DMole.
DMole.
John Scarlett laughed loud and long at the record of his iniquities, but his abasement, if at the time as profound as Bess Landsborough made it out to be, had certainly completely passed away. For he cried out: "What a grand memory ye hae for the auld times, Bess! I warrant ye, ye couldna gang ower the points o' Effectual Calling as briskly, nor yet the kings o' Judah and Israel that ye learned on the Sabbath forenichts by the lowe o' the Colmonel peats!"
"But eneuch o' havers," said Bess; "ken ye that yon braw lad o' yours is safe and hearty? Mair than that, he met wi' his bonny lass yestreen. Baith o' them kenswhat love is—a thing that ye never kenned, no, nor will ken to your dying day, John Scarlett."
"Aweel, aweel," replied Scarlett, placably, "at ony rate I am desperate glad that Wat's won oot o' the brash o' the mony waters safe and sound; and as for love, if I kenned nocht aboot it, at least I hae had experience o' some gye fair imitations in my time, that did well eneuch for a puir perishing mortal like me."
*****
On the other hand, Wat on his isle of Fiara had been exceedingly busy all that day. He had chosen a shallow cavern on the most remote northern shore of Fiara, dry and open like the entrance-hall of a house, and into it he had carried a large quantity of fresh and blooming heather, sufficient for the most luxurious couch in the world. This he arranged in a little sheltered alcove to the right of the main chamber, and pleased himself with the simple arrangements, talking to himself all the time.
"By this path she can go down to the sea without being observed. Into this basin I can lead the water that trickles over the rock, so that she may wash on chill or rainy mornings."
He broke off with a quick, nervous laugh at his own thoughts.
"I am speaking as if we were always to dwell together on this island. But the sooner we get away the better it will be for both of us."
Yet, somehow, the imagination of his heart played about this idea of the seclusion of two on the isle of Fiara. For the escape itself Wat had his plans already laid. He knew that Kate was a strong swimmer—indeed, far his own superior at the art. Once in the old days she had beaten him hollow when but a half-grown girl, swimming two miles on the broad spaces of Loch Ken without a sign of fatigue. Scarlett was a more difficult problem. For the stout soldier had always held all that concernedthe water in sovereign contempt, and Wat could see no way of conveying him safely across to the northern island. Yet it was essential for their escape that he should be taken thither, and that at the same time with Kate. For the islanders might be inclined to make short work of their remaining prisoner if they found that the maid, so straitly committed to their charge, had been spirited away.
So before committing himself for the second time to the strange water-gate which led to his beloved, Wat had all the details of his plot arranged. He resolved to make the attempt on the first night when the new moon should be far enough advanced to throw a faint light over the water and temper the darkness of the rock passage. He could construct of driftwood a raft large enough to carry those necessaries with which Bess Landsborough could furnish him out of her scanty stores without attracting attention. The raft would also be at least a partial support for Scarlett. Wat resolved to arrange the method of escape with Bess that very night, and obtain from her the cord before returning. When Wat emerged from the long passage it was perfectly dark. Not even a single star was to be seen. More than once had he scraped himself painfully on the concealed rocks and on the sides of the cavern; upon which he grumbled to himself as even a man in love will do, for he knew that he would feel these hurts very much more acutely on the morrow.
"This will not do at all for Scarlett, though Kate might manage well enough by keeping close to my shoulder," he said, shaking his head, which dripped with the salt-water, for the first break across the sound to the archway had been through a pretty briskly running jabble of spray.
But when Wat came out on the sea-front of Suliscanna he saw an unusual sight. Torches thronged in single file down the pathways. They flashed and crowded aboutthe landing-place, passing and repassing each other. A boat-load of men was just disembarking in the nearer bay; while yet another was dropping down the slack of the ebb, coming from the south of the island and striking in for the shore exactly at the proper moment, like men who knew every turn of the currents.
Wat could hear the clatter of many voices.
Swimming silently and showing no more than the dark thatch of his hair over the water, he approached nearer. He might have been a seal for all the mark he made on the water.
As the torches gathered thicker about the landing-place, Wat could see the flash of arms as one gentleman and another disembarked. Presently a figure in black stepped ashore, and was greeted with a loud shout of welcome and acclaim by the islanders. Wat's heart sank within him, for he recognized his arch-enemy, and he knew that the difficulties of his task would now be infinitely increased. For my Lord of Barra it was indeed, who had at last come to claim his captive. And there behind him, like a hulking lubber-fiend, strode the burly, battered figure of Haxo the Bull, with the Calf and the Killer in close attendance.
Nevertheless, such a panoply is love that Wat's heart did not fail him. He waited till the flare of torches and the tumult of men's voices had withdrawn up the hill over which my Lord of Barra took his way to the house which he occupied during his infrequent visits to the island—a rude strength of stone consisting merely of three or four chambers which had been built after the castle on the rocks below had fallen into disrepair.
Wat swam ashore, keeping well to the right of the landing-place, where two or three men were still busied about the boats, securing them with ropes and getting out what bits of property had been left in them. Wat could not but feel a cold chill strike through his heart when he remembered that the possession of these boats by the islanders, together with their perfect knowledge of all the different states of the tide, would render his position upon the islet of Fiara infinitely more dangerous.
"All the more reason," quoth undaunted Wat, "for us to make the attempt this very night."
So, keeping as before to the short heather above the paths, he made his way silently upward towards Scarlett's dungeon and the dwelling of his love.
He found Bess Landsborough eagerly waiting for him. She dragged him sharply away from the cottages.
"Gang back," she whispered, shaking him almost roughly, as though he were to blame; "ken ye not that the chief has come and there will no' be a soberman on the island this nicht? Even my Alister, if he were to come across ye before morning, would think no more of sticking a knife in ye than of breaking the back of afoumartEwith a muckle stane."
EWeasel.
EWeasel.
"I know that," said Wat, with composure, "and that is the reason why I am going to take both Kate and Scarlett with me to-night."
"The laddie's fair raving," said the woman; "the thing's clear impossible. It canna be dune. Ye will hae to wait—some nicht when they are a' sleepin', maybe."
