Donald Ross of Heimra (Volume 2 of 3)

She took the letter, and looked at it in rather a perfunctory way. It was clear that her mind was fixed on something quite different. Perhaps she was thinking of that distant settlement – out among the pines and snows of the North-West – or far away under the Southern Cross: the drafted people working with a right goodwill, and concealing their home-sickness, and making light of their hardships, so long as Young Donald was with them. Perhaps she was thinking of the denuded Lochgarra, and of the empty Eilean Heimra. After all, it was something to have a neighbour, even if he lived in that lonely island. And if she were doing her best with the people who remained – fostering industries, spreading education, bettering their condition in every way – well, there would be no one to whom she could show what she had done. What did her brother care for such things? – her brother was thinking only of grouse, and black-game, and grilse. Frank Meredyth? – she more than suspected that his affectation of interest was only a sort of compliment paid to herself. And then there was another thing, more difficult to formulate; but away deep down in her heart somewhere there had sprung up a vague desire that some day or other she might be able to show Donald Ross how sorry she was for the injuries he had suffered at the hands of her family. When once a close and firm friendship had been established between them, he might be induced to forgive. But if he were going away, while as yet he and she were almost strangers? And she knew that the people who might remain with her at Lochgarra would say to themselves that she was the one who had driven Young Donald across the seas.

She forced herself to read the letter —

"Armadale, Minnesona, Canada.

"Mr. Ross of Heimra. – Sir, – Peter Macleod was showing me the letter you was writing to him, and asking about me, and he said it my duty to answer and give Mr. Ross the news. We have not much comfort here; I think the Lord was not pleased with us that we left our own country and come to America. My wife is very seeck; and while she has the seeckness on her I cannot go away and get railway work; and there are the five children, the oldest of them twelve, and not able to do mich. I have a cow that is giving mulk. I have a yoke of oxen. There is not a well; but I will begin at it soon. I have found a Lochgarra man, wan Neil Campbell, about five miles from here; it is a pleasure to me that I have the jance of speaking my own langwich. I have twelve tons of hay. The soil is good; but the weather verra bad; ay, until the end of May there was frost every night, and many's the time hailstones that would spoil the crop in half an hour. I bought ten bolls of meal forbye1 the Government's supply; and if I had not had a little money I do not know what I would have done; and now the money is gone, and I cannot go away to work and leave my wife with the seeckness on her; and maybe if I did go away I would not get any work whatever. What to do now it is beyond me to say, and we are far away from any friends, my wife and me. When I went to Kavanagh to bring the doctor to my wife I was hearing the news from home that they believed I had brokken my leg. But it is not my legs that are brokken – it is my heart that is brokken. There has been no happiness within me since the day I left Loch Torridon and went away to Greenock to the steamer. That was a bad day for me and my family; we have had no peace or comfort since; it's glad I would be to see Ru-na-uag once more – ay, if they would give me a job at brekkin stones. This is all the news I am thinking of; and wishing Mr. Ross a long life and happiness, I am, your respectful servant,

"ANGUS MACKAY."

"Poor man!" said Mary. And then she looked up as she handed back the letter. "I should have thought," she continued, addressing Donald Ross, "that a report like that would have caused you to hesitate before recommending any more emigration. Was it you who sent that poor man out?"

"Oh, no," he answered at once; "that Angus Mackay lived at Loch Torridon – a long way south from here. I only got to know something of him accidentally. But mind you, Miss Stanley, I would not assume that even in his case emigration has been a failure. That letter is simply saturated with home-sickness. I should not be at all surprised to hear in a year or two that Angus was doing very well with his farm; and it is almost a certainty that when his family have grown up they will find themselves in excellent circumstances. Of course it is hard on him that his wife should be ill, especially with those young children – but these are misfortunes that happen everywhere."

"Emigration?" she repeated (and Käthchen could tell by her tone that this scheme of his found no favour in her sight). "So that is your cure for the poverty and discontent in the Highlands? But don't you think it is rather a confession of failure? Don't you think if the landlords were doing their duty there would be no need to drive these poor people away from their homes? No doubt, as you say, families grow up and marry, while the land does not increase; but look at the thousands upon thousands of acres that at present don't support a single human being – "

"You mean the deer-forests?" he said quite coolly (for the owner of the little island of Heimra had not much personal and immediate interest in the rights and duties of proprietors). "Yes; they say that is the alternative. They say either emigration or throwing open the deer-forests to small tenants and crofters – banishing the deer altogether, limiting the sheep-farms, planting homesteads. It sounds very well in the House of Commons, but I'm afraid it wouldn't work in practice. Such deer-forests as I happen to know are quite useless for any such purpose; the great bulk of the soil is impossible – rocks and peat simply; and then the small patches of land that might be cultivated – less than two acres in every thousand, they say – are scattered, and remote, and inaccessible. Who is to make roads, to begin with – even if the crofters were mad enough to imagine that they could send their handful of produce away to the distant markets with any chance of competition?"

