coinneach and Calum-a-bhata, hidden under
the shadow of the projecting rocks.
"Oh, yes, Calum," the elder sailor was saying in his native tongue--and
he spoke in something of an undertone--"maybe we will get a few
sea-trout this night; and a good basket of sea-trout is a fine thing to
take away with us to Heimra; and who has a better right to the sea-trout
than our master? Perhaps you do not know what in other days they used
to call _Kain_; for you are a young man, and not hearing of many things;
but I will tell you now. It was in the days when there were very good
relations between the people and the proprietors--"
"When the birds sang in Gaelic, Coinneach!" said Calum.
"Oh, you may laugh; for you are a young man, and ignorant of many
things; but I tell you there was that time; and the tenants and the
people at the Big House were very friendly. And the tenants they paid
part of their rent in things that were useful for the Big House--such
things as hens, and butter, and eggs, and the like; but it was not taken
as rent; not at all; it was taken as a present; and the people at the
Big House they would have the tenant sit down, and drink a glass of
whisky, and hear the news. And now do you understand that there's many
a one about here knows well of that custom; and they may pay their
money-rent to the English family; but they would rather send their
_Kain_ to the old family, that is, to our master; and that is why the
Gillie Ciotach and the rest of them are very glad when they can take out
a hare or a brace of birds or something of that kind to Heimra. And why
should not the sea pay _Kain_ to Donald Ross of Heimra?--I will ask you
that question, Calum. If the sea about here belongs to any one, it
belongs to the old family, and not to the English family----"
"But if they catch us with the scringe-net, Coinneach?" said the younger
man, ruefully. "Aw, _Dyeea_, I was never in a prison."
"The scringe-net!--a prison!" said Coinneach with contempt. "How little
you know about such things! Do they put the dukes and the lords in
prison that come round the coast in their big yachts? and in nearly
every one of the yachts you will see a scringe-net hung out to dry, and
no one concealing it. Do you think I have no eyes, Calum? When the
_Consuelo_ came round to Camus Bheag, and the master was sending to us
for his other clothes before he went away to the south, did I not see
them taking down a scringe-net from the boom? It is very frightened you
are, Calum, whether it is putting a few kegs into a cave, or putting a
scringe-net round a shore. Now if there was something really to
frighten you--like the card-playing the young man saw----
"What was that, Coinneach?" said Calum quickly.
Conneach paused for a second or two, and his face became grave and
thoughtful.
"That was enough to frighten anyone," he continued presently--in this
mysterious chillness, while he kept his eyes watching the vague, dark
plain that lay between him and the distant lights of the village. "And
if I tell you the story, Calum, it is to show you there are many things
we do not understand, and that it is wise not to speak too confidently,
in case someone might overhear--someone that we cannot see. For
sometimes they show themselves; and at other times they are not visible;
but _they may be there_. Now I must tell you it happened in a great
castle in the north; I am not remembering the name of it; maybe it was
up in Caithness; I am not remembering that; but the story is well known,
and I was hearing that someone was putting it in a book as well. Now I
must tell you that the owner of the castle is the head of the clan, and
of a very old and great family; and it is the custom, whenever he goes
away from home, that one of the other gentlemen of the clan goes to the
castle to keep watch. It is not needful in these days, as you can guess
for yourself; but it is a compliment to the head of the clan, and an old
custom; and maybe it is kept up to this present time--though I am not
swearing that to you, Calum. What I am telling you took place a good
many years ago; that is what I have heard; maybe sixty years, maybe
fifty years, maybe a hundred years; I am not swearing to that. But the
chief had to go away from home; and according to the custom, one of the
gentlemen went to keep watch; and he took with him a young country lad,
one of his own servants. Now I must tell you there was a fire put in
the great hall of the castle; for it was in the winter time; and they
had to sit up all night, the one keeping the other awake--for no one
likes to be left alone in a strange place like that, in the night-time,
and not knowing what things have been experienced by others."
"You are not needing to tell me that, Coinneach," the other assented.