"I'm not going back alive without Kate McGhie," said Wat. "I cannot leave her with the cruel ravisher, Murdo of Barra—"
"Hoot, laddie," said Bess, "the chief will no' do the lassie ony harm. He's ben the hoose wi' her the noo."
Wat, who had been crouching behind a rock beside Bess Landsborough, at once sprang up and took his dagger bare in his hand. He was setting off in the direction of the hut with the intention of breaking in upon the colloquy of captive and captor, when Bess sprang on him and pulled him down with all the weight of her body about his neck and exerting the utmost strength of her brawny arms.
"Deil's in the laddie! He gangs aff like a spunk o' pooder laid on a peat. The laird's but talkin' wi' the lass in the kitchen, wi' my man Alister sittin' on the dresser, and half the rascaldom o' the Low Countries (well are they designate!) waiting at the door. A word or twa will do your lass little harm, unless she is o' the weak mind, and my lord can persuade her to marry him by the guile of his tongue."
Wat grunted contemptuously. This was the last thing he was afraid of.
"I want," he said, "whatever arms ye can furnish me with, some food of any portable sort—and a rope."
"Save us, laddie!" said Bess, holding up her hands; "ye might just as lief ask me this nicht for the Earldom of Barra."
"I must have them," said Wat, firmly, "if I have to forage for them myself."
"Aweel, I can but do my best," said the woman from Colmonel, resignedly; "but I kenna where I shall get them."
Very cautiously they made their way back to the cottage of Alister.
"Wheesht!" said Bess; "lie cowered behind that stone. They are on their road away. For this nicht surely your lass will be left at peace."
"And after that it will not matter," said Wat, looking cautiously over the edge of the bowlder, "for either we will be safe out of this evil isle, or else she and I will be where Barra and his devils can trouble us no more."
When Bess and Wat reached the dwelling of the son of Alister, they found it fallen strangely silent and dark. Bess went in boldly and promptly. Presently her voice was heard in high debate, and after a pause her husband, as if driven with ignominy from his own house, stumbled past Wat, and began clambering like a cat up the steep rock to the castle dungeon as easily as if he had been walking on a grass meadow by a water-side.
No sooner was he safe out of the way than the door of the hut opened circumspectly.
"Here!" said the mistress of the dwelling, in a far-reaching whisper.
Wat went up to the door-step. Bess Landsborough put out a hand, guided him through the murky intricacies of her outer room, and pushed him into that in which he had met his love the evening before.
Kate was sitting fully dressed on her bed with her headin her hands. She looked up with a sharp little cry as he entered.
"Kate," he whispered, "it is I—Wat."
Whereat she ran to him with a sob of relief that was very sweet to hear, and nestled with her head on his broad shoulder.
"Oh, thank God you have come! All will now be well."
Wat did not feel so sure of that, but, nevertheless, he caressed the clustering curls and held his love to his bosom, murmuring little meaningless words which Kate felt were better to listen to than much wisdom.
Presently Bess Landsborough brought Wat a pair of pistols, a double flask of powder, and a bagful of bullets.
"We must see about getting John Scarlett out of his prison," she said. "I have the victuals all ready. There is a rope behind the dike at the corner that looks to the sea. But ye had better get John Scarlett out first, and then ye can all three lend a hand at the carrying—save us! What's that?"
Bess Landsborough sprang sharply out of the inner room to the door which gave upon the moor.
"Hide ye, Wat Gordon," she said; "here comes some one to visit us."
Kate made Wat lie down between the compacted heather of her couch and the outer wall of the hut. Then she threw a coverlet deftly over him. Wat grasped his dagger bare in his right hand to be ready in any emergency, but his left found a way almost of its own accord through the heather, till in the darkness it rested in Kate's as she sat on the edge of the bed.
"My Lord of Barra," they heard Bess Landsborough say, without, "have ye forgotten aught? We thought you gone to repose yourself after your journey."
"Go find your husband and bring him hither, mistress!" commanded the stern voice of Barra.
"It's no' very like that Bess will gang far frae hame to seek her man, or ony ither man; there's mair than eneuch men in Bess's hoose this nicht!" said Mistress McAlister, under her breath. But with apparent obedience she went out—only, however, to ensconce herself immediately behind the door. She wanted, she said to herself, to "see their twa backs oot o' the kitchen without bloodshed."
Barra advanced boldly to the inner door which opened into Kate's chamber. He paused a moment and knocked lightly. The girl sat still and silent, but her hand gripped that of Wat closer to her side with a quick, instinctive thrill, which made that very true lover clutch his dagger and curse the man that could so wring with terror his sweet maid's heart.
"May I have a moment's private audience with you, Mistress Kate?" said Barra, from the outer room.
Kate did not answer a word.
The master of the island swung back the door and revealed his tall, slender figure, in his usual dress of simple black, standing in the doorway of the outer room. He stooped his head and entered as he did so. The girl instinctively moved a little nearer to Wat and clasped his hand more firmly. A little stifled cry escaped her. Wat cleared his dagger-hilt and made ready to spring upon his enemy. My Lord of Barra in all his checkered life had never been nearer death than he was at that moment. For Wat Gordon was deciding exactly where he would strike his first blow.
"I did not come again hither to alarm you," said Barra, "but that I might more fully vindicate myself alone with you than I could do in the presence of so many witnesses. That which I have done—your transporting from Holland and your seclusion here—I have done with full warrant and justification, not hastily nor yet without due authority."
"I know of no authority," said Kate, at last, speaking firmly, "which could warrant the seizure of a maid who never harmed or offended you, the carrying her off gagged and bound like a felon, sailing with her to another country, and there interning her upon a lonely isle till it should please you to come for her, like a jailer to a captive."
"My lady," said Barra, not without a certain respect in his voice, "I am well aware that I cannot expect you to take my word, for the circumstances are not ripe for me to tell you all. But I ask you to believe that neither disrespect nor passion, nor yet any selfish jealousy, prompted me to these so strange expedients. But on the contrary, a genuine desire for your happiness, and the direct request of those most deeply interested and intimately connected with you."
"And who may they be?" asked Kate, looking at him contemptuously; "I know none who have the right to give you leave to carry off a young maid from her friends at dead of night, with as little ceremony or mercy as Reynard does a gray goose out of the farmer's yard."
