Chapter Twenty Three.The Stag Max did not shoot.“I say, Max!” said Kenneth one day, as they sat at either end of a boat, whipping away at the surface of the rippling water of one of the inland lochs, up to which the said boat had been dragged years before, upon rough runners like a sleigh, partly by the ponies, partly by hand labour. Scoodrach was seated amidships, rowing slowly, and every now and then tucking his oar under his leg, to give his nose a rub, and grumble something about “ta flee.”This was on the occasion when the fly Max was throwing came dangerously near hooking into the gristle of the young gillie’s most prominent feature.Kenneth did not finish his sentence, for just then he hooked a trout which gave him a fair amount of play before it was brought alongside, where Scoodrach, who had ceased rowing, was ready with the landing-net.“Let me land it,” cried Max; and, taking the net, he held it as he had seen Scoodrach perform the same operation a score of times.“All right!” cried Kenneth. “He’s a beauty; pound and a half, I know. Now then—right under.”Kenneth’s elastic rod was bent nearly double, as Max leaned forward, and, instead of lowering the net well into the water so that the fish might glide into it, he made an excited poke, and struck the fish with the ring; there was a faint whish as the rod suddenly straightened; a splash as the trout flapped the water with its tail and went off free, and Max and Kenneth stared at each other.“She couldna hae done tat,” muttered Scoodrach.“Yes, you could, stupid!” said Kenneth, glad of some one upon whom he could vent his spleen. “You’ve knocked ever so many fish off that way.”“I’m very, very sorry,” said Max humbly.“That won’t bring back the trout,” grumbled Kenneth. “Never mind, old chap, I’ll soon have another. Why don’t you go on throwing?”“Because I am stupid over it. I shall never throw a fly properly.”“Not if you give up without trying hard. Go on and have another good turn. Whip away. It’ll come easier soon.”Max went on whipping away, but his success was very small, for he grew more and more nervous as he saw that Scoodrach flinched every time he made a cast, as if the hook had come dangerously near his eyes.Once or twice there really had been reason for this, but, seeing how nervous it made Max, Scoodrach kept it up, taking a malicious delight in ducking his head, rubbing his nose, and fidgeting the tyro, who would gladly have laid down his rod but for the encouraging remarks made by Kenneth.All at once the latter turned his head, from where he stood in the bows of the boat, and began watching Max, smiling grimly as he saw how clumsy a cast was made, and the smile grew broader as he noticed Scoodrach’s exaggerated mock gesticulations of dread.Then there was another cast, and Scood ducked his head down again. Then another cast, and Scood threw his head sideways and held up one arm, but this time the side of his bare head came with a sounding rap up against the butt of Kenneth’s rod.“Mind what you’re doing!” shouted Kenneth.“Hwhat tid ye do that for?” cried Scoodrach, viciously rubbing his sconce.“Do it for? Why don’t you sit still, and not get throwing your head about all over the boat?”“She tid it o’ purpose,” growled Scoodrach; “and she’s cooard to hit a man pehind her pack.”“If you call me a coward, Scoody, I’ll pitch you overboard.”“No, she wouldna. She has not get pack her strength.”“Then Max will help me, and we’ll see then.”“Pitch her overboard, then, and she’ll swim ashore, and she’ll hae to row ta poat her ainsel’.”But Scoodrach had no occasion to swim, for he was not pitched overboard; and, as the wind dropped and the water became like glass, the rods were laid in, and Scoodrach rowed them along in sulky silence toward the shore; Kenneth, as he sat now beside his companion, returning to the idea he had been about to start some time before.“I say, Max,” he said, “I wonder what’s the matter with father. I wish old Curzon was here. I think the pater is going to be ill.”“I hope not.”“So do I; but he always seems so dull, and talks so little.”“I thought he seemed to be very quiet.”“Quiet! I should think he is. Why, he used to be always going out shooting or fishing, and taking me. Now, he’s continually going to Glasgow on business, or else to Edinburgh.”“When do you expect him back?”