"Very well. But as I was saying, the master he sate close to the fire
in the great hall; and the young man he remained some distance away, by
one of the windows; and there was no speaking between them. So one hour
after another hour went by; and there was nothing happening; and it was
not until the dead of the night, or towards the morning, that the young
man noticed that his master had fallen asleep. He did not like that, I
can tell you, Calum; for if you are left alone, the evil beings may
appear and come upon you; and there is no question about it. Very well.
The young man he thought he would go over to the fire and waken his
master; but what do you think of this now, Calum, that when he tried to
rise from his seat he could not do that--something was holding him
back--he tried seven times over and seven times more, as I have heard,
for he was trembling with the fear of being held. And then--what do you
think of this, Calum?--and it is the truth I am telling you--he saw what
few men have ever seen, and what few would ever wish to see: the
folding-doors at the end of the hall were opened wide; and there were
two footmen bringing in lights; and then there was a procession of
ladies and gentlemen all dressed in a way that was strange to him; and
they came into the hall so that you could not hear a sound. They took
no notice of him or his master; and he could see everything they were
doing, for all that his eyes were starting out of his head with fright;
and I tell you he was so terrified he could not cry out to wake his
master. But he was watching--oh, yes, he was watching with all his
eyes, you may be sure of that; and he saw the footmen bring forward the
tables; and those people in the strange clothes sate down and began to
play at cards; and they were talking to each other--but never any sound
of their talking. He could see their lips moving; but there was no
sound. What do you think of that now, Calum?--was it not a dreadful
thing for a young man to see?--even if they were not doing him any harm,
or even knowing he was there? There's many a one would have sprung up
and shrieked out; but as I tell you, there was no strength in his bones
and he could not move; and his master was fast asleep; and all those
people--the gentlemen with their small swords by their side, and the
ladies in their silks--they were playing away at the cards, and talking
to each other across the table, and not a sound to be heard. He watched
and watched--aw, God, I suppose he was more dead than alive with
trembling, and not being able to call on his master--until the windows
began to grow grey with the morning light; and then he saw that the
people were sometimes looking at the windows, and sometimes at each
other, and they were talking less. Then they rose; and he could not see
the candles any more because of the light in the hall; and they were
going away in that noiseless manner, when one of them happened to spy
the young man; and he came along and looked at him. He looked at him
for a moment--and seemed to breathe on him--so that it was like a cold
air touching him--and the young man knew that the hand of death had been
put upon him. There was no sound; the strange person only looked; and
the young man felt the cold air on his forehead, so that he was for
sinking to the floor; for he thought that death was on him already, and
that he must go with them wherever they were going. Calum, I have told
you what I felt when I was coming back from Ru Grobhar, and when the
Woman came behind me; it was like that with the young man, as I have
heard. And then all of a sudden a cock crew outside; and his master woke
up and looked round; and there was no one in the hall but their two
selves."
"Did he cry out then?--did he tell his master what he had seen?" Calum
asked, in a low voice.
"He was not caring much to tell any one," Coinneach replied. "It was
what he felt within him that concerned him; and he knew that the touch
of death had been put upon him. Oh, yes, he told the story, though they
found him so weak that he could not say much; and they put him to
bed--but he was shivering all the time; and he had no heart for living
left in him. He was not caring to speak much about it. When they asked
him what the people were like, he said the gentlemen had velvet coats,
and white hair tied with black ribbons behind; and the ladies were rich
in their dresses; but he could not say what language they were speaking,
for he could see their lips moving, but there was no sound. He was not
caring to speak much about it. The life seemed to have been taken out of
his body; he said he would never rise again from his bed. He said more
than once, 'It was that one that breathed on me; he wanted me to go with
them to be one of the servants; and if the cock had not crowed I would
have gone with them. But now I am going.' And he got weaker and
weaker, until about the end of the third day; and then it was all over
with the poor lad; and there was no struggle--he knew that the
death-touch had been put upon his heart."
"And I suppose now," said Calum, meditatively, "they will have him
bringing in the tables for them every time they come to play cards in
the middle of the night. Aw, _Dyeea_, I know what I would do if I was
the master of that place: I would have the keepers hidden, and when
those people came in I would have three or four guns go off at them all
at once: would not that settle them?"
