THE "LASS O' DEE" SAILS.
We talked little on the way back to the town, but none the less I was
wondering greatly. So this seeming Frenchman could talk good Gaelic
speech, as well as chatter French! That set me to marveling, for he
looked like a Frenchman right enough. And what he called
himself--The Pike! Surely that was no name for an honest man to
bear, considering what kind of fish the pike was, even had the very
giving of such a name not been a heathenish and outlandish thing. I
had heard that the heathen in the colonies were named after beasts
and birds, and so I came to the conclusion that he must have lived
overseas. His Gaelic, however, was not that of the west coast, but
held the burn of the Highlands.
I kept all this thinking to myself for the next few days. No harm
had been done Ruth, so no harm had come of it; though why they dared
to carry off a Scots maiden so near home was more than I could
explain. In the end I gave up the attempt, having other things to
busy myself with.
When we had reached the inn once more we found my father ready to
depart. With him was sour old Alec Gordon, who would bide with us at
Ayrby over night. They rode on ahead, and from their talking Ruth
and I gained some inkling of the great scheme.
The "Lass" had been engaged to take over the expedition upon her
return from the next cruise, which would be in a month's time. This
would give us who were going plenty of time to sell our farms and
stock and to make all ready for departure. As to selling these,
there would be little trouble about that, for the hill folk and those
from the south would be glad enough to take them over and pay ready
cash. We of the west have alway been accounted poor folk, but even
in those days it was a poor farm indeed that did not have a leathern
sack hidden away beneath the hearth, with something therein to clink.
The days of Claverhouse had taught the west folk a stern lesson.
Neither Ruth nor I was greatly in favor of seeking the New World. We
had many a conversation about Gib o' Clarclach, which usually
resolved itself into wondering why he had stared so at the golden
brooch; and in the end Ruth placed it away and wore it no more until
our departure. She loved our home, with its rolling moors and cliffs
and mountains, and could see no reason for change; for that matter,
neither could my father, except that, as I said before, he was
restless and thinking about our future state.
As for me, I was wild to stay. Most lads would have wanted to cross
the world, but not I, for there was great talk of the Stuart in the
air. My father, who held all Stuarts for Papists, was bitter strong
for Orange and the Dutch, but the romance of Prince Charles was eager
in me. There were constant rumors that the French fleet was coming,
that men were arming in the Highlands, and that the clans and the men
of the Isles were up, but nothing came of it all and our preparations
went steadily forward.
It was no light task in those days to go into the New World and found
a settlement there. We were to take a dozen sheep, and my father
refused to part with Grim, of course. All the rest was to be handed
over to my father's kinsman, Ian MacDonald, together with the stead
itself. Our personal possessions were all packed stoutly in three
great chests of oak bound with iron, and into one of these went
Ruth's little red cloak, that my mother had kept always.
Those were sad days for us, were the days of parting. There was ever
something of the woman in my boy nature, I think, for it grieved me
sore to part with the things I had known all my life, but especially
to turn over to strangers the things about the house that my mother
had loved and used. There was a big crock, I remember, which she had
used for making the porridge every morning, and Ruth after her; this
my father would not let us pack, saying that broken pots would make
poor porridge in the colonies.
"Then it shall make porridge no more," I replied hotly, and caught up
the heavy crock. Ruth gave a little cry as it shattered on the
hearthstone, and I looked to feel my father's staff. But instead, he
only gazed across the room and nodded to himself.
"Let be, Davie lad. We cannot always dash our crocks upon the stones
and start anew. Now fetch in some peat ere the fire dies."
Very humbly, and a good bit ashamed, I obeyed. I had not thought
there was so much restraint in my father, of late.
To tell the honest truth, Fergus MacDonald, as the neighbors said,
was "fey" ever since the death of my mother. He would take his staff
and Grim and so stride across the moors, return home in the evening,
and speak no word for hours. These moods had been growing on him,
but the bustle and stir of our preparations seemed to wake him out of
himself in some degree, for which I was duly thankful.
The day of sailing had been set for the end of May, in the year 1710.