"Your father and your mother—are not they authority enough?" answered Barra.
The girl gazed at him in cold disdain.
"My father," she said, "never in his life crossed my will by word or deed. It was, indeed, by his permission and with his help that I went to Holland. And as for my mother, she has been dead and in her resting-grave these twenty years!"
"Nevertheless I had the permission and encouragement of the noble lady, your mother, in that which I have done, though I admit that of your father was a little more belated. That is what I wanted to say. You do not believe me, I am aware, and I am not able at present more particularly to unriddle the mystery. Nevertheless, rest assured that a Lord of Barra does notlie. I bid you good-night. Is it permitted to kiss your hand? Well, then, with all humble duty and observance, I kiss mine to you."
With that Barra bowed and went out backward through the narrow door, as if he had been ushering himself out of a queen's presence-chamber.
In the kitchen he passed Bess Landsborough, who opened on him with a voluble tale of how she had sought her husband high and low without any success, and how it was to be supposed that, like the rest, he had gone to drink his Lordship's health at the muckle house over the hill.
But Barra went by her without a word, and the mistress of Alister McAlister was left speaking to the empty air. She suddenly ceased as he disappeared in the dark, and turned for sympathy to Wat and Kate in the inner room.
"Siccan manners!" she said, indignantly; "they wadna set a Colmonel brood-sow—to gae by a decent woman like that muckle dirt, and yin, too, that had just gane on an errand for him. It's true I gaed nae farther than the back o' the door, but at ony rate he kenned nae better, and cam' back wi' news for his high michty chiefship. It's fair scandalous, that's what it is! Wha hae we here this shot? I declare my hoose is as thrang as a sacrament scailing, when the folk are flocking to the drinking-booths at Stanykirk holy fair."
The visitor on this occasion proved to be her husband Alister. He was already somewhat flushed of cheek and wild of eye.
He paused unsteadily in the middle of the kitchen and flung down a great key on the table.
"Take care of that till the morn's morn," he said. "I would maybe loss it. I am going out to drink till I be drunk."
And with this simple declaration of policy he strode out as he had come.
As soon as he had gone, Bess threw a damp turf over the clear peat fire on the hearth of the outer kitchen, which in a trice raised a dense smoke and rendered everything within dark and gloomy.
"Come awa'," she said, putting her head into the room where Kate, her heart beating wildly with the joy of reprieve and the presence of her beloved, was clinging to Wat's arm, as he stood on the floor with his dagger still ready and bare in his hand. "Haste ye and come away," she said; "there'll be time and to spare when ye get him safe to yourself, my lass, for a hale world o' cuikin' and joein'."
Wat and Kate came out quickly and Bess shut the door behind them. Outside the sharp air off the Atlantic chilled them like a drench of well-water on a summer's day, breathing keenly into their lungs after the close atmosphere of the hut.
They made their way up the steep to the castle. Across the door of the vault where John Scarlett was confined lay the prostrate body of a Celt, inert and stertorous.
Mistress McAlister stirred him with her foot, and then turned him completely over.
"As I thocht," she said, "it is just Misfortunate Colin. It will be an ill day for him the morn. But he is aye in the way o' mischances, onyway. He canna keep clear o' them. If a stane were to slip frae a rock tap in a' the isle, it is on Colin it wad light. If a rope break at the egg-harvest, 'tis Colin that's at the end o' the tow. I think a pity o' him, too—for barrin' the drink and the ill luck, he's a decent soul. But it juist canna be helpit."
So with that Bess undid the door with the key which Alister had thrown upon the table, and then carefully tucked it into the waist-belt of Colin the Misfortunate.
"It's a peety," she said; "but after a' it is a dealmair faceable and natural that the like o' this should hae happened to Colin than to ony ither man in the isle."
Jack Scarlett lay on his bed of heather tops, wrapped in his plaid, and slept the sleep of the easy of conscience.
"What's a' the tirrivee?"Fhe growled, when Wat shook him. "Get up and escape—what's the terrible fyke and hurry? Disturbin' a man in his first sleep. Surely, ye could either hae comed afore he fell ower or let him hae his sleep oot. A man's health is afore a'thing when it comes to my time o' life. And it is no havers and nonsense—far frae't! But ye hae no consideration, Wat Gordon—never had, ever since I kenned ye."
FUnnecessary disturbance.
FUnnecessary disturbance.
So, growling and grumbling as was his wont, old Jack gathered his belongings together with soldierly practicality, pocketing the remains of his evening's meal, and bringing all sorts of treasures out of numberless hiding-places here and there about his dungeon.
"Now I am at your service," he said, as he stood erect.
As the party filed out of the low dungeon door, each of them of necessity stepped over the prostrate body of Misfortunate Colin. The fates that sport with destiny had offered him up a sacrifice to the wrath of his chief, in order that luckier men might go scatheless.
"It micht just as weel hae been Alister, my man!" said Bess; "for he will be as drunk as the lave, or maybe a kennin waur! But then Alister has been a fortunate man a' his days—no' like that puir tyke there that never supped meal porridge but he choked himsel' wi' the spoon!"
It was a night clear and infinite with stars when the four—Kate, Wat, Scarlett, and Bess—took up each their share of the arms and provisions, which the last-named had provided in the shelter of the dike. The air was still. There was no sound save the ceaseless soughing whisper of the mighty salt river as it rushed northward past the isle—the strange pervading sound of the Suck gurgling afar like the boiling of a pot. Only at intervals and from a distance came the shouting of choruses and the loud "Hooch!" of some reveller yet in the active stages of drinking long life and prosperity to the returned chieftain.
As soon as they had passed the ridge and left the village behind them, Wat paused for a consultation.
"'Tis little use," he said, "to think of making a raft at this time of night. Yet certain it is that we must beclear of the isle by the morning—that is, if one of us is to remain alive."
"I for ane am gaun to bide on Suliscanna!" said Mistress McAlister.
"There is but one way that I can think of," continued Wat, not heeding her; "there are two boats at the landing-place. I saw the men unloading them when I landed to-night. Now we could not take the larger of these into the tide-race, but if the tide be favorable we might seize the smaller and pilot it through the sea-cavern, by which I came hither, to my hiding-place on the isle of Fiara."
