A HIGHLAND NIGHT
Scarcely a word was spoken in Ella’s boat during the return. Her
brothers began to revive their recollections of Angus, of what he had
taught them, and how he played with them, and of whatever he said and
did; but observing that Ella, instead of joining in their conversation,
drew her plaid over her head and fixed her eyes on the waters, they kept
a respectful silence, and even refrained from asking a single question
on the important subject of her traffic with the master of the Mary. The
wind still rose and increased the difficulty of rowing so much, that the
lads would soon have been disposed to leave off talking, if no restraint
had been upon them. At last, Ella observed poor Fergus wiping his brows,
though the gale was chill.
“Fergus, give me the oar. I have been very thoughtless,—or, rather, over
full of thought,—or you should not have toiled for me all this time.
Take my plaid, for this breeze is wintry.”
She threw her plaid round him and gave him a slight caress as she passed
to take his place.
“Sing, Fergus,” said his brother, “it lightens the way.”
As soon as he had recovered his breath, Fergus sang an air which Angus
used to love to time for them with his oar where he took them out to sea
for pleasure, before their days of toil began. Ella joined her voice,
perhaps for the purpose of checking the tears which began to flow faster
than at any time since the night of her parent’s death. Apparently
unconscious of them, she plied her toil and her song more vigorously
when the boat neared the cove where they were to take in Archie. They
looked out for him, hoping that the song might bring him down to the
boat and prevent any loss of time in getting home. Nobody appeared,
however, but one of Murdoch’s girls, standing stock still on the ridge
of the rock. Ella signed and beckoned, and her brothers shouted for
Archie; to all which the lass made no other answer than shaking her head
like a weathercock.
“Give me my plaid,” said Ella, who instantly stepped on shore and
mounted to the farm. She could see nobody for some time, and when she
did, it was only the girl who had watched her landing.
“Where are all the family, Meg?”
“All gone, except Archie; he’s back again. Father and others are gone to
the moor for peat, and mother is milking the cows a great way off.”
“And Archie? Call him, for we must be going.”
“He can’t get out,” said Meg, grinning, and pointing to Mr. Callum’s
apartment, the shutters of which were closed. “He’s all in the dark, and
he has been flogged for stealing the laird’s birds, and I don’t know how
many eggs and feathers.”
Ella had scarcely patience to stand and hear the story. Archie, being
left to himself, had wandered home and gained his rock. Callum had
watched and followed him, and caught the poor boy with a solan goose in
his bosom, eggs in his new basket, and a bunch of feathers in his cap.
The steward had flogged Archie unmercifully with his cane, partly
unaware, it must be hoped, of the true state of the case, since he had
told the sufferer that his discipline was meant to teach him not to take
what did not belong to him. He brought him back, closed the shutters of
his apartment, pushed the boy in, and double-locked the door, telling
the children who looked on in terror that they should be served in like
manner if they attempted to speak to Archie till he should be released.
He had now been shut up three hours, and Mr. Callum was not to be back
till night. Ella shuddered when she heard that the boy had looked much
flushed when he went in, and had screamed violently till, nobody taking
notice, his cry had gradually sunk to a low moaning. She rushed to the
door and called him in her gentlest voice. No answer. She sang as she
was wont to do when he was ill; and then the moan was heard again.
“He will die unless I can get to him. I know that sound well. Run, Meg,
and tell your father Archie will die, if we do not break the door that I
may nurse him. Run for your life!—Hush! Archie, hush! I am coming, lad,
and we will let in the light again, and you shall see how the sea is
tossing. I am coming, Archie; be patient, lad.”
She flew to the cliff to beckon her brothers. In a few minutes, almost
everybody came but the one most wanted, Mr. Callum. Everybody was very
sorry of course: none more so than those who ought to have prevented
this mischief. They were willing to do anything,—to break door or window
as soon as desired. But no proper tools were at hand, and the noise
terrified Archie so extremely, that it was thought best to let things
remain as they were till Callum’s return, which could not be much longer
delayed. Ella sent her brothers home directly, afraid that she should
not be able to keep their tempers within bounds when the enemy should
present himself. She waited, pacing up and down the steep rocky path
which overlooked her own dwelling, as well as the way by which the
steward was expected to approach.
After a while, she distinctly saw her brothers standing in conversation
with a third person, beside the gate of the field. Supposing the
stranger to be Callum, she watched with the utmost anxiety, expecting
each moment to see the lads show some sign of wrath; but their gestures
were not those of anger, nor did their companion, on a closer
examination, look like the steward. At this instant a voice close behind
her made her start.
“So you are come at last, Mr. Callum,” said she. “I hope it may be in
time to prevent your committing murder. How do you propose to comfort us
if you find Archibald dead?”
“Dead! Pooh, nonsense! let me tell you, madam, I came down just in time
to prevent theft this morning. If the laird is pleased to let idle boys
play on his estate, he gives no leave for them to steal the produce. I
have not done with master Archibald yet; I mean to make a further
example of him.”