“I don’t know. He said it was uncertain. Perhaps he’ll be there when we get home.”But The Mackhai was not back, and a fortnight elapsed, and still he was away.The last few days seemed to have quite restored Kenneth, who, once able to be out on the mountains, recovered strength at a wonderful rate.Those were delightful days to Max. His old nervousness was rapidly leaving him, and he was never happier than when out with the two lads fishing, shooting, boating, or watching Kenneth as he stood spear-armed in the bows, trying to transfix some shadowy skate as it glided as if flying over the sandy bottom of the sea-loch.One grandly exciting day to Max was on the occasion of a deer-stalking expedition, which resulted, through the clever generalship of Tavish, in both lads getting a good shot at a stag.Max was first, and, after a long, wearisome climb, he lay among some rocks for quite a couple of hours, with Tavish, watching a herd of deer, before the time came when, under the forester’s guidance, the deadly rifle, which Max had found terribly heavy, was rested upon a stone, and Tavish whispered to him,—“Keep ta piece steady on ta stane, laddie, and when ta stag comes well oot into ta glen, ye’ll chust tak’ a glint along ta bar’l and aim richt at ta showlder, and doon she goes.”Max’s hands trembled, his heart beat fast, and the perspiration stood on his brow, as he waited till, from out of a narrow pass which they had been watching, a noble-looking stag trotted slowly into the glen, and, broadside on, turned its head in their direction.Max saw the great eyes, the branching antlers, and, in his excitement, the forest monarch seemed to be of huge proportions.“Noo!” was whispered close to his ear; and, “glinting” along the barrel, after fixing the sight right upon the animal’s flank, Max drew the trigger, felt as if some one had struck him a violent blow in the shoulder, and then lay there on his chest, gazing at a cloud of smoke and listening to the rolling echoes as they died away.“Aweel, aweel!” said a voice close by him, in saddened tones. “Ye’re verra young, laddie. Ye’ll hae to try again.”“Isn’t it dead?” said Max.“Na, she’s no’ deid, laddie.”“But I don’t see it. Where is the stag?”“Ahint the mountain yonder, laddie; going like the wind.”“Oh!” said Max; and for the next few minutes he did not know which way he felt—sorry he had missed, or glad that the noble beast had got away.Kenneth was more successful. He brought down his quarry a couple of hours later, and the rough pony carried home the carcase for Long Shon to break up, Max partaking of a joint of the venison a few days later, and thinking it was very good, and that he enjoyed it all the more for not having shot the animal himself,—though he could not help telling Kenneth that the fat seemed to stick to the roof of his mouth.
“I say, Max!” said Kenneth one day, as they sat at either end of a boat, whipping away at the surface of the rippling water of one of the inland lochs, up to which the said boat had been dragged years before, upon rough runners like a sleigh, partly by the ponies, partly by hand labour. Scoodrach was seated amidships, rowing slowly, and every now and then tucking his oar under his leg, to give his nose a rub, and grumble something about “ta flee.”
This was on the occasion when the fly Max was throwing came dangerously near hooking into the gristle of the young gillie’s most prominent feature.
Kenneth did not finish his sentence, for just then he hooked a trout which gave him a fair amount of play before it was brought alongside, where Scoodrach, who had ceased rowing, was ready with the landing-net.
“Let me land it,” cried Max; and, taking the net, he held it as he had seen Scoodrach perform the same operation a score of times.
“All right!” cried Kenneth. “He’s a beauty; pound and a half, I know. Now then—right under.”
Kenneth’s elastic rod was bent nearly double, as Max leaned forward, and, instead of lowering the net well into the water so that the fish might glide into it, he made an excited poke, and struck the fish with the ring; there was a faint whish as the rod suddenly straightened; a splash as the trout flapped the water with its tail and went off free, and Max and Kenneth stared at each other.
“She couldna hae done tat,” muttered Scoodrach.
“Yes, you could, stupid!” said Kenneth, glad of some one upon whom he could vent his spleen. “You’ve knocked ever so many fish off that way.”
“I’m very, very sorry,” said Max humbly.
“That won’t bring back the trout,” grumbled Kenneth. “Never mind, old chap, I’ll soon have another. Why don’t you go on throwing?”
“Because I am stupid over it. I shall never throw a fly properly.”
“Not if you give up without trying hard. Go on and have another good turn. Whip away. It’ll come easier soon.”
Max went on whipping away, but his success was very small, for he grew more and more nervous as he saw that Scoodrach flinched every time he made a cast, as if the hook had come dangerously near his eyes.
Once or twice there really had been reason for this, but, seeing how nervous it made Max, Scoodrach kept it up, taking a malicious delight in ducking his head, rubbing his nose, and fidgeting the tyro, who would gladly have laid down his rod but for the encouraging remarks made by Kenneth.
