GIB O' CLARCLACH.
Seven of those years were the happiest of all my life, perhaps. Ruth
and I dwelt quiet at home, and between whiles of the work my mother
taught us much that we had never known else. She was of good family,
of the Eastoun Errols, and how she came to love my father, who was
rough and rude, was always something of a mystery to me. But love
him she did, and he her, and it was a bad day for Fergus MacDonald
when my mother died.
This happening took place seven years after the coming of Ruth, and
was a sore grief to all of us. I never realized just how sore a
grief it was to my father, Fergus, until later. She was buried
beside those of the Covenant who had escaped the harrying to die in
peace, and I mind me that it was on a cold, gray day which gave us
little cheer.
The elder, old Alec Gordon, had carried pistol and sword at Ayrsmoss,
being given to preaching later in life. His mind was a bitter one,
setting well with that of my father, and this day of my mother's
funeral gave me a distaste for the men of the Covenant that I never
outgrew. When it was all over I crept away and went down to the
cliff-edge, where Ruth presently joined me, and we sat along with the
heart-hunger that was eating at us until the night-mists warned us
home.
For many days thereafter my father spoke few words, and of a sudden
his age had come upon him, together with a strange unrest that I had
not seen in him before. But still we abode there on the old farm
until I was almost nineteen, and Ruth, as we guessed, a year younger.
Then came the first of those strange happenings that led us so far
afield and drew us into so weird a strand of Fortune's net before we
had done.
Two years after my mother's death, my father began to have a
succession of visitors. There was much talk in those days of the new
lands over sea, and the rich farms to be had there for the taking.
From what scattered words that came to us, Ruth and I judged rightly
enough that these folk were talking of the plantations to my father,
and so indeed it proved. Alec Gordon was the most constant visitor,
and in time it came out that he would make a settlement in the new
world, of a number of our folk. My father was much taken with the
scheme, as were Muckle Jock Grier and Tam Graham, and others of the
families near by. At length my father announced that the next day
but one Ruth and I should go with him to Rathesby.
His temper was dour and sullen in these days, and I dared not
question him overmuch, but Ruth got the truth of the matter out of
him on the way to town. It seemed that the elder, Alec Gordon, had
prevailed upon a dozen families to carry the Covenant to the New
World, and there to found a settlement to the glory of God, where
there would be none to interfere or hinder, and where, as my father
put it, "a new folk might be given growth by the Lord's grace, free
from the temptations of the world and the wiles of the devil." But
there were more devils in the New World than my father or old Alec
wotted of.
I think he was much moved to this end by thought of Ruth and me, for
he was earnest that we should follow in his footsteps and grow up
God-fearing, respected young folk such as Lang Robin Grier. Now I
ever was, and am still, I trust, God-fearing; but sour faces were
little to my liking, and ranting Lang Robin much less. I mind me
that when Robin would have impressed some doctrinal point upon Ruth,
with many wise sayings and much doubting that her mind was sound in
the faith, I went home with sore knuckles, and Robin went home with a
sore face and a story that wrought much discredit upon me. Howbeit,
to my tale.
We rode into Rathesby, where my father was to see Wat Herries, the
master of the stout lugger that sailed to Ireland and France and
beyond, and that even then lay in Rathesby bay. Smaller vessels than
the "Lass o' Dee" had passed overseas in safety, and my father
trusted in the hand of God more than he trusted in the hand of Wat
Herries.
It was still early morn when we reached the port and put up our
ponies at the Purple Heather, kept by old Gib Lennox. Then my father
told me to wander at my will, taking good care of Ruth and returning
at midday, while he strode off in search of Master Herries. The
"Lass," we found, was newly come from France, and in her crew were
many dark-faced fellows whose tongue sounded sweet in the ears of
Ruth, so that we had to stop more than once and listen.
