Black William
Donald Ross of Heimra (Volume 3 of 3)
CHAPTER IX
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 Käthchen, "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," Käthchen 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?" Käthchen 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 Käthchen, 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,"1 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."
"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!"2 he murmured.
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-bard3 is welcome to her chief:
Young Donald will not despise what I send.
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."