Alec Gordon rode over with the word that the "Lass" had returned and
her cargo--which as all knew, was contraband--had been safely "run"
farther down the coast. The Griers were already in Rathesby, with
two or three other families, and old Alec was gathering his flock
together for the voyage.
So early the next morning we shut up the stead for Ian to take charge
when he would, and departed for ever, as it seemed. We rode but
slowly, Grim driving the sheep steadily before him and us, until we
came to a roll of the moor we paused for a last look at the old
place. As we turned away I caught a sparkle on my father's gray
beard and the sight put a sudden sob in my throat; as for Ruth, she
made no secret of her tears. And thus we left the little gray house
behind us and rode with out faces toward the west and the sound of
the sea beating on our ears.
We came down to Rathesby at last and found the little port in wild
confusion. In all, there were eight families leaving--the Griers,
two Grahams, three of the Gordons, Auld Lag Hamilton and his sons,
and our own little party from Ayrby. All that afternoon we were busy
getting the sheep stowed away on board--which Wat Herries considered
sheer foolishness, as I did myself--and for that night we put up at
the Purple Heather, the women sleeping in the guest-rooms while we
men rolled up in our plaids and lay in the great room down below.
There was much talking that night ere the rushlights were blown out,
and I learned that our destination was to be the colony taken from
the Dutch long before and renamed New York, where land might be had
for the taking. Indeed, I learned for the first time that Alec
Gordon had not gone into this venture blindly, but had procured
letters to the folk there from others of the faith in Holland, so
that we were sure of a goodly welcome.
There was one matter that troubled me greatly that night, and kept
sleep from me for a long time. This was that while we were loading
sheep aboard that day I had seen a face among Master Herries' crew,
and it was the face of Gib o' Clarclach, as he called himself. I
wondered at his daring to return in the "Lass," knowing her loading
and her errand, and for a moment I was tempted to have a word with
Herries himself on the matter. Howbeit, I decided against it and
thereupon fell off to sleep, concluding that the man had sufficient
punishment already and that to pursue him for a past fault would be
no worthy end. But in days to come I repented me much of this, as
you shall see.
In the morning we made a hasty breakfast together, and assembled in
the big room for a last prayer. It was like to be morning-long, and
after taking due part for an hour I slipped quietly through the door;
not out of disrespect, but out of sheer weariness, for Alec Gordon
was famed for his long-windedness. Master Herries and his men were
waiting aboard the "Lass," but as I watched the ship from the bench
outside the inn, I was aware of a man calling my name and pointing.
Turning, I saw that he was directing me to the hillsides, and there
in the gleam of the sunlight I saw a dozen men riding breakneck
toward the port.
"Best get auld Alec out," suggested the fisherman, and the look of
him told me there was more afoot than I knew. So, taking my courage
in hand, I slipped in through the side door again and so up behind
the elder, in the shadow of the big settle. Waiting till he had
finished a drawn-out phrase, I leaned toward his ear.
"Alec Gordon, there be men riding hard down the moors."
It seemed to me that his face changed quickly, but not his voice, for
he continued quietly enough.
"Tam Graham, lead your flock to the boats. Do you follow him,
Fergus, and all of you make what haste is possible." With that he
fell into the border tongue as they all looked up in amazement.
"Scramble oot, freends!" he cried hastily. "The kye are in the corn!"
Now well enough I knew that for the old alarm-cry of the men of
Cameron, nor was I the only one. There was a single deep murmur, and
the Grahams poured forth into the street. After them came the rest
of us, I falling in at Ruth's side behind my father, and we hastened
down to the boats. I failed utterly to see what danger there could
be, and cast back an eye at the riders. They were still a
quarter-mile away, but coming on furiously.
In less time than it takes to tell, we were into the small boats and
rowing out to the ship. As I scrambled up the side I could hear the
clatter of hoofs on the cobbles, but above us there was a creak of
ropes and a flutter of canvas. Then there came shouts from shore,
but we could not hear the words and paid no heed.
