Donald Ross of Heimra (Volume 1 of 3)

Calum was silent for a little while. Then he said, slowly —

"Coinneach, do you suppose the Woman came from the cave where the cock was heard crowing?"

"How can I tell?" was the answer. "Perhaps I have said too much. But what I have said to you, that is the least part of what happened to me that night, for it is not to be spoken of." And then he rose; and put his pipe in his pocket. "Come, Calum, my son, we must take the boat ashore now, for the master will be coming down to the slip. But do not you speak of such things as I have told you; for it is not good to speak of them."

And to this Calum merely replied —

"What the master wishes is enough for you and me, Coinneach; but I would rather not be going into the Uamh coilich na glaodhaich this night."

They rowed the boat in to the shore – they could see their way well enough, for now the heavens were quite clear, and a universe of white worlds was shining down on them; and there they ran her bow into the soft seaweed by the side of the slip. They had not long to wait. There was a sound of footsteps on the gravel-path; then from out of the shadow emerged a figure into the open space above the beach; they knew who this was. Young Ross of Heimra seemed to be in no great hurry; his hands were in his pockets; he came down towards the boat with long, lounging, leisurely strides; and he was whistling a gay air that was unfamiliar to them – for Coinneach and Calum could hardly be expected to recognise 'La Noce de Jeanne.'

"It is the master who is not afraid of anything," said the elder of the two men, under his breath.

"Indeed you may say that," rejoined Calum, as he, too, put his pipe in his pocket. "I think he would face old Donas5 himself, and not ask for any allowance."

Young Ross came down the beach.

"Lend a hand here, lads," he sung out, "and we'll take the other boat with us. Maybe we'll be able to do it in one trip; and I'm sure it's a good long sleep both of you will be wanting this night."

They speedily had the second boat launched and shoved along to the slip; then they attached the painter to the one in which they had come ashore; and presently they were pulling both boats quietly out to the Sirène. The gangway was open. Ross and the elder of the two men stepped on board; and proceeded to remove the skylight of the chief cabin – Calum securing the boats by the side of the yacht. And then began the final business of the expedition – the hoisting up on deck and the transferring to the boats alongside of a considerable number of kegs that were small enough to be handled with comparative ease. Young Ross, who was down in the cabin, worked just like the others: slim as his figure seemed, there was plenty of strength about his arms and shoulders. There was no lamp in the cabin, nor yet on deck; nor was there need of any; the black figures labouring away there did very well with the faint illumination shed by those thousands of tremulous stars. And in course of time the operation was complete; the casks that had been skilfully stowed in the main cabin of the Sirène were now ranged as tightly as might be in the boats alongside; then the men stepped in and took to the oars; while the young master went to the tiller. Calum had been told to put a couple of candles in his pocket; and he was not likely to forget that – for they were going to the Cave of the Crowing Cock.

It was a long and laborious pull – the boat astern acting as a heavy drag; moreover, even with this clear starlight, they dared not go anywhere near that saw-toothed reef that guarded the next small bay whither they were bound. They could hear each successive thud of the surge, and the long receding roar; and they could even descry in a kind of way the line of white foam that boiled and churned incessantly along the almost invisible rocks. But once they were round this dangerous point – giving it a significantly wide berth – they found themselves in smooth water again. Not a word was spoken. The two men toiled away at the oars – most likely thinking of the welcome sleep awaiting them when all was done. The land ahead seemed to grow darker as they approached, even as the black precipitous cliffs appeared to soar higher and higher into the clear starlit skies. Then there was a whispering of water: the beach was near. Young Ross bade them pull more gently now: he was trying to make out the most suitable landing-place – in amongst those mysterious shadows.

Eventually the two boats were grounded, and dragged up to be secure from the tide; while the work of getting the kegs out began.

"Calum," said the young master, "take the candles now and get them lighted; and mind you do not light them until you are well inside the cave."

Calum appeared to receive this commission very unwillingly; at all events he hesitated.

"It is asking for your pardon I am, sir," said he; "but – I have brought a pistol with me."

"A pistol? And why so?" said Donald Ross.

