White Heather: A Novel (Volume 1 of 3)

'What is it now? What are you about down there?' their host called to them – and the silence, to her who had unwittingly caused it, was terrible.

But another of the girls, still bent on mischief, was bold enough to say.

'Oh, it's Ronald that's going to sing us a song.'

'Sing ye a song, ye limmer, ere ye're through with your supper?' Ronald said sharply. 'I'd make ye sing yourself – with a leather strap – if I had my will o' ye.'

But this was not heard up the table.

'Very well, then, Ronald,' the innkeeper cried, graciously. 'Come away with it now. There is no one at all can touch you at that.'

'Oh, do not ask him,' the pretty Nelly said – apparently addressing the company, but keeping her cruel eyes on him. 'Do not ask Ronald to sing. Ronald is such a shy lad.'

He glanced at her; and then he seemed to make up his mind.

'Very well, then,' said he, 'I'll sing ye a song – and let's have a chorus, lads.'

Now in Sutherlandshire, as in many other parts of the Highlands, the chief object of singing in company is to establish a chorus; and the audience, no matter whether they have heard the air or not, so soon as it begins, proceed to beat time with hand and heel, forming a kind of accompanying tramp, as it were; so that by the time the end of the first verse is reached, if they have not quite caught the tune, at least they can make some kind of rhythmic noise with the refrain. And on this occasion, if the words were new – and Ronald, on evil intent, took care to pronounce them clearly – the air was sufficiently like 'Jenny dang the Weaver' for the general chorus to come in, in not more than half a dozen keys. This was what Ronald sang – and he sang it in that resonant tenor of his, and in a rollicking fashion – just as if it were an impromptu, and not a weapon that he had carefully forged long ago, and hidden away to serve some such chance as the present:

O lasses, lasses, gang your ways,And dust the house, or wash the claes,Ye put me in a kind o' blaze —Ye'll break my heart among ye!

The girls rather hung their heads – the imputation that they were all setting their caps at a modest youth who wanted to have nothing to do with them was scarcely what they expected. But the lads had struck the tune somehow; and there was a roaring chorus, twice repeated, with heavy boots marking the time —

Ye'll break my heart among ye!

And then the singer proceeded – gravely —

At kirk or market, morn or e'en,The like o' them was never seen,For each is kind, and each a queen; —Ye'll break my heart among ye!

And again came the roaring chorus from the delighted lads —

Ye'll break my heart among ye!

There was but one more verse —

There's that one dark, and that one fair,And yon has wealth o' yellow hair;Gang hame, gang hame – I can nae mair —Ye'll break my heart among ye!

Yellow hair? The allusion was so obvious that the pretty Nelly blushed scarlet – all the more visibly because of her fair complexion; and when the thunder of the thrice-repeated refrain had ceased, she leant forward and said to him in a low voice, but with much terrible meaning —

'My lad, when I get you by yourself, I'll give it to you!'

They had nearly finished supper by this time; but ere they had the decks cleared for action, there was a formal ceremony to be gone through. The host produced his quaich– a small cup of horn, with a handle on each side; and likewise a bottle of whisky; and as one guest after another took hold of the quaich with the thumb and forefinger of each hand, the innkeeper filled the small cup with whisky, which had then to be drank to some more or less appropriate toast. These were in Gaelic for the most part – 'To the goodman of the inn'; 'To the young girls that are kind, and old wives that keep a clean house'; 'Good health; and good luck in finding things washed ashore,' and so forth – and when it came to Mr. Hodson's turn, he would have a try at the Gaelic too.

'I think I can wrestle with it, if you give me an easy one,' he remarked, as he took the quaich between his fingers and held it till it was filled.

'Oh no, sir, do not trouble about the Gaelic,' said his pretty neighbour Jeannie – blushing very much, for there was comparative silence at the time.

'But I want to have my turn. If it's anything a white man can do, I can do it.'

'Say air do shlàinte– that is, your good health,' said Jeannie, blushing more furiously than ever.

He carefully balanced the cup in his hands, gravely turned towards his hostess, bowed to her, repeated the magic words with a very fair accent indeed, and drained off the whisky – amid the general applause; though none of them suspected that the swallowing of the whisky was to him a much more severe task than the pronunciation of the Gaelic. And then it came to Ronald's turn.