Jack Scarlett nodded silent assent as he listened to Wat's suggestion. The night-air had restored all his confidence, and he felt ready for anything. So on the darksome ridge overlooking the landing-place the two women were left to consume their souls with impatience, while Wat and Scarlett, with their daggers in their hands, stole stealthily down to effect their desperate capture.
The boats lay together on the inner side of a little stone breakwater. They were not drawn up on the beach, but secured stem and stern with ropes, and floated in the gentle undulation of the tide. Wat and Scarlett strained their eyes into the darkness for a sight of any watch. But spite of the stars, the night was too impenetrable for them to distinguish the presence of any human being on board.
Wat dropped into the water, having left his powder and shot, together with the pistols, in the care of Scarlett. He swam a few strokes out to the boat and listened. In the larger he could clearly distinguish the breathing of two men. The other appeared to be entirely empty. Promptly Wat cut the cord which secured the stem, and let that boat fall away and swing round with her head towards the shore. Then beckoning Scarlett, whose figure he could discern black against the sand of thebeach, Wat stepped on board. Scarcely was he over the side when his foot trod on the soft body of a man. Wat was on him in a moment and had the fellow by the throat. But the helpless gurgle of his respiration, and the pervading smell of Hollands which disentangled itself from every part of his person, convinced Wat that he had nothing to fear from the crew of this boat.
There remained the other and larger, which was anchored farther out in the water of the little harbor. Cautiously Wat lifted the small double-pronged anchor, which still held their first prize. Scarlet waded in and was helped over the side. The tide swept them slowly round towards the larger vessel in which Wat had heard the breathing of men. Presently their boat went groaning and wheezing against the side-planks of her companion. Wat promptly and silently secured his position with the five-pronged boat-anchor which he had kept beside him for the purpose.
Scarlett and he were on board in a moment, and Wat found himself in the heat of a combat with a man who struck at him with a bar of iron as he came over the side. But the striker's companion did not move to his assistance, and with Wat's hand at his throat and Scarlett's knee on his breast, resistance was very brief indeed. A lantern was burning inside a small coil of ropes. This Wat folded in the cloak with which the sleepy-headed watch had been covering themselves in the bottom of the boat, and let a ray of its light fall on the faces of his captives. Both were known to him. They were the Calf and the Killer, the two inevitable scoundrels of Haxo the Bull's retinue.
"What shall we do with these fellows?" said Wat, looking up, disgustedly.
"Sink them with the boat," said Scarlett, promptly.
Wat shook his head. They lay so still and they looked so helpless—even the Killer, who had struck at Wat,was now resting his head on the thwart in perfect unconsciousness.
"We must get the drunken scoundrels ashore somehow," said Wat.
"We will tie them together with the rope, turn them over the side, and haul them ashore with the slack," said Scarlett; "and if it chance to break, why, so much the better." Without another word the master-at-arms set to work, packing the Calf and the Killer together as if they had been a couple of trussed chickens, exploring their pockets for plunder as he did so.
"Let the poor rascals' wallets alone, Jack!" cried Wat, indignantly.
"Nay, lad," quoth Scarlett, with imperturbable philosophy, possessing himself as he spoke of a clasp-knife and a flagon of strong waters, "the art of forage and requisition from the enemy is of the very essence of war, as the great Condé used often to say."
Presently Scarlett paid out the spare rope to Wat, who took it ashore with him. The bodies dropped without a splash into the water, and Wat, aided by the current, soon brought them to land and hauled them out of the water on to the pebbles. Then came Scarlett with a couple of balls of tow for plugging seams, which he thrust with gusto into their mouths.
"That will keep things safe," he said. "I trust neither of these good gentlemen is afflicted with a cold in his head, or else he might be liable to choke, and so find himself in warmer and drier quarters at his awaking!"
But the Calf and the Killer lay like brothers in each other's arms, breathing gently and equably.
There remained but the man on the first and smaller boat. Wat climbed back to him. He had not stirred. Then Lochinvar let a single ray of the Killer's lantern fall on his face. He whistled softly at what he saw, and beckoned Scarlett. It was none other than Wise JanPettigrew who lay there, overcome by the potency of the spirits supplied by the Chief of Suliscanna.
Wat now went back to the women. He found them where they had been left, and Kate hurried forward.
"You are not hurt, Wat?" she said, anxiously, taking him by the hand, "nor Scarlett?"
"No," said Wat; "but we must hasten to the boats. We have taken them both safely."
So the two women accompanied him down to the harbor. Scarlett had meanwhile been getting all the useful cargo out of the larger boat, and by this time he had it piled up promiscuously about the unconscious body of Wise Jan.
Before Kate went aboard the elder woman clung to her and kissed her in the darkness.
"My lassie, are ye feared?"
"Feared?" said Kate, "why should I be afraid; am I not all his? I would not be feared to go to the world's end with him."
Bess Landsborough sighed as if that did not greatly improve the case, but she only said: "God keep you, my lassie, and let me see you soon again. I declare ye hae grown to be the very light o' my e'en ever since I took ye first to my arms in the cabin o' theSea Unicorn."
It was the plan of Wat and Scarlett to take both boats as far out to sea as possible, to scuttle one there, and then to make trial of the dangerous passage of the sea-cave with the smaller and more easily handled vessel.
The tide was now on the strong ebb, and there was a smart swirl of current setting through the narrow entrance of the harbor. Wat cut the rope of the larger boat which alone secured her to the shore.
"God in heaven bless you, good friend of ours!" said Wat, stooping to kiss the rough brave woman who had so loyally helped them, "till we can all be happy together in our own country."
"Na," she said, "fare ye weel forever; I hae to bide by Alister, my man. I shall see your faces nae mair. O, my bairn, my bairn!"
And the heartsome, snell—tongued, tender woman turned away with the tears falling fast upon the bosom of her gown.
Wat pushed off in the smaller boat, with the larger towing behind, and, being empty, standing much higher out of the water. The current caught them. The next moment the hiss of the ebb under their counter sank to silence. The talking sound of the ripples along their sides ceased. The boats were going out with the tide, and Wat had nothing to do but sit and guide them.