All at once the latter turned his head, from where he stood in the bows of the boat, and began watching Max, smiling grimly as he saw how clumsy a cast was made, and the smile grew broader as he noticed Scoodrach’s exaggerated mock gesticulations of dread.
Then there was another cast, and Scood ducked his head down again. Then another cast, and Scood threw his head sideways and held up one arm, but this time the side of his bare head came with a sounding rap up against the butt of Kenneth’s rod.
“Mind what you’re doing!” shouted Kenneth.
“Hwhat tid ye do that for?” cried Scoodrach, viciously rubbing his sconce.
“Do it for? Why don’t you sit still, and not get throwing your head about all over the boat?”
“She tid it o’ purpose,” growled Scoodrach; “and she’s cooard to hit a man pehind her pack.”
“If you call me a coward, Scoody, I’ll pitch you overboard.”
“No, she wouldna. She has not get pack her strength.”
“Then Max will help me, and we’ll see then.”
“Pitch her overboard, then, and she’ll swim ashore, and she’ll hae to row ta poat her ainsel’.”
But Scoodrach had no occasion to swim, for he was not pitched overboard; and, as the wind dropped and the water became like glass, the rods were laid in, and Scoodrach rowed them along in sulky silence toward the shore; Kenneth, as he sat now beside his companion, returning to the idea he had been about to start some time before.
“I say, Max,” he said, “I wonder what’s the matter with father. I wish old Curzon was here. I think the pater is going to be ill.”
“I hope not.”
“So do I; but he always seems so dull, and talks so little.”
“I thought he seemed to be very quiet.”
“Quiet! I should think he is. Why, he used to be always going out shooting or fishing, and taking me. Now, he’s continually going to Glasgow on business, or else to Edinburgh.”
“When do you expect him back?”
“I don’t know. He said it was uncertain. Perhaps he’ll be there when we get home.”
But The Mackhai was not back, and a fortnight elapsed, and still he was away.
The last few days seemed to have quite restored Kenneth, who, once able to be out on the mountains, recovered strength at a wonderful rate.
Those were delightful days to Max. His old nervousness was rapidly leaving him, and he was never happier than when out with the two lads fishing, shooting, boating, or watching Kenneth as he stood spear-armed in the bows, trying to transfix some shadowy skate as it glided as if flying over the sandy bottom of the sea-loch.
One grandly exciting day to Max was on the occasion of a deer-stalking expedition, which resulted, through the clever generalship of Tavish, in both lads getting a good shot at a stag.
Max was first, and, after a long, wearisome climb, he lay among some rocks for quite a couple of hours, with Tavish, watching a herd of deer, before the time came when, under the forester’s guidance, the deadly rifle, which Max had found terribly heavy, was rested upon a stone, and Tavish whispered to him,—
“Keep ta piece steady on ta stane, laddie, and when ta stag comes well oot into ta glen, ye’ll chust tak’ a glint along ta bar’l and aim richt at ta showlder, and doon she goes.”
Max’s hands trembled, his heart beat fast, and the perspiration stood on his brow, as he waited till, from out of a narrow pass which they had been watching, a noble-looking stag trotted slowly into the glen, and, broadside on, turned its head in their direction.
Max saw the great eyes, the branching antlers, and, in his excitement, the forest monarch seemed to be of huge proportions.
“Noo!” was whispered close to his ear; and, “glinting” along the barrel, after fixing the sight right upon the animal’s flank, Max drew the trigger, felt as if some one had struck him a violent blow in the shoulder, and then lay there on his chest, gazing at a cloud of smoke and listening to the rolling echoes as they died away.
“Aweel, aweel!” said a voice close by him, in saddened tones. “Ye’re verra young, laddie. Ye’ll hae to try again.”
“Isn’t it dead?” said Max.
“Na, she’s no’ deid, laddie.”
“But I don’t see it. Where is the stag?”
“Ahint the mountain yonder, laddie; going like the wind.”
“Oh!” said Max; and for the next few minutes he did not know which way he felt—sorry he had missed, or glad that the noble beast had got away.
Kenneth was more successful. He brought down his quarry a couple of hours later, and the rough pony carried home the carcase for Long Shon to break up, Max partaking of a joint of the venison a few days later, and thinking it was very good, and that he enjoyed it all the more for not having shot the animal himself,—though he could not help telling Kenneth that the fat seemed to stick to the roof of his mouth.