“Ye’ll be too late,” replied Ella, with a convulsed countenance. “One on
whom God himself has put the mark of innocence, one that has been ever
under the guidance of good powers,—one that has only been kept here so
long by being cherished, and no ill being suffered to come nigh him—is
not one to live under your hands, Mr. Callum; and knowing this, I kept
him out of your sight, till an evil day has laid him open to blame and
punishment. Come, sir, and see if your work is not done; and if not,
beware how you finish it!”
So saying, she strode onwards and beckoned him after her; but he stood
still. Callum shared largely in the superstitions which abound in the
islands, where the strongest and proudest minds are subdued by fears too
absurd to affect children in more enlightened places. Connecting in a
moment Archie’s peculiarities, which he had been unable to understand,
Ella’s hints of his being the favourite of unseen powers, and all that
was extraordinary in herself as she stood with flashing eyes, and a
working countenance, and her tall form trembling with some other passion
than fear, Callum resolved to be quit of her and the boy as soon as
might be; but above all things to prevent their meeting in his presence,
lest they should work some harm upon him.
“Come back, Ella,” said he, in a somewhat softer tone; “you will only do
harm by going with me. The truth is, I have sent to the laird for his
pleasure about the lad, as there happened to be a messenger going. I
shall have an answer by the morn, and then I will release your
brother,—if you stay out of my sight, not otherwise, I promise you: so
go your ways home, and trust the boy with me for the night. You well
may, for he never lay in a gentleman’s room or on a gentleman’s bed
before, I’ll be bound to say.”
All remonstrance, all entreaty was vain to alter Callum’s pretended
purpose: so Ella had recourse to a secret plan in her turn. She resolved
to steal up to the farm as soon as it should be dark, and every one gone
to rest, and to work on Mr. Callum’s fears by means which she well
understood. She now asked impatiently where the laird was. Not where she
could reach him to lodge a counter-plea, the steward answered with a
grim smile: he held that part of justice in his own hands. Ella could
learn nothing more than she already knew,—that he must be near, as his
answer would arrive by morning.
As she was going slowly down to the beach, she met Angus. “If ye have
any friendship for us,” cried she, showing her surprise only by her
raised colour, “if ye ever valued my father’s blessing, help us now;”
and she related what had just passed. Angus instantly replied that the
laird was at Oban. If so, Ella said, the messenger’s boat ought to be in
sight; and she looked intently over the troubled expanse of waters, now
heaving and tossing in an autumn gale as if they would swallow up the
scattered islands.
“One might easily miss a small bark in such a sea,” said she, “and the
gloom is settling fast. See how the mists are gathering about the Storr!
The osprey will scarce find his nest, or the bark keep clear of shoals.”
“There he is!” cried Angus. “Just below, yonder, a boat shot out from
behind the rock, and now she is labouring with the swell. She has only
two rowers. Your brothers shall go with me, and we will reach the laird
first.”
“Go, and my blessing on you,” said Ella. “Bring back justice and a word
of kindness for Archie, and I will thank you for ever.”
No time was lost; and in a few minutes the two boats were seen rowing as
close a race as ever had honour or profit for its object. Ella could not
help wondering whether the steward was watching the struggle with all
the anxiety that he deserved to feel, and all the shame of being
discovered in a falsehood. It was impossible that an answer should
return from Oban before the morning, and Callum’s having said so was a
new proof that he was frightened at what he had done.—The daylight was
now failing fast: the Argyleshire mountains lost the red tinge which had
been cast upon them from the western sky. All was gray and misty, and
when Ella fancied for a moment that her brothers’ boat had given up the
race and changed its course, she supposed that her overstrained sight
had deceived her, and retired slowly homewards to await the hour when
she might make another attempt upon the farm.
It was a dreary night. The wind swept past in gusts, and hail pattered
in hasty showers upon her shingled roof, as she sat beside her
peat-fire, striving to compose her busy thoughts. She could settle to no
employment, but looked out frequently to see if she could discover the
moon’s place in the sky, in order to form some idea of the time. At
length, believing it was near midnight, she equipped herself for her
expedition, strapping her plaid close about her, and carrying warm
clothing for the boy. While doing this, she fancied she heard a footstep
without. She paused, but supposed it could only be the rattling of the
shingle as the waves retreated; but, not being perfectly convinced, she
looked about cautiously through the darkness as she went forth, and
listened intently. Before she had gone many paces, a sudden gleam of
moonlight showed her the shadow of a man, standing up against the side
wall of the cottage. She quickly retreated, but not through fear. She
lighted a slip of pinewood and without ceremony held it up in the man’s
face. It was Callum.
“You are come to tell me that Archie is dead,” said Ella, with forced
calmness. “No wonder you linger by the way.”
“He is not dead nor likely to die if, as you say, the good powers are
fond of him. I have left him with them, for he is past my management.”
“You have carried him to the sands to be drowned,” cried Ella, snatching
hold of his cloak which was dripping wet.