But she was not convinced: a curious obstinacy seemed to have got hold of her.

"I can't help thinking," she repeated, "that emigration is a kind of cowardly remedy. Isn't it rather like admitting that you have failed? Surely there must be some other means? Why, before I came to Lochgarra I made up my mind that I would try to find out about the crofters who had gone away or been sent away, and I would invite them to come back and take up their old holdings."

"It would be a cruel kindness," said he. "And I doubt whether they would thank you for the offer. Yes, I dare say some would; and on their way back to their old home they would be filled with joy. When they came in sight of Ru-Minard I dare say they would be crying with delight; and when they landed at Lochgarra they would be for falling on their knees to kiss the beloved shore. But that wouldn't last long. When they came to look at the sour and marshy soil, the peat-hags, and the rocks, they would begin to alter their mind – "

"In any case," said she, "I have abandoned the idea for the present; I find I have already plenty on my hands. And I don't confess that I have failed yet. I am doing what I can. It is a very slow process; for they seem to imagine that whatever I suggest is for my own interest; at the same time, I don't see that I have failed yet. And as for emigration – "

"But, Miss Stanley," said he seriously, "you don't suppose I would take away any number of the people without your consent?"

At this she brightened up a little.

"Oh, it is only if there is a necessity? Only as a necessity, you mean?"

"Perhaps there is something of selfishness in it, too," he admitted. "Of course, I don't like the idea of living in Eilean Heimra all my life – not now: I am free from any duty; and – and perhaps there are associations that one ought to leave behind one. And if I could get some post from the Government in connection with this emigration scheme – if I could become the overseer of the little settlement – I should still be among my own people: no doubt that has had something to do with my forecasts – "

"But at all events," she interposed, quickly, "you won't be too precipitate? It is a dreadful responsibility. Even if they exaggerate their hardships through home-sickness, that is not altogether imaginary: it is real enough to them at the time. And if actual suffering were to take place – "

"I know the responsibility," he said. "I am quite aware of it. All that I could do would be to obtain the fullest and most accurate information; and then explain to the people the gravity of the step they were about to take. Then it is not a new thing; there are quite trustworthy accounts of the various colonial settlements; and this evidence they would have to estimate dispassionately for themselves."

"Mr. Ross!" she remonstrated. "How can you say such a thing! You told me just now that the whole of those people would follow you away to Canada or Australia if you but said the word. Is that a fair judgment of evidence? I don't think you could get rid of your responsibility by putting a lot of Bluebooks before them – "

"I see you are against emigration," he said.

"It may be necessary in some places – I don't know yet that it is here," she answered him. "I would rather be allowed to try." And then she said – looking at him rather timidly – "If you think I have not given them enough, I will give them more. There is no forest land, as you know; but – but there is some more pasture that perhaps Mr. Watson might be induced to give up. I have given them Meall-na-Cruagan; if you wish it, I will give them Meall-na-Fearn. Mr. Watson was most good-natured about Meall-na-Cruagan; and I dare say there would be no difficulty in settling what should be taken off his rent if he were to give up Meall-na-Fearn and Corrie Bhreag. And – and there's more than that I would try before having people banished."

Kate Glendinning observed that this young man changed colour. It was an odd thing – and interesting to the onlooker. For usually he was so calm, and self-possessed, and reserved: submissive, too, so that it was only at times that he raised his keen black eyes to the young lady who was addressing him: he seemed to wish to keep a certain distance between them. But these last words of hers appeared to have touched him. The pale, dark face showed a sense of shame – or deprecation.

"You must not imagine, Miss Stanley," said he, "that I came to ask for anything. You have already been most generous – too generous, most people would say. It would be imposing on you to ask for more; it would be unfair; if I were in your position, I would refuse. But I thought my scheme might afford you some relief – "

"And if you went away with them, what would you do with Heimra Island?" she said, abruptly – and regarding him with her clear, honest eyes.

"That I don't know," said he, "except that I should be sorry to sell it. And it would not be easy to let it, even as a summer holiday place. There is no fishing or shooting to speak of; and it is a long way to come. For a yachtsman it might make convenient headquarters – "

"But you would not sell the island?" she asked again.