Chapter Twenty Four.Kenneth resists the Law.Three more days glided by, spent in hunting and fishing. Max succeeded in spearing one skate himself, and was nearly pulled out of the boat by the curious fish as it made its final struggle for life. And then a momentous day came, when, after spending the morning in having a glorious sail, during which, as there was a splendid breeze, Max had felt quite comfortable, as he sat well to windward, holding on by the gunwale and helping to act as ballast to keep the boat from going over under the great press of sail Kenneth insisted upon carrying, they ran softly in under shelter of the rocks, and were approaching the castle landing-place, when Tavish came rushing up breathlessly.“Come oot!” he roared. “Come oot, laddies!”“What’s the matter, Tavvy? Has my father—”“Nay, laddie; he’s no’ come back. Come oot! come oot!”The boat was run in, Scoodrach left to moor her, and Kenneth leaped ashore.“What’s wrong?” he cried, as he was saluted by a burst of baying from the dogs, which had been waiting their master’s return.“Wrang, my laddie? She had to gang doon to Kinlochai, and there she found ta bailies.”“What, at the farm?”“At ta fairm, laddie, noo. An ugly, pock-faaced chief wi’ hauf a dizzen loons asked me ta way to Dunroe. He’s a bailie coming to tak’ ta place.”“What? Nonsense, Tavvy!”“Hey, but it’s nae nonsense, laddie, for she met Dooncan Graeme, and Dooncan knew her at Glasgie. She’s ta bailie, and she’s coming to tak’ ta Dunroe.”“Then she isn’t going to have it!” cried Kenneth, flushing. “Bailiffs, indeed! It’s all some stupid mistake.”“She rin on to tall ye, but ye were awa’,” panted Tavish, whose face was streaming.“They’re just here, then?” said Kenneth excitedly.“Na; she was askit ta way to Dunroe, and she sent them richt doon through ta mountains, laddie; and they’ll nivver get here till some ane sets them richt.”“Bravo, Tavish! But it must be all some mistake.”“Nay, laddie, it’s no meestake. Ta Chief canna pay some siller, and ta bailie’s coming to tak’ Dunroe.”“Is he?” cried Kenneth fiercely. “We’ll see about that. Call Long Shon.”“She’s in ta castle, laddie, getting ta auld gates to. She was going to shut ta gates and keep ta bailie oot.”“Bravo, Tavvy! Does Grant know?”“Oh ay, and ivery ane’s helping.”“That’s the beauty of having a castle to live in, Maxy. No one can get in when the tide’s up except through the old gateway; and it isn’t everybody who can manage it when the tide’s down. I say, you won’t help, will you?”“Help! of course!” cried Max excitedly. “But what are you going to do?”“Do! shut up the old gates. They can’t scale the rock, and they’ve got no boats, so we’ll let them besiege us. Bah! when they find the place locked, they’ll go back. Come on.”Kenneth hurried them through the house from the rock terrace, leaving the boat swinging to the buoy, and, followed by Tavish, Scoodrach, and the dogs, the two lads made for the old castle yard, whose outer entrance was the only way in unless scaling ladders were brought.Here Grant and Long Shon, with old Tonal’ to help, were busily fixing props against the old gates which had been dragged to.“Hurray! Bravo, Grant! Well done, Shon! That’s it, Tonal’! That’s fast. No one can get in here.”Max entered into the spirit of the thing with the most intense enjoyment, following Kenneth through the mouldering old gate tower, and up a crumbling staircase to the broken battlements, of which there was still enough round to allow of any one walking to and fro behind the broken crenelation, between whose teeth they could look down on any one coming up the rocky path from the edge of the bay.The old castle had never before looked so romantic to Max, and he thoroughly realised now how great must have been its strength in ancient days, towering up as it did on the huge promontory of rock, whose sides were steep enough to save it from attack when enemies approached it from the land, the one path being narrow, while from the other side only a foe provided with war galleys could have landed on the terrace, and then beneath the defenders’ fire.“We’re going to have the siege of Dunroe!” cried Kenneth excitedly. “Now, Grant, and you, Long Shon, help and get up the arms, and we’ll defend the place till my father comes.”“But ye mauna shute,” said Long Shon.