Donald Ross of Heimra (Volume 2 of 3)

CHAPTER VII
"KAIN TO THE KING THE MORN!"

The night was dark and yet clear; the sea still; not a whisper stirred in the birch-woods nor along the shores; the small red points of fire, that told of the distant village, burned steadily. And here, down near the edge of the water, were Coinneach and Calum-a-bhata, hidden under the shadow of the projecting rocks.

"Oh, yes, Calum," the elder sailor was saying in his native tongue – and he spoke in something of an undertone – "maybe we will get a few sea-trout this night; and a good basket of sea-trout is a fine thing to take away with us to Heimra; and who has a better right to the sea-trout than our master? Perhaps you do not know what in other days they used to call Kain; for you are a young man, and not hearing of many things; but I will tell you now. It was in the days when there were very good relations between the people and the proprietors – "

"When the birds sang in Gaelic, Coinneach!" said Calum.

"Oh, you may laugh; for you are a young man, and ignorant of many things; but I tell you there was that time; and the tenants and the people at the Big House were very friendly. And the tenants they paid part of their rent in things that were useful for the Big House – such things as hens, and butter, and eggs, and the like; but it was not taken as rent; not at all; it was taken as a present; and the people at the Big House they would have the tenant sit down, and drink a glass of whisky, and hear the news. And now do you understand that there's many a one about here knows well of that custom; and they may pay their money-rent to the English family; but they would rather send their Kain to the old family, that is, to our master; and that is why the Gillie Ciotach and the rest of them are very glad when they can take out a hare or a brace of birds or something of that kind to Heimra. And why should not the sea pay Kain to Donald Ross of Heimra? – I will ask you that question, Calum. If the sea about here belongs to any one, it belongs to the old family, and not to the English family – "

"But if they catch us with the scringe-net, Coinneach?" said the younger man, ruefully. "Aw, Dyeea, I was never in a prison."

"The scringe-net! – a prison!" said Coinneach with contempt. "How little you know about such things! Do they put the dukes and the lords in prison that come round the coast in their big yachts? and in nearly every one of the yachts you will see a scringe-net hung out to dry, and no one concealing it. Do you think I have no eyes, Calum? When the Consuelo came round to Camus Bheag, and the master was sending to us for his other clothes before he went away to the south, did I not see them taking down a scringe-net from the boom? It is very frightened you are, Calum, whether it is putting a few kegs into a cave, or putting a scringe-net round a shore. Now if there was something really to frighten you – like the card-playing the young man saw —

"What was that, Coinneach?" said Calum quickly.

Conneach paused for a second or two, and his face became grave and thoughtful.

"That was enough to frighten anyone," he continued presently – in this mysterious chillness, while he kept his eyes watching the vague, dark plain that lay between him and the distant lights of the village. "And if I tell you the story, Calum, it is to show you there are many things we do not understand, and that it is wise not to speak too confidently, in case someone might overhear – someone that we cannot see. For sometimes they show themselves; and at other times they are not visible; but they may be there. Now I must tell you it happened in a great castle in the north; I am not remembering the name of it; maybe it was up in Caithness; I am not remembering that; but the story is well known, and I was hearing that someone was putting it in a book as well. Now I must tell you that the owner of the castle is the head of the clan, and of a very old and great family; and it is the custom, whenever he goes away from home, that one of the other gentlemen of the clan goes to the castle to keep watch. It is not needful in these days, as you can guess for yourself; but it is a compliment to the head of the clan, and an old custom; and maybe it is kept up to this present time – though I am not swearing that to you, Calum. What I am telling you took place a good many years ago; that is what I have heard; maybe sixty years, maybe fifty years, maybe a hundred years; I am not swearing to that. But the chief had to go away from home; and according to the custom, one of the gentlemen went to keep watch; and he took with him a young country lad, one of his own servants. Now I must tell you there was a fire put in the great hall of the castle; for it was in the winter time; and they had to sit up all night, the one keeping the other awake – for no one likes to be left alone in a strange place like that, in the night-time, and not knowing what things have been experienced by others."

