IN WHICH BETTY AND BARBARA BEHAVE VERY FOOLISHLY
And now I am going to relate an adventure so foolish and freakish that,
looking back upon it from the standpoint of discreet years, I cannot
but wonder how my friend Betty ever thought of proposing it, or how
Barbara could be so ready to join in it. But I fear it has been in all
ages, and will continue to be so, that young girls take delight in
doing many things which in after years they regard as impossible, and
which they would certainly prevent their own daughters from doing if
they could. And so the world goes on, and each must sow her little crop
of experiences, and reap her own harvest of wisdom, or mourn over the
doubtful fruits of folly.
That our folly brought forth no great bitterness was due to the
kindness of Providence, rather than to any credit of our own. Indeed,
while I condemn my own act in yielding to Betty’s request, I cannot but
remember our adventure with a warm stirring at my heart, for a certain
thing happened then that had an after-effect upon my whole life.
It was upon Saturday night, you will remember, that David Pitcairn left
us to ride to Perth, and the next day being Sunday, we had much ado to
attune our hearts and minds to the sacred duties of the day, for our
thoughts would fly to the Earl of Mar’s army, and back again to the
little ship outside Burntisland harbour. While we all felt the strain
of an anxious and almost sleepless night, my poor Betty’s nervous
tremors were pitiful to behold, the more so that such a condition was
very foreign to her nature, and quite unlike her wonted liveliness. My
lady, who was ever a fragile, delicate woman, had so great a control
over herself that she appeared at times the stronger of the two; but
so sympathetic was she towards her sister that I feared at times they
might betray themselves.
Anxious or not, it behoved us all to go to church, and to bear
ourselves as if nothing unusual were afoot. But I fear that the pious
and learned discourse of good Mr. Pitcairn bore little fruit in our
hearts that day. We were waiting we knew not for what, and even among
ourselves had little to say save interjections of wonder and longing.
It seemed as if the day would never pass. After dinner we took the
little boys to the rocks below the wood, Phemie being gone to church,
and there told them tales and let them play quietly. But as the
afternoon waned, a strong wind rose and blew from the north-west, and
as it grew colder and colder we made a retreat to the house.
As I descended from my room to supper I heard the sound of the turret
door opening, and light steps coming up the twisted stairway made me
pause to see who was there.
It was Betty, her cheeks rosy with the cold, her hair wind-tossed, her
eyes bright. When she saw me she laughed and clutched my hand.
“Come to my room directly after supper!” she whispered. “I have a
little thing to tell you.”
It was evident that something had happened to raise her drooping
spirits, and my lord nodded approval when he heard her laugh as we sat
down to table, while my dear lady looked pleased though surprised to
see that her sister’s appetite had returned. For myself, I could scarce
swallow a bite, being in a state of excitement half fearful, half
pleasant, throughout the meal, not being able to fix in my mind upon
any possible reason for her recovered gaiety. I waited with the utmost
impatience till we were closeted together in Betty’s room, and then
demanded eagerly what had happened.
She laughed a gay, reckless little laugh, and drew me down upon the
settee beside her. “Nothing has happened yet, my little Barbe,” she
cried, “but something is going to happen soon. Look you, child,” she
went on more seriously, “I am about to ask a great thing of you, and if
you are doubtful, or afeared, tell me now and I will say no more. Can
you undergo some discomfort, run some risks, and trust yourself to me
for a few hours? Tell the truth sincerely.”
“Why, Betty,” I cried, “you know I love you dearly, and would do a good
deal to pleasure you, but is it fair to make me give my promise without
telling me what you would be at?”
She looked at me a moment in silence. “You do not answer me as David
did,” she said slowly.
“Frankly, dear Betty, is there anyone else in the world who would?” I
asked smiling.
“You are growing up mighty fast, Barbara,” was all she answered, and
for a few moments she sat in silence.
“Hark ye, my dear,” she roused herself to say, “I mean to trust you.
I cannot bear one hour longer of this suspense than I can help, and I
mean to ride forth at daybreak, and find out, if possible, what has
taken place at Burntisland.”
“At daybreak?” I cried, incredulous, “but why not wait till after
breakfast?”
“And have all the world know?” she answered. “Why, Barbara, we must
not be seen. There is always the possibility that some wind may carry
the news to Stirling, where my Lord of Argyle and his dragoons lie in
wait. What would be easier for them than to intercept the Master and
his Command, either on their way hither, or on the return journey?
You see I know nothing, and this ignorance is torture to me. If David
is returned he is probably as ignorant of what happened after he left
Perth as I am. My brother may have started at once, and may be busy
even now at the harbour, or he may have waited till the dusk fell,
and be at this moment on the road. In that case I may just see him
to-morrow, which would be a consolation in itself, and get a word of
approbation from him for my part in this affair, which of course no one
else must know.”
