THE CAVE OF THE CROWING COCK.
Mary Stanley's eyes had not deceived her; the boat of which she had
caught a momentary glimpse was a smart little yawl of twenty tons or so,
that was making in for Heimra Island; and there were three men on
deck--two redcaps forward, the master at the helm. This last was a
young fellow of about six and twenty, a little, not much, over middle
height, of somewhat pale complexion, and with singularly dark eyes and
hair. The curious thing was this: though you could not say that any of
his features were particularly fine (except, perhaps, his coal-black
eyes, which were clearly capable of flame, if the occasion demanded) the
general effect of them was striking; they seemed to convey an impression
of strength--of a certain lazy audacity of strength; while the forehead
revealed by the peaked cap being pushed carelessly backward denoted at
once intelligence and resolution. But indeed at this moment the young
man's attitude was one of merely quiescent indifference--though there
was an occasional quick scrutiny of the neighbouring coast; all the
graver perils of the voyage were over; they were running easily before a
steady wind; and they would get safely to their anchorage ere the light
had wholly died out of the western skies.
"Down foresail!" he called to the men. For now they were passing a
headland that formed one of two arms encircling a sheltered little
bay--a strangely silent and solitary-looking place it seemed in this
mysterious light. Sterile, too; tumbled masses of rock with hardly a
scrap of vegetation on them; a few clumps of birches here and there; an
occasional dark green pine higher up the cliffs. But at all events it
was quiet and still; the water lapped clear and crisp along the shingle;
while the murmur of the outer sea was still everywhere around, and also,
on the northern side of the bay, there was a long out-jutting reef where
there was a continuous surge of white foam over the saw-toothed edge.
"Down jib!" The sound of a human voice was so strange in this
solitude--far stranger than the mere rattle of blocks and tackle.
"Main sheet!"
The two men came aft: the steersman jammed down his helm; the vessel
slowly rounded into the wind--the boom being hauled in meanwhile--the
mainsail flapping and shivering in the light breeze.
"Stand by to let go!" was the next order; and the hands went forward
again--the vessel gradually losing the way that was on her, until she
seemed absolutely motionless.
"Let go!"
There was a splash and a roar that sent a thousand shuddering echoes
through the silence. A heron uttered a hoarse croak and rose on heavy
and slow-moving wings to make for some distant shelter. A pair of
dunlins--unseen in the dusk--added their shrill piping cry. Then all was
still again, save for the continual moaning of the surge on the distant
reef.
"Give a haul at the topping-lift, lads!" This was the final direction;
and then, with another keen look round the little bay, young Ross of
Heimra--or Donuil Og Vich Iain Vich Ruari, as some were proud to call
him--went down into the cabin to put a few things together before going
ashore.
Of the two sailors now left on the deck one was a powerfully built man
of about thirty, with a close-clipped brown beard, bushy brown eyebrows,
and eyes of a clear Celtic grey. His name was Kenneth Macleod; but he
was more generally known as _Coinneach Breac_--that is to say, Kenneth
of the small-pox marks. His companion was younger than himself--a lad
of twenty or two-and-twenty; long and loutish of figure; but with a
pleasant expression of face. This was Malcolm, or rather, Calum, as they
called him. Probably he had some other name; but it was never heard of;
the long, lumpish, heavily-shouldered lad was simply known throughout
this neighbourhood as Calum, or Calum-a-bhata, Calum of the Boat.
"It is I who will have a sound sleep this night," said he, in Gaelic, as
he stretched his hands above his head and yawned.
"And I, too, when the work is over," said his neighbour, pulling out a
short black pipe. "And now you see what it is to have many friends. Oh,
I know you, Calum; you are a young lad: and you are strong: you think of
nothing but fighting, like the other young lads. But let me tell you
this, Calum; it is not a good thing, fighting and quarrelling, and
making enemies; it is easier to make enemies than to make friends: and
many times you will be sorry when it is too late, and when that has been
put wrong which you cannot put right. For you know what the wise man of
Islay said. Calum; he said--'_He who killed his mother a few moments
ago would fain have her alive now!_'"
"But who was talking about fighting, Coinneach--tell me that?" said the
youth, angrily.
