HOW JOHN McCOOK HEARS OF THE PLOY AT THE CLATES.
There is a fate that stalks in the hills and plays with the lives of
the folk in the valleys. "You will stop with your mother,"--these were
the words that Helen gave her serving-man, John McCook, that night she
rode with Bryde, and McCook stayed for a little in his mother's house,
and then, being young and of good spirit, he made his way to the inn to
be seeing his friends. And he sat with them in McKelvie's place above
the quay, and now and then when Robin would be bringing drink into a
room a little apart, he would be hearing gusts of laughter, and whiles
the snatches of words.
And McCook was wanting to know who would be in the room, to be telling
his news when he reached Scaurdale, and he moved his stool so that his
ear was near to the crack of the door, and he could see a little into
the place. There was great company in that room--McGilp and Dan
McBride were there, and Ronald McKinnon and his son Angus, and two or
three of the men of the old names who would be sailor-men too, and
there was great argument, for the men would be sailing their boats, and
their glasses on the table representing the sloops. Once there came
high voices and deep oaths when a Kelso luffed his vessel so close to
his rival's that he spilled Charleach Ian's glass, but Rob McKelvie
righted the vessel and loaded her again with spirits, and the racing
would be continued.
As the time went on the voices were none so loud, but still he could
hear, and it was Ronny McKinnon that was speaking most, and the tale
that came to McCook was this:--
"There would be folk at the South End," said Ronald, "bien folk of his
own name some of them, and the harvest was very good for this year, and
there would be a considerable of spirit and salt to be taken across
quietly. It will be hidden well," said Ronald, "at the Cleiteadh mor,
and the _Gull_ will be there in the offing, and send her boats ashore.
There will be none to expect a ploy that night, for it will be the
night that Hugh McBride will be married on the English lady, and that
will be a diversion."
For, indeed, on such an occasion the half of a parish would be merry
with the eating of hens and drinking of spirit, and the piping and
dancing.
"I will be there," said Dan, "and my son Bryde. It's long since I will
have been at the smuggling," and then there came singing of Gaelic
songs that you can be hearing yet, and at that McCook took off his dram
and went out at the door, for he would be early on the road the next
day.
* * * * * *
There is a fate that stalks in the hills and plays with the lives of
the folk in the valley.
Kate Dol Beag, as ye ken, was a lass at her service at Scaurdale, a
bonny dark ruddy lass and keen for the marrying, and the lad she had
her eye on was the serving-man, McCook. And when these two were in the
stackyard at Scaurdale and well hidden behind the ricks on the next
night, she yoked on him.
"It is not me you are liking," said she, and put his hand from her
neck, "for last night you did not come home and me waiting."
"I could not be coming home, my lass," said he, "for the young mistress
made me stop at my mother's, and Bryde McBride, the sailor, rode with
her."
"Ay," said Kate, "she came home like a lass that goes to her
grave-claes instead o' her braws, and never a word from her, but a
white hue round her lips and her eyes staring. . . . Did you go to my
father's," said Kate, for she was of a jealous nature.
"No, I was at McKelvie's for a wee after I would be with my mother, and
I was thinking Dol Beag your father would be there too."
"There was no lass you were with, then?"--this a little more softly and
her body came closer to his.
"There was no lass that I saw," said McCook, "but there were many
people at the inn," said he.
"Give me the news, then," she cried, and put an arm round his neck now
that she kent he would not have been with another woman. And then he
told her how the South End folk would be at the smuggling on the night
of the wedding, and all that he had heard, meaning no ill, and the lass
was laughing, and her kindness came back to her.
"I will not have been good to you," said she, and lay back against the
stack, "and I am wearying this long while for your arms round me, and
the jagging of your hair on my face."
And as she sat there was more of her ankle showing than she would maybe
be liking in strange company.
"Ye have the fine legs," said John, looking at them, for he would be a
great gallant by his way of it; but the lass just smiled and pulled
them under her.
"It will be as well ye should ken, my man," said she, "and I will be
needing them the morn, for I am to be walking hame and seeing my folk."
And there they were in each other's arms, and he promised to meet her
well on, on the road home, for she was feart of the giant that lived in
the glen and was killed by the folk long ago--but that is an old wife's
tale.
* * * * * *
They were good to her at hame the next day when she was seated with her
folk at a meal, and after that she was with her mother for a while, a
little red in the face, but brave enough.
"He will be marrying me, mother," said she; "I ken he will be coming to
you soon, and--and there will be no cutty-stool either," said she, "for
he is a nice lad and dacent, if he will be a little game," maybe
thinking of the stackyard.
"Time will be curing that," said her mother.
"I daresay that," and then with a hearty laugh and her head flung back,
"Kate will be helping too," said she, and ran into the kitchen.
Dol Beag, her father, was baiting a long line, his crook back throwing
a great black shadow on the wall.