"It is the pistol that I would like to be firing into the cave," said Calum, rather timidly, "before any of us went into it."

"And what is your reason for that, Calum?"

Calum rather hung his head; but he said all the same —

"If there would be wild beasts in the cave, it will scare them before we go in."

"Wild beasts? And what wild beasts are there in Eilean Heimra?" Then the young man laughed. "Calum, is it a badger, or a wild cat, or an otter that you fear? Or is it not rather the Dark Person you are afraid of, who used to come every night to Lochgarra to ask Mr. Stanley if he was not ready yet? Did you believe that story, Calum; and did you not think the Dark Person very foolish to talk Gaelic to Mr. Stanley, when he was not understanding a word of it?"

Calum did not answer: he was shamefacedly awaiting permission to fire into that dreaded place.

"Well, well, Calum," young Ross said, good-naturedly, "you are not long from your mother's apron-string: if you are afraid, give me the candles, and keep the pistol in your pocket. Give me the candles – and lend Coinneach here a hand with the kegs."

But at this Calum raised his head.

"Indeed that will I not do," said he, "for it is not Mr. Ross that must go first into the cave, when I am here, or when Coinneach is here. If I am not to fire the pistol, then I will not fire the pistol. But it's myself that am going to light the candles in the cave."

"And a lucifer-match, Calum," said the young master, turning away from him, "will frighten wild beasts as well as any pistol – besides making a great deal less noise."

The Uamh coilich na glaodhaich was only a few yards distant; but the entrance to it was concealed by a huge mass – a perpendicular pinnacle – of rock; and when Calum had got behind this gigantic natural screen, there were no more cheerful stars to guide him; he was confronted by darkness and unknown terrors. And yet he scrupulously obeyed his instructions. His trembling fingers, it is true, grasped the pistol, but he kept it in his pocket nevertheless; while with his left hand he groped his way well into the cave – dreading at every moment to see two fiery eyes glaring on him – before he set to work to light the candles. And how feeble and ineffectual were the small red flames in this vast cavern! Their flickering hardly showed the roof at all; but it was not the roof that Calum was regarding; it was the far-reaching and black abyss in front of him, that led – whither? Perhaps the inhabitants of that other world could see better than himself, and were now regarding him? – that other world in which the dawn began in the middle of the night, and where there were cocks crowing when all the natural universe was asleep. He had to fasten each lighted candle into the neck of a bottle that had been left there for the purpose; but all the while he did so he was staring into that vague and awful space that the feeble, dull red glow did not seem to penetrate at all – staring into it as if he expected to find two white eyes and a ghastly countenance suddenly become visible. And then again, when he had placed the bottles on a shelf of rock that ran along one side of the cave, a few feet from the ground, he did not instantly turn and go. He retreated backward – cautiously, for the shelving shingle was loose and slippery – keeping his face towards that hollow darkness, so that he might guard himself against any strange thing, or be warned by hearing any strange noise. Then a colder stirring of air told him that he was outside; he made his way past the over-looming rock and into the clear star-light again; and with a beating heart – but a thankful heart withal – he went quickly along the beach and rejoined his companions.

By this time the kegs had been all got out; so that in case of any sudden danger, of which they appeared to have but little dread, the three of them could have jumped into one of the boats and made off. There remained, therefore, only the task of carrying along the casks and stowing them in the cave; and this work young Ross left to the two men. He remained on watch – if watch were needed – pacing up and down the shingle, looking at the far resplendent heavens and the darker sea, and listening to the continuous murmur of the distant surf. He had lit his pipe, too; he did not seem to have much apprehension of being interfered with. And indeed all went well; and in due course of time the two dark figures came along the beach with the intelligence that all the kegs had been safely stowed, and that they were now ready to row the master back to his own home.

"Coinneach," said Donald Ross, seated at the helm, when they were some way out on the black and tumbling water, that glanced and quivered here and there with the reflections of the stars, "they were telling me before we left in the yacht that the lady was shortly coming to Lochgarra House."

"And indeed I heard the same thing myself," said Coinneach, "and they were making ready at the big house for the coming of the Englishwoman."6

"And I have no doubt," the master continued, "that Purdie will come with her, to show her the property, and introduce her to the people."