"You are not needing to tell me that, Coinneach," the other assented.

"Very well. But as I was saying, the master he sate close to the fire in the great hall; and the young man he remained some distance away, by one of the windows; and there was no speaking between them. So one hour after another hour went by; and there was nothing happening; and it was not until the dead of the night, or towards the morning, that the young man noticed that his master had fallen asleep. He did not like that, I can tell you, Calum; for if you are left alone, the evil beings may appear and come upon you; and there is no question about it. Very well. The young man he thought he would go over to the fire and waken his master; but what do you think of this now, Calum, that when he tried to rise from his seat he could not do that – something was holding him back – he tried seven times over and seven times more, as I have heard, for he was trembling with the fear of being held. And then – what do you think of this, Calum? – and it is the truth I am telling you – he saw what few men have ever seen, and what few would ever wish to see: the folding-doors at the end of the hall were opened wide; and there were two footmen bringing in lights; and then there was a procession of ladies and gentlemen all dressed in a way that was strange to him; and they came into the hall so that you could not hear a sound. They took no notice of him or his master; and he could see everything they were doing, for all that his eyes were starting out of his head with fright; and I tell you he was so terrified he could not cry out to wake his master. But he was watching – oh, yes, he was watching with all his eyes, you may be sure of that; and he saw the footmen bring forward the tables; and those people in the strange clothes sate down and began to play at cards; and they were talking to each other – but never any sound of their talking. He could see their lips moving; but there was no sound. What do you think of that now, Calum? – was it not a dreadful thing for a young man to see? – even if they were not doing him any harm, or even knowing he was there? There's many a one would have sprung up and shrieked out; but as I tell you, there was no strength in his bones and he could not move; and his master was fast asleep; and all those people – the gentlemen with their small swords by their side, and the ladies in their silks – they were playing away at the cards, and talking to each other across the table, and not a sound to be heard. He watched and watched – aw, God, I suppose he was more dead than alive with trembling, and not being able to call on his master – until the windows began to grow grey with the morning light; and then he saw that the people were sometimes looking at the windows, and sometimes at each other, and they were talking less. Then they rose; and he could not see the candles any more because of the light in the hall; and they were going away in that noiseless manner, when one of them happened to spy the young man; and he came along and looked at him. He looked at him for a moment – and seemed to breathe on him – so that it was like a cold air touching him – and the young man knew that the hand of death had been put upon him. There was no sound; the strange person only looked; and the young man felt the cold air on his forehead, so that he was for sinking to the floor; for he thought that death was on him already, and that he must go with them wherever they were going. Calum, I have told you what I felt when I was coming back from Ru Grobhar, and when the Woman came behind me; it was like that with the young man, as I have heard. And then all of a sudden a cock crew outside; and his master woke up and looked round; and there was no one in the hall but their two selves."

"Did he cry out then? – did he tell his master what he had seen?" Calum asked, in a low voice.

"He was not caring much to tell any one," Coinneach replied. "It was what he felt within him that concerned him; and he knew that the touch of death had been put upon him. Oh, yes, he told the story, though they found him so weak that he could not say much; and they put him to bed – but he was shivering all the time; and he had no heart for living left in him. He was not caring to speak much about it. When they asked him what the people were like, he said the gentlemen had velvet coats, and white hair tied with black ribbons behind; and the ladies were rich in their dresses; but he could not say what language they were speaking, for he could see their lips moving, but there was no sound. He was not caring to speak much about it. The life seemed to have been taken out of his body; he said he would never rise again from his bed. He said more than once, 'It was that one that breathed on me; he wanted me to go with them to be one of the servants; and if the cock had not crowed I would have gone with them. But now I am going.' And he got weaker and weaker, until about the end of the third day; and then it was all over with the poor lad; and there was no struggle – he knew that the death-touch had been put upon his heart."

"And I suppose now," said Calum, meditatively, "they will have him bringing in the tables for them every time they come to play cards in the middle of the night. Aw, Dyeea, I know what I would do if I was the master of that place: I would have the keepers hidden, and when those people came in I would have three or four guns go off at them all at once: would not that settle them?"