It was wonderful how clear it was outside, even a short distance away from the loom of the land. They kept close in to the shore, and at first the ebb seemed to favor them, for they made way rapidly, drifting towards the mouth of the goë by which they must enter the water-cavern, and attempt that dangerous passage through to the isle of Fiara.
By keeping close in shore they found themselves in a sort of canal of deep water, at least fifty feet across, beyond which the tide and the underlying rocks strove together on the edge of the Suck, throwing up short foam-crested waves as on a sand-bar.
Wat was now about to attempt a dangerous feat. It was manifestly impossible that they could tow the larger boat through the narrows of the goë. And yet to leave it on the beach was simply to put facilities for pursuit into the hands of men inflamed to the highest degree by the thought of revenge and the anger of their chief, as well as perfectly acquainted with every state of the tide and at home in the swirl of the multitudinous currents.
"WAT PUSHED OFF IN THE SMALLER BOAT"
"WAT PUSHED OFF IN THE SMALLER BOAT"
Wat had resolved to destroy the larger boat on the edge of the tide-race, so that even if she did not sink at once she would be carried far past the island of Suliscanna.He therefore put the skiff in which he and Scarlett were rowing boldly in the direction of the broken water of the tide-race. He well knew the danger, yet for the sake of their future safety on Fiara he resolved to risk it.
The tide fairly thundered as it tore northward, and when they drew near to it time and again Scarlett glanced apprehensively over his shoulder. A thin, misty drizzle of spray as from a water-fall began to fall on their faces. Right ahead of them appeared the foam-flecked back of the Suck, like a river in spate rushing out into the smooth waters of a lake. They could see the breakers ahead of them flashing palely white in the starlight, and hear the bullers crying aloud to each other along the shore.
Suddenly Wat stopped rowing.
"Back water, Jack!" he cried. "I am going into the big boat astern to scuttle her. Hand me the mallet. I must loosen that Portsmouth sea-lawyer." This was a long cross-headed plug which stopped up a hole in the boat's bottom, and which commonly was concealed from sight by the planks covering the bilge at the stern.
Two blows were sufficient to make the "Portsmouth lawyer" quit his grip. The plug had apparently only been adjusted that day, and had indeed never been properly driven home. But Wat was not content with this. He seized the axe which he found on board, and drove it vigorously through the planking of the sides, low down below the water-line, till the salt-water came bubbling up. Then he hauled in the rope by which the boat was attached to the lighter skiff in which Kate and Scarlett sat. As the prow of the scuttled boat touched the stern of the other, Wat stepped on board with the hatchet in his hand. Then with a sharply trenchant "chip" he severed the tow-rope, and the doomed boat instantly fell away towards the white line of the breakers which they had so perilously skirted.
"Now let us get out of this," said Scarlett, who had grown palpably uneasy. "One cooling experience of the Suck of Suliscanna is enough for me."
Their smaller boat came about just in time. They could see the derelict snatched like a feather and whirled away by the rush of imperious water. The noise of the roaring of the Suck became almost deafening. To seaward they still caught glimpses of their late consort, rolling this way and that amid numberless jets and hillocks of sparkling and phosphorescent water. Now she ascended with a dancing motion. Anon the fountains of the deep boiled and hissed and curled over her as she lumbered on to her doom. Then as she gradually took in water she lurched more and more heavily, till at last they saw her stern stand black against the sky, for a moment shutting out the stars, as she filled and sank.
"Handsomely done! Now straight for the entrance of the water-cave, and ho for the isle of Fiara!" cried Wat, who began with every stroke to feel himself drawing clear of the multiplied dangers of the night. Yet the most difficult part of the passage was still to come.
All the while Kate sat silent and watchful in the stern. Wat and Scarlett were at the oars. Scarlett used the unconscious Jan for an excellent stretcher as he laid himself to his work. So strong was the north current even there that they had to pull hard for a moment or two lest they should be carried past the goë which formed the entranceto the water-cavern through which they must pass to their city of refuge.
"There!" at last cried Wat, indicating the dark break in the cliff-line with a certain pride, as they came almost level with the mouth of the passage, and saw vast sombre walls rising solemnly on either side of that black lane of sea-water, sown with phosphorescent sparks, which stretched before them.
Presently they were shut within, as it had been by the turning of a wrist. The stars went out above. The waters slept. The air was still as in a chamber. The soughing roar of the Suck of Suliscanna died down to a whisper and then was heard no more.
"Stand up, Jack, and paddle for your life!" commanded Wat. He had often enough crossed Loch Ken in this manner, after having read Captain John Smith's Adventures in Virginia with profit and pleasure.
"'Fore the prince!" cried Scarlett, indignantly; "I had just learned one way of it, sitting with my nose to the rear-guard, which as soon as I can make shift to do without the oar taking me in the stomach—lo, I am sharply turned about and bidden begin all over again with my face to the line of advance!"
"Stop talking—get up and do it!" cried Wat, impatiently; "grumble when we get through. This is no sham fight on the common of Amersfort with the white-capped young frows sitting on benches at their knitting."
Obediently Scarlett rose, grasped his oar short in his hands, and imitated as best he could in the darkness Wat's long sweeping stroke past the side of the boat, as he stood and conned the passage from the stem.
The tunnel seemed long to Wat, who had formerly swum it swiftly enough with thoughts of Kate singing in his head. The dark dripping walls on either side of them stretched on interminably. Ever a denser dark seemed to envelop them. The gloom and weight ofrocks above them shut them in. They had dived, as it seemed, into the very earth-bowels as soon as ever the boat swam noiselessly into the arched blackness of the water-cavern.
"Now take your oar by the middle and stand by to push off if we come too near to the rocks on either side," commanded Wat, from the prow.
"Aye, aye, sir," cried Scarlett, taking good-humoredly the sailor's tone and using words he had heard on his sea voyages. "Belay the binnacle and part the ship's periwig abaft the main-mast!"
He muttered the last part of the sentence below his breath, and Wat, who straddled in the narrow angle of the stem, peering eagerly ahead and paddling to either side, was far too anxious to give heed.