"I was giving you advice, Calum, my son," said Coinneach--lighting his
pipe and pulling away, though there appeared to be very little tobacco
inside. "I was telling you that it was a good thing to have many
friends, as the master has. Oh, he is the one to make friends, and no
doubt about that! For look you at this, Calum; you know what is stowed
in the cabin; and here we come into the bay, without waiting for the
night at all, and just as if there was nothing on board but a few tins
of meat for our own use and a loaf or two. That is the wisdom of having
many friends, as I am telling you. Why, if there was any one after us,
if there was any one wishing to put trouble upon us, do you know what
would have happened this evening?--there would have been a bonfire on
every headland between Ru Gobhar and the Black Bay. And that is what I
tell you, Calum, that it is a very good thing to have plenty of friends
ashore, who are as your own kinspeople to you, and will come between you
and the stranger, and will see that the stranger does not harm you. The
master, he is the one to make friends with old and young; and believe me
as far as that goes, Calum. Ay, you are a young lad; and you do not
know what the world is; and you do not know what it is to go sailing
with a hard skipper; and if you are an apprentice, a bucket of water in
your bunk to wake you in the morning. But the master--oh, well, now,
look at this: if there is bad weather, and there is something difficult
to be done, and you do it smartly, why, then he calls out to you 'Fhir
mo chridhe!'[#] and that is a far more welcome thing to you than cursing
and swearing; it is a far more welcome thing, and a good thing to
comfort you." He shook the ashes out of his pipe, and put it in his
pocket. "Well, now, see to the tackle, Calum, and we'll get the boat
hoisted out, for the master will be going ashore."
[#] _Fhir mo chridhe!_--Man of my heart!
The boat--a twelve-footer or thereabouts--had been stowed on deck; but
they soon had her launched over the side, and everything put ship-shape
and in readiness. And presently the young man who had gone down into
the cabin re-appeared again; he threw some things into the boat, and
took his place in the stern-sheets; the men shoved off, and presently
they were well on their way to the beach, where there was a
rudely-formed slip. By this time the streaks of lemon-hued light that
had appeared in the west were dying away; darkness was coming over land
and sea; already, in the east, one or two stars were visible between the
thinning and breaking clouds. Young Ross landed at the slip, and made
his way up to a level plateau on which stood a long, rambling,
one-storeyed building mostly of timber: a sort of bungalow, with a
slated porch, and with some little pretence of a garden round it, though
at this time of the year nothing, of course, was visible in it but a few
leafless bushes. At the door stood an old woman neatly and smartly
dressed, whose eyes were still expressive enough to show how pleased she
was.
"Good evening to you, Martha," said he in Gaelic, "and I hope you are
well."
"Indeed I am all the better for seeing you back, sir," replied the old
woman, with many smiles. "The house is no house at all when you are
away."
She followed him obsequiously into the narrow hall. He only glanced at
the newspapers and letters on the table. But there was something else
there--a brace of grouse.
"Will I cook one of the birds for Mr. Ross's dinner?" she asked, her
Highland politeness causing her to address him in the third person.
A quick frown came over his face.
"Who brought these here?" he demanded.
"Oh, well--they were left," said old Martha, evasively.
"Yes, yes, left; but who left them?" he asked again.
"Oh, well; maybe it was the Lochgarra keepers," said she.
"The keepers? Nonsense!" he said angrily. "Do you tell me the keepers
would shoot grouse at this time of the year, when the birds have paired,
and soon will be nesting? It was Gillie Ciotach,[#] I'll be bound. Now
you will tell the Gillie Ciotach, Martha, that if he does not stop his
tricks I will have him sent across the land to go before the Sheriff at
Dingwall; and how will he like that?"
[#] _Gillie Ciotach_--the left-handed young man.
"Oh, well, indeed, sir," said Martha, in a deprecating way, "the poor
young lad meant no harm. He was coming over here anyway, because he
lost a dog, and he was wishing to find the dog."
At this the young master burst out laughing.