"The Little Red Dwarf," said Coinneach; and then he muttered to himself: "It is the lowermost floor of hell that I am wishing for him, and for every one of his accursed house!"

Young Ross of Heimra took no notice of this pious ejaculation.

"Now listen," said he. "This is what I wish to say to you, Coinneach. When Purdie comes to Lochgarra with the lady who is the new proprietor, that would be a very good time indeed for widow Mac Vean to ask them to give her a cow in place of the one that she lost in the Meall-na-Fearn bog. Maybe they will give the poor woman a cow; and she will pay them back bit by bit if they allow her time."

"It is of no use asking the Little Red Dwarf for anything," said Coinneach, sullenly. "There is no goodwill in his heart towards the people. Nor is there any goodwill in their hearts towards him – God forbid that there should be any such thing. Indeed, now, there is something I could say about the Little Red Dwarf – But it does not serve to talk."

"What were you going to say, Coinneach?" the young master demanded – knowing Coinneach's ways.

"Oh, perhaps Mr. Ross would not like to hear," said Coinneach, evasively.

"Indeed, but I wish to hear. Now what is it you have to tell me about the Troich Bheag Dhearg?"

Coinneach was silent for a second or two.

"Well," said he, slowly, "it was some of the young lads they were saying that it only wanted a word from Mr. Ross. Yes; they were saying that. It was just a word from Mr. Ross; and they would see that the Little Red Devil did not trouble anyone any more, neither in this nor in any other country."

"Oh, indeed," said the master, placidly. "Then it is a murder the Gillie Ciotach and the rest of them are for planning – is that what you have to tell me?"

"I would not give a thing a bad name," said Coinneach, as he laboured at the oar. "No, no; they were not talking of a murder, or any bad thing like that. But – but there might be an accident; and a very good thing, too, if an accident happened to the Little Red Dwarf!"

"And what kind of an accident?"

"Oh well," said Coinneach, looking away out to the horizon as if the suggestion might come from any quarter. "Maybe he would be riding home on a dark night; and maybe there might be a wire stretched across the road; and if he was to break his neck, who could help that? And it is I who would laugh to hear that he had broken his neck; indeed I would laugh!" said Coinneach, though there was little laughter in his sombre tones.

"And that is what you call an accident, Coinneach? It is an accident that might end in your finding yourself with a hempen collar round your neck. And what was it set the young men talking like that?"

"Oh well, indeed, they were talking about the draining of the loch and the pulling down of Castle Heimra; and they were saying that nowadays the law was being altered by the people themselves, and that right and justice could be done without waiting for the courts. They were saying that. And they were saying that we have come into a new time, which is the truth. They were speaking of the people over there in the Lews; and the last that was heard was that the people would not wait any longer for more pasture to be given them; they would not wait for the courts; they were going to take the deer-forest to themselves, and hamstring every one of the stags – them that they could not eat; and they had got their tents and baggage ready, to go into the forest and take possession. In former times they would not have dared to do so; but times are different now; and people have not to wait for justice; it is they themselves who must say what is right, whether about the Little Red Dwarf, or anything else. They were telling me that. And who was to put the crofters and cottars out of the deer-forest over there in the Lews? Not all the policemen in the island: there are not enough. And if they were to send soldiers, the Queen's soldiers dare not fire on the Queen's subjects, or the officer would be hanged. That was what they were telling me."

"Coinneach," said the young master, "if the Gillie Ciotach and his companions are talking like that, they will be getting themselves into trouble one of these days. They'd better let the Little Red Dwarf alone; for one thing, I dare say he is safe enough; the devil looks after his own brats. But do not forget what I am telling you now – about Mrs. Mac Vean. Old Martha will be wanting you to go over to the mainland to-morrow; and when you are there, you can seek out Mrs. Mac Vean, and bid her tell the factor how her cow was lost in the Meall-na-Fearn bog. She can do no harm by asking."

"It's very little she will get from the Troich Bheag Dhearg," said Coinneach, gloomily, "whether by asking or any other way."