Suddenly the boat bumped heavily on a hidden obstacle. Scarlett went forward over a thwart and his oar fell overboard, and doubtless the latter would have floated away but for Kate's ready hand, which rescued it and brought it aboard, dripping sea-water from blade to handle.
"Let me help," she said; "I can see very well in the dark."
"Agreed," answered Scarlett, with infinite relief. "Old Jack is noways fond of butting at his enemies with a steering-oar in a rabbit-hole."
So he took Kate's place in the stern, while the girl stood erect and picked the words of command from Wat—sometimes even venturing to advise him when with her more delicate perceptions she felt, more than saw, that they were approaching the shadowy-green phosphorescent glimmer where the water floor met the walls of the cave.
No sooner had they struck than a cloud of sea-fowl flew out about them, their wings beating in their faces, and the birds themselves stunning them with deafening cries. But presently, with protesting calls and roopy whistlings,the evicted inhabitants settled back again to their roosting-places.
As they went on the boat began to feel the incoming heave of the outer swell. A new freshness, too, came to them in the air which blew over the low island of Fiara straight into the great archway out of which they were presently floating.
So with Wat and his sweetheart standing erect paddling the boat, they passed out of the rock-fast gloom into the heartsome clatter of the narrow Sound of Fiara. On either side of it the cliffs rose measurelessly above them, and Fiara itself was a blue-black ridge before them. But Wat had crossed the strait too often to have any fear, so bidding Kate sit down, he settled the oars in the rowlocks to cross the stronger current to be expected there.
Presently, and without further difficulty, they came to the little indentations in the rock, almost like rudely cut steps, where Wat had slipped into the water to swim across when first he made his venture towards Suliscanna.
"Here we will disembark the stores," said he.
And Scarlett was safely put ashore to receive them as Wat handed them out, while Kate held the boat firmly with the boat-hook to the side of the little natural pier. Then the still unconscious Jan was tossed behind a bowlder to sleep off his strong waters, with as scant ceremony as if he had been a bale of goods.
"Now, Kate," said Wat when all had been landed.
The girl took Scarlett's hand and lightly leaped ashore. Her eyes served her better in the dark than those of either of the men.
But a new danger occurred to Wat.
"We cannot leave the boat here," he said; "it might be driven away, or, what is worse, spied from the top of the tall rocks of Lianacraig. Listen, Scarlett. I am going to paddle it across to the cave, anchor it out therein a safe place, and swim back. I shall not be away many minutes. Look to Kate till I return."
"Better say 'Kate, look to old blind Jack!'" muttered Scarlett. "He is good for nought in this condemnable dark but to stumble broadcast and bark his poor bones. But I'll take my regimental oath the lass sees like a marauding grimalkin at midnight."
Wat was half-way across the strait or thereby by the time Scarlett had finished, and again the darkness of the great rock-shaft swallowed him up. Being arrived within the archway, he searched about for a recess wide enough to let the boat swing at her stem and stern anchors without knocking her sides against the rock. He was some time in finding one, but at last a fortunate essay to the left of the entrance conducted him into a little landlocked dock just large enough for his purpose. Here he concealed and made fast his prize before once more slipping into the water to return to the island of Fiara. Wat swam back with a glad and thankful heart. He had now brought both his sweetheart and his friend to the isle of safety—safety which for the time at least was complete. He had a vessel on either side of his domains, and the enemy on the larger island possessed no boat which would enable them to reach his place of shelter—that is, supposing them as ignorant as the Suliscanna islanders of the wondrous rock-passage underneath Lianacraig. Truly he had much reason to be proud of his night's work.
Kate was standing ready to give him her hand as he drew himself out of the water upon the rocks. He could see her slender figure dark against the primrose flush of the morn. But he wasted no time either in love-making or salutations. They must have all their stores carried over the southern beach by daybreak, and safely housed from wind and weather in the rocky hall where Wat had arranged the couch of heather tops.
So without a word Kate and Wat loaded themselves happily and contentedly with the gifts of their late kind hostess—a bag of meal, home-cured hams, a cheese, together with stores of powder and shot for their pistols. They could see the figure of the master-at-arms stumbling on in front of them, and could hear, borne faintly back on the breeze, the sound of his steady grumbling.
Wat and Kate smiled at each other through the dusk, and the kindred feeling and its mutual recognition cheered them. The night had been anxious enough, but now the morning was coming and they could look on each other's faces. So they plodded on as practically and placidly as if they had been coworkers of an ancient partnership, sharers of one task, yoke-fellows driving the same plough-colter through the same furrow.
When they had arrived at the northern side of the island, Wat showed his companions where to stow the goods in the large open hall of rock, at the sheltered end of which he had arranged Kate's sleeping-chamber. The place was not indeed a cave, but only a large opening in an old sea cliff, which had been left high and dry by the gradual accumulation of the sand and mud brought down by the tide-race of the Suck. The entrance was completely concealed by the birches and rowan bushes which grew up around it and projected over it at every angle, their bright green leaves and reddening berries showing pleasantly against the dark of the interior.
Wat immediately started off again to make one final trip, to see that nothing had been left at the southern landing-place. Finding nothing, he came back much elated so thoroughly to have carried through his purposes in the space of a summer's night, and at last to have both Kate and Scarlett safe with him on the isle of Fiara.
As for Wise Jan, he was left to sleep in peace behind the bowlder by the landing-place till his scattered senses should return.
Under the double shelter of the great cliffs of Lianacraig and the lower but more effectual barrier of the ridge which runs across the little island of Fiara in the direction of its greatest length, Wat and his love abode for a season in great peace. Scarlett accepted the situation with the trained alacrity of a soldier of fortune. He built camp-fires of the drift-wood of the shore, allowing the smoke to dissipate itself along the walls of the cliffs upon dark nights, and using only charred and smokeless wood on the smaller cooking-fires of the day.
He also took Wise Jan under his sway and rigid governance, so that, very much to his own surprise, that youth found himself continually running here and there at the word of command, as unquestioningly as if he had been a recruit of a newly formed regiment under the drastic treatment of the famous master-at-arms.
At first Kate felt the strangeness of being left upon a lonely island with none of her own sex to speak to or give her countenance. But she was a girl of many experiences in a world which was then specially hard and cruel to lonely women.