"The Gillie Ciotach is an excellent one for lies, and that is certain!"
said he. "His dog? And how could his dog swim across from Lochgarra to
Eilean Heimra? Tell Gillie Ciotach from me that when he comes over here
he may look after the lobsters, but he will be better not to tell lies
about a dog, and also he will do well to leave the Lochgarra grouse
alone. And now, Martha, if there is any dinner for me, let me have it
at once; for I am going back to the yacht by-and-bye."
He went into the simply-furnished dining-room, where there was a lamp on
the table and likewise a magnificent peat-fire ablaze in the big iron
grate--a welcome change from the little stove in the cabin of the
_Sirene_. He had brought his letters with him in his hand. He drew in
a wickerwork lounging-chair towards the fireplace, and idly began to
tear the envelopes open: here were tidings, various hushed voices, as it
were, from the busy world that seemed so distant to him, living in these
remote solitudes. It is true he had been away for a time from Eilean
Heimra; but during that interval there had not been much of human
companionship for him; nay, there was for the most part a greater
loneliness than ever, especially when he took his watch on deck at
night, sending the two men below for much-needed rest. Indeed these
letters and newspapers seemed almost to make a stir and noise!--so used
had he been to silence and the abstraction of his own thoughts.
Meanwhile Coinneach and Calum had returned to the yacht, had got some
supper, and were now up at the bow, contemplatively smoking, and
chatting to each other in their native tongue. Night had fallen; but
the skies were becoming clearer and more clear; the starlit heavens were
gradually revealing themselves. There was not a sound--since the rattle
of the anchor had disturbed the quietude of the little bay.
"The work is not over yet," Coinneach was saying, in somewhat low tones,
"and it is the part of the work that I have no liking for. Anything else
I shrink not back from, when the master wishes; he is the one to follow,
and I will go with him wherever he desires; and that in safety, too--for
who knows the navigation like himself, yes, and speaking every language
that is known upon the earth? I will go with him wherever he wishes; I
will do whatever he wishes. But, Calum, I have no liking for the Uamh
coilich na glaodhaich."[#]
[#] _Uamh coilich na glaodhaich_--The Cave of the Crowing Cock.
"Nor I, Coinneach," said his companion. "Especially in the night-time."
"Day-time or night-time: what is the difference in the Uamh coilich na
glaodhaich, when it is so dark that no man has ever been to the end of
it, or knows to what it leads? Nor is any man likely to try to
discover, since the one that went on and on, until he heard a cock
crowing. Oh, God, that must have been a terrible thing, to be so near
the edge of another world that you could hear a cock crowing there. And
if the people had caught him and kept him--they would have taken him
away to the place where the piper went when he played Cha till mi
tuilich;[#] and that is a tale that is told of many caves; and it may be
this, Calum, that all the great caves lead to that other world; but who
can tell about such fearful things? A cock crowing--that is
nothing--when you are in your own home, with the daylight around you;
but to hear the crowing of a cock after you have gone away into the
earth, then that tells you of wonderful things, for you know the saying,
'_Deep is the low of a cow upon strange pasture._' Well, well, what the
master says must be done; but many's the time I am wishing that when the
kegs have to be hidden, it was some other place we had for the hiding of
them than the Cave of the Crowing Cock."
[#] _Cha till mi tuilich_--I shall never more return.
"Coinneach," said the lad, and he also spoke in a hushed kind of way,
"how long ago is it since that one heard the cock crowing?"
"How long? Who can answer such questions? Can you tell me when the
Macarthurs came into the world? For you have heard the saying, Calum:
'_The hills and the streams and the Macalpines came together; but who
can say when the Macarthurs came?_' It is a long time ago: it is not
any use asking. Ay, and there was something before all of these." He
paused for a second: then he said darkly--"That was--that was when the
Woman was in these islands."
"What woman?" said Calum, with the eager curiosity of youth.
But Coinneach seemed disinclined to answer.
"Have you not heard?" said he. "But it is wise not to speak of such
things."
"What woman was that, Coinneach?" his companion persisted, fixing his
eyes on Coinneach's face, that was full of a sombre meditation.