"You are a foolish lad, Calum, to think you can harm people like that
with a gun," said Coinneach. "No, if it was I, I would say the Lord's
Prayer to myself, very low, so that they could not hear; and if they did
hear, and still came towards me, I would cry out, 'God on the
cross!'--and that would put the people away from me, as it made the
Woman take her hands from my throat the dreadful night I was coming by
the Black Bay."
"Ay, but tell me this, Coinneach," said the younger of the two men. "I
have heard that in great terror your tongue will cleave to your mouth;
and you cannot cry out. And what is to happen to you then, if one of
those people came near to put a cold breath on you?"
Coinneach did not answer this question: for the last few seconds he had
been carefully scanning the darkened plain before him.
"The boat is coming now, Calum," he whispered. "And it is just as
noiseless as any ghost she is." And with that the two men got up from
the rock on which they had been sitting, and went down to the water's
edge, where they waited in silence.
There was a low whistle; Coinneach answered it. Presently a dark object
became dimly visible in the gloom. It was a rowing-boat; and as she
slowly drew near the prow sent ripples of phosphorescence trembling away
into the dusk, while the blades of the muffled oars, each time they
dipped, struck white fire down into the sea. It looked as if some huge
and strange creature, with gauzy silver wings, was coming shoreward from
out of the unknown deeps. Not a word was uttered by anyone. When the
bow of the boat came near Coinneach caught it and checked it, so that it
should not grate on the shingle. Then he and his companion tumbled in;
two other oars, also muffled, were put in the rowlocks; and silently she
went away again, under the guidance of a fifth man, who sate at the
helm. Very soon the lights of Lochgarra were lost to view; they had got
round one of the promontories. Out to seaward there was nothing visible
at all; while the 'loom' of the land was hardly to be distinguished from
the overhanging; heavens that did not show a single star.
And yet the steersman seemed to be sufficiently sure of his course.
There was no calling a halt for consultation, nor any other sign of
uncertainty. Noiselessly the four oars kept measured time; there were
simultaneously the four sudden downward flashes of white--followed by a
kind of seething of silver radiance deep in the dark water; then, here
and there on the surface, a large and lambent jewel would shine keenly
for a second or two, floating away on the ripples as the boat left it
behind. Not one of the men smoked: that of itself showed that something
unusual was happening. They kept their eyes on the sombre features of
the adjacent shore--of which a landsman could have made next to nothing;
or they turned to the dimly-descried outline of the low range of hills,
where that could be made out against the sky. It was a long and
monotonous pull--with absolute silence reigning. But at length a
whispered "Easy, boys, easy!" told them that this part of their labour
was about over; and now they proceeded with greater caution--merely
dipping the tips of their oars in the water, while all their attention
was concentrated on the blurred and vague shadows of the land.
They were now in a small and sheltered bay, the stillness of which was
so intense that they could distinctly hear the murmur of some mountain
burn. On the face of the hill rising from the sea there were certain
darker patches--perhaps these were birch-woods: also down by the shore
there were spaces of deeper gloom--these might be clumps of trees. No
light was visible anywhere: this part of the coast was clearly
uninhabited, or else the people were asleep. And yet, before venturing
nearer, they ceased rowing altogether; and watched; and listened. Not a
sound: save for that continuous murmur of the stream, that at times
became remote, and then grew more distinct again--as some wandering
breath of wind passed across the face of the hill. The world around
them lay in a trance as deep as death: the bark of a dog, the call of a
heron, would have been a startling thing. Meanwhile two of the oars had
been stealthily shipped; the remaining two were sufficient to paddle the
boat nearer to the rocks, when that might be deemed safe.
And at last the steersman, who appeared to be in command, gave the word.