"You are a foolish lad, Calum, to think you can harm people like that with a gun," said Coinneach. "No, if it was I, I would say the Lord's Prayer to myself, very low, so that they could not hear; and if they did hear, and still came towards me, I would cry out, 'God on the cross!' – and that would put the people away from me, as it made the Woman take her hands from my throat the dreadful night I was coming by the Black Bay."

"Ay, but tell me this, Coinneach," said the younger of the two men. "I have heard that in great terror your tongue will cleave to your mouth; and you cannot cry out. And what is to happen to you then, if one of those people came near to put a cold breath on you?"

Coinneach did not answer this question: for the last few seconds he had been carefully scanning the darkened plain before him.

"The boat is coming now, Calum," he whispered. "And it is just as noiseless as any ghost she is." And with that the two men got up from the rock on which they had been sitting, and went down to the water's edge, where they waited in silence.

There was a low whistle; Coinneach answered it. Presently a dark object became dimly visible in the gloom. It was a rowing-boat; and as she slowly drew near the prow sent ripples of phosphorescence trembling away into the dusk, while the blades of the muffled oars, each time they dipped, struck white fire down into the sea. It looked as if some huge and strange creature, with gauzy silver wings, was coming shoreward from out of the unknown deeps. Not a word was uttered by anyone. When the bow of the boat came near Coinneach caught it and checked it, so that it should not grate on the shingle. Then he and his companion tumbled in; two other oars, also muffled, were put in the rowlocks; and silently she went away again, under the guidance of a fifth man, who sate at the helm. Very soon the lights of Lochgarra were lost to view; they had got round one of the promontories. Out to seaward there was nothing visible at all; while the 'loom' of the land was hardly to be distinguished from the overhanging; heavens that did not show a single star.

And yet the steersman seemed to be sufficiently sure of his course. There was no calling a halt for consultation, nor any other sign of uncertainty. Noiselessly the four oars kept measured time; there were simultaneously the four sudden downward flashes of white – followed by a kind of seething of silver radiance deep in the dark water; then, here and there on the surface, a large and lambent jewel would shine keenly for a second or two, floating away on the ripples as the boat left it behind. Not one of the men smoked: that of itself showed that something unusual was happening. They kept their eyes on the sombre features of the adjacent shore – of which a landsman could have made next to nothing; or they turned to the dimly-descried outline of the low range of hills, where that could be made out against the sky. It was a long and monotonous pull – with absolute silence reigning. But at length a whispered "Easy, boys, easy!" told them that this part of their labour was about over; and now they proceeded with greater caution – merely dipping the tips of their oars in the water, while all their attention was concentrated on the blurred and vague shadows of the land.

They were now in a small and sheltered bay, the stillness of which was so intense that they could distinctly hear the murmur of some mountain burn. On the face of the hill rising from the sea there were certain darker patches – perhaps these were birch-woods: also down by the shore there were spaces of deeper gloom – these might be clumps of trees. No light was visible anywhere: this part of the coast was clearly uninhabited, or else the people were asleep. And yet, before venturing nearer, they ceased rowing altogether; and watched; and listened. Not a sound: save for that continuous murmur of the stream, that at times became remote, and then grew more distinct again – as some wandering breath of wind passed across the face of the hill. The world around them lay in a trance as deep as death: the bark of a dog, the call of a heron, would have been a startling thing. Meanwhile two of the oars had been stealthily shipped; the remaining two were sufficient to paddle the boat nearer to the rocks, when that might be deemed safe.