'Oh no, Mr. Murray,' said the slim-waisted Nelly, who had recovered from her confusion, and whose eyes were now as full of mischief as ever, 'do not ask Ronald to say anything in the Gaelic; he is ashamed to hear himself speak. It is six years and more he has been trying to say "a young calf," and he cannot do it yet.'

'And besides, he's thinking of the lass he left behind in the Lothians,' said her neighbour.

'And they're all black-haired girls there,' continued the fair-haired Nelly. 'Ronald, drink "mo nighean dubh."'

He fixed his eyes on her steadily, and said: 'Tir nam beann, nan gleann, s'nan gaisgeach;4 and may all the saucy jades in Sutherland find a husband to keep them in order ere the year be out.'

And now two or three of the lasses rose to clear the table; for the red-bearded drover and his brigade had not the skill to do that; and the men lit their pipes; and there was a good deal of joyous schwärmerei. In the midst of it all there was a rapping of spoons and knuckles at the upper end of the table; and it was clear, from the importance of his look, that Mr. Murray himself was about to favour the company – so that a general silence ensued. And very well indeed did the host of the evening sing – in a shrill, high-pitched voice, it is true, but still with such a multitude of small flourishes and quavers and grace notes as showed he had once been proud enough of his voice in the days gone by. 'Scotland yet' he sang; and there was a universal rush at the chorus —

'And trow ye as I sing, my lads,The burden o't shall be,Auld Scotland's howes, and Scotland's knowes,And Scotland's hills for me,I'll drink a cup to Scotland yet,Wi' a' the honours three.'

And was their American friend to be excluded? – not if he knew it. He could make a noise as well as any; and he waved the quaich – which had wandered back to him – round his head; and strident enough was his voice with

I'll drink a cup to Scotland yet,Wi' a' the honours three.'

'I feel half a Scotchman already,' said he gaily to his hostess.

'Indeed, sir, I wish you were altogether one,' she said in her gentle way. 'I am sure I think you would look a little better in health if you lived in this country.'

'But I don't look so ill, do I?' said he – rather disappointed; for he had been striving to be hilarious, and had twice drank the contents of the quaich, out of pure friendliness.

'Well, no, sir,' said Mrs. Murray politely, 'not more than most of them I hef seen from your country; but surely it cannot be so healthy as other places; the young ladies are so thin and delicate-looking whatever; many a one I would like to hef kept here for a while – for more friendly young ladies I never met with anywhere – just to see what the mountain air and the sweet milk would do for her.'

'Well, then, Mrs. Murray, you will have the chance of trying your doctoring on my daughter when she comes up here a few weeks hence; but I think you won't find much of the invalid about her – it's my belief she could give twenty pounds to any girl I know of in a go-as-you-please race across the stiffest ground anywhere. There's not much the matter with my Carry, if she'd only not spend the whole day in those stores in Regent Street. Well, that will be over when she come here; I should think it'll make her stare some, if she wants to buy a veil or a pair of gloves.'

But the girls at the foot of the table had been teasing Ronald to sing something; silence was forthwith procured; and presently – for he was very good natured, and sang whenever he was asked – the clear and penetrating tenor voice was ringing along the rafters:

'The news frae Moidart cam' yestreen,Will soon gar many ferlie,5For ships o' war hae just come inAnd landed royal Charlie.'

It was a well-known song, with a resounding chorus:

'Come through the heather, around him gather,Ye're a' the welcomer early;Around him cling wi' a' your kin,For wha'll be king but Charlie?'

Nay, was not this the right popular kind of song – to have two choruses instead of one? —

'Come through the heather, around him gather,Come Ronald, and Donald, come a'thegitherAnd claim your rightfu' lawfu' king,For who'll be king but Charlie?'

This song gave great satisfaction; for they had all taken part in the chorus; and they were pleased with the melodious result. And then the lasses were at him again:

'Ronald, sing "Doon the burn, Davie lad."'

'Ronald, will you not give us "Logan Water" now?'

'Ronald, "Auld Joe Nicholson's Bonnie Nannie" or "My Peggy is a young thing" whichever you like best yourself.'

'No, no,' said the pretty Nelly, 'ask him to sing, "When the kye come hame," and he will be thinking of the black-haired lass he left in the Lothians.'