"Not unless I was compelled," he made answer. "I might go away and leave it for a time – the letting of the pasture would just about cover the housekeeper's wages and the keeping up of the place; and then, years hence, when my little community in Australia or Canada was all safely established – when the heat of the day was over, as they say in the Gaelic – I might come back there, and spend the end of my life in peace and quiet. For old people do not need many friends around them: their recollections are in the past."

And then he rose.

"I beg your pardon for troubling you about my poor affairs."

"But they concern me," she said, as she rose also, "and very immediately. Besides that, we are neighbours. And so I am to understand that you won't do anything further with your emigration scheme – not at present?"

"Nothing until you consent – nor until you are quite satisfied that it is a wise thing to embark on. And indeed there is no great hurry: I can't keep my last term until November next. But by then I hope to have learnt everything there is to be learned about the various emigration-fields."

She rang the bell; but she herself accompanied him to the door, and out into the hall.

"By the way," said she, "what has become of Anna Chlannach? – I thought you were to tell her to come to me, so that I could assure her she shouldn't be locked up in any asylum?"

"I'm afraid Anna has not got over her fear of you," said he, with a smile. "She seems to think you tried to entrap her into the garden, where Mr. Purdie was. And it isn't easy to reason with Anna Chlannach."

"Oh, then, you see her sometimes?" she asked.

"Sometimes – yes. If Anna catches sight of the Sirène coming across, she generally runs down to Camus Bheag, and waits for us, to ask for news from the island."

"Will you tell her that I am very angry with her for not coming to see me – when Barbara could quite easily be the interpreter between us?"

"I will. Good-bye!"

"Good-bye!" said she, as he left.

But she did not immediately go back to the drawing-room, and to Käthchen, and the dyed wools. She remained in the great, empty oak hall, slowly walking up and down – with visions before her eyes. She saw a name, too: it was New Heimra. And the actual Heimra out there – the actual Heimra would then be deserted, save, perhaps, for some old housekeeper, who would sit out in the summer evenings, and wonder whether Young Donald was ever coming back to his home. Or perhaps an English family would be in possession of that bungalow retreat: the children scampering about with their noisy games: would they be silent a little, when chance brought them to the lonely white grave, up there on the crest of the hill?

She was startled from her reverie by some sound on the steps outside, and, turning, found her brother and Frank Meredyth at the door.

"Now, Mamie, see what comes of all your coddling!" Fred Stanley exclaimed as he came forward, and he held a piece of paper in his hand. "This is a pretty state of affairs! But can you wonder? They easily find out where the place is ripe for them – where the people have been nursed into insolence and discontent – and on the Twelfth, too – oh, yes, the Twelfth! – when they expect the keepers to be up on the hill, so they'll be able to break a few of the drawing-room windows on their way by – "

"What are you talking about?" she said, in answer to this incoherent harangue; and she took the paper from him. It was a handbill, rather shabbily printed; and these were the contents: —

THE HEATHER ON FIRE!THE HEATHER ON FIKE!

The Land for the People! – Away with Sheep, Deer, and Landlords! – The Landlords must go! – Compulsory Emigration for Landlords! – Men of the Highlands, stand up for your rights! – Down with Southern Rack-Renters!

To THETENANTS, CROFTERS, AND COTTARS OFLOCHGARRA AND NEIGHBOURHOOD: A PUBLIC MEETING

Will be held in Lochgarra Free Church, on Monday the 12th of August, at one o'clock. Addresses by Mr. JOSIAH OGDEN, M.P., Miss ERNESTINE SIMON, of Paris, and Mrs. ELIZABETH JACKSON NOYES, of the Connecticut Council of Liberty. Mr. JOHN FRASER, Vice-President of the Stratherrick Branch of the Highland Land League, will preside.

ADMISSION FREE

Men of Lochgarra! – attend in your hundreds:

"Who would be free themselves must strike the blow!"

Well, Mary was not the least bit frightened.

"I don't see why they shouldn't hold a public meeting," said she, as she handed him back the bill.

"Why, there will be a public riot!" he said. "You haven't seen the great placards they have pasted up on the walls – done with a big brush – I suppose they were afraid to print them; but if you go down through the village you will see what they're after. 'Sweep the sheep off Meall-na-Fearn' – 'Take back the land' – 'A general march into Glen Orme.'"

"Glen Orme deer-forest has nothing to do with me," she said.

"Do you think they will draw such fine distinctions?" he retorted. "I can tell you, when once the march has begun, they won't stop to ask whose fences they are tearing down; and a shot or two fired through your windows is about the least you can expect. And that is what comes of coddling people: they think they can terrorise over you whenever they choose – they welcome any kind of agitator, and think they're going to have it all their own way. And can't you see who suggested the Twelfth to them? I'll bet it was that fellow Ross – a clever trick! – either we lose the opening day of the shooting – and that would make him laugh like a cat – or else we leave the place free for those parading blackguards to plunder at their will."