And at last the steersman, who appeared to be in command, gave the word. As gently as might be, the boat was headed in for the shore, until Coinneach, who was up at the bow, whispered "That'll do now;" the rowing ceased; there was a pause, and some further anxious scrutinising of that amorphous gloom; then two black figures stepped over the side into the water, taking with them the lug-line of the net that was carefully arranged in the stern. They were almost immediately lost sight of; for the boat was again noiselessly paddled away, until the full length of the line was exhausted; while he in the stern began to pay out the net – each cork float that dropped into the water sending a shower of tremulous white stars spreading from it, and all the meshes shivering in silver as they were straightened out. A wonderful sight it was; but not the most likely to procure a good fishing; for, of course, that quivering, lustrous, far-extended web would be visible at some little distance. However, out went the net easily and steadily – with just the faintest possible "swish" as each successive armful soused into the sea; and then, as quick as was consistent with silence, the boat was pulled ashore, and two of the men jumped out with the other lug-line. They, too, vanished in the impenetrable dusk. The solitary occupant of the mysterious craft, standing up at the bow, was now left to watch the result of these operations and to direct, in low and eager whispers, his unseen comrades. Slowly, slowly the semicircular net was being hauled in; as it got nearer and nearer the men at the lug-lines splashed the water with them, so as to frighten the fish into the meshes; the sea glimmered nebulous in white fire; here and there a larger star burned clear on the black surface for a moment, and then gradually faded away. The commotion increased – in the water and out of it; it was evident from the fluttering and seething that there was a good haul; and in their excitement the scringers who were ashore forgot the danger of their situation – there were muttered exclamations in Gaelic as the net was narrowed in and in. And then, behold! – in the dark meshes those shining silver things – each entangled fish a gleaming, scintillating wonder – a radiant prize, here in the deep night. If this was Kain for Donald Ross of Heimra, it was Kain fit to be paid to a king.

It was at this moment that three men came across the rocky headland guarding the bay on its northern side. They had just completed a careful inspection of the neighbouring creek – as careful as the darkness would allow; they had followed the windings of the coast, searching every inlet; and so far their quest had been in vain. Now they stood on this promontory, peering and listening.

"No, sir, I do not see or hear anything," said Hector, the tall keeper, who had a gun over his shoulder; and he seemed inclined to give up further pursuit.

"But I tell you they must be somewhere," said Fred Stanley, in an excited fashion. "There was no mistake about what they were after. What would they be going out in a boat for at this time of the night, if it wasn't for scringeing?"

"Maybe they would be for setting night-lines," said the keeper, evasively.

"Not a bit of it!" the young man retorted with impatience. "I know better than that. And I know who is in that boat – I know perfectly well. It isn't for nothing that the Sirène is lying in Camus Bheag: I know who is out with those poaching nets – and I'm going to catch him if I can. I want to have certain things made public: I want an explanation: I want to have the Sheriff at Dingwall called in to settle this matter."

"Are you quite sure you saw the boat, sir?" said the keeper – all this conversation taking place in lowered tones, except when Fred Stanley grew angry and indignant.

"Why," said he, turning to his friend Meredyth, "how far was she from the steam-launch when she passed – not half a dozen yards, I'll swear! It was a marvellous stroke of luck we thought of going out for that draught-board; they little thought there would be any one on the launch at that hour; and I tell you, if the punt had been a bit bigger, I would have given chase to them there and then. Never mind, we ought to be able to catch them yet – catch them in the act – and I mean to see it out – "

"Yes, but we haven't caught them," said Frank Meredyth, discontentedly; for he had stumbled again and again, and knocked his ankles against the rocks; and he would far rather have been at home, talking to Mary Stanley. "And it's beastly dark: we shall be slipping down into the water sooner or later. What's the use of going on, Fred? What about a few sea-trout? Everybody does it – "

"But it's against the law all the same; and I mean to catch this poaching scoundrel red-handed, if I can," was the young man's answer. "Come, Hector, you must know perfectly well where they put out the scringe-nets. What's this place before us now?"

"It's the Camus Mhor, sir," said Hector, "in there towards the land."

"Well, is it any use scringeing in this bay?" the young man demanded.

"There's the mouth of the burn that comes down by the plantation," was the reply.

"Very well, take us there!" Fred Stanley said, impatiently. "Those fellows must be somewhere; and I'll bet you they're not far off. I must say, Hector, you don't seem particularly anxious to get hold of them. Are there any of them friends of yours?"

