[#] The chorus of this gay ditty has been thus Englished:"We will take the good old way,We will take the good old way,We will take the good old way,The way that lies before us;Climbing stiff the heathery ben,Winding swiftly down the glen,Should we meet with strangers then,Their gear will serve to store us!"And now they came upon Iain the policeman—bland, benign, complacent as usual. Iain had remained some little way apart, to let the rioters go by; his share in the day's proceedings had been limited to a discreet and not unamiable observation."What are you doing here?" said Mary. "Why did you not interfere before they had set the huts on fire? Don't you see the mischief that has been done?"There was a whimsical, demure smile in Iain's eyes."I could not be tekkin up all them men," said he."Then what are you put here for at all?" she demanded. "Why did they send you to Lochgarra if you have no authority? What use are you in the place?"Iain was far too smooth-tempered to take any umbrage. He did not even claim to be of any use."Aw, well," said he—and he lifted up a bit of dried seaweed and slowly pulled it to pieces, "the people about Lochgarra, there is not much harm in them.""Do you call that no harm—setting fire to houses?"Iain hesitated—for he wished to be very respectful."But if the fishermen had no right to build the houses?" he ventured to say, with down-cast eyes, and in the most propitiating tones. "And it was Miss Stanley herself who was telling them that.""Did I tell them to set the houses on fire? Did I tell them to go and fight with sticks and stones? I told them to go and try to get those people away peaceably; and instead of that, here they break out into open riot, and work all the mischief they can, and you stand by and look on!""Aw, well," said Iain, pulling away at the seaweed, "there is not much harm done. There is not more than one or two has got a knock."The hoarse, triumphant chorus—"Gabhaidh sinn an rathad mòrGabhaidh sinn an rathad mòrGabhaidh sinn an rathad mòrOlc air mhath le càch e!"'was growing more distant now; the men were ascending the hill, towards their own homes—or still more likely they were going on to the village, to have a good, solid dram after this great exploit. And here was the waggonette, and Mr. Pettigrew therein, apparently confining his attention to certain slips of paper. When the two young ladies appeared and got into the carriage, the Minister put away his MS.; and when the horses had started for home, he lifted up his high and feminine voice, and said—"It is a sad sight we have seen to-day—a sad sight—angry passions surmounting what should be the calm of the Christian soul—and among those who might well be living in peace and ahmity. And it is well for us who can keep apart, and view these things as a passing vision, and comfort ourselves with pious thoats. 'For they that sleep sleep in the night; and they that be drunken are drunken in the night. But let us, who are of the day, be sober, putting on the breastplate of faith and love: and for an helmet, the hope of salvation.' As for those poor men out at Ru-Minard, I fear they will be as the beasts of the field and the birds of the air in the matter of habitation; but they must seek for higher things; they must say to themselves 'For here have we no continuing city, but we seek one to come!'""You might have gone and tried to save their houses for them!" Mary exclaimed, bitterly.But she would say no more. Indeed, she was silent all the way home. A sense of helplessness, of failure, of despair weighed upon her; all her fine courage and heroic spirit seemed to have fled. When they got to the top of the hill at Minard, she turned and looked towards the long promontory beyond the bay; and there was still a little smoke showing here and there amongst the smouldering ruins. In spite of herself tears rose to her eyes. This was the climax of all her splendid schemes. This was what she had been able to do for the neighbourhood that had been entrusted to her. Might it not be said of her—'The children born of thee are sword and fire,Red ruin, and the breaking up of laws'?How long was it since she had come to Lochgarra?—and this was the end.But as they drove on, they came in sight of Lochgarra Bay; and out there was Eilean Heimra. And no sooner had Mary Stanley's eyes lit on the distant island than something seemed to stir her heart with a proud indignation; and if she had spoken, as she dared not speak, she would have said—"Ah, it is you, it is you out there who are responsible. It is not I. It is you alone who have control over these people; and yet you go and shut yourself up in selfish isolation; and leave me, a woman, to contend, and strive,—and break down!"END OF VOL. I.LONDON: PRINTED BY WILLIAM CLOWES AND SONS, LIMITED,STAMFORD STREET AND CHARING CROSS.*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOKDONALD ROSS OF HEIMRA (VOLUME I OF 3)***
[#] The chorus of this gay ditty has been thus Englished:
"We will take the good old way,We will take the good old way,We will take the good old way,The way that lies before us;Climbing stiff the heathery ben,Winding swiftly down the glen,Should we meet with strangers then,Their gear will serve to store us!"
"We will take the good old way,
We will take the good old way,
We will take the good old way,
The way that lies before us;
The way that lies before us;
Climbing stiff the heathery ben,
Winding swiftly down the glen,
Should we meet with strangers then,
Their gear will serve to store us!"