As gently as might be, the boat was headed in for the shore, until
Coinneach, who was up at the bow, whispered "That'll do now;" the rowing
ceased; there was a pause, and some further anxious scrutinising of that
amorphous gloom; then two black figures stepped over the side into the
water, taking with them the lug-line of the net that was carefully
arranged in the stern. They were almost immediately lost sight of; for
the boat was again noiselessly paddled away, until the full length of
the line was exhausted; while he in the stern began to pay out the
net--each cork float that dropped into the water sending a shower of
tremulous white stars spreading from it, and all the meshes shivering in
silver as they were straightened out. A wonderful sight it was; but not
the most likely to procure a good fishing; for, of course, that
quivering, lustrous, far-extended web would be visible at some little
distance. However, out went the net easily and steadily--with just the
faintest possible "swish" as each successive armful soused into the sea;
and then, as quick as was consistent with silence, the boat was pulled
ashore, and two of the men jumped out with the other lug-line. They,
too, vanished in the impenetrable dusk. The solitary occupant of the
mysterious craft, standing up at the bow, was now left to watch the
result of these operations and to direct, in low and eager whispers, his
unseen comrades. Slowly, slowly the semicircular net was being hauled
in; as it got nearer and nearer the men at the lug-lines splashed the
water with them, so as to frighten the fish into the meshes; the sea
glimmered nebulous in white fire; here and there a larger star burned
clear on the black surface for a moment, and then gradually faded away.
The commotion increased--in the water and out of it; it was evident from
the fluttering and seething that there was a good haul; and in their
excitement the scringers who were ashore forgot the danger of their
situation--there were muttered exclamations in Gaelic as the net was
narrowed in and in. And then, behold!--in the dark meshes those shining
silver things--each entangled fish a gleaming, scintillating wonder--a
radiant prize, here in the deep night. If this was _Kain_ for Donald
Ross of Heimra, it was _Kain_ fit to be paid to a king.
It was at this moment that three men came across the rocky headland
guarding the bay on its northern side. They had just completed a
careful inspection of the neighbouring creek--as careful as the darkness
would allow; they had followed the windings of the coast, searching
every inlet; and so far their quest had been in vain. Now they stood on
this promontory, peering and listening.
"No, sir, I do not see or hear anything," said Hector, the tall keeper,
who had a gun over his shoulder; and he seemed inclined to give up
further pursuit.
"But I tell you they must be somewhere," said Fred Stanley, in an
excited fashion. "There was no mistake about what they were after. What
would they be going out in a boat for at this time of the night, if it
wasn't for scringeing?"
"Maybe they would be for setting night-lines," said the keeper,
evasively.
"Not a bit of it!" the young man retorted with impatience. "I know
better than that. And I know who is in that boat--I know perfectly well.
It isn't for nothing that the _Sirene_ is lying in Camus Bheag: I know
who is out with those poaching nets--and I'm going to catch him if I
can. I want to have certain things made public: I want an explanation:
I want to have the Sheriff at Dingwall called in to settle this matter."
"Are you quite sure you saw the boat, sir?" said the keeper--all this
conversation taking place in lowered tones, except when Fred Stanley
grew angry and indignant.
"Why," said he, turning to his friend Meredyth, "how far was she from
the steam-launch when she passed--not half a dozen yards, I'll swear!
It was a marvellous stroke of luck we thought of going out for that
draught-board; they little thought there would be any one on the launch
at that hour; and I tell you, if the punt had been a bit bigger, I would
have given chase to them there and then. Never mind, we ought to be
able to catch them yet--catch them in the act--and I mean to see it
out----"
"Yes, but we haven't caught them," said Frank Meredyth, discontentedly;
for he had stumbled again and again, and knocked his ankles against the
rocks; and he would far rather have been at home, talking to Mary
Stanley. "And it's beastly dark: we shall be slipping down into the
water sooner or later. What's the use of going on, Fred? What about a
few sea-trout? Everybody does it----"
"But it's against the law all the same; and I mean to catch this
poaching scoundrel red-handed, if I can," was the young man's answer.
"Come, Hector, you must know perfectly well where they put out the
scringe-nets. What's this place before us now?"
"It's the Camus Mhor, sir," said Hector, "in there towards the land."
"Well, is it any use scringeing in this bay?" the young man demanded.
"There's the mouth of the burn that comes down by the plantation," was
the reply.
"Very well, take us there!" Fred Stanley said, impatiently. "Those
fellows must be somewhere; and I'll bet you they're not far off. I must
say, Hector, you don't seem particularly anxious to get hold of them.
Are there any of them friends of yours?"