At last the long pull was over; and the men, having landed the master at the slip, set out again for the yacht. Young Ross of Heimra went up to the house. But before going in, he paused at the porch, to have a final look at the wonderful glories of that vast firmament – the throbbing Sirius low down in the south, the gleaming belt and sword of Orion, the powdered diamond-dust of the Pleiades, the jewelled head of Medusa, Cassiopeia's silver throne. And perhaps he was not thinking so much of those distant and shining worlds as of her who had first taught him their various names – of the worse than widowed woman who had shut herself up here in proud isolation, himself her only care. Well, she was at peace now; her wrongs and sufferings and bitter memories all come to an end; surely there was nothing but quiet and sweet slumber around that white grave-stone, far up there on the top of the cliff, overlooking the wide and lonely western seas.

CHAPTER IV.

THE BAINTIGHEARNA

Next morning Mary went eagerly and joyously to the window, for here indeed was a welcome change: no more louring heavens and streaming roads, but a vast expanse of wind-driven sea, blue as the very heart of a sapphire, and yet with innumerable sudden flashes of white from the crest of its swift-hurrying waves. The sky cloudless; the fresh breeze blowing straight in from the Atlantic; the world all shining around her; even those long spurs and headlands, sterile as they were, looked quite cheerful in the prevailing sunlight. And out yonder, too, was the island of Heimra, to which her eyes would go back again and again with a curious interest. She thought of the lone mother, and of the boy brought up like a wild goat among the rocks. And if he had turned out a reckless and unscrupulous ne'er-do-well, an Ishmael with his hand against every man, well, that was a deplorable thing, though perhaps not to be wondered at; moreover it could matter little to her what such an outcast might think of her or of her family; but, nevertheless, deep down in her heart, there was an odd and ever-recurring feeling of compunction. She wished to be able to say "I am sorry." Certainly it was not she who had destroyed the last relic and monument of the ancient name – who had drained the loch and levelled the old stronghold with the ground; and he must know that; but she wished him to know more; she wished him to know how indignant she had been when she first heard of that monstrous and iniquitous act of vandalism. And then again (as she still stood gazing at the island out there in the wide blue waters, with the white foam springing high in the sunlight along its southern coasts) it seemed to her that she rather feared meeting this man. Rude and lawless and mannerless, might he not laugh at her stumbling apologies? Or in his Highland pride he might scorn her southern birth, and vouchsafe no word in reply? Well, being sorry was all that remained for her; what was done could not be undone; it was not within her power to bring back Castle Heimra from that waste of ruin.

She had got up very early, but she did not care to waken Kate, who was no doubt tired with the long drive of yesterday; she thought instead she would quietly slip outside and have some little investigation of her surroundings. So she quickly finished dressing; went down and through the lofty oak hall; passed out upon the stone terrace, and from thence descended into the garden, where she found herself quite alone. The air was sweet and soft; there was a pleasant scent of newly-delved earth; and everywhere there was abundant evidence that the Spring had already come to this sheltered space – for there were masses of daffodils and primroses and wallflower all aglow in the warm sunlight, and there were bunches of blossom on the cherry-trees trained up the high stone wall. She went away down to the end of the garden, opened a door she found there, and, passing through, entered the wilder solitude of the woods. And ever as she wandered idly and carelessly along, the sense that she was the mistress and owner of all these beautiful things around her seemed to grow on her and produce a certain not unnatural joy and pride. For the moment she had forgotten all the problems in human nature and in economics that lay ahead of her; here she had all the world to herself – this picturesque world of silver-grey rock, and golden gorse, and taller larch and spruce, all dappled with sun and shadow, while the fresh odours of the Spring were everywhere around, and a stirring of the new life of the year. And then, when she had fought her way through the thick underwood to the summit of one of the westward-looking cliffs – behold! the dark blue sea, and the sunny headlands, and Eilean Heimra, with its thunder-shocks of foam. Heimra island again; it seemed to be always confronting her; but however long she might gaze in that direction, there was no sign of any white-winged yacht coming sailing out into the blue.

