THE CREW OF THE BONNIE ANNIE.
Having caught as many fish as he wanted, Malcolm rowed to the other side
of the Scaurnose. There he landed, and left the dinghy in the shelter of
the rocks--the fish covered with long, broad-leaved _tangles_--climbed
the steep cliff and sought Blue Peter. The brown village was quiet as a
churchyard, although the sun was now growing hot. Of the men, some were
not yet returned from the night's fishing, and some were asleep in their
beds after it: not a chimney smoked. But Malcolm seemed to have in his
own single being life and joy enough for a world: such an intense
consciousness of bliss burned within him that in the sightless,
motionless village he seemed to himself to stand like an altar blazing
in the midst of desert Carnac. But he was not the only one awake: on the
threshold of Peter's cottage sat his little Phemy, trying to polish a
bit of serpentine marble upon the doorstep with the help of water, which
stood by her side in a broken tea-cup. She lifted her sweet gray eyes
and smiled him a welcome.
"Are ye up a'ready, Phemy?" he said.
"I haena been doon yet," she answered, "My mither was oot last nicht wi'
the boat, an' Auntie Jinse was wi' the bairn, an' sae I cud du as I
likit."
"An' what did ye like, Phemy?"
"A'body kens what I like," answered the child: "I was oot an' aboot a'
nicht. An' eh, Ma'colm! I hed a vision."
"What was that, Phemy?"
"I was upo' the tap o' the Nose jist as the sun rase, luikin' aboot me,
an' awa' upo' the Boar's Tail I saw twa angels sayin' their prayers. Nae
doobt they war prayin' for the haill warl' i' the quaiet o' the mornin'
afore the din begun. May be ane o' them was that auld priest wi' the
lang name i' the buik o' Genesis, 'at hed naither father nor mither,
puir man!--him 'at gaed aboot blissin' fowk."
Malcolm thought he might take his own time to set the child right, and
asked her to go and tell her father that he wanted to see him. In a few
minutes Blue Peter appeared, rubbing his eyes--one of the dead called
too early from the tomb of sleep.
"Freen' Peter," said Malcolm, "I'm gaein' to speak oot the day."
Peter woke up. "Weel," he said, "I _am_ glaid o' that, Ma'colm--I beg
yer pardon, my lord, I sud say.--Annie!"
"Haud a quaiet sough, man. I wadna hae 't come oot at Scaurnose first.
I'm come noo 'cause I want ye to stan' by me."
"I wull that, my lord."
"Weel, gang an' gether yer boat's crew, an' fess them doon to the cove,
an' I'll tell them, an' maybe they'll stan' by me as weel."
"There's little fear o' that, gien I ken my men," answered Peter, and
went off, rather less than half clothed, the sun burning hot upon his
back, through the sleeping village to call them, while Malcolm went and
waited beside the dinghy.
At length six men in a body, and one lagging behind, appeared coming
down the winding path, all but Peter no doubt wondering why they were
called so soon from their beds on such a peaceful morning after being
out the night before.
Malcolm went to meet them. "Freen's," he said, "I'm in want o' yer
help."
"Onything ye like, Ma'colm, sae far 's I'm concernt, 'cep' it be to ride
yer mere. That I wull no tak in han'," said Jeames Gentle.
"It's no that," returned Malcolm. "It's naething freely sae hard 's
that, I'm thinkin'. The hard 'ill be to believe what I'm gaein' to tell
ye."
"Ye'll no be gaein' to set up for a proaphet?" said Girnel, with
something approaching a sneer. Girnel was the one who came down behind
the rest.
"Na, na--naething like it," said Blue Peter.
"But first ye'll promise to hand yer tongues for half a day?" said
Malcolm.
"Ay, ay, we'll no clype." "We s' haud wer tongues!" cried one and
another and another, and all seemed to assent.
"Weel," said Malcolm, "my name 's no Ma'colm MacPhail, but--"
"We a' ken that," said Girnel.
"An' what mair du ye ken?" asked Blue Peter, with some anger at his
interruption.
"Ow, naething."
"Weel, ye ken little," said Peter; and the rest laughed.
"I'm the markis o' Lossie," said Malcolm.
Every man but Peter laughed again: all took it for a joke precursive of
some serious announcement. That which it would have least surprised them
to hear would have been that he was a natural son of the late marquis.
"My name 's Ma'colm Colonsay," resumed Malcolm quietly, "an' I'm the
saxt markis o' Lossie."
A dead silence followed, and in doubt, astonishment, bewilderment and
vague awe, accompanied in the case of two or three by a strong
inclination to laugh, with which they struggled, belief began. Always a
curious observer of humanity, Malcolm calmly watched them. From discord
of expression, most of their faces had grown idiotic. But after a few
moments of stupefaction, first one, then another, turned his eyes upon
Blue Peter, and perceiving that the matter was to him not only serious,
but evidently no news, each began to come to his senses, the chaos
within him slowly arranged itself, and his face gradually settled into
an expression of sanity--the foolishness disappearing, while the wonder
and pleasure remained.
"Ye maunna tak it ill, my lord," said Peter, "gien the laads be ta'en
aback wi' the news. It's a some suddent shift o' the win', ye see, my
lord."
"I wuss yer lordship weel," thereupon said one, and held out his hand.