Hector did not answer this taunt. He merely said —

"It is a dark night, sir, to make any one out."

And then they went on again, but with caution; for besides the danger of breaking a leg among the rocks, they knew that the yawning gulfs of the sea were by their side. Hector led the way, Fred Stanley coming next, Meredyth – with muttered grumblings – bringing up the rear. In this wise they followed the inward bend of the bay, until the keeper leapt from the rocks into a drifted mass of seaweed: they were at the corner of the semi-circular beach.

Suddenly Fred Stanley caught Hector's arm, and held him for a second.

"Do you hear that?" he said, in an eager whisper. "They are there – right ahead of us – fire a shot at them, Hector! – give them a peppering – give their coats a dusting!"

"Oh, no, sir," said the serious-mannered keeper, "I cannot do that. But I will go forward and challenge them. When you get to know who they are, then you will apply for a summons afterwards."

"Come on, then! – come along!" the young man said, and he began to run – stumbling over seaweed, stones, and shingle – but guided by the subdued commotion in front of him.

All at once that scuffle ceased. There was another sound – slight and yet distinct: it was the hurried dip of oars. Nay, was not that the "loom" of a boat, not twenty yards away from them – the dark hull receding from the land?

"Here, Hector!" the young man cried – furious that his prey had just escaped him. "Fire, man! – give them a charge! – give the thieving scoundrels a dose of shot amongst them!"

Hector made no answer to this appeal. He called aloud —

"Who are you? Whose is that boat?"

There was no word in reply – only the slight sound of the dipping oars. Fred Stanley caught at the gun; but the keeper held it away from him.

"No, sir, no," he said gravely. "We must keep within the law, whatever they do."

"Yes – and now they're off – and laughing at us!" the young man angrily exclaimed. And then he said: "Do you mean to tell me you don't know who these men are? Do you mean to tell me you don't know quite well that it is Ross of Heimra who is in that boat?"

"I am not thinking that, sir," Hector answered slowly.

"You took precious good care not to find out!" Fred Stanley said, for he was grievously disappointed. "If you had come up with me you might have compelled them to stop and declare themselves: even if you had fired in the air, that would have brought them to reason fast enough. When shall we get such another chance? I knew things like this were going on – knew it quite well. And it's your place to stop it – it's your business. It is a monstrous thing that the fishing in the rivers should be destroyed by those thieves."

He continued looking out to sea; but the boat had disappeared in the dark.

"No, we shall not get another chance like that," said he, turning to his friend Meredyth. "And it is a thousand pities – for I would have given anything to have caught that fellow red-handed: I hate to think of my sister being imposed upon."

"Well, I suppose we'd better be getting back," said Frank Meredyth, who had displayed no great interest in this expedition. "And I dare say Hector can show us some inland way – I don't want to go round those infernal rocks again."

"Hector?" said Fred Stanley, in a savage undertone, "I'm pretty sure of this – that when Hector took us all round those rocks, he knew precious well where the scringers were!"

And very indignant was he, and sullenly resentful, when he carried this story home to Lochgarra House and to his sister. He roundly accused the keepers of connivance. They could put down the scringeing if they chose; but it was all part and parcel of the poaching system that existed for the benefit of Donald Ross. He it was who had the fishing and shooting of this estate. A fine condition of affairs, truly!

"I am afraid," said Mary Stanley, who seemed to take this stormy complaint with much composure, "that Mr. Ross has not quite enough skill to make much of a poacher, even if he were inclined that way. If you had been here yesterday, you would have heard himself say that he was a very indifferent shot, and a very poor fisherman also – "

"And you believed him, of course!" her brother said, with contempt. "Of course he would say that! That is the very thing he would profess – "

"But, you see, Fred," she continued, without taking any offence, "he gave us a very good reason why he should be but a poor sportsman. There is neither fishing nor shooting on Heimra Island."

He laughed scornfully.

"Fishing and shooting on Heimra Island?" he repeated. "What need has he of them, when he has the fishing and shooting of Lochgarra?"