Hector did not answer this taunt. He merely said--
"It is a dark night, sir, to make any one out."
And then they went on again, but with caution; for besides the danger of
breaking a leg among the rocks, they knew that the yawning gulfs of the
sea were by their side. Hector led the way, Fred Stanley coming next,
Meredyth--with muttered grumblings--bringing up the rear. In this wise
they followed the inward bend of the bay, until the keeper leapt from
the rocks into a drifted mass of seaweed: they were at the corner of the
semi-circular beach.
Suddenly Fred Stanley caught Hector's arm, and held him for a second.
"Do you hear that?" he said, in an eager whisper. "They are
there--right ahead of us--fire a shot at them, Hector!--give them a
peppering--give their coats a dusting!"
"Oh, no, sir," said the serious-mannered keeper, "I cannot do that. But
I will go forward and challenge them. When you get to know who they
are, then you will apply for a summons afterwards."
"Come on, then!--come along!" the young man said, and he began to
run--stumbling over seaweed, stones, and shingle--but guided by the
subdued commotion in front of him.
All at once that scuffle ceased. There was another sound--slight and
yet distinct: it was the hurried dip of oars. Nay, was not that the
"loom" of a boat, not twenty yards away from them--the dark hull
receding from the land?
"Here, Hector!" the young man cried--furious that his prey had just
escaped him. "Fire, man!--give them a charge!--give the thieving
scoundrels a dose of shot amongst them!"
Hector made no answer to this appeal. He called aloud--
"Who are you? Whose is that boat?"
There was no word in reply--only the slight sound of the dipping oars.
Fred Stanley caught at the gun; but the keeper held it away from him.
"No, sir, no," he said gravely. "We must keep within the law, whatever
they do."
"Yes--and now they're off--and laughing at us!" the young man angrily
exclaimed. And then he said: "Do you mean to tell me you don't know who
these men are? Do you mean to tell me you don't know quite well that it
is Ross of Heimra who is in that boat?"
"I am not thinking that, sir," Hector answered slowly.
"You took precious good care not to find out!" Fred Stanley said, for he
was grievously disappointed. "If you had come up with me you might have
compelled them to stop and declare themselves: even if you had fired in
the air, that would have brought them to reason fast enough. When shall
we get such another chance? I knew things like this were going on--knew
it quite well. And it's your place to stop it--it's your business. It
is a monstrous thing that the fishing in the rivers should be destroyed
by those thieves."
He continued looking out to sea; but the boat had disappeared in the
dark.
"No, we shall not get another chance like that," said he, turning to his
friend Meredyth. "And it is a thousand pities--for I would have given
anything to have caught that fellow red-handed: I hate to think of my
sister being imposed upon."
"Well, I suppose we'd better be getting back," said Frank Meredyth, who
had displayed no great interest in this expedition. "And I dare say
Hector can show us some inland way--I don't want to go round those
infernal rocks again."
"Hector?" said Fred Stanley, in a savage undertone, "I'm pretty sure of
this--that when Hector took us all round those rocks, he knew precious
well where the scringers were!"
And very indignant was he, and sullenly resentful, when he carried this
story home to Lochgarra House and to his sister. He roundly accused the
keepers of connivance. They could put down the scringeing if they
chose; but it was all part and parcel of the poaching system that
existed for the benefit of Donald Ross. He it was who had the fishing
and shooting of this estate. A fine condition of affairs, truly!
"I am afraid," said Mary Stanley, who seemed to take this stormy
complaint with much composure, "that Mr. Ross has not quite enough skill
to make much of a poacher, even if he were inclined that way. If you
had been here yesterday, you would have heard himself say that he was a
very indifferent shot, and a very poor fisherman also----"
"And you believed him, of course!" her brother said, with contempt. "Of
course he would say that! That is the very thing he would profess----"
"But, you see, Fred," she continued, without taking any offence, "he
gave us a very good reason why he should be but a poor sportsman. There
is neither fishing nor shooting on Heimra Island."
He laughed scornfully.
"Fishing and shooting on Heimra Island?" he repeated. "What need has he
of them, when he has the fishing and shooting of Lochgarra?"