'Gae wa', gae wa',' said he, rising and shaking himself free from them. 'I ken what'll put other things into your heads – or into your heels, rather.'

He picked up his pipes, which had been left in a corner, threw the drones over his shoulder, and marched to the upper end of the barn; then there was a preliminary groan or two, and presently the chanter broke away into a lively reel tune. The effect of this signal, as it might be called, was magical; every one at once divined what was needed; and the next moment they were all helping to get the long table separated into its component parts and carried out into the dark. There was a cross table left at the upper end, by the peat-fire, for the elderly people and the spectators to sit at, if they chose; the younger folk had wooden forms at the lower end; but the truth is that they were so eager not to have any of the inspiriting music thrown away that several sets were immediately formed, and off they went to the brisk strains of Miss Jenny Gordon's Favourite– intertwisting deftly, setting to partners again, fingers and thumbs snapped in the air, every lad amongst them showing off his best steps, and ringing whoops sent up to the rafters as the reel broke off again into a quick strathspey. It was wild and barbaric, no doubt; but there was a kind of rhythmic poetry in it too; Ronald grew prouder and prouder of the fire that he could infuse into this tempestuous and yet methodical crowd; the whoops became yells; and if the red-bearded drover, dancing opposite the slim-figured Nelly, would challenge her to do her best, and could himself perform some remarkable steps and shakes, well, Nelly was not ashamed to raise her gown an inch or two just to show him that he was not dancing with a flat-footed creature, but that she had swift toes and graceful ankles to compare with any. And then again they would trip off into the figure 8, swinging round with arms interlocked; and again roof and rafter would 'dirl' with the triumphant shouts of the men. Then came the long wailing monition from the pipes; the sounds died down; panting and laughing and rosy-cheeked the lasses were led to the benches by their partners; and a general halt was called.

Little Maggie stole up to her brother.

'I'm going home now, Ronald,' she said.

'Very well,' he said. 'Mind you go to bed as soon as ye get in. Good-night, lass.'

'Good-night, Ronald.'

She was going away, when he said to her —

'Maggie, do ye think that Miss Douglas is not coming along to see the dancing? I thought she would do that if she would rather no come to the supper.'

In truth he had had his eye on the door all the time he was playing Miss Jenny Gordon's Favourite.

'I am sure if she stays away,' the little Maggie said, 'it is not her own doing. Meenie wanted to come. It is very hard that everybody should be at the party and not Meenie.'

'Well, well, good-night, lass,' said he; for the young folk were choosing their partners again, and the pipes were wanted. Soon there was another reel going on, as fast and furious as before.

At the end of this reel – Meenie had not appeared, by the way, and Ronald concluded that she was not to be allowed to look on at the dancing – the yellow-haired Nelly came up to the top of the room, and addressed Mrs. Murray in the Gaelic; but as she finished up with the word quadrille, and as she directed one modest little glance towards Mr. Hodson, that amiable but astute onlooker naturally inferred that he was somehow concerned in this speech. Mrs. Murray laughed.

'Well, sir, the girls are asking if you would not like to have a dance too; and they could have a quadrille.'

'I've no cause to brag about my dancing,' he said good-humouredly, 'but if Miss Nelly will see me through, I dare say we'll manage somehow. Will you excuse my ignorance?'

Now the tall and slender Highland maid had not in any way bargained for this – it was merely friendliness that had prompted her proposal; but she could not well refuse; and soon one or two sets were formed; and a young lad called Munro, from Lairg, who had brought his fiddle with him for this great occasion, proceeded to tune up. The quadrille, when it came off, was performed with more of vigour than science; there was no ignominious shirking of steps – no idle and languid walking – but a thorough and resolute flinging about, as the somewhat bewildered Mr. Hodson speedily discovered. However, he did his part gallantly, and was now grown so gay that when, at the end of the dance, he inquired of the fair Nelly whether she would like to have any little refreshment, and when she mildly suggested a little water, and offered to go for it herself, he would hear of no such thing. No, no; he went and got some soda-water, and declared that it was much more wholesome with a little whisky in it; and had some himself also. Gay and gallant? – why, certainly. He threw off thirty years of his life; he forgot that this was the young person who would be waiting at table after his daughter Carry came hither: he would have danced another quadrille with her; and felt almost jealous when a young fellow came up to claim her for the Highland Schottische– thus sending him back to the society of Mrs. Murray. And it was not until he had sate down that he remembered he had suggested to his daughter the training of this pretty Highland girl for the position of maid and travelling companion. But what of that? If all men were born equal, so were women; and he declared to himself that any day he would rather converse with Nelly the pretty parlour-maid than (supposing him to have the chance) with Her Illustrious Highness the Princess of Pfalzgrafweiler-Gunzenhausen.