"Did you never hear of her--the Woman that was here before there were
any people in these islands or in the mainland either? But it is not
prudent to speak."
"Who was she, Coinneach?" said Calum. "Surely she cannot hurt you if she
was dead these many thousands of years?"
"Do not say that," he responded rather gloomily. "Who can tell?--for
there are strange things. You know I am not a coward, Calum."
"That is what I know well!" said Calum, confidently. "How many days is
it since you stood up against the French skipper, and he with four of
them at his back?"
"Ay, but there are things that are more terrible than blows; and it is
of these that I am afraid. Or perhaps not quite afraid; but I think.
And that is the difference between one man and another man, Calum.
There is always ill-luck happening; but one man will suffer it and not
inquire, while the other man will ask what caused it or who it was that
did him the harm. And if it is not always prudent to speak of such
affairs, at least the truth is the safest: you know the saying '_Speak
the truth as if you were in the presence of kings_.' And now I will
tell you this, Calum, of a strange thing that happened to me when I was
a boy."
He abated his voice, as if afraid of being overheard. Calum's eyes
'glowered' in the dusk.
"I had been over to Ru-Gobhar, where I had a sister married then; and I
was returning home. It was a moonlight night; the sea very calm; there
was no wind. Well, when I was at the highest point of the road, above
the Black Bay, do you know what happened? But I will tell you what
happened. And this is what I saw: the sea began to move, although there
was not a breath of wind, and there was no noise either; only it moved
and heaved in a terrible way; and there was a line of white, but it was
more like white fire than white foam, all along the land, from Ru-Gobhar
in to Minard, and all round the headlands to where I was. For I was
standing looking, and very much afraid to see so strange a thing; and
then this is what happened: I got to know that there was someone behind
me; and then I got to know it was the Woman, and I durst not look round,
for I was shaking with terror. May you never have such an experience in
your life, Calum, as was mine that night. I knew that she had come
across the sea, from the islands, noticing that I was alone and no one
to help me; and now I knew that she was not only behind me, but in front
of me, and all around me, though I could not see anything, for I was in
such terror. She did not speak to me, nor touch me; but I felt myself
choking at the throat as if she had a grip of me; and I gave myself up
for dead--for I could not run away from her--and I knew it was the Woman
who had a grip of my throat. Well, well, I gave myself up for dead; but
all of a sudden it entered my mind that she would carry me away out to
the islands and bury me in one of the caves; and with that I made a
great effort, and cried out 'God on the cross, save me, save me!' That
was the last I knew of it; when I came to myself I was lying in the
road, cold as a stone; and the sea was quite smooth again. May you never
have an experience like my experience of that night, Calurn!"
Calum was silent for a little while. Then he said, slowly--
"Coinneach, do you suppose the Woman came from the cave where the cock
was heard crowing?"
"How can I tell?" was the answer. "Perhaps I have said too much. But
what I have said to you, that is the least part of what happened to me
that night, for it is not to be spoken of." And then he rose; and put
his pipe in his pocket. "Come, Calum, my son, we must take the boat
ashore now, for the master will be coming down to the slip. But do not
you speak of such things as I have told you; for it is not good to speak
of them."
And to this Calum merely replied--
"What the master wishes is enough for you and me, Coinneach; but I would
rather not be going into the Uamh coilich na glaodhaich this night."
They rowed the boat in to the shore--they could see their way well
enough, for now the heavens were quite clear, and a universe of white
worlds was shining down on them; and there they ran her bow into the
soft seaweed by the side of the slip. They had not long to wait. There
was a sound of footsteps on the gravel-path; then from out of the shadow
emerged a figure into the open space above the beach; they knew who this
was. Young Ross of Heimra seemed to be in no great hurry; his hands
were in his pockets; he came down towards the boat with long, lounging,
leisurely strides; and he was whistling a gay air that was unfamiliar to
them--for Coinneach and Calum could hardly be expected to recognise '_La
Noce de Jeanne_.'
"It is the master who is not afraid of anything," said the elder of the
two men, under his breath.
"Indeed you may say that," rejoined Calum, as he, too, put his pipe in
his pocket. "I think he would face old Donas[#] himself, and not ask
for any allowance."