"Hasten!" shouted Master Herries, roaring like a bull at the men, and
we saw a boat pulling out from shore. It reached us just as our
anchor lifted, and over the rail scrambled a stout man waving a
parchment with dangling seals.
"Halt, in the Royal name!" he squeaked, and my father stepped out to
him.
"What's a' the steer aboot?" asked my father quietly. At this I
looked for trouble, for it was in my mind that whenever Fergus
MacDonald had come to using the Scots dialect, there had been doings
afterward.
"Ha' ye permission to gan awa' frae Scotland?" cried the stout man,
puffing and blowing as he glared around. "Well ye ken ye hae nane,
Fergus MacDonald, an' since I hae coom in siccan a de'il's hurry--"
"Be off," broke in my father sternly, pointing to the shore. For
answer the fellow waved out his parchment spluttering something about
the "Royal commeesioner" that I did not fully catch. But my father
caught it well enough, and his face went black as he strode forward
and lifted the stout man in both hands, easily.
"Say to him it wad fit him better to look to his ain life than ours,"
he roared, and therewith heaved up the man and sent him overside into
the bay. Wat Herries cried out sharply to duck behind the bulwarks
lest shot be flying, but there was none of that. I saw the stout man
picked up by his boat and return to shore, shaking his fist vainly at
the laughter which met and followed him; then the wind bellied out
our sails and the voyage was begun. A little later it came out that
news had spread abroad of our purpose and that the commissioner had
wished to stop us, but for what reason I never knew.
My father conjectured shrewdly enough that we would have been sent
elsewhere than to New York. However, we soon forgot that, for the
whole party was clustered on the poop watching the purple hills
behind us. The little port faded ere long into a solid background,
for the breeze was a stiff one, and that afternoon we looked our last
on Scotland. This was the occasion for another address and prayer
from Alec Gordon, and this time I joined in right willingly. I had
never been so far from land before, and the tossing of the ship made
me no wee bit uneasy.
Nor was this lessened during the following days. Five in all I
suffered, together with all the moor-folk, as I never want to suffer
more. Ruth was free from the sickness, as was my father, but Maisie
Graham, poor soul, came near dying with it. After the fifth day,
however, I crawled out on deck a new man, albeit weak in the legs,
and never knew that the sun could feel so good.
The next day thereafter I was almost myself again, and paid back the
jests of Ruth with interest. She had great sport of my sickness,
although to tell the truth she tended me with unremitting care and
kindness, when my father would have let me be to get over it as best
I could.
To confess it straightway, I gained greater respect for Alec Gordon
in those days, and in those to come, than I had ever felt before.
The sight of the great ocean around us and the feel of the tossing
deck that alone kept us from harm, put the fear of God into my heart
in good surety, so that I entered into the morning and evening
meetings with new earnestness. Nor was it only while the danger
lasted that I felt thus. I had seen the ocean full often, but I had
never so much as gone out with a fishing-boat, and those first few
days were full of grim earnestness that proved their worth in the end.
It was on the twelfth day out that the first untoward event happened,
for one of the seamen cried down to us that he had sighted a small
boat that was all but sinking. Sure enough, we on deck could descry
a point of white ahead, and all of us gathered in eagerness as we
drew up to her. Thus far we had had good weather, and by now even
Maisie Graham was free of the sickness.
As we came closer to the little boat, which was no larger than a
sloop, we saw that she held only one man. Then a sense of
strangeness seemed to settle over us when we knew that this one man
was old, his long white hair and beard flying in the wind, but he
stood erect and tall at his tiller. The strangest thing of all was
that his cranky old craft was headed west, into the ocean itself,
instead of back toward the land.
[Illustration: _As we came closer to the little boat we saw that she
held only one man._]
At our hail he came about readily enough, for his boat seemed much
battered and was half full of sea-water. Handling her with no little
skill, he laid us aboard and sprang over the rail. As he did so, I
heard some of the seamen muttering in Gaelic--something about one of
the sea-wizards; but to this I gave little heed as we all hastened to
surround the old man and to talk with him.