“Who’s going to, Shon? We’ll fire something else;” and he gave orders which the old butler, the men, and even the maids hastened to execute, till the battlements and the broad tower over the gateway, which was furnished with the openings called machicolations, used for dropping missiles on an approaching enemy, were fairly well furnished with ammunition.“How about provisions?” cried Kenneth, as an idea suddenly struck him.“Ou, there’s plenty, Master Kenneth,” said the butler grimly, as he rather enjoyed what was going on. “There’s half the deer you shot, beside the mutton, and plenty of kippered saumon.”“Oh ay; and if they try to starve us,” cried Tavish, “we can catch fush from the rock at high water ivery day.”The preparations went merrily on, every one working in the old Highland spirit, and seeming indued with the idea that it was a duty to defend the home of the Chief of the Clan Mackhai against the enemy that was expected—an enemy that must be baffled at all hazards.Old Tonal’ was the most excited of all, rushing here and there, and getting in everybody’s way. One minute he was hurrying off to fetch his pipes, and seemed ready to blow. Then he was off again to put them away, to come forth again and go round the castle as far as was possible on the battlements, to see whether there was a weak spot where the foe might get in.He had completed one of these examinations, and then came to where Kenneth was giving orders.“Whusht, laddie!” he whispered confidentially.“Hullo, Tonal’, you?”“Ay! Whusht!”“Ready to fight, Tonal’?”“Ay, she’ll fecht! she’ll fecht for ta auld hame! But whusht, laddie!”“Eh?” cried Kenneth; “what is it?”“Stanes, laddie, stanes.”“Stanes! what about ’em?”“Gin ye—but whusht!—gin ye had aboot sax hundert stanes a’ retty on ta toor, she could ding them a’ doon on ta caterans’ heads.”“Ah, but we might break their heads, Tonal’. No, no; something softer than that. We’ll have water.”“Watter? Watter, laddie?” cried the old piper contemptuously. “D’ye want to wash ta enemies o’ ta hoose? Stanes,—gran’ stanes,—and she’ll ding them doon.”“No, no, Tonal’; that will not do.”The old man stood staring in wonder and disgust as Kenneth hurried away; but directly after he caught sight of Max, and, raising his hand and crooking one finger, he morally took the lad into custody as he approached him slowly.“He will na hearken aboot ta stanes, laddie,” whispered the old man mysteriously; “but sneeshing, laddie, sneeshing?”“He’s along with Scoodrach,” said Max, pointing toward the dog. “There he goes yonder.”“Na, na, sneeshing—chust a wee pinch.”“Oh no, I have no snuff,” said Max.“Nae sneeshing!” muttered the old man, looking round; “she has nae sneeshing!”“Hey!” shouted Scoodrach suddenly; “here they come.”Every one hurried to one or other of the openings to look at the approaching enemy, while Tavish stamped savagely on the stones.“She’s askit somebody and she’s set ’em richt. She didna aught to be here for hoors and hoors, if she cam’ back at a’.”“Never mind, Tavish!” shouted Kenneth; “we’ll soon send them to the right-about.”“Hey, ta foe! ta foe!” yelled Tonal’, throwing his hands in the air, and yelling at the group about him, before hurrying away and disappearing in the crumbling opening of the corner tower, high up in which he composed his wonderful melodies for the pipes.“Look at auld Tonal’!” cried Scoodrach; “she’s gane into her hole like a mause.”But no one turned to look at Tonal’, for the enemy were approaching fast,—eight or nine sturdy-looking men, headed by a fair, round-faced fellow, speckled and splashed with freckles, so that his countenance was quite yellow, out of which peered, from under a pair of rugged sandy brows, two unpleasant-looking red-rimmed eyes, which blinked and peered and searched about as sharply as those of a monkey, waiting for the keeper with his daily quantum of carrot and dessert of nuts.This man turned for a moment and said something to his followers. Then he took off his flat Tam o’ Shanter and gave his head a vicious scratch, which seemed to have the effect of removing a little more of his hair. This, however, was not the fact, only seeming, as his head was bare in patches. Then, replacing his bonnet, he took out a greasy old pocket-book, gave it a slap, and, holding his head on one side like a magpie as he drew out the tuck, he peered in, and took out a piece of folded paper, which he held with his teeth till he had closed and replaced the pocket-book.Next he took hold of the paper, thrust his hand into his coat tail, pulled out a ragged red cotton handkerchief, and blew his nose.Max burst into a roar of laughter, in which Kenneth joined, for to both lads the sounding blast which followed suggested that this was the enemy’s trumpet summoning them to surrender.The man stared, and one of his followers touched him on the shoulder.