THE BANABHARD.
The big steamer was slowly and cautiously making in for Lochgarra
Bay--slowly and cautiously, for though the harbour is an excellent one
after you are in it, the entrance is somewhat difficult of navigation;
and Donald Ross and Kate Glendinning were seated in the after part of
the boat, passing the time in talking. And of course it was mostly of
Miss Stanley they spoke.
"For one thing, you ought to remember," said Kaethchen, "the amount of
prejudice against you she has had to overcome. If you only knew the
character she received of you the very first evening we arrived here! I
wonder if you would recognise the picture--a terrible outlaw living in a
lonely island, a drunken, thieving, poaching ne'er-do-well, a malignant
conspirator and mischief-maker: Mr. Purdie laid on the colours pretty
thickly. By the way, I wish you would tell me the cause of that bitter
animosity Mr. Purdie shows against you and all your family----"
"It is simple enough--but it is not worth speaking about," he said, with
a certain indifference. It was not of Purdie, nor of Purdie's doings,
that he was thinking at the moment.
"But I want to know--I am curious to know," Kaethchen insisted.
"It is simple enough, then," he repeated. "When the old factor died--old
MacInnes--I hardly remember him, but I fancy he was a decent sort of
man--when he died, my father appointed this Purdie, on the
recommendation of a friend, and without knowing much about him. Well,
Purdie never did get on at all with the people about here. He was an
ill-tempered, ill-conditioned brute, to begin with; spiteful,
revengeful, and merciless; and of course the people hated him, and of
course he came to know it, and had it out with them whenever he got the
chance. You see, my father was almost constantly abroad, and Purdie had
complete control. My mother tried to interfere a little; and he
resented her interference; I think it made him all the more savage. And
at last the discontent of the people broke out in open revolt. Purdie
happened to have come over to Lochgarra; and when they heard of it, the
whole lot of them--from Minard, and Cruagan, and everywhere--came
together in front of the inn, and there was no end of howling and
hooting. Purdie escaped through the back-garden, and took refuge with
the Minister; but the crowd followed him to the Minister's cottage, and
burnt his effigy in front of the door--oh, I don't know what they didn't
do. Only, it got into the papers; it was a public scandal; and my
father, coming to hear of it, at once deposed the twopenny-halfpenny
tyrant. That is all the story. But no doubt his being ignominiously
dismissed was a sore thing for a man of his nature--the public
humiliation, and all the rest of it----"
"But how did he get back to his former position?" Kaethchen demanded.
"Miss Stanley's uncle put him back when he bought the estate," Donald
Ross said, quietly. "I fancy he had an idea that Purdie was the right
kind of man for this place, especially as he himself had to be absent a
good deal. Yes, I will say this for Purdie--he is an excellent man of
business; he will squeeze out for you every penny of rent that is to be
got at; and he has no sort of hesitation about calling in the aid of the
sheriff. And of course he came back more malevolent than ever; he knew
they had rejoiced over his downfall; and he was determined to make them
smart for it. As for his honouring me with his hatred, that is quite
natural, I suppose. It was my father who sent him into disgrace; and
then--then the people about here and I are rather friendly, you know;
and they had a great regard for my mother; and all that taken together
is enough for Purdie. We were in league with his enemies; and they with
us."
"I can imagine what he thought," said Kaethchen, meditatively, "when he
saw the new proprietress taking you into her counsels, and adopting a
new system, and interfering with him, and overriding his decisions at
every turn. He made a bold stroke to sever that alliance between her
and you; but it failed; and now he is sorry--very sorry--exceedingly
sorry, I should think."
"What do you mean?" he asked, fixing his eyes upon her.
"Perhaps I should leave Mary herself to tell you," she answered him.
"But that is of little consequence; it cannot be a secret. Very well:
she has ordered Mr. Purdie to prepare a statement of his accounts; and
his factorship ceases at Michaelmas. It was the last thing she told me
before I left Lochgarra."
Donald Ross laughed.
"I had intended to have a word with Purdie," said he, "but it seems the
Baintighearna has been before me."