I suppose I looked as doubtful as I felt, for she went on persuasively.
“I only wish for your company, my dear; there is naught for you to
do. Michael, the groom, will ride with us, and if necessary be our
protector. I want to see for myself what has been done, and to find
out about my brother. We shall wear masks and hoods, but indeed if any
strangers are about the town they will be those busy with the boats,
and the townsfolk would never think of molesting us.”
“When do you mean to start?” I asked, with a sigh and a smile together.
At that she kissed me and called me her dear, and her kind obliging
friend, and promised me all manner of favours, including her abiding
love, which was the only one I cared about. Then she told me how she
had already arranged everything, hoping, nay believing, that I would be
as agreeable as she had always found me. At four of the clock we were
to rise and dress, and slipping down the turret-stair, let ourselves
out by the door already mentioned. Michael was instructed to lead the
horses quietly, one by one, outside the gate, so that those in the
house should not be roused by the sound of our starting. She had placed
a pitcher of milk outside her window on the sill to keep it fresh,
and she had carried some bread up from the supper-table, so that in
the morning we should not ride out fasting. When all was expounded,
she promised to awaken me lest I should lie too late, and bade me go
straight to bed, and to sleep soundly.
In the dark chill hour before the dawn, with the stars still shining
in the sky, and a cold wind stinging our faces and whipping the black
waters of the Frith into foamy crests, I own I did not think so well of
the expedition; but Betty possessed what few women have--determination
enough to carry a project through in spite of every obstacle, and as I
had committed myself to her guidance, I rode on beside her in dogged
disregard of discomfort, while Michael, the groom, jogged in the rear.
Just before we came in sight of the town she drew near to me and,
speaking in her most persuasive tones, divulged what was really the
most important part of her enterprise.
“I have been thinking,” said she, “that were we to draw near the town
on horseback, we should attract too much attention. Gentlewomen are not
given to riding abroad at this hour; so, Barbara, if you do not mind,
we will dismount by yonder dyke, and Michael will hold the horses under
cover of it for half-an-hour or so, while we go quickly into the town
to see and hear what we can. What say you, my dear?”
Knowing that whatever I said ’twould make little difference, and being
too loyal to allow her to go alone, as well as too timorous to stay
behind, I murmured my agreement with her plan; and a few minutes later
we dismounted, and adjusting our masks, and drawing our plaids about
us, head and shoulders, in such a way that it were impossible for
anyone to know us for gentle or simple, we advanced quickly towards the
opening of the street which was at that moment silent and empty.
As we came near a corner we heard the steps and voices of approaching
men, and without a moment’s hesitation we drew into the shadow of a
doorway and waited for them to pass. To our dismay, however, they
paused close by our hiding-place, and continued their conversation in
voices that betrayed to us that they were well-to-do townsfolk.
“Ay!” said one, “’tis a sad mischance for poor Jock Wilson, but I would
ha’ thought the loon had as muckle sense as to ken what he was aboot.
It looks a’most as if he’d left his ship and a’ it contained, just for
anyone that liked to help himsel’.”
“Man!” said the other, “’twas a gran’ venture! To come a’ the way frae
Perth in the night, and hae the work done afore folks were oot o’
their beds. He’s a dour man, the Maister o’ Sinclair, but when there’s
a thing tae be done, he’s the man for it. But I’m wonderin’, Andrew,
hoo the deevil he cam’ tae hear o’ Jock Wilson’s boat. He hasna been
at Dysart this week back and mair, and the thing wasna kent afore
yestreen.”
“Weel, weel!” said the first, “the Cause has its friends in the Kingdom
o’ Fife if anywhere in Scotland, and there’s ways and means o’ getting
knowledge. The Government made nae secret of what they were aboot, but
they didna reckon on Mistress Wilson’s lyin’-in. That was the cause o’
the mischief, Jamie; a wumman at the bottom o’t, as usual.” And with
a laugh at his own jest the speaker moved on up the street, while his
companion entered the house exactly opposite to our doorway. Betty drew
near me and seized my arm.
“You heard, Barbara,” she whispered; “the thing has succeeded. My
brother came from Perth early this morning, and is even now busy at the
harbour. Oh, how I wish I could see him, if only to tell him how proud
I am of his achievement! Come, child, I must go on! No one will molest
us, there will be other women about by this time, and I fancy the town
is too excited over what has taken place to have room for notice of us.”
Quickly we stole into the street and hurried on. We met some people and
heard snatches of talk, but no one spoke to us, though one or two eyed
us curiously. Suddenly, on rounding a corner, we found ourselves in
an open space in which were a number of people, all talking excitedly
and in loud voices. Involuntarily we stopped, and in turning round to
retrace our steps we collided with a young gentleman who was moving in
our direction. He was dressed in uniform, and looked as if he had but
just staggered out of the adjoining tavern, as indeed he had.