In the meantime Ronald, his pipes not being then needed, had wandered out into the cold night-air. There were some stars visible, but they shed no great light; the world lay black enough all around. He went idly and dreamily along the road – the sounds in the barn growing fainter and fainter – until he reached the plateau where his own cottage stood. There was no light in it anywhere; doubtless Maggie had at once gone to bed, as she had been bid. And then he wandered on again – walking a little more quietly – until he reached the doctor's house. Here all the lights were out but one; there was a red glow in that solitary window; and he knew that that was Meenie's room. Surely she could not be sitting up and listening? – even the skirl of the pipes could scarcely be heard so far; and her window was closed. Reading, perhaps? He knew so many of her favourites – 'The Burial March of Dundee,' 'Jeannie Morrison,' 'Bonny Kilmeny,' 'Christabel,' the 'Hymn before Sunrise in the Valley of Chamounix,' and others of a similar noble or mystical or tender kind; and perhaps, after all, these were more in consonance with the gentle dignity and rose-sweetness of her mind and nature than the gambols of a lot of farm-lads and wenches? He walked on to the bridge, and sate down there for a while, in the dark and the silence; he could hear the Mudal Water rippling by, but could see nothing. And when he passed along the road again, the light in the small red-blinded window was gone; Meenie was away in the world of dreams and phantoms – and he wondered if the people there knew who this was who had come amongst them, with her wondering eyes and sweet ways.

He went back to the barn, and resumed his pipe-playing with all his wonted vigour – waking up the whole thing, as it were; but nothing could induce him to allow one or other of the lads to be his substitute, so that he might go and choose a partner for one of the reels. He would not dance; he said his business was to keep the merry-making going. And he and they did keep it going till between five and six in the morning, when all hands were piped for the singing of 'Auld Lang Syne:' and thereafter there was a general dispersal, candles going this way and that through the blackness like so many will-o'-the-wisps; and the last good-nights at length sank into silence – a silence as profound and hushed as that that lay over the unseen heights of Clebrig and the dark and still lake below.

CHAPTER IX

ENTICEMENTS

At about eleven o'clock on the same morning Miss Douglas was standing at the window of her own little room looking rather absently at the familiar wintry scene without, and occasionally turning to a letter that she held in her hand, and that she had apparently just then written. Presently, however, her face brightened. There was a faint sound in the distance as of some one singing; no doubt that was Ronald; he would be coming along the road with the dogs, and if she were in any difficulty he would be the one to help. So she waited for a second or two, hoping to be able to signal him to stop; and the next minute he was in sight, walking briskly with his long and steady stride, the small terrier at his heels, the other dogs – some handsome Gordon setters, a brace of pointers, and a big brown retriever – ranging farther afield.

But why was it, she asked herself, that whenever he drew near her father's cottage he invariably ceased his singing? Elsewhere, as well she knew, he beguiled the tedium of these lonely roads with an almost constant succession of songs and snatches of songs; but here he invariably became mute. And why did he not raise his eyes to the window – where she was waiting to give him a friendly wave of the hand, or even an invitation to stop and come within-doors for a minute or two? No, on he went with that long stride of his, addressing a word now and again to one or other of the dogs, and apparently thinking of nothing else. So, as there was nothing for it now but to go out and intercept him on his return, she proceeded to put on her ulster and a close-fitting deerstalker's cap; and thus fortified against the gusty north wind that was driving clouds and sunshine across the loch and along the slopes of Clebrig, she left the cottage, and followed the road that he had taken.

As it turned out, she had not far to go; for she saw that he was now seated on the parapet of the little bridge spanning the Mudal Water, and no doubt he was cutting tobacco for his pipe. When she drew near, he rose; when she drew nearer, he put his pipe in his waistcoat pocket.