"There will be great doings at your place soon, Kate," said he.
"Ay, there's nae talk but marrying yonder. I am thinking the mistress
would rather be having the other man," said she, and rose to put peat
on the fire.
"Whatever other man is it?" says the mother.
"Kate will be meaning Dan McBride's bastard," says Dol Beag, and his
hand shook a little on the hook.
"He is free with his money whatever, and a fine man they are saying."
"Ay, ay, the father o' him was free with his gifts too," said her
father. "They will all be thonder, I am thinking. Laird and leddies
and bastards, the whole clamjamfry. We will be hoping for a good day
at the time o' the year."
"John McCook would be telling me there will be a ploy that night at the
Cleiteadh mor," said the lass; "the folk will have a cargo ready.
McBride and his son will be there for the ploy," said the lass, "but he
said no' to be speaking of it."
Her father stopped a little at his baiting.
"They were aye the great hands for a ploy," said he, and twitched his
shoulder, and the black shadow on the wall wobbled and was still.
There came a long whistle as you will hear a shepherd call.
"That will be himsel'," said Kate.
"Fetch the lad in," said the mother, and went to the fire.
Dol Beag took down the great Bible. "We will worship the Lord," said
he, "before you will be leaving," and he opened the Book and read, and
the voice of him rolled in relish of the Gaelic, and then they kneeled
on the bare floor and Dol Beag prayed before his God, and John McCook,
opening his eyes, saw his lass smiling to him.
The lad and lass took the hill road in the moonlight, and the mother
watching them.
* * * * * *
Dol Beag lay in his bed long, turning and turning like a man not at his
ease, and then he rose and put his clothes on him.
"Where will you be going at this hour?" said his wife.
"Woman," said he, "I will have forgotten if the skiff is high on the
shore-head, for the wind is away to the west'ard," and he went out into
the night.
In an hour maybe he was in again and the cruisie lighted, and again he
fell on his knees by the side of the bed and prayed aloud, and his wife
would be hearing in her sleep.
"Lord, look on Thy servant. Was not I the straight one before Thee,
straight like a young tree, and strong before Thee. Lord, look then
from that great mountain. Thy home and Thy dwelling-place, and see me,
Thy servant, twisted and gnarled like the roots of a fallen tree. It
will be in Thy hands to raise up or cast down, and the wicked are
before Thee. Strike, God of Battle, and the raging sea, strike and
spare not the wicked, for Thy servant will have waited long."
* * * * * *
Gilchrist, who was now the head of the gangers and preventives, turned
on his pillow after Dol Beag had crept out.
"Ay, Mirren Stuart," said he, "Mirren Stuart that rade the Uist pony
and laughed at me in my young days--maybe, Mirren, ye will come to my
door yet--my _back_ door."
* * * * * *
And those two that took the road up through the Glen by the burnside
past the very trees where Bryde and Helen sat on yon June morning when
the spider-webs were floating--John and Kate that dawdled on the road,
for never was a road too long for young folk in love--these two would
be making but the one shadow on the road, for the lass had thrown her
shawl over them both, and for a long time they were in the heather, not
far from Birrican, at a place they will be calling Oliver's garden--the
wherefore I will not know, unless maybe some of Cromwell's men would be
killed there, for I have heard the old folk say that Cromwell's
garrison at the Castle would be put to the sword; but I have no sure
knowledge of the garrison, or of the place of the killing, although I
am hoping that the folk did bravely, for it is never in me to be
forgiving the Drove at Dunbar. But it was not Dunbar that these lovers
were heeding about--ye will have been in the heather with a lass maybe,
so you will be guessing that.
"Would you be telling the mother of you that we would be for marrying,
Kate?"
"Yes," said the lass in a whisper, and put her head against the curve
of his breast. "I could be sleeping here."
"Och, my lass, it is fine to be sleeping in the heather. My father and
his brother would be lying out like the kye in the summer, when they
would be at the smuggling, they will be often telling me. And, Kate,"
said he, "you would not be saying any word o' the ploy at the Cleiteadh
mor, for your father, Dol Beag, is not very chief with Dan McBride."
"It will not be spoken of," said she; but the lass held her man the
closer. "You will not be thinking of going to that place. I could not
be letting you go there now."
"It will be the rent o' the crofts and steadings, the smuggling money,"
said he, "and sair wrocht for, and if they will not be hindering me, I
will be going there. I was hearing at hame that Gilchrist is mad for a
new hoose, and he will have the promise of it if he can be putting
hands on a still, or 'making seizure,' as they will be naming it."
A shiver went over the lass. "What is it makes ye grue?"
"I am wishing to greet to think you will be leaving me on that night."
"Come hame, lass," said McCook, and shook himself as a horse will shake
on a cold day; "there is a goose on my grave too," said he, and laughed
and kissed her.