In the front of her cloak, now a modest gray one, she wore that same
brooch with which she had come to us. I had hard work to keep her
from speaking to the strange men in their own tongue, but after a
time we came to the edge of the town and sat there among the rocks,
well content to watch the lugger in the harbor and the fishing boats
that lay around her.
As we sat there two men came strolling by--two of the sailors whom we
had seen in the town. One was ordinary enough, the other a not
ill-favored rogue save for deep pock-marks on his face that bespoke
the plague, and a roving, cunning eye that bespoke a shifty soul.
These passed so close that their talk floated to us, and naught would
do Ruth but that I must call them over so that she might speak to
them in French. Whereat, somewhat sullenly, I obeyed, and the men
strolled across the shingle to us.
"And what might you wish, pretty maid?" asked the pock-marked fellow
civilly enough.
"I but wished to hear the French tongue, sir," she replied with a
smile. "It is long since I have spoken it--why, what is the matter?"
For a sudden the man had given a little start, his eyes fixed on her
throat. Then he stared into her eyes, and at the look of him I half
gained my feet.
"Your name?" he asked quickly. "What is your name, little one?"
"What is that to you, fellow?" I made hot answer, angry at his
insolence. But Ruth caught my sleeve and pulled me down.
"Nay, Davie! Why should he not know? It were but civil to speak him
fair, after calling to him. My name is Ruth, Ruth MacDonald," she
added in French. At this it seemed to me that the man stared harder
than ever, a puzzled look in his face.
"And how come you to speak our tongue?" he said, smiling quickly, so
that I lost my anger. "It is strange to find one on these coasts who
speaks so well and fluently!"
Ruth replied that she had had good teachers, and after a few words
more the men walked on. But I noted that the one we had spoken with
flung back more than one glance, and I was glad when midday came and
we made our way back to the inn to eat.
There we found my father in deep converse with Master Herries, a
hearty man of some two-score years, and straightway all thought of
the two seamen fled my mind. For now the talk was all of lading and
cargo, of whether sheep might be fetched in the lugger and of how
many persons might sail with her. My father was set on taking with
us as many sheep as might be, notwithstanding Wat Herries told him
there was little sheep-land in the plantations.
While we ate and listened, Alec Gordon came in and brought a list of
all those who had covenanted to go on the "Lass." The price was then
agreed on, and much against my will my father bade me take Ruth forth
again for an hour or two, as the inn was filling with seamen who
drank much and talked loud, and there was but the one room.
So down to the sea we went once again, having had our fill of the
town-sights, and wandered south along the low cliffs and the shore.
Luckily enough, as it chanced, I picked up a water-clean cudgel that
lay among the rocks and used it in sport as a staff. A bit after, I
espied a small cuttlefish washed into a pool, and swooped down on the
place in delight. But Ruth, who cared little for such creations as
had snaky arms and hideous aspect, rambled onward among the rocks.
I was much concerned with my find, and had great sport. Once the
foot-long arms were wound around that stick of mine, the creature
would not let go, even though I beat him gently against the rock. I
had no mind to lose the cudgel by leaving it there, and neither had I
cruelty enough to crush out the life of the ugly creature, so I
stayed and fought gently with him and forgot the passage of time.
On a sudden came a faint cry to my ears and I heard my name as if
called from far away. Looking up, I saw no one and remembered that
Ruth had gone on alone. Thinking that she had fallen into some pool
among the rocks, mayhap, I caught up the stick, cuttlefish and all,
and ran to the point of rocks that hid the farther shore from me.
And there I gave a great cry of anger and amazement.
For, a quarter of a mile distant, I saw Ruth being carried up the
cliff by two men. Though I could not see them well, for they were in
the cliff-shadow, I remembered the two seamen instantly. Without
pausing to think, I ran swiftly back to a little path that led up the
cliff, in white anger. I knew these parts well, and when I gained
the crest I would be betwixt the three and the town.