'Good-morning, Ronald!' she cried, and the pretty fresh-tinted face smiled on him, and the clear gray-blue Highland eyes regarded him in the most frank and friendly way, and without any trace whatever of maiden bashfulness.

'Good-morning, Miss Douglas,' said he; he was far more shy than she was.

'What a stupid thing happened this morning,' said she. 'When I heard that the American gentleman was going south, I wanted to tell the driver to bring the children from Crask with him as he came back in the evening; and I sent Elizabeth round to the inn to tell him that; and then – what do you think! – they had started away half an hour before there was any need. But now I have written a letter to the Crask people, asking them to stop the waggonette as it comes back in the afternoon, and telling them that we will make the children very comfortable here for the night; and if only I could get it sent to Crask everything would be arranged. And do you think now you could get one of the young lads to take it to Crask if I gave him a shilling?'

She took out her purse, and selected a shilling from the very slender store of coins there.

'It is not much for so long a walk,' she said, rather doubtfully. 'Eight miles there and eight back – is it enough, do you think?'

'Oh, I'll get the letter sent for ye, Miss Douglas, easily enough,' said he – and indeed he had already taken it from her hand.

Then she offered him the shilling, but with a little gesture he refused it. And then – for there flashed upon her mind a sudden suspicion that perhaps he might choose to walk all that way himself just to please her (indeed, he had done things like that before) – she became greatly embarrassed.

'Give me the letter, Ronald,' said she, 'and I will find some one myself. You are going away now with the dogs.'

'Oh no,' said he, 'I will see that the Crask folk get your message.'

'And the money to pay the lad?' said she timidly.

'Dinna bother your head wi' that,' he answered. 'There's enough money scattered about the place just now – the American gentleman was free-handed this morning. Ay, and there's something I've got for you.'

'For me?' she said, with her eyes opening somewhat.

'Well,' said he (and very glad he was to have the letter safe and sound in his possession), 'I was telling him about the children's party to-morrow night; and he's a friendly kind o' man, that; he said he would like to have been at it, if he could have stayed; and I'm sure he would have got on wi' them well enough, for he's a friendly kind o' man, as I say. Well, then, I couldna tell him the exact number o' the bairns; but no matter what number, each one o' them is to find sevenpence under the teacup – that's a penny for each fish he got. Ay, he's a shrewd-headed fellow, too; for says he "I suppose, now, the old people will be for having the children save up the sixpence, so at least they'll have the penny to spend;" and he was curious even to find out where the bairns in a place like this got their toys, or if sweeties ever came their way. "It's little enough of either o' them," I said to him, "they see, except when Miss Douglas has been to Lairg or Tongue;" and he was very anxious to make your acquaintance, I may tell ye, but he said he would wait till his daughter came with him the next time. I'm thinking the bairns will be pleased to find a little packet of money in the saucers; and it's not too much for a man to pay for the luck o' getting seven salmon in the middle of January – for who could have expected that?'

And then Meenie laughed.

'It's little you know, Ronald, what is in store for you to-morrow night. It will be the hardest night's work you ever undertook in your life.'

'I'm not afraid o't,' he answered simply.

'But you do not know yet.'

She opened her ulster and from an inside pocket produced the formidable document that she had shown to Ronald's sister; and then she buttoned the long garment again, and contentedly sate herself down on the low stone parapet, the programme in her hand. And now all trace of embarrassment was fled from her; and when she spoke to him, or smiled, those clear frank eyes of hers looked straight into his, fearing nothing, but only expecting a welcome. She did not, as he did, continually remember that she was Miss Douglas, the doctor's daughter, and he merely a smart young deerstalker. To her he was simply Ronald – the Ronald that every one knew and liked; who had a kind of masterful way throughout this neighbourhood, and was arbiter in all matters of public concern; but who, nevertheless, was of such amazing good nature that there was no trouble he would not undertake to gratify her slightest wish. And as he was so friendly and obliging towards her, she made no doubt he was so to others; and that would account for his great popularity, she considered; and she thought it was very lucky for this remote little hamlet that it held within it one who was capable of producing so much good feeling, and keeping the social atmosphere sweet and sound.