Their gear will serve to store us!"
And now they came upon Iain the policeman—bland, benign, complacent as usual. Iain had remained some little way apart, to let the rioters go by; his share in the day's proceedings had been limited to a discreet and not unamiable observation.
"What are you doing here?" said Mary. "Why did you not interfere before they had set the huts on fire? Don't you see the mischief that has been done?"
There was a whimsical, demure smile in Iain's eyes.
"I could not be tekkin up all them men," said he.
"Then what are you put here for at all?" she demanded. "Why did they send you to Lochgarra if you have no authority? What use are you in the place?"
Iain was far too smooth-tempered to take any umbrage. He did not even claim to be of any use.
"Aw, well," said he—and he lifted up a bit of dried seaweed and slowly pulled it to pieces, "the people about Lochgarra, there is not much harm in them."
"Do you call that no harm—setting fire to houses?"
Iain hesitated—for he wished to be very respectful.
"But if the fishermen had no right to build the houses?" he ventured to say, with down-cast eyes, and in the most propitiating tones. "And it was Miss Stanley herself who was telling them that."
"Did I tell them to set the houses on fire? Did I tell them to go and fight with sticks and stones? I told them to go and try to get those people away peaceably; and instead of that, here they break out into open riot, and work all the mischief they can, and you stand by and look on!"
"Aw, well," said Iain, pulling away at the seaweed, "there is not much harm done. There is not more than one or two has got a knock."
The hoarse, triumphant chorus—
"Gabhaidh sinn an rathad mòrGabhaidh sinn an rathad mòrGabhaidh sinn an rathad mòrOlc air mhath le càch e!"'
"Gabhaidh sinn an rathad mòrGabhaidh sinn an rathad mòrGabhaidh sinn an rathad mòrOlc air mhath le càch e!"'
"Gabhaidh sinn an rathad mòr
Gabhaidh sinn an rathad mòr
Gabhaidh sinn an rathad mòr
Olc air mhath le càch e!"'
was growing more distant now; the men were ascending the hill, towards their own homes—or still more likely they were going on to the village, to have a good, solid dram after this great exploit. And here was the waggonette, and Mr. Pettigrew therein, apparently confining his attention to certain slips of paper. When the two young ladies appeared and got into the carriage, the Minister put away his MS.; and when the horses had started for home, he lifted up his high and feminine voice, and said—
"It is a sad sight we have seen to-day—a sad sight—angry passions surmounting what should be the calm of the Christian soul—and among those who might well be living in peace and ahmity. And it is well for us who can keep apart, and view these things as a passing vision, and comfort ourselves with pious thoats. 'For they that sleep sleep in the night; and they that be drunken are drunken in the night. But let us, who are of the day, be sober, putting on the breastplate of faith and love: and for an helmet, the hope of salvation.' As for those poor men out at Ru-Minard, I fear they will be as the beasts of the field and the birds of the air in the matter of habitation; but they must seek for higher things; they must say to themselves 'For here have we no continuing city, but we seek one to come!'"
"You might have gone and tried to save their houses for them!" Mary exclaimed, bitterly.
But she would say no more. Indeed, she was silent all the way home. A sense of helplessness, of failure, of despair weighed upon her; all her fine courage and heroic spirit seemed to have fled. When they got to the top of the hill at Minard, she turned and looked towards the long promontory beyond the bay; and there was still a little smoke showing here and there amongst the smouldering ruins. In spite of herself tears rose to her eyes. This was the climax of all her splendid schemes. This was what she had been able to do for the neighbourhood that had been entrusted to her. Might it not be said of her—
'The children born of thee are sword and fire,Red ruin, and the breaking up of laws'?
'The children born of thee are sword and fire,Red ruin, and the breaking up of laws'?
'The children born of thee are sword and fire,
Red ruin, and the breaking up of laws'?
How long was it since she had come to Lochgarra?—and this was the end.
But as they drove on, they came in sight of Lochgarra Bay; and out there was Eilean Heimra. And no sooner had Mary Stanley's eyes lit on the distant island than something seemed to stir her heart with a proud indignation; and if she had spoken, as she dared not speak, she would have said—
"Ah, it is you, it is you out there who are responsible. It is not I. It is you alone who have control over these people; and yet you go and shut yourself up in selfish isolation; and leave me, a woman, to contend, and strive,—and break down!"
END OF VOL. I.
LONDON: PRINTED BY WILLIAM CLOWES AND SONS, LIMITED,STAMFORD STREET AND CHARING CROSS.
*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOKDONALD ROSS OF HEIMRA (VOLUME I OF 3)***