While yet a child she had seen houses invaded by rude soldiery. She had fled from conventicle with the clatter of hoofs and the call of trumpet telling of the deadly pursuit behind her. Even the manner of her capture and her confinement on this distant isle told a plain tale of suffering endured and experience gained. Hers hadbeen, largely by her own choice, no sheltered life passed in the bieldy howe of common things. She had met sorrow and difficulty before, face to face, eye to eye, and was ready so to encounter them again.
But to be on the island of Fiara in daily contact with her lover, to gain momentarily in knowledge of her own affection, to feel the bonds which bound her to this one man continually strengthen, were some of the new experiences of these halcyon days.
Wat and Kate walked much under the shelter of that wall of rocks which stood a hundred yards back from the sandy northern shore of the island. Here they were screened from observation in every direction save towards the north, and that way the sea was clear to the Pole. Blue and lonely it spread before them, the waves coming glittering and balancing in from the regions of ice and mist, as sunnily and invitingly as though they had been the billows of the Pacific arching themselves in thunder upon a strand of coral.
Here the two walked at morn and even, discussing, among other things, their loves, their former happenings, the strange ways of Providence: most of all their future, which, indeed, looked dark enough at the present, but which, nevertheless, shone for them with a rosy glow of hope and youth. There are no aspirants more sure of success than the young who, strong in the permanence of mutual affection, take hands and look towards the rising sun. All happens to those who know how to wait, especially if they have the necessary time before them. If they be young, the multitude of the coming years beckons them onward, and so their hearts be true and worthy, the very stars in their courses will fight for them. The hatreds and prejudices which oppose them lose their edge; their opponents, being of those that go down the slope to the dark archway of death, pass away within and are seen no more. But the young true-lovers remain. And lo! in a moment there is nothing before them but the plain way to walk in—the sweetness of a morning still young, a morning without clouds, the sweeter for the night and the long and weary way they have come together, hand in loving hand.
"Kate," said Wat, "tell me when you first knew that you loved me."
They were walking on the sand, across which the evening shadows were beginning to lengthen over the intricate maze of ripple-marks, and when each whorled worm-casting was gathering a little pool of blue shadow on its eastern side.
The girl clasped her hands behind her back and gazed abstractedly away to the sunsetting, her shapely head turned a little aside as though she were listening to the voice of her own heart and hearing its answer too keenly to dare give it vent in words.
"I think," said she, at last, very slowly—"I think I began to love you on the night when I saw you first, after I had come across the seas to Holland."
"What!" cried Lochinvar, astonished at her answer; "but then you were more hard and cruel to me than ever—would not even hear me speak, and sent me away unsatisfied and most unhappy."
Kate gave Wat a glance which said for a sufficient answer, had he possessed the wit to read it: "I was a woman, and so afraid of my own heart—you a man, and therefore could not help revealing yours."
"It was then," she answered, aloud, "that I first felt in my own breast the danger of loving you. That made me afraid—yes, much afraid."
"And why were you afraid, dear love?" Wat questioned, softly.
"Because in love a woman has to think for herself, and for him who loves her, also. She sees further on. Difficulties loom larger to her. They close in upon hersoul and fright her. Then, also, she has to watch within, lest—lest—"
Here the girl stopped and gazed away pensively to the north. She did not finish her sentence.
"Lest what, Kate?" urged Wat, softly, eager for the ending of her confession, for the revelation of the maiden's heart was sweet to him.
"Lest her own heart betray her and open its gates to the enemy," she answered, very low.
She walked on more sharply for a space. She was still thinking, and Wat had the sense not to interrupt her meditation.
"Yet the chief matter of her thought," she went on, "the thought of the girl who is wooed and is in danger of loving, is only to keep the castle so long—and then, when she is sure that the right besieger blows the horn without the gate, she leaps up with joy to draw the bolts of the doors, to fling them wide open, to strike the flag that waves aloft. Then, right glad at heart, she runs to meet her lord in the gateway, with the keys of her life in her hands."
She turned herself suddenly about with a lovely expression of trust in her eyes, and impulsively held out both her own hands.
"Take them," she said, "my lord!"
And Wat Gordon took the girl's hands in his, and falling on his knee he kissed them very tenderly and reverently.
Then he rose, and keeping her left hand still in his right, they walked along silently for a time into the sunset, their eyes wet because of the sound of their hearts crying each to each, and the shining of love glowing richer than the rose of the west on their faces.
It was Wat who spoke first.
"Love," he said, "you will never change when the days darken? You will stand firm when you hear mespoken against, when you cannot thus hearken to my voice pleading with you, when there is none to speak well of me?"
"My lad, was it not then that I loved you most," she replied, very gently, "when men spoke evil things in my ears, and told me how that you were unworthy, unknightly, untrue? Was it not even then that my heart cried out louder than ever, 'I will believe my king before them all—before the hearing of my friend's ears, the seeing of my mother's eyes, before the sworn word on the tongue of my father?'"
"Ah, love," said Wat, "it is sweet, greatly sweet, to listen to the speaking of your heart."
And well might he say it, for it was, indeed, a lovely thing to hear the throb of faith run rippling through her voice like the sap of the spring through the quickening forest trees.
"But," he added, with quickly returning melancholy, "doubtless there are dark days before us, of which, however, we now know the worst. Will my Kate be sufficient for these things? We have heard what Barra says—bewitched by what cantrip I know not; but certain it seems that your father hath ta'en him a new wife, and she hath so worked on his spirit that he would now deliver you to our enemy over there, on the isle from which I took you. Suppose that all things went against us, Kate, and that I was never more than a wanderer and an outcast; suppose your father ordered, your friends compelled, your own heart told you tales of our love's hopelessness, or others carried to you evil things of me—would you be strong enough to keep faith, Kate, to hold my hand firmly as you do now, and having done all, still be able to stand?"
The girl looked at her lover a little sadly while he was speaking, as if he had, indeed, a far road to travel ere he could win to the inmost secret of a girl's heart.
"Wat Gordon," she said, "know you not that there is but one kind of love? There are not two. The love of the wanton that grasps and takes only is no love—but light-o'-love. The love that flinches back into shelter because the wind blows is not love; nor yet that which hides itself, afraid when the lift darkens or when the thunder broods and the bolt of heaven is hurled."