“They’re haeing the laugh at ye, mon,” he said.“Haud yer gab. They’ll be laughing the ither side o’ the mooth sune.”He walked right up toward the gate, and then started, for Kenneth shouted, “Hallo!” in a sharp, half-menacing way.“Mr Mackhai at home?” said the man.“No, he is not. What do you want?”“Mr Mackhai.”“Well, you can’t see him; he’s out. I’m his son.”“Then ye’ll just come doon and show me the way in.”“You mean the way out.”“Oh no, I don’t, my whipper-snapper. Is this the way?”“No.”“Then which is?” said the man, looking to right and left.“There is no way in for you,” said Kenneth; and a murmur of applause followed the words.“Look ye here, my lad,” said the man, holding out his paper. “D’ye see this?”“Oh yes, I can see it,” cried Kenneth. “Here, Scoody, this gentleman wants a light for his pipe; throw him a box of matches.”“No nonsense, please,” cried the man. “I come in the name of the law. Sandy, gang and ope that gate.”“Gin ye gang that gate,” roared Tavish, “I’ll break the head o’ ye.”The man who had stepped forward, started back at this menacing warning, for Tavish suddenly appeared standing up like a giant near the gateway, with something which looked like a great stone in his hand.“Put that doon, mon,” cried the bailiff. “Ye’ll be getting into trouble. Now, young sir, come doon and ope the gate, and read this paper. I take possession here in the name of the law.”“All right!” cried Kenneth mockingly. “Take away.”There was a laugh, and Kenneth shouted again,—“Hi, Grant! you can show him how to take away.”“Are you going to open these gates, sir, and let us in?” cried the bailiff, as soon as a hearty laugh had subsided.“No.”“Are you going to tell your men to open, then?”“No, I’m not.”“Do you know that you are resisting the law, young sir?”“No, but I know I’m resisting you.”“By this paper I have proper warrant to take possession of all here.”“Have you? Well, I don’t care what warrant you have. My father’s out, and I’m not going to let a set of ragged-looking Southroners come and do what they please in Dunroe.”“I tell you, I have a proper warrant for taking possession.”“Then put it back in your pocket, and come again when my father’s at home.”“Look here, me laddie, it’ll be a bad day’s wark for ye, if ye resist the law.”“You be off, and come again when my father’s at home, I tell you.”“I’ve come a’ these lang miles, me laddie, and I’m no’ gaeing back wi’out takking possession. Noo, ance mair, will ye open the gates?”“No.”“Then we must break them in.”“Mind we don’t break your head in, then, that’s all.”“If ye daur!”“Oh, we daur. Don’t we, Scood?”“Oh ay,” roared the young gillie.The bailiff walked back to his men, whispered a few orders, and then turned once more to Kenneth, who was standing now well in sight on the crumbling battlements, with Max by his side.“Noo, my laddie, let’s hae a’ this bet o’ besness settled doucely. Ye’ll come doon and open the gates?”“No surrender!” cried Kenneth.“Ye’ll hae the gates opened?”“No; so blow your trumpet again. Defiance! There!”He took a clean aim with a great potato; and the bailiff had to dodge the shot very sharply, to avoid receiving the blow on his cheek.But the shot was not wasted, for a man behind had it full in the chest, and a shout arose.“That will do!” cried the bailiff. “You’ve struck a blow, so you must put up with the consequences. Noo, my lads, come on!”
Three more days glided by, spent in hunting and fishing. Max succeeded in spearing one skate himself, and was nearly pulled out of the boat by the curious fish as it made its final struggle for life. And then a momentous day came, when, after spending the morning in having a glorious sail, during which, as there was a splendid breeze, Max had felt quite comfortable, as he sat well to windward, holding on by the gunwale and helping to act as ballast to keep the boat from going over under the great press of sail Kenneth insisted upon carrying, they ran softly in under shelter of the rocks, and were approaching the castle landing-place, when Tavish came rushing up breathlessly.
“Come oot!” he roared. “Come oot, laddies!”
“What’s the matter, Tavvy? Has my father—”
“Nay, laddie; he’s no’ come back. Come oot! come oot!”
The boat was run in, Scoodrach left to moor her, and Kenneth leaped ashore.