"You may be mistaken, Fred," Frank Meredyth interposed – careful to be on Miss Stanley's side, as usual. "You may be going too much by what Purdie said that evening at Inverness. At the same time, I quite know this, that when once you suspect any one of poaching, it is desperately difficult to get the idea out of your head. All kinds of small things are constantly happening that seem to offer confirmation – "

"I will bet you twenty pounds to five shillings," said the young man hotly, "that if we go out to Heimra to-morrow, and stay to luncheon, we shall find sea-trout on the table. There may be no fishing on the island – that is quite possible; but I tell you there will be sea-trout in Ross's house. I dare you all to put it to the proof. It is a fair offer. We can run out in the steam-launch if the sea is as calm as it is now – Mamie, you can come too, and Miss Glendinning; and my bet is twenty pounds to five shillings that you will find sea-trout produced."

"Surely it would be rather shabby to go and ask a man to give you lunch in order to prove something against him?" she made answer. "And even then that would not show he had been himself in the boat. As for any of the people about here using a scringe-net now and again to pick up a few fish – well, that is not a very heinous offence."

"If it is," said Meredyth (still siding with her), "it is committed every summer by a large number of highly respectable persons. Why, only the other day the Fishery Board had to issue a circular reminding owners of yachts that netting in territorial seas wasn't allowed."

"Oh, very well," said Fred Stanley, with a sort of affected resignation. "Very well. It is no concern of mine. The place does not belong to me. And of course, Mamie, you are only following out the programme which will be laid before the free and independent – the very free and independent – natives of this parish, on Monday. No doubt they will be told they have the right to take salmon and sea-trout wherever they can find them, either in the rivers, or round the mouths of the rivers, or in the sea. They have that right, you understand, but you haven't; if you try to catch a salmon, you will have a stone hurled into the pool in front of you! And what will be the rest of the programme when the English demagogue, and the French anarchist, and the Yankee platform-woman, come to set the heather on fire? How much more are you going to surrender, Mamie? You've cut down the rents everywhere – given up more pasture – given up more peat-land. What next? Don't you think it's an awful shame you should be living in a great big house like this, when those poor people are living in thatched hovels – "

"Well," said Mary, with an honest laugh, "if I must tell you the truth, I do sometimes think so. Sometimes, when I go outside, and look at the contrast, it does seem to me too great – "

"Oh, very well!" he said ironically. "When these are your sentiments, I don't wonder that the place is considered ripe for a general riot. But whatever your theories may be, I'm going to draw the line at personal violence and destruction of property. I shall have my six-chambered Colt loaded on Monday; and if any impudent blackguard dares to come near this place – "

"You are going up the hill on Monday," said she briefly. "Both you and Mr. Meredyth. I want some grouse for the kitchen; and as many more to send away as you can get for me."

"Pardon me, Miss Stanley," Meredyth said, and he spoke with a certain quiet decision, "you are asking a little too much. It is impossible for us to go away shooting and leave you at the mercy of what may turn out to be a riotous mob. It is quite impossible: you have no right to ask it."

"Yes, but I do ask it!" she said, somewhat petulantly – for she wished to be left free to follow her own designs on that fateful Monday. "You are my guest; you are here for the Twelfth; and I particularly want you – both you and Fred – to go away after the grouse; and never mind about this – this lecture, or whatever it is – "

"I for one, cannot," he said, firmly; "and I know Fred will not."

Mary glanced half-imploringly at Käthchen. But Käthchen sate mute. Perhaps she was considering that, whether Mary went to the meeting or not, it was just as well the two gentlemen were to be within hail. Besides, before then it was just possible Mary might be induced to confess to them her mad resolve: in which case it would become their duty to reason and remonstrate, seeing that Käthchen's protests had been of no avail. Or would they insist on accompanying her to the meeting, if she was determined to go? For one thing, Käthchen did not at all like Fred Stanley's reference to his Colt's revolver; if there was going to be any serious disturbance, that was not likely to prove a satisfactory means of quelling it.