"You may be mistaken, Fred," Frank Meredyth interposed--careful to be on
Miss Stanley's side, as usual. "You may be going too much by what
Purdie said that evening at Inverness. At the same time, I quite know
this, that when once you suspect any one of poaching, it is desperately
difficult to get the idea out of your head. All kinds of small things
are constantly happening that seem to offer confirmation----"
"I will bet you twenty pounds to five shillings," said the young man
hotly, "that if we go out to Heimra to-morrow, and stay to luncheon, we
shall find sea-trout on the table. There may be no fishing on the
island--that is quite possible; but I tell you there will be sea-trout
in Ross's house. I dare you all to put it to the proof. It is a fair
offer. We can run out in the steam-launch if the sea is as calm as it
is now--Mamie, you can come too, and Miss Glendinning; and my bet is
twenty pounds to five shillings that you will find sea-trout produced."
"Surely it would be rather shabby to go and ask a man to give you lunch
in order to prove something against him?" she made answer. "And even
then that would not show he had been himself in the boat. As for any of
the people about here using a scringe-net now and again to pick up a few
fish--well, that is not a very heinous offence."
"If it is," said Meredyth (still siding with her), "it is committed
every summer by a large number of highly respectable persons. Why, only
the other day the Fishery Board had to issue a circular reminding owners
of yachts that netting in territorial seas wasn't allowed."
"Oh, very well," said Fred Stanley, with a sort of affected resignation.
"Very well. It is no concern of mine. The place does not belong to me.
And of course, Mamie, you are only following out the programme which
will be laid before the free and independent--the very free and
independent--natives of this parish, on Monday. No doubt they will be
told they have the right to take salmon and sea-trout wherever they can
find them, either in the rivers, or round the mouths of the rivers, or
in the sea. _They_ have that right, you understand, but _you_ haven't;
if _you_ try to catch a salmon, you will have a stone hurled into the
pool in front of you! And what will be the rest of the programme when
the English demagogue, and the French anarchist, and the Yankee
platform-woman, come to set the heather on fire? How much more are you
going to surrender, Mamie? You've cut down the rents everywhere--given
up more pasture--given up more peat-land. What next? Don't you think
it's an awful shame you should be living in a great big house like this,
when those poor people are living in thatched hovels----"
"Well," said Mary, with an honest laugh, "if I must tell you the truth,
I do sometimes think so. Sometimes, when I go outside, and look at the
contrast, it does seem to me too great----"
"Oh, very well!" he said ironically. "When these are your sentiments, I
don't wonder that the place is considered ripe for a general riot. But
whatever your theories may be, I'm going to draw the line at personal
violence and destruction of property. I shall have my six-chambered
Colt loaded on Monday; and if any impudent blackguard dares to come near
this place----"
"You are going up the hill on Monday," said she briefly. "Both you and
Mr. Meredyth. I want some grouse for the kitchen; and as many more to
send away as you can get for me."
"Pardon me, Miss Stanley," Meredyth said, and he spoke with a certain
quiet decision, "you are asking a little too much. It is impossible for
us to go away shooting and leave you at the mercy of what may turn out
to be a riotous mob. It is quite impossible: you have no right to ask
it."
"Yes, but I do ask it!" she said, somewhat petulantly--for she wished to
be left free to follow her own designs on that fateful Monday. "You are
my guest; you are here for the Twelfth; and I particularly want
you--both you and Fred--to go away after the grouse; and never mind
about this--this lecture, or whatever it is----"
"I for one, cannot," he said, firmly; "and I know Fred will not."
Mary glanced half-imploringly at Kaethchen. But Kaethchen sate mute.
Perhaps she was considering that, whether Mary went to the meeting or
not, it was just as well the two gentlemen were to be within hail.
Besides, before then it was just possible Mary might be induced to
confess to them her mad resolve: in which case it would become their
duty to reason and remonstrate, seeing that Kaethchen's protests had
been of no avail. Or would they insist on accompanying her to the
meeting, if she was determined to go? For one thing, Kaethchen did not
at all like Fred Stanley's reference to his Colt's revolver; if there
was going to be any serious disturbance, that was not likely to prove a
satisfactory means of quelling it.