And then she scrambled down from this height to the water's edge; and here she discovered a most sequestered little haven – a small, semicircular bay sheltered from the land-winds by rocks and trees, while the pellucid green sea broke in ripples of silver along the cream-white and lilac pebbles. A most solitary spot – quiet, and sunny, and peaceful: she began to think that whatever might be done with other portions of her property, she would keep this little bit of picturesque seclusion entirely for herself. This, surely, could be of no use to anybody – the pebbly beach, the rocks purple-black with mussels or olive-green with seaweed, the clear water whispering along the shore. Political economy should not follow her hither; here would be her place of rest – her place of dreaming – when she was done with studying the wants of others, and wished to commune with her own soul.

But all of a sudden she found she was not alone: an apparition had become visible – a solitary figure that had quietly come round the rocky point, and was now regarding her with dumb apprehension. This was a girl of about five-and-twenty, who had something of an Irish cast of face: fair-complexioned, freckled, a tilted nose, grey eyes wide-apart and startled-looking, and curly light-brown hair that was mostly concealed by the scarlet shawl she wore round her head and shoulders. She regarded Miss Stanley with obvious fear, and did not advance; her eyes, that had the timidity of a wild animal in them, had something more than that; they seemed to say that the poor creature was but half-witted. Nevertheless the young proprietress instantly concluded that this was one of "her people," and that, therefore, she was bound to make friends.

"Good morning!" said Mary, and she brought her wonder-working smile and dimple into play, as well she knew how.

A quick light, of wonder and pleasure, sprang into the girl's eyes. She came forward a little way, timidly. She smiled, in a pleading sort of fashion. And then she ventured to hold out her hand, timidly. Mary went forward at once.

"I am very glad to make your acquaintance," she said, in her bland tones, "and you must tell me who you are."

But the girl, taking the hand that was offered to her, bent one knee and made a humble and profound curtsy (where she could have learnt this trick it is hard to say), and then she uplifted her smiling and beseeching eyes to the great lady (who was considerably taller than she), and still held her hand, and repeated several times something that sounded like Bentyurna veen – Bentyurna veen.7

"I am very sorry I don't know Gaelic," said Mary, rather disappointedly. "Don't you know a little English?"

The girl still held her hand, and patted it; and looked into her face with pleased and wistful eyes; and again she was addressed as Bentyurna veen. And then, in this unknown tongue, something more was said, of which Mary could only make out the single word Heimra.

"Oh, do you come from Heimra island?" she asked, quickly.

But of the girl's further and rapid speech she could make nothing at all. So she said —

"I am really very sorry; but I don't know any Gaelic. Come with me to the house, and I will get some one to speak between us. Come with me, to Lochgarra House, do you understand?"

The girl smiled, as if in assent; and thereupon the two of them set out, following a winding path through the woods that eventually brought them to the garden gate. But here a curious incident occurred. Mary opened the gate, and held it for her unknown friend to follow; but at the same moment the girl caught sight of Mr. Purdie, who had come along for instructions, and was now in the garden awaiting Miss Stanley's return. The instant that this stranger girl beheld the Little Red Dwarf, she uttered a quick cry of terror, and turned and fled; in a moment she was out of sight in the thick underwood. Mary stood still, astounded. It was no use her trying to follow. And so, after a second or two of bewilderment, she turned and went on to the house, saying a few words to Mr. Purdie in passing, but not with reference to this encounter. Some instinct suggested that she ought to seek for information elsewhere.

When she went into the dining-room she found that Käthchen had come down, and also that Barbara was bringing in breakfast.

"Barbara," said she, "do you know of a girl about here who seems to be not quite in her right mind, poor thing? A fair-complexioned girl, who wears a red shawl round her head and shoulders – "

"Oh, that was just Anna Chlannach8 that Miss Stanley would be seeing," said Barbara, in her soft-spoken way.

"And does she come from Heimra Island?" was the next question.

"Oh, no, she is not from Eilean Heimra," said Barbara. "Maybe she would be speaking to Miss Stanley, and it is about her mother she would be speaking. Her mother died about two years ago; but Anna thinks she has been changed into one of the white sea-birds that fly about Eilean Heimra, and that she is coming back, and so she goes along the shore and watches for her. That is what she would be saying to Miss Stanley."