There came a kind of awful sweetness on his love's face as she stood looking up at him which made Wat Gordon tremble in his turn. By his doubts he had jangled the deepest chords of a heart. He stood in the presence of things mightier than he had dreamed of. Yet his fear was natural. He knew himself to be true as God is true. But then he had everything to gain—this woman who held his hand all things to lose, everything to endure.
Kate went on, for strong words were stirring in her heart, and the mystery of a mighty love brooded over the troubled waters of her soul like the mystery of the seven stars in God's right hand.
"But one kind of love," she said, in a low, hushed voice, which Wat had to incline his ear to catch. And there came also a crooning rhythm into her utterance, as if she were inspired and spake prophecies. "How says the Writing? 'Love suffereth long and is kind.' So at least the preachers expound it. There is no self in love. Self dies and is buried as soon as soul has looked into soul through the windows of the eyes, as soon as heart has throbbed against naked heart, and life been taken into life. Dead and buried is Self, and over his head the true-lovers set up a gravestone, with the inscription: 'Love seeketh not her own—is not easily provoked—thinketh no evil.'"
"Oh love," groaned Wat, "if I could but believe it! But all things are so grievously against me. I can only bid you wait, and after all there may be but an exile'sfate to share with you, a barren, unfruitful lordship; while there are those, great and powerful, who could set the coronet on your brow."
The girl let his hand drop. She stood looking a long while to seaward. Then with sudden, quick resolve, she turned and faced him. She lifted her hands and laid them on his shoulders, keeping him at the full stretch of her arms so that she might look deep down into his heart.
"I am not angry with you, Wat," she said, softly and slowly, "though I might be. Why will you let me fight this battle alone? Why must I have faith for both of us? Surely in time you will understand and believe. Hear me, true lad," she put her hands a little farther over his shoulders and moved an inch nearer him; "you make me say things that shame me. But what can I do? I only tell you what I would be proud to tell all the world, if it stood about us now as it shall stand on the great Day of Judgment. I would rather drink the drop and bite the crust by the way-side with you, Wat Gordon; rather be an outcast woman among the godless gypsy-folk with you—aye, without either matron's ring to clasp my finger or maiden's snood to bind my hair—than be a king's wife and sit on a throne with princesses about me for my tire-women."
She had brought her face nearer to his as she spoke, white and drawn with her love and its expression. Now when she had finished she held him for a moment fixed with her eyes, as it were nailing the truth she had spoken to his very soul. Then swiftly changing her mood, she dropped her arms from his shoulders and moved away along the beach.
Wat hastened after her and walked beside her, watching her. He strove more than once to take her hand, but she kept it almost petulantly away from him. The tears were running down her cheeks silently and steadily.Her underlip was quivering. The girl who had been brave for two, now shook like a leaf. They came to the corner of the inland cliff of Fiara, which had gradually withdrawn itself farther and farther up the beach, as the tide-race swept more and more sand along the northern front of the inland. A rowan-tree grew out of a cleft. Its trunk projected some feet horizontally before it turned upward. Kate leaned against it and buried her face in her hands.
Wat stood close beside her, longing with all his nature to touch her, to comfort her; but something held him back. He felt within him that caressing was not her mood.
"Hearken, sweet love," he said, beseechingly, clasping his hands over each other in an agony of helpless desire; "I also have something to say to you."
"Oh, you should not have done it," she said, looking at him through her streaming tears; "you ought not to have let me say it. You should have believed without needing me to tell you. But now I have told you, I shall never be my own again; and some day you will think that I have been too fond, too sudden—"
"Kate," said Wat, all himself again at her words, and coming masterfully forward to take her by the wrists. He knelt on one knee before her, holding her in his turn, almost paining her by the intensity of his grasp. "Kate, you shall listen to me. You blame me wrongly; I have not indeed, to-day, told you ofmyfaith, ofmydevotion, of the certainty ofmystanding firm through all the darkness that is to come. And I will tell you why."
"Yes," said the girl, a little breathlessly; "tell me why."
"Because," said Wat, looking straight at her, "you never doubted these things even once. You knew me better, aye, even when you flouted me, set me back, treated me as a child, even when others spoke to you of my lightness,told you of my sins and wrong-doings. I defy you, Kate McGhie," he continued, his voice rising—"I defy you to say that there ever was a moment when you honestly doubted my love, when you ever dreamed that I could love any but you—so much as an instant when the thought that I might forget or be false to you had a lodgment in your heart. Kate, I leave it to yourself to say."
This is the generous uncandor which touches good women to the heart. For Wat was not answering the real accusation she had brought against him—that he had not believed her, but had continued to doubt her in the face of her truest words and most speaking actions.
"Ah, Wat," she said, surrendering at once, "forgive me. It is true. I did not ever doubt you."
She smiled at him a moment through her tears.
"I knew all too well that you loved me—silly lad," she said; "I saw in your eyes what you thought before you ever told me—and even now I have to prompt you to sweet speeches, dear Sir Snail!"
At this encouragement Wat would gladly have drawn her closer to him, but the girl began to walk back towards their heather-grown shelter.
"Yet I care not," she said. "After all, 'tis a great thing to get one's follies over in youth. And you are my folly, lad—a grievous one, it is true, but nevertheless one that now I could ill do without. Nay," she went on, seeing him at this point ready to encroach, "not that to-night, Wat. All is said that needs to be said. Let us return."
And so they walked soberly and silently to the wide-halled chamber recessed in the ancient sea-cliff. Kate paused ere they entered, and held her face up with a world of sweet surrender in it for Wat to kiss at his will.
"Dear love," she said, softly, "I beseech you do not distrust me any more. By this and by this, know that Iam all your own. Once you made me say it. Now of mine own will I do it."
She spoke the last words shyly; then swiftly, as one that takes great courage on the edge of flight:
"Bend down your ear, laddie," she said, and paused while one might count a score.
Wat listened keenly, afraid that his own heart should beat too loud for him to catch every precious word.
"I love you so that I would gladly die to give you perfect happiness even for a day," she whispered.
And she vanished within, without so much as bidding him good-night.