"Lang life to yer lordship!" said another.
Each spoke a hearty word and shook hands with him--all except Girnel,
who held back, looking on with his right hand in his trouser-pocket. He
was one who always took the opposite side--a tolerably honest and
trustworthy soul, with a good many knots and pieces of crossgrain in the
timber of him. His old Adam was the most essential and thorough of
dissenters, always arguing and disputing, especially on theological
questions. "Na," said Girnel, "ye maun saitisfee me first wha ye are,
an' what ye want o' me. I'm no to be drawn into onything 'at I dinna ken
a' aboot afore-han'. I s' no tie mysel' up wi' ony promises. Them 'at
gangs whaur they kenna may lan' at the widdie (_gallows_)."
"Nae doobt," said Malcolm, "yer ain jeedgement's mair to ye nor my word,
Girnel; but saw ye ever onything in me 'at wad justifee ye in no
lippenin' to that, sae far's it gaed?"
"Ow na! I'm no sayin' that, naither. But what hae ye to shaw anent the
privin' o' 't?"
"I have papers signed by my father, the late marquis, and sealed and
witnessed by well-known gentlemen of the neighborhood."
"Whaur are they?" said Girnel, holding out his hand.
"I don't carry such valuable things about me," answered Malcolm. "But if
you go with the rest you shall see them afterward."
"I'll du naething i' the dark," persisted Girnel. "Whan I see the
peppers I'll ken what to du." With a nod of the head as self-important
as decisive he turned his back.
"At all events," said Malcolm, "you will say nothing about it before you
hear from one of us again?"
"I mak nae promises," answered Girnel from behind his own back.
A howl arose from the rest.
"Ye promised a'ready," said Blue Peter.
"Na, I didna that: I said never a word."
"What right, then, had you to remain and listen to my disclosure?" said
Malcolm. "If you be guilty of such a mean trick as betray me and ruin my
plans, no honest man in Portlossie or Scaurnose but will scorn you."
"There! tak ye that!" said Peter. "An' I s' promise ye, ye s' never lay
leg ower the gunnel o' _my_ boat again. I s' hae nane but Christi-an men
i' _my_ pey."
"Ye hired me for the sizzon, Blew Peter," said Girnel, turning
defiantly.
"Oh! ye s' hae yer wauges. I'm no ane to creep oot o' a bargain, or say
'at I didna promise. Ye s' hae yer penny. Ye s' get yer reward, never
fear. But into my boat ye s' no come. We'll hae nae Auchans i' oor camp.
Eh, Girnel, man, but ye hae lost yersel' the day! He'll never loup far
'at winna lippen. The auld worthies tuik their life i' their han', but
ye tak yer fit (_foot_) i' yours. I'm clean affrontit 'at ever I hed ye
amo' my men."
But with that there rushed over Peter the recollection of how he had
himself mistrusted--not Malcolm's word indeed, but his heart. He turned,
and clasping his hands in sudden self-reproach, "My lord, I saired ye
ill mysel' ance," he cried, "for I misdoobted 'at ye wasna the same to
me efter ye cam to yer ain. I beg yer pardon, my lord, here i' the face
o' my freen's. It was ill-temper an' pride i' me, jist the same as it's
noo in Girnel there; an' ye maun forgie him, as ye forgae me, my lord,
as sune 's ye can."
"I'll du that, my Peter, the verra moment he wants to be forgi'en," said
Malcolm.
But Girnel turned with a grunt, and moved away toward the cliff.
"This'll never du," said Peter. "A man 'at's honest i' the main may play
the verra dog afore he gets the deevil oot o' 'im ance he's in like
that.--Gang efter 'im, laads, an' kep (_intercept_) 'im an' keep 'im.
We'll hae to cast a k-not or twa aboot 'im an' lay 'im i' the boddom o'
the boat."
The six had already started after him like one man. But Malcolm cried,
"Let him go: he has done me no wrong yet, and I don't believe will do me
any. But for no risk must we prevent wrong with wrong."
So Girnel was allowed to depart--scarcely in peace, for he was already
ashamed of himself. With the understanding that they were to be ready to
his call, and that they should hear from him in the course of the day,
Malcolm left them and rowed back to the Psyche. There he took his basket
of fish on his arm, which he went and distributed according to his
purpose, ending with Mrs. Courthope at the House. Then he fed and
dressed Kelpie, saddled her and galloped to Duff Harbor, where he found
Mr. Soutar at breakfast, and arranged with him to be at Lossie House at
two o'clock. On his way back he called on Mr. Morrison, and requested
his presence at the same hour. Skirting the back of the House, and
riding as straight as he could, he then made for Scaurnose, and
appointed his friends to be near the House at noon, so placed as not to
attract observation, and yet be within hearing of his whistle from door
or window in the front. Returning to the House, he put up Kelpie, rubbed
her down and fed her; then, finding there was yet some time to spare,
paid a visit to the factor. He found his lady, for all his present of
fish in the earlier morning, anything but friendly. She did all she
could to humble him--insisted on paying him for the fish, and ordered
him, because they smelt of the stable, to take off his boots before he
went up stairs--to his master's room, as she phrased it. But Mr. Crathie
was cordial, and, to Malcolm's great satisfaction, much recovered. He
had better than pleasant talk with him.