The arrival of the steamer is always a great event at Lochgarra; there
were several well-known faces on the quay. Here were the Gillie
Ciotach, and Big Archie, and the Minister, and Peter Grant, the
innkeeper; and here also was Anna Clannach. The poor lass was in sad
distress; she was crying and wringing her hands.
"What is the matter, Anna?" said Donald Ross, in Gaelic, as he stepped
from the gangway on to the pier.
"I am wishing to go out to Heimra," said the Irish-looking girl with the
dishevelled hair and streaming eyes.
"Why so?" he asked.
"It is to find my mother," she made answer, with many sobs. "When I was
sleeping my mother came to me, and said I was to come out to Heimra for
her, and bring her back, but when I offer the money to the men they
laugh at me----"
"Anna," said he, gently, "you must not think of going out to Heimra. If
you were not to find your mother there, that would be great sorrow for
you. If she is coming for you, you must wait patiently----"
"But I am going out in the steamer?" said the girl, beginning to cry
afresh.
"The steamer?" he said. "The steamer does not call at Heimra, not at
any time."
"But it is Mr. Ross has the mastery,"[#] she pleaded. "It is every one
that must obey Mr. Ross; and the steamer will take me out to Heimra if
he tells the captain."
[#] _Tighearnas_--lordship, or dominion.
"Now, Anna," he said, trying to reason with her, "listen to what I am
telling you. How can a great boat like that go into the small harbour
of Eilean Heimra? And I have no authority over the captain, nor has any
one: it is to Stornoway he is going now, and to no other place. So you
must wait patiently; and I think you should go and live with the Widow
MacVean, and help to do little things about the croft. For it is not
good for a young lass to be without an occupation."
Anna Chlannach turned away weeping silently, and refusing to be
comforted; while young Ross was immediately tackled by the Minister, who
had a long tale to tell about some Presbytery case in Edinburgh.
What now occurred it is difficult to describe consecutively, for so many
things seemed to happen at once, or within the space of a few breathless
seconds. The captain had discharged his cargo (Kate Glendinning and
Donald Ross, with their bodyguard of Coinneach and Calum, were the only
passengers), and was getting under weigh again; and to do this the more
easily he had signalled down to have the engines reversed, while keeping
the stern hawser on its stanchion on the pier, so that the bow of the
boat should gradually slew round. It was to the man who was in charge
of this massive rope that Anna Chlannach, seeing the steamer was
beginning to move, addressed her final and frantic appeal--nay, she even
seized him by the arm, and implored him, with loud lamentations, to let
her go on the boat. The man, intently watching the captain on the
bridge, tried to shake her off; grew more and more impatient of her
importunity; at last he said savagely--
"To the devil with you and your mother!--I tell you your mother is dead
and buried these three years!"
At this Anna Chlannach uttered a piercing shriek--she seemed to reel
under the blow, in a wild horror--then, with her hands raised high above
her head, she rushed to the end of the quay, and threw herself over,
right under the stern-post of the steamer. Donald Ross, startled by
that despairing cry, wheeled round just in time to see her disappear;
and in a moment he was after her, heedless of the fact that the steamer
was still backing, the powerful screw churning up the green water into
seething and hissing whirlpools. But the captain had seen this swift
thing happen; instantly he recognised the terrible danger; he rapped
down to the engine room "Full speed ahead!"--while the man in charge of
the hawser, who had not seen, taking this for a sufficient signal,
slipped the noose off the post, and let the ponderous cable drop into
the sea.
"The raven's death to you, what have you done!" Archie MacNichol cried,
as he ran quickly to the edge of the quay, and stared over, his eyes
aghast, his lips ashen-grey.
There was nothing visible but the seething and foaming water, with its
million million bells of air showing white in the pellucid green. Had
the girl been struck down by the revolving screw? Had Donald Ross been
knocked senseless by a blow from the heavy cable? Big Archie pulled off
his jacket and flung it aside. He clambered over the edge of the quay,
and let himself down until he stood on one of the beams below. His
eyes--a fisherman's eyes--were searching those green deeps, that every
moment showed more and more clear.