“What’s wrong?” he cried, as he was saluted by a burst of baying from the dogs, which had been waiting their master’s return.
“Wrang, my laddie? She had to gang doon to Kinlochai, and there she found ta bailies.”
“What, at the farm?”
“At ta fairm, laddie, noo. An ugly, pock-faaced chief wi’ hauf a dizzen loons asked me ta way to Dunroe. He’s a bailie coming to tak’ ta place.”
“What? Nonsense, Tavvy!”
“Hey, but it’s nae nonsense, laddie, for she met Dooncan Graeme, and Dooncan knew her at Glasgie. She’s ta bailie, and she’s coming to tak’ ta Dunroe.”
“Then she isn’t going to have it!” cried Kenneth, flushing. “Bailiffs, indeed! It’s all some stupid mistake.”
“She rin on to tall ye, but ye were awa’,” panted Tavish, whose face was streaming.
“They’re just here, then?” said Kenneth excitedly.
“Na; she was askit ta way to Dunroe, and she sent them richt doon through ta mountains, laddie; and they’ll nivver get here till some ane sets them richt.”
“Bravo, Tavish! But it must be all some mistake.”
“Nay, laddie, it’s no meestake. Ta Chief canna pay some siller, and ta bailie’s coming to tak’ Dunroe.”
“Is he?” cried Kenneth fiercely. “We’ll see about that. Call Long Shon.”
“She’s in ta castle, laddie, getting ta auld gates to. She was going to shut ta gates and keep ta bailie oot.”
“Bravo, Tavvy! Does Grant know?”
“Oh ay, and ivery ane’s helping.”
“That’s the beauty of having a castle to live in, Maxy. No one can get in when the tide’s up except through the old gateway; and it isn’t everybody who can manage it when the tide’s down. I say, you won’t help, will you?”
“Help! of course!” cried Max excitedly. “But what are you going to do?”
“Do! shut up the old gates. They can’t scale the rock, and they’ve got no boats, so we’ll let them besiege us. Bah! when they find the place locked, they’ll go back. Come on.”
Kenneth hurried them through the house from the rock terrace, leaving the boat swinging to the buoy, and, followed by Tavish, Scoodrach, and the dogs, the two lads made for the old castle yard, whose outer entrance was the only way in unless scaling ladders were brought.
Here Grant and Long Shon, with old Tonal’ to help, were busily fixing props against the old gates which had been dragged to.
“Hurray! Bravo, Grant! Well done, Shon! That’s it, Tonal’! That’s fast. No one can get in here.”
Max entered into the spirit of the thing with the most intense enjoyment, following Kenneth through the mouldering old gate tower, and up a crumbling staircase to the broken battlements, of which there was still enough round to allow of any one walking to and fro behind the broken crenelation, between whose teeth they could look down on any one coming up the rocky path from the edge of the bay.
The old castle had never before looked so romantic to Max, and he thoroughly realised now how great must have been its strength in ancient days, towering up as it did on the huge promontory of rock, whose sides were steep enough to save it from attack when enemies approached it from the land, the one path being narrow, while from the other side only a foe provided with war galleys could have landed on the terrace, and then beneath the defenders’ fire.
“We’re going to have the siege of Dunroe!” cried Kenneth excitedly. “Now, Grant, and you, Long Shon, help and get up the arms, and we’ll defend the place till my father comes.”
“But ye mauna shute,” said Long Shon.
“Who’s going to, Shon? We’ll fire something else;” and he gave orders which the old butler, the men, and even the maids hastened to execute, till the battlements and the broad tower over the gateway, which was furnished with the openings called machicolations, used for dropping missiles on an approaching enemy, were fairly well furnished with ammunition.
“How about provisions?” cried Kenneth, as an idea suddenly struck him.
“Ou, there’s plenty, Master Kenneth,” said the butler grimly, as he rather enjoyed what was going on. “There’s half the deer you shot, beside the mutton, and plenty of kippered saumon.”
“Oh ay; and if they try to starve us,” cried Tavish, “we can catch fush from the rock at high water ivery day.”
The preparations went merrily on, every one working in the old Highland spirit, and seeming indued with the idea that it was a duty to defend the home of the Chief of the Clan Mackhai against the enemy that was expected—an enemy that must be baffled at all hazards.