"At all events, Miss Stanley," interposed Frank Meredyth, in a calmer manner, "there can be no harm in postponing our grouse shooting until the Tuesday. I think it will be better for Fred and myself to be about the premises – and the keepers too – until this little disturbance has blown over."

"Who are those people?" she said, taking back the paper and regarding it. "Mr. Ogden I know something of – mostly from pictures of him in Punch; but I thought it was strikes and trade unions in the north of England that he busied himself with. What has brought him to Scotland?"

"Why, wherever there is mischief to be stirred up – and notoriety to be earned for himself – that is enough for a low Radical of that stamp!" her brother said. He was a young man, and his convictions were round and complete.

"And Miss Ernestine Simon – who is she?"

"Oh, you don't know Ernestine?" said Frank Meredyth, with a smile. "Oh yes, surely! Ernestine, the famous pétroleuse, who fought at the Buttes Chaumont and got wounded in the scramble through Belleville? You must have heard of her, surely! Well, Ernestine is getting old now; but there is still something of the sacred fire about her – a sort of mouton enragé desperation: she can use whirling words, as far as her broken English goes."

"And Mrs. Noyes?" Mary continued. "Who is Mrs. Jackson Noyes, from Connecticut?"

"There I am done," he confessed. "I never heard of Mrs. Jackson Noyes in any capacity whatever. But I can imagine the sort of person she is likely to be."

"And what do those people know about the Highlands?" Mary demanded again.

"What they have been told by the Land League, I suppose," was his answer – and therewithal Miss Stanley led the way back to the drawing-room, to carry these startling tidings to Kate Glendinning.

But she was very silent and thoughtful all that evening; and when the two gentlemen, after dinner, had gone out on the terrace to smoke a cigar, she said —

"Käthchen, I am going to confide in you; and you must not break faith with me. You hear what is likely to happen next Monday. Very well: Mr. Meredyth and Fred both want to remain about the house, along with the keepers, in case there should be any disturbance, any injury done to the place. Now I particularly wish that they should not; and you must back me up, if it is spoken of again. Why, what harm can the people do? I don't mind about a broken window, if one of the lads should become unruly in going by. And if they drive the sheep off Meall-na-Fearn, the sheep can be driven back the next day. I will warn Mr. Watson that he must not allow his men to show resistance. But, above all, I am anxious that Fred and Mr. Meredyth should leave in the morning for their shooting, as they had arranged. For the truth is, Käthchen, I mean to go to this meeting; and I mean to go alone."

"Mamie!" Käthchen exclaimed, with dismay in her eyes.

"There are many reasons," Mary Stanley went on. "If those strangers know anything about the condition of the Highlands that I do not know, I shall be glad to hear it. If they have merely come to stir up mischief, I wish to make my protest. But there is more than that: perhaps the people about here have their grievances and resentments that they would speak of more freely at such a meeting; and if they have, I want to know what they are; and I want to show that I am not afraid to trust myself among my neighbours, and to listen to what they have got to say. For, after all, Käthchen, the more you think of it, the more that emigration scheme – the drafting of a lot of people from their own homes – seems such a complete confession of failure. I would rather try something else first – or many things – rather than have the people go away to Canada or Queensland."

"Mamie," said Käthchen, rising to her feet, "I will not allow you to thrust yourself into this danger. You don't know what an excited crowd may not do. You are the representative here – the only representative – of the very class whom these strangers have come to denounce."

"That is why I mean to go and show them that the relations between landlord and tenant need not necessarily be what they imagine them to be," Mary said, with a certain dignity and reserve. "Why, if there is any risk of a serious disturbance, is it not my place to be there, to do what I can to prevent it?"

"I will appeal to Mr. Meredyth," said Käthchen.

"You cannot," said Mary, calmly. "I have entrusted you with my secret – you cannot break faith."

Käthchen looked disconcerted for a second.

"It is quite monstrous, Mamie, that you should expose yourself to such a risk. Is it because you are so anxious Mr. Ross should not take away a lot of the people to Canada – and you want them to declare openly that they are on good terms with you? At all events, you shall not be there alone. I will go with you."

"It is quite needless, Käthchen!"

"I don't care about that," said Kate Glendinning; and then she added, vindictively: "and when I get hold of that Mr. Pettigrew, I will give him a bit of my mind! The man of peace – always sighing and praying that people should live together in ahmity– and here he goes and lends his church to these professional mischief-makers. Wait till I get hold of Mr. Pettigrew!"

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."