All this was the work of a second, and so was Archie's quick plunge into
the sea when he beheld a dark object rise to the surface, some
half-dozen yards away from him--the tangled black hair and the wan face
belonging to a quite listless if not lifeless form. It needed but a few
powerful strokes to take him along--then one arm was placed under the
apparently inanimate body--while with the other he began to fight his
way back again to the pier. Of course, bearing such a burden, it was
impossible for him to drag himself up to his former position; he could
only cling on to one of the mussel-encrusted beams, waiting for the boat
that the people were now hurriedly pushing off from the shore. And if,
while bravely hanging on there, he looked back to see if there was no
sign of that other one, then he looked in vain: the corpse of the
hapless Anna Chlannach was not found until some two days thereafter.
Meanwhile, this was what was taking place at Lochgarra House. Barbara
had come to tell her young mistress, who was lying tired and languid on
the sofa, of the arrival of the steamer.
"Go to the window, Barbara," said she, rather faintly, "and--and tell me
who are coming ashore. Maybe you can make them out?"
"Oh, yes, indeed, mem," said Barbara, who had been famous for her
eyesight, even among the keepers and stalkers, when she was parlour-maid
up at Glen Orme.
She went to the window.
"There is Miss Glendinning, mem," said Barbara, in her soft-spoken way;
"and glad I am of that: it is not good for Miss Stanley to be so much
alone. Yes, and Mr. Ross coming ashore too--no, he is going back down
the gang way--maybe he is going onto Stornoway?--no, no, I think he is
only calling something to Coinneach Breac, and the lad Calum--and they
are carrying a portmanteau. And there is Anna Chlannach going from the
one to the other on the quay--yes, and Mr. Ross now speaking to her--and
Miss Glendinning speaking to the Minister. And now Mr. Ross speaking to
the Minister--and--and Miss Glendinning watching the steamer--ay, just
waiting to see her go aweh.... Oh, mem!--oh, mem!--there is something
happening on the quay!" exclaimed Barbara, in terrified accents. "The
people are running--and I am not seeing Mr. Ross anywhere--and they are
shoving out a boat from the shore----"
"What is it!--what is it, Barbara! Tell me!--tell me!"
"Oh, mem, do not be afraid," cried Barbara, even amidst her own wild
alarm. "There's a boat going out--oh, yes, they are pulling hard--they
will be at the end of the quay in a moment or two--and the people are
all looking over--oh, yes, yes, mem, if anyone is in the water, they
have found him--and--and the boat--now the boat has gone by the end of
the quay, and I am not seeing it any more--yes, yes, it is there
now--and they are coming this way, mem--they will be coming into the
slip--oh, yes--I am sure they have got the one that was in the
water--and Big Archie in the stern of the boat, mem--and the people now
running to meet them at the slip--now it is Big Archie that is lifting
the one out of the stern of the boat----" Suddenly Barbara uttered a
plaintive cry, "Oh, _Dyeea_, it is the young master himself!"
"What do you say? Mr. Ross? What has happened, Barbara?" She
struggled to her feet, pale and shuddering; and Barbara was at her side
in an instant. "Quick, Barbara!--come with me!--help me!--I must go
down to the slip--your arm, Barbara--help me!--quick quick----"
And so, with trembling limbs and dazed eyes--dazed by the fear of some
dread unknown thing--she managed to cross the hall and get down the
steps and across the road. It was but a short distance to the slip.
The little crowd made way on her approach: and there, lying extended on
the stone, she beheld the senseless body of her lover, while the big
fisherman, kneeling, was making such examination as was possible. Big
Archie rose at once.
"Oh, he will be ahl right directly, mem--I'm sure of it!--he has been
struck on the back of the head--mebbe by the keel of the steamer----"
She paid no heed to him--no, nor to any who were standing there. She
threw herself on her knees beside the prostrate figure; with her warm
hands she pushed back the coal-black tangled hair; she bent down close
to him; she spoke to him, almost in a whisper--but with a passionate
tenderness that might have thrilled the dead.