Old Tonal’ was the most excited of all, rushing here and there, and getting in everybody’s way. One minute he was hurrying off to fetch his pipes, and seemed ready to blow. Then he was off again to put them away, to come forth again and go round the castle as far as was possible on the battlements, to see whether there was a weak spot where the foe might get in.
He had completed one of these examinations, and then came to where Kenneth was giving orders.
“Whusht, laddie!” he whispered confidentially.
“Hullo, Tonal’, you?”
“Ay! Whusht!”
“Ready to fight, Tonal’?”
“Ay, she’ll fecht! she’ll fecht for ta auld hame! But whusht, laddie!”
“Eh?” cried Kenneth; “what is it?”
“Stanes, laddie, stanes.”
“Stanes! what about ’em?”
“Gin ye—but whusht!—gin ye had aboot sax hundert stanes a’ retty on ta toor, she could ding them a’ doon on ta caterans’ heads.”
“Ah, but we might break their heads, Tonal’. No, no; something softer than that. We’ll have water.”
“Watter? Watter, laddie?” cried the old piper contemptuously. “D’ye want to wash ta enemies o’ ta hoose? Stanes,—gran’ stanes,—and she’ll ding them doon.”
“No, no, Tonal’; that will not do.”
The old man stood staring in wonder and disgust as Kenneth hurried away; but directly after he caught sight of Max, and, raising his hand and crooking one finger, he morally took the lad into custody as he approached him slowly.
“He will na hearken aboot ta stanes, laddie,” whispered the old man mysteriously; “but sneeshing, laddie, sneeshing?”
“He’s along with Scoodrach,” said Max, pointing toward the dog. “There he goes yonder.”
“Na, na, sneeshing—chust a wee pinch.”
“Oh no, I have no snuff,” said Max.
“Nae sneeshing!” muttered the old man, looking round; “she has nae sneeshing!”
“Hey!” shouted Scoodrach suddenly; “here they come.”
Every one hurried to one or other of the openings to look at the approaching enemy, while Tavish stamped savagely on the stones.
“She’s askit somebody and she’s set ’em richt. She didna aught to be here for hoors and hoors, if she cam’ back at a’.”
“Never mind, Tavish!” shouted Kenneth; “we’ll soon send them to the right-about.”
“Hey, ta foe! ta foe!” yelled Tonal’, throwing his hands in the air, and yelling at the group about him, before hurrying away and disappearing in the crumbling opening of the corner tower, high up in which he composed his wonderful melodies for the pipes.
“Look at auld Tonal’!” cried Scoodrach; “she’s gane into her hole like a mause.”
But no one turned to look at Tonal’, for the enemy were approaching fast,—eight or nine sturdy-looking men, headed by a fair, round-faced fellow, speckled and splashed with freckles, so that his countenance was quite yellow, out of which peered, from under a pair of rugged sandy brows, two unpleasant-looking red-rimmed eyes, which blinked and peered and searched about as sharply as those of a monkey, waiting for the keeper with his daily quantum of carrot and dessert of nuts.
This man turned for a moment and said something to his followers. Then he took off his flat Tam o’ Shanter and gave his head a vicious scratch, which seemed to have the effect of removing a little more of his hair. This, however, was not the fact, only seeming, as his head was bare in patches. Then, replacing his bonnet, he took out a greasy old pocket-book, gave it a slap, and, holding his head on one side like a magpie as he drew out the tuck, he peered in, and took out a piece of folded paper, which he held with his teeth till he had closed and replaced the pocket-book.
Next he took hold of the paper, thrust his hand into his coat tail, pulled out a ragged red cotton handkerchief, and blew his nose.
Max burst into a roar of laughter, in which Kenneth joined, for to both lads the sounding blast which followed suggested that this was the enemy’s trumpet summoning them to surrender.
The man stared, and one of his followers touched him on the shoulder.
“They’re haeing the laugh at ye, mon,” he said.
“Haud yer gab. They’ll be laughing the ither side o’ the mooth sune.”
He walked right up toward the gate, and then started, for Kenneth shouted, “Hallo!” in a sharp, half-menacing way.
“Mr Mackhai at home?” said the man.
“No, he is not. What do you want?”
“Mr Mackhai.”
“Well, you can’t see him; he’s out. I’m his son.”
“Then ye’ll just come doon and show me the way in.”
“You mean the way out.”
“Oh no, I don’t, my whipper-snapper. Is this the way?”
“No