“Beg pardon, my dear,” he said in a thick voice, lurching near us and
trying to peer under the folds of our plaids. “Hullo! masks, by Jove!
Who’d ha’ thought it at this hour?” and he looked first at Betty and
then at me, as if not certain whether to hold us or to let us pass.
“Excuse me, sir,” said Betty, in her haughtiest tone. “Can you direct
me to the Master of Sinclair?”
“Sinclair, by gad! Direct you to Sinclair? No, I can’t, and I wouldn’t
if I could. Blesh my life, why should I? Sinclair’s done nothing for
me; rather keep you to myself, my chuck.”
No words can express the horror that crept over me at this man’s look
and tone. I had seen often enough a gentleman in his cups. ’Twas not
thought so much of a disgrace as to be a matter of great concern to a
woman. But though I instinctively shrank from any man when fuddled
and bemused with wine, never in my life had the like condition aroused
in me such a sense of loathing. His eyes were heavy, yet insolent; his
face was flushed, and his loose lips wore a foolish smile. His words,
as they dropped from his slippery tongue, now came in a rush, now
halted painfully; and his breath, which was foul with wine, sickened me
as he puffed it in my face.
“If you cannot be civil, sir,” cried Betty, enraged, but not the least
dismayed, “pray, let us pass.”
“Don’ want to let you pass,” stammered our tormentor. “Too lovely, by
half! Come, lift your mask, my dear. Ball’s over, ’s time to sup.”
And with that he advanced to seize her; but Betty quickly slipping on
one side, the creature lost his balance and fell prone in the mud. In
falling, he clutched hold of my plaid, and, dragging it off my head,
dislodged my mask, which broke from its fastening and fell at my feet.
Not wishing to escape at the expense of leaving my warm covering in the
hands of this wretch, and unable to wrench it from his grasp, I stood
still and called piteously to Betty, who had sped a little way along
the street, believing me close behind her. In terror lest she should
get out of sight, and still more lest the man should succeed in rising
to his feet, I was standing thus, my heart beating in my throat, my
head bare, and tears of fright in my eyes, when another officer stepped
out of the tavern-door, and stared in amazement at the figures before
him.
Only for a moment did he remain inactive (while I, with a curious throb
of relief, realised that a helper was at hand), then, as if reading the
whole in my white and horror-stricken face, he strode towards us, and,
with a sharp rap of his cane, loosed the hold of those rude hands upon
my dress. Standing stiff and tall above his recumbent comrade, he asked
in a very stern voice, “What does this mean, Mr. Wallace?”
The other struggled to his feet; but his fall, instead of sobering
him, appeared to have left him still more fuddled, and also a little
aggressive.
“I say, Tony,” he muttered, “tha’s my prize. Wha’ d’ you want here? No,
by Jove, ’s the other one I want--the brown-haired filly, where’s she
gone? Asked for the Master of Sinclair, she did. Pretty game, that,
for his Mastership to play, making assin--assig--nashus with lovely
ladies--six ’clock in the morning--”
“You fool!” broke in Betty’s voice, and I found her at my elbow. “The
Master of Sinclair is my brother. Perhaps you, sir, if you are not also
drunk at six o’clock in the morning, can direct me to him.”
The officer saluted her with grave respect. “I have had the honour of
being presented to you, Mistress Sinclair,” he said, “at the house of
the Earl of Wigton. My name is Anthony Fleming, and I am very much at
your service.”
Betty gave a gasp of relief.
“I remember you very well, Mr. Fleming,” she said, “now that I have
time to look at you, and I am grateful to you for appearing thus
opportunely to our help. Can you tell me whether my brother is still in
the town? Having heard a rumour of his coming from Perth last night, my
friend and I--let me present you to Mistress Barbara Stewart--rode over
this morning to have speech with him, and I was asking this _gentleman_
to direct me to him, when he forgot himself.”
Mr. Wallace was now standing somewhat sheepishly with his back against
the wall of the house, and Betty glanced at him scornfully and turned
away. As for me, I was still trembling, and the tears which I had
before restrained kept brimming to my eyes.
“Madam,” said Mr. Fleming, and his eyes sought mine with a kind and
pitying glance, “I cannot sufficiently express my regret for the
annoyance and trouble you have had, and my brother-officer will, I am
sure, think and say the same when he is come to himself. I can only,
in his name, humbly beg your pardon. I fear your friend is still
suffering. If there is anything I could do--”
“If you will direct us to my brother,” cried Betty, impatiently, “’tis
all I ask now.”