"Donald!--speak to me!--tell me I have not killed you!--I sent you
away--yes--but my heart has cried for you to come back--speak to
me!--speak to me!--Donald!--do you not hear me?--Donald----"
Was it the touch of her warm, trembling fingers about his face, or was
it the low-breathing, piteous cry of her voice that seemed to stir his
pulses and call him slowly back to life? The eyelids opened wearily--to
find this wonderful vision hanging over him, and they seemed to rest
there and understand.
"_Mo-lua!_"[#] he murmured.
[#] _Mo-luaidh_--My dearest one, or my most-prized one.
She did not know the meaning of the phrase; but the look in his eyes was
enough. She held his hand as they carried him up to the house.
* * * * *
It was on a clear and white-shining morning in the following spring that
Donald Ross and his newly-wedded bride were walking arm-in-arm through
the budding larch-woods, the sun warm on the green bracken, on the
golden furze, and on the grey rocks. She was angry with him; though the
anger did not show much in her dimpled and fresh-tinted cheeks, nor yet
in her eyes, where the love-light lay only half-concealed by the modest
lashes.
"It is a pestilent language!" she was saying, with frowning brows. "I
do believe the heavens and the earth shall pass away before I become
thoroughly acquainted with that awful grammar; and unless, as Barbara
says, I 'have the Gaelic,' how am I ever to get into proper relationship
with the people about here?--yes, and how am I to be sure that you are
not stealing away their hearts from me? Oh, it is a very pretty trick,
the stealing away of hearts--you are rather clever at it," said she,
with downcast and smiling eyes.
"_Mo-ghaol_," said he (and there were some Gaelic phrases, at least, of
which she had by this time got to know the meaning well enough), "I
thought you were going to let me be your interpreter."
"Why do you not begin, then? Where are the verses that Mrs. Armour
sent?" she said. "You promised you would write out a translation for
me."
"And so I have," he answered her--yet with some apparent unwillingness.
"I have written out a translation, in a kind of a way, because you
insisted on it. But it is a shame. For the Gaelic is a most expressive
language; and all the subtlety and grace of the original escape when you
come down to a literal rendering in English. Besides, what skill have I
in such things? If you like, I will send it to the editor of the
_Celtic Magazine_, and ask him to get it properly translated--he has
printed some of Mrs. Armour's pieces before now--in Gaelic, of
course----"
"I want your version--none other," she said, imperatively.
"Very well, very well; I will read it to you," said he, taking a sheet
of paper from his pocket. "Here is a seat for you."
It was a rock mostly covered by soft green moss; and when she had seated
herself, he threw himself down on the bracken by her side, leaning his
head against her knee. And this is what the old dame out there in
Canada had sent them as her humble wedding-gift--perhaps, as to the form
of it, with some recollection of the song of the Princess Deirdri
influencing her unequal lines:--
_I am far from the land of my fathers._
_I sit and mourn because of the great distance._
_My old age brings me no comfort,_
_Since I am far from my own land._
_My eyes strain across the wide ocean._
_I see the lofty hills, and the peaks, and the glens;_
_I see the corries where the wide-antlered deer wander._
_Joyful to me was my youth there._
_I see the woods, deep-sheltered;_
_I see the rivers flowing by the rocks;_
_I see the sandy bays, and the headlands;_
_I see the sun [setting] behind Eilean Heimra._
_Ru-Minard, O Ru-Minard!--_
_The promontory facing the great waves:_
_Often as a girl have I sate and watched the ships,_
_Singing to myself on Ru-Minard._
_Loch-Heimra, O Loch-Heimra!--_
_Pleasant its shores, with the many birches;_
_Sweet were the youthful moments I spent watching_
_For one that I used to meet by Loch-Heimra._
_Lochgarra, O Lochgarra!--_
_The fair town--the Town of the Big House----_
"I wonder if the Americans know the meaning of Baltimore?" he said; and
then he went on again--
_Dear to me were my friends, happy the hours._
_We spent together at Lochgarra._
_But to-day there is no more of mourning;_
_To-day my old age is comforted;_
_To-day I lift up my voice, I send a message,_
_Across the sea to the dear one of my heart._
_Well I remember him, the young boy fearless;_
_Fearless on the land, fearless on the sea;_
_Clinging to the crags seeking the ravens' nests._
_Proud was I of Young Donald----_
"There are some more verses about me," he again interpolated. "I will
skip them."