In this thought I was right, for in my haste I had beat them to the
cliff-top and was running toward them when they appeared. Plainly
they had not counted on me, because as I appeared they seemed no
little alarmed. Then when I drew near, there came a flash of steel
in the sunlight and my heart stood still, lest they injure Ruth.
But whatever their intention, it was unfulfilled. Before I could get
to them Ruth began to struggle, and broke away just as the knives
gleamed. One of the rogues wanted to run, but the other called to
him to stay steady and regain the maid when they had flung the boy
over the cliff. This did not serve to calm me over-much, and I must
have clean forgot to fear their knives.
As I ran up, the one of them sprang, but I whirled around the cudgel,
which the cuttlefish yet clung to. The swing of it flung him off,
and while I was still a few paces from the seaman I saw the creature
strike him full in the face, as though thrown from a
hand-sling--though it was the sheerest good fortune. With a great
shriek the man turned and made off, clutching at his face, and I saw
no more of him after.
But with the second man, him of the pock-marks, I was right soon
busied. Amazed as he was at the somewhat ludicrous fate of his
fellow, he came at me evilly. With a quick motion I shortened the
cudgel and stabbed him in the breast with it, the point of his knife
just shearing through my shirt, but harming me not at all. Then I
gripped him by the neck and wrist.
Now we MacDonalds have ever been accounted strong men, and although
scant nineteen, my father was wont to say that I promised not to
disgrace the family in my strength. That was no light praise from
his lips, but I never knew the worth of it till I gripped that seaman
in my two hands. The anger that was upon me for the sake of Ruth was
so great that there seemed to be a red haze in my eyes, and then I
realized that the man had dropped his knife and was all but limp.
Whereat I lifted him up and threw him to the heather, where he lay
quiet.
Then I knew that Ruth was hanging to my arm, pleading with me not to
harm the man. I stared down at her, breathing heavily, and wondered
what to do with him.
"Were you hurt, lassie?" I asked in haste.
"No, Davie. They came upon me suddenly, and I had but time to cry to
you before they clapped a kerchief to my mouth and lifted me. At the
top of the cliff I broke from them. But--oh, I fear me you have hurt
this man sore!"
"And well enough for him," I responded grimly. "He is like to be
worse hurt when my father lays hands on him."
"David! Surely they are punished enough!" she cried out. Looking
down at her, I saw that her golden hair was streaming free and in her
face was that same all-trusting look wherewith she had met us nine
years before. The memory of that day struck me like a shock, so that
I stared speechless. Just then the sailor groaned, rolled over, and
sat up. I put my foot on his knife, debating whether to hale him to
Rathesby or not.
"Let him go, David," pleaded Ruth. "Truly, they did me no harm, and
if father knew of it he would be very angry. Do not tell him, Davie,
for it can do no good and will only make him dour for days."
Now this was true enough, and when the flame of my wrath had quieted
somewhat I was not over-anxious to kindle the flame again in my
father's heart. So I looked down at the man and bade him stand up,
which he did with a groan, rubbing his neck.
"Who are you," I asked sternly. "What was your intent?"
He glanced from me to Ruth, an odd gleam in his crafty eyes which
liked me little. He seemed to hesitate before answering, though I
had spoken in his own tongue.
"I am called Gib o' Clarclach," he replied surlily, in right good
Gaelic. As I stared in amazement, he darted a venomous look at me.
"But elsewhere I am known as The Pike," he added, "and I have friends
you wot not of, stripling. So best say no more of this."
"That for you and your friends," and I snapped my fingers. "What
wanted you with this maid? Answer, or you lie in Rathesby gaol this
night."
But all the answer I got was a mocking laugh, as the fellow sprang
away and was gone down the cliff-path. I plunged forward, but Ruth's
hand clutched mine and her voice pulled me back. "Nay, Davie! Leave
him go and let us return--for--for I am afraid!"
And the little sob she gave held me to her more than her grip, so
that I laid her head against my shoulder and comforted her until she
smiled once more. But she did not smile until I had promised to say
no word of the affair to my father Fergus.