“Madam,” said he, “I greatly regret that that is impossible. The Master
of Sinclair, after some splendid work, which I should like to tell you
of if there were time, quitted the town soon after four o’clock, and,
having left Mr. Wallace and myself in command of some troopers he has
installed in the Castle, is already well on his way back to Perth.”
Betty’s face fell at this, although his words had pleased her. She was
about to reply when a great crowd of turbulent people, sailors and
fishermen, accompanied by women of the lowest sort, came reeling down
the street with shouts and laughter. Some of the men hustled me rudely
aside, whereupon Mr. Fleming sprang to my assistance, and, putting his
arm round my shoulders, stood thus to protect me until the crowd had
passed.
“Pray, take us out of this, Mr. Fleming,” cried Betty imploringly.
“Right sorry am I that I ever brought myself or my companion into
such a mess; but I cannot be too thankful that you found us. Come,
Barbara, I am ready to go home and confess my sins and eat any amount
of humble-pie.”
Mr. Anthony Fleming bent down to look at my face before he freed me
from his protecting arm. “Are you able to walk, madam?” he enquired
very kindly. “Will you not lean upon my arm?” But so comforting and
strength-giving had been his support that I was able to smile back at
him and assure him I felt perfectly well. He helped me to adjust my
plaid, and upon Betty’s informing him where we should find our horses,
in a very few minutes he had us clear of the town, and was walking
between us along the open road.
“Tell me now, if you please, sir,” cried Betty, “what my brother has
been doing, and what brought him from Perth in such haste?” for, as she
told me later, she did not wish it to be known that she had had a hand
in the matter.
“You must know, madam,” said our guide, “that yesterday, very early in
the morning, the Master of Sinclair was called out to the South Inch
to see a certain messenger, who had ridden all night from this place
to inform him that there was a ship lying in the Frith containing arms
and ammunition from the Castle of Edinburgh which had been shipped
at Leith, to be sent north for the use of the Earl of Sutherland.
The master of this vessel, he was told, was come ashore to see his
family, and did not intend to put to sea for another four-and-twenty
hours. Here was a chance, if the right man could be found, to supply
ourselves with weapons and bullets, of which we stand greatly in need.
Your brother was fired by the notion, and, bidding his friend rest,
and return home privately, keeping the matter secret, he went off to
the Earl of Mar and acquainted him with the story. I must own that
my lord delayed some hours in issuing the order, and I, meeting the
Master of Sinclair at one Hardy’s, a vintner in Perth, he told me what
was toward, and said that if he got the Command he hoped that I would
ride with him. Finally, the order being given in writing at last, we
left the town by five o’clock, a company of fourscore horse. We came
by cross-roads and by-paths, avoiding towns and villages, and got here
a little after midnight. The Master posted sentries about the town to
avoid surprises, and himself went to the harbour and very easily seized
some of the boats there. In these we rowed out to the ship and, though
the wind and tide were against us, succeeded in bringing her in. Your
brother, madam, stood in the water up to the middle of the leg and
received the arms into his own hands. Of these there were but three
hundred--”
“Three hundred!” cried Betty, so sharply that I feared she would betray
herself.
“Three hundred wanting one,” continued Mr. Fleming, “and we had
expected two or three thousand. ’Twas a great disappointment I must
own; but later we seized the arms of another big ship in the harbour,
and took also those of the Town-guard, and as they are now lodged, with
the ammunition we got, in the Castle which we are left to guard, I
think you may be satisfied with your brother’s work, madam.”
“I wish there had been more,” she murmured discontentedly.
“Why, madam, so do we; but ’tis better than nothing, and when the news
of the Master’s exploit is brought to the King, I’ll wager his Majesty
will be prodigiously pleased.”
By this we had reached the rough dyke behind which our steeds were
ambushed, and were preparing to mount. Betty, who had listened to Mr.
Fleming’s words with a smile of approval, gave him her hand with a
grateful look.
“His Majesty knows how to appreciate all his faithful subjects,” she
said softly, “and among them I am glad to count Mr. Anthony Fleming.”
He bowed over her hand before raising it to his lips. Betty was looking
her brightest, I noticed, in spite of the cold, the agitation, the
fatigue, while Barbara, I felt sure, was at her worst; and I remember
regretting to have been seen at a disadvantage by this particular
gentleman, who, although he had been unknown to me half-an-hour before,
seemed more of a friend than many with whom I was well acquainted.
“I count it a special mercy,” said Betty, as we rode away, “that we
fell in with that young man. Do you not think there is something very
attractive in his face?”
“Why, yes,” cried Barbara, quickly. “I am sure it is the kindest face
in the world.”
And from that day to this she has seen no reason to alter her opinion.