"You shall not," she said. "Not a single word."
"Oh, how can I read all this about myself!" he protested.
"Well, then, give me the paper," said she, and she leant over and took
it from him. Nor did she return it. She read right on to the
end--though not aloud--
_My eyes have beheld him come to man's estate._
_Proudly I name him: Donald, son of John, son of Roderick._
_Of the ancient Clan Anrias, high he holds his head._
_Joyful were my eyes when I beheld him._
_Swift and alert, firm-sinewed as a man._
_Laughing and light-hearted: dangerous to his foe._
_Strong as an eagle to choose his mate,_
_Strong likewise to defend her._
_Bold-eyed and resolute; confident at the helm;_
_Long-enduring; scornful of danger._
_Small his possessions, but rich-chambered his mind:_
_Wealth has he other than Eilean Heimra._
_I see the people as they go along the road:_
_Their regard is turned upon Young Donald;_
_There is deep love in their bosom for him;_
_They wish him many days and prosperity._
_I see her whom he has chosen:_
_The lady of the Big House near to the trees:_
_The fair mistress, the beautiful one,_
_The generous daughter of the Saxon._
_Mild of speech, smiling pleasantly:_
_My heart was warm towards her;_
_Much did I hear of the kindness_
_Of the generous, open-handed maiden._
_Tall of stature, graceful in step as a young fawn;_
_Glad was I when I gazed on her;_
_I regarded her many beauties, and I said--_
_Well has young Donald chosen his mate._
_Now I hear the sound of rejoicings;_
_I hear the festivities wide-echoing;_
_Across the ocean I hear the shouts of the wedding:_
_Hail to the young chief of Clan Anrias!_
_The wine-cup is lifted by many hands;_
_The bride and bridegroom are smiling among their friends;_
_To-night the bonfires will blaze on the hills;_
_I hear the loud sound of the pipes._
_No gifts have I for the home-coming;_
_No amulet of secret virtue;_
_But the voice of the woman-bard[#] is welcome to her chief:_
_Young Donald will not despise what I send._
[#] _Banabhard._
_Salutations and blessings I send:_
_Happy may his days be with his love:_
_Long years, many friends, a warm heart--_
_These are the things I wish for him._
_For her also the same:_
_For her, the chosen one, the fair-haired one, the beautiful
Saxon;_
_Many years, and love through all of them,_
_For the bride of Young Donald of Heimra!_
She carefully folded the paper and put it in her pocket.
"This is to be mine," she said. "For if Young Donald despises that
message from across the sea, Young Donald's wife does not."
THE END.
LONDON: PRINTED BY WILLIAM CLOWES AND SONS, LIMITED,
STAMFORD STREET AND CHARING CROSS.
* * * * * * * *
NOVELS BY WILLIAM BLACK.
_Crown 8vo. 6s. each._
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THE NEW PRINCE FORTUNATUS.
IN FAR LOCHABER.
THE STRANGE ADVENTURES OF A HOUSE-BOAT.
A DAUGHTER OF HETH.
KILMENY.
THREE FEATHERS.
LADY SILVERDALE'S SWEETHEART.
IN SILK ATTIRE.
SUNRISE.
THE PENANCE OF JOHN LOGAN.
SAMPSON LOW, MARSTON AND COMPANY, LTD., LONDON.
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THE STRANGE ADVENTURES OF A PHAETON.
THE MAID OF KILLEENA.
MADCAP VIOLET.
GREEN PASTURES AND PICCADILLY.
MACLEOD OF DARE.
WHITE WINGS.
THE BEAUTIFUL WRETCH.
SHANDON BELLS.
YOLANDE.
JUDITH SHAKESPEARE.
THE WISE WOMEN OF INVERNESS.
WHITE HEATHER.
SABINA ZEMBRA.
MACMILLAN AND CO., LONDON.