[#] _Donas_--the Devil.
Young Ross came down the beach.
"Lend a hand here, lads," he sung out, "and we'll take the other boat
with us. Maybe we'll be able to do it in one trip; and I'm sure it's a
good long sleep both of you will be wanting this night."
They speedily had the second boat launched and shoved along to the slip;
then they attached the painter to the one in which they had come ashore;
and presently they were pulling both boats quietly out to the _Sirene_.
The gangway was open. Ross and the elder of the two men stepped on
board; and proceeded to remove the skylight of the chief cabin--Calum
securing the boats by the side of the yacht. And then began the final
business of the expedition--the hoisting up on deck and the transferring
to the boats alongside of a considerable number of kegs that were small
enough to be handled with comparative ease. Young Ross, who was down in
the cabin, worked just like the others: slim as his figure seemed, there
was plenty of strength about his arms and shoulders. There was no lamp
in the cabin, nor yet on deck; nor was there need of any; the black
figures labouring away there did very well with the faint illumination
shed by those thousands of tremulous stars. And in course of time the
operation was complete; the casks that had been skilfully stowed in the
main cabin of the _Sirene_ were now ranged as tightly as might be in the
boats alongside; then the men stepped in and took to the oars; while the
young master went to the tiller. Calum had been told to put a couple of
candles in his pocket; and he was not likely to forget that--for they
were going to the Cave of the Crowing Cock.
It was a long and laborious pull--the boat astern acting as a heavy
drag; moreover, even with this clear starlight, they dared not go
anywhere near that saw-toothed reef that guarded the next small bay
whither they were bound. They could hear each successive thud of the
surge, and the long receding roar; and they could even descry in a kind
of way the line of white foam that boiled and churned incessantly along
the almost invisible rocks. But once they were round this dangerous
point--giving it a significantly wide berth--they found themselves in
smooth water again. Not a word was spoken. The two men toiled away at
the oars--most likely thinking of the welcome sleep awaiting them when
all was done. The land ahead seemed to grow darker as they approached,
even as the black precipitous cliffs appeared to soar higher and higher
into the clear starlit skies. Then there was a whispering of water: the
beach was near. Young Ross bade them pull more gently now: he was
trying to make out the most suitable landing-place--in amongst those
mysterious shadows.
Eventually the two boats were grounded, and dragged up to be secure from
the tide; while the work of getting the kegs out began.
"Calum," said the young master, "take the candles now and get them
lighted; and mind you do not light them until you are well inside the
cave."
Calum appeared to receive this commission very unwillingly; at all
events he hesitated.
"It is asking for your pardon I am, sir," said he; "but--I have brought
a pistol with me."
"A pistol? And why so?" said Donald Ross.
"It is the pistol that I would like to be firing into the cave," said
Calum, rather timidly, "before any of us went into it."
"And what is your reason for that, Calum?"
Calum rather hung his head; but he said all the same--
"If there would be wild beasts in the cave, it will scare them before we
go in."
"Wild beasts? And what wild beasts are there in Eilean Heimra?" Then
the young man laughed. "Calum, is it a badger, or a wild cat, or an
otter that you fear? Or is it not rather the Dark Person you are afraid
of, who used to come every night to Lochgarra to ask Mr. Stanley if he
was not ready yet? Did you believe that story, Calum; and did you not
think the Dark Person very foolish to talk Gaelic to Mr. Stanley, when
he was not understanding a word of it?"
Calum did not answer: he was shamefacedly awaiting permission to fire
into that dreaded place.
"Well, well, Calum," young Ross said, good-naturedly, "you are not long
from your mother's apron-string: if you are afraid, give me the candles,
and keep the pistol in your pocket. Give me the candles--and lend
Coinneach here a hand with the kegs."
But at this Calum raised his head.
"Indeed that will I not do," said he, "for it is not Mr. Ross that must
go first into the cave, when I am here, or when Coinneach is here. If I
am not to fire the pistol, then I will not fire the pistol. But it's
myself that am going to light the candles in the cave."