“It was more likely I should be drowned than he,” said Callum, sullenly.
“He scrambled over to the rock as if he saw the fairies waiting for him,
and I found my way back as I could, but the water was up to my knees.”
“How long since?”
“Not above five minutes.”
“There is time yet,” cried Ella, hastening in for food and a bottle of
milk. While she was making her rapid preparations, Callum, who had
followed her, proceeded with his explanations that, as he could do
nothing with the boy, who would neither eat, speak, nor sleep, he
thought it best to carry him back to his haunt and let those manage him
that could; and he hoped it would be the last he should have to do with
people of her sort. A half-smile passed over Ella’s countenance; she
made no reply, but pushed a seat beside the fire, set some barley-cakes
and whisky on the table, pointed to the heap of fuel in the corner, and
was gone, drawing the door after her. Callum had feeling enough to be
stung with the reproach implied in these observances of hospitality. He
pushed the food and drink from him and sat, with his hands upon his
knees, muttering beside the fire. A thought struck him, he started up
and ran after Ella, shouting,
“Let me hold the torch, lass, while you cross, and may be I can get over
too and help to bring him home.” But Ella, who had already reached the
low sand, waved him back contemptuously, and was half through the water
before he arrived on the brink. Dashing, foaming, the tide did not look
very tempting; and having seen Ella climb the opposite ledge, wring out
her wet plaid and stride on, Callum returned, full of mortification, to
the fireside.
The torch blew out before Ella reached Archie’s hole. As soon as she
came within hearing, she tried to attract his attention by the usual
methods, but obtaining no answer, began to fear that he had been placed
in some other recess of the Storr. She groped her way in, however, and
stumbled over him near the entrance. He shrieked as she had never heard
him shriek before, and a fierce pang of indignation shot through her
heart at him who had first made this innocent being subject to fear. She
succeeded in soothing the boy; she lavished on him all the tender words
that came with her tears; she cooled his hot forehead; persuaded him to
eat, and hoping to make him forget where he was, and that anything
painful had passed, she told him tales till he fell asleep with his arms
round her neck. She had soothed herself in soothing him, and was too
well inured to cold and wet to be much affected by them; so that she too
leaned against the wall of the little cave and slept.
It was some hours after, but while the dawn was yet very faint, that
Archie roused her by starting up and running to the mouth of the cave. A
red light flickered upon his face as he stood; and his sister following,
saw a kelp fire flaming high upon the beach. The season for kelp burning
was considered over; but a glance at the boat drawn up on the shingle
and at the figures about the fire showed her what it meant. Her brothers
were already home, and finding the cottage empty, and not knowing in
what direction she was gone, had lighted this fire as the best signal
which could intimate their return without alarming Mr. Callum, to whom a
kelp fire was one of the commonest of all sights.
“See, Archie, there is Ronald feeding the fire, and Fergus stirring it.
They have made the fire to light us home.”
But Archie did not clap his hands as usual at the sight of a kelp fire,
and seemed disposed to hide himself in the cave. It was because a third
figure stood between them and the light. It was the first time he had
feared a stranger; and again Ella had to battle with her mingled
compassion and indignation. She tried the experiment whether Archie had
any recollection of Angus, of whom he had been very fond five years
before. She tempted him to a baby game which Angus used to play with
him, but which had been laid aside as Archie grew taller. “Ah! Angus,
Angus, I want Angus!” cried the boy, just as he used to do, and just as
she wished to hear him, for the first time since Angus’s departure.
“Do you want Angus? Well, there he is, standing beside Fergus. Call him
and perhaps he will hear you.”
Poor Archie tried, but he was too much exhausted to make himself heard
to any distance; nor did Ella succeed better, as the wind was against
her. For a full hour, she saw the three figures pace the beach, and look
intently in all directions before they perceived her; but at last the
fluttering of her plaid became visible to them through the grey dawn,
and they ran down to the brink of the water, which was still too deep to
be crossed on foot, though too shallow for a boat. They waved their caps
in token of having succeeded in their errand, and awaited in the utmost
impatience the sinking of the water. When the first patch of sand was
left dry, Angus plunged through, and, well knowing Ella’s heart, gave
his first attention to Archie. Ella gave him his cue: he hid his face
with his bonnet, let Archie uncover it, as in old days, and was
immediately known. Archie’s loud laugh was like music to his sister’s
anxious heart. He put his arm lovingly round the neck of his old
play-fellow, in order to his being carried home; and though feverish and
evidently in pain, showed no greater signs of dulness and depression
than on some former occasions of illness.
Ronald was impatient to tell his sister that they had found the laird by
Angus having discerned his boat off one of the islands, half way between
Garveloch and the shore. Callum’s messenger, proceeding to Oban, had
overshot his mark, and missed giving the first version of the tale which
both parties were in haste to tell. The laird had pronounced no
judgment, but would probably land on Garveloch, in a day or two, and
hear both sides of the question.
“Then,” said Ella, “thanks to your zeal, our point is gained.”
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