"And a lucifer-match, Calum," said the young master, turning away from
him, "will frighten wild beasts as well as any pistol--besides making a
great deal less noise."
The Uamh coilich na glaodhaich was only a few yards distant; but the
entrance to it was concealed by a huge mass--a perpendicular
pinnacle--of rock; and when Calum had got behind this gigantic natural
screen, there were no more cheerful stars to guide him; he was
confronted by darkness and unknown terrors. And yet he scrupulously
obeyed his instructions. His trembling fingers, it is true, grasped the
pistol, but he kept it in his pocket nevertheless; while with his left
hand he groped his way well into the cave--dreading at every moment to
see two fiery eyes glaring on him--before he set to work to light the
candles. And how feeble and ineffectual were the small red flames in
this vast cavern! Their flickering hardly showed the roof at all; but
it was not the roof that Calum was regarding; it was the far-reaching
and black abyss in front of him, that led--whither? Perhaps the
inhabitants of that other world could see better than himself, and were
now regarding him?--that other world in which the dawn began in the
middle of the night, and where there were cocks crowing when all the
natural universe was asleep. He had to fasten each lighted candle into
the neck of a bottle that had been left there for the purpose; but all
the while he did so he was staring into that vague and awful space that
the feeble, dull red glow did not seem to penetrate at all--staring into
it as if he expected to find two white eyes and a ghastly countenance
suddenly become visible. And then again, when he had placed the bottles
on a shelf of rock that ran along one side of the cave, a few feet from
the ground, he did not instantly turn and go. He retreated
backward--cautiously, for the shelving shingle was loose and
slippery--keeping his face towards that hollow darkness, so that he
might guard himself against any strange thing, or be warned by hearing
any strange noise. Then a colder stirring of air told him that he was
outside; he made his way past the over-looming rock and into the clear
star-light again; and with a beating heart--but a thankful heart
withal--he went quickly along the beach and rejoined his companions.
By this time the kegs had been all got out; so that in case of any
sudden danger, of which they appeared to have but little dread, the
three of them could have jumped into one of the boats and made off.
There remained, therefore, only the task of carrying along the casks and
stowing them in the cave; and this work young Ross left to the two men.
He remained on watch--if watch were needed--pacing up and down the
shingle, looking at the far resplendent heavens and the darker sea, and
listening to the continuous murmur of the distant surf. He had lit his
pipe, too; he did not seem to have much apprehension of being interfered
with. And indeed all went well; and in due course of time the two dark
figures came along the beach with the intelligence that all the kegs had
been safely stowed, and that they were now ready to row the master back
to his own home.
"Coinneach," said Donald Ross, seated at the helm, when they were some
way out on the black and tumbling water, that glanced and quivered here
and there with the reflections of the stars, "they were telling me
before we left in the yacht that the lady was shortly coming to
Lochgarra House."
"And indeed I heard the same thing myself," said Coinneach, "and they
were making ready at the big house for the coming of the
Englishwoman."[#]
[#] _Ban-sassunnach_ was the term he used. But young Ross had referred
to her as _Baintighearna_, or lady-proprietor--a much more respectful
appellation.
"And I have no doubt," the master continued, "that Purdie will come with
her, to show her the property, and introduce her to the people."
"The Little Red Dwarf," said Coinneach; and then he muttered to himself:
"It is the lowermost floor of hell that I am wishing for him, and for
every one of his accursed house!"
Young Ross of Heimra took no notice of this pious ejaculation.
"Now listen," said he. "This is what I wish to say to you, Coinneach.
When Purdie comes to Lochgarra with the lady who is the new proprietor,
that would be a very good time indeed for widow Mac Vean to ask them to
give her a cow in place of the one that she lost in the Meall-na-Fearn
bog. Maybe they will give the poor woman a cow; and she will pay them
back bit by bit if they allow her time."
"It is of no use asking the Little Red Dwarf for anything," said
Coinneach, sullenly. "There is no goodwill in his heart towards the
people. Nor is there any goodwill in their hearts towards him--God
forbid that there should be any such thing. Indeed, now, there is
something I could say about the Little Red Dwarf--But it does not serve
to talk."
"What were you going to say, Coinneach?" the young master
demanded--knowing Coinneach's ways.
"Oh, perhaps Mr. Ross would not like to hear," said Coinneach,
evasively.
"Indeed, but I wish to hear. Now what is it you have to tell me about
the Troich Bheag Dhearg?"
Coinneach was silent for a second or two.
"Well," said he, slowly, "it was some of the young lads they were saying
that it only wanted a word from Mr. Ross. Yes; they were saying that.
It was just a word from Mr. Ross; and they would see that the Little Red
Devil did not trouble anyone any more, neither in this nor in any other
country."
"Oh, indeed," said the master, placidly. "Then it is a murder the Gillie
Ciotach and the rest of them are for planning--is that what you have to
tell me?"
"I would not give a thing a bad name," said Coinneach, as he laboured at
the oar. "No, no; they were not talking of a murder, or any bad thing
like that. But--but there might be an accident; and a very good thing,
too, if an accident happened to the Little Red Dwarf!"
"And what kind of an accident?"
"Oh well," said Coinneach, looking away out to the horizon as if the
suggestion might come from any quarter. "Maybe he would be riding home
on a dark night; and maybe there might be a wire stretched across the
road; and if he was to break his neck, who could help that? And it is I
who would laugh to hear that he had broken his neck; indeed I would
laugh!" said Coinneach, though there was little laughter in his sombre
tones.
"And that is what you call an accident, Coinneach? It is an accident
that might end in your finding yourself with a hempen collar round your
neck. And what was it set the young men talking like that?"
"Oh well, indeed, they were talking about the draining of the loch and
the pulling down of Castle Heimra; and they were saying that nowadays
the law was being altered by the people themselves, and that right and
justice could be done without waiting for the courts. They were saying
that. And they were saying that we have come into a new time, which is
the truth. They were speaking of the people over there in the Lews; and
the last that was heard was that the people would not wait any longer
for more pasture to be given them; they would not wait for the courts;
they were going to take the deer-forest to themselves, and hamstring
every one of the stags--them that they could not eat; and they had got
their tents and baggage ready, to go into the forest and take
possession. In former times they would not have dared to do so; but
times are different now; and people have not to wait for justice; it is
they themselves who must say what is right, whether about the Little Red
Dwarf, or anything else. They were telling me that. And who was to put
the crofters and cottars out of the deer-forest over there in the Lews?
Not all the policemen in the island: there are not enough. And if they
were to send soldiers, the Queen's soldiers dare not fire on the Queen's
subjects, or the officer would be hanged. That was what they were
telling me."
"Coinneach," said the young master, "if the Gillie Ciotach and his
companions are talking like that, they will be getting themselves into
trouble one of these days. They'd better let the Little Red Dwarf
alone; for one thing, I dare say he is safe enough; the devil looks
after his own brats. But do not forget what I am telling you now--about
Mrs. Mac Vean. Old Martha will be wanting you to go over to the
mainland to-morrow; and when you are there, you can seek out Mrs. Mac
Vean, and bid her tell the factor how her cow was lost in the
Meall-na-Fearn bog. She can do no harm by asking."
"It's very little she will get from the Troich Bheag Dhearg," said
Coinneach, gloomily, "whether by asking or any other way."
At last the long pull was over; and the men, having landed the master at
the slip, set out again for the yacht. Young Ross of Heimra went up to
the house. But before going in, he paused at the porch, to have a final
look at the wonderful glories of that vast firmament--the throbbing
Sirius low down in the south, the gleaming belt and sword of Orion, the
powdered diamond-dust of the Pleiades, the jewelled head of Medusa,
Cassiopeia's silver throne. And perhaps he was not thinking so much of
those distant and shining worlds as of her who had first taught him
their various names--of the worse than widowed woman who had shut
herself up here in proud isolation, himself her only care. Well, she
was at peace now; her wrongs and sufferings and bitter memories all come
to an end; surely there was nothing but quiet and sweet slumber around
that white grave-stone, far up there on the top of the cliff,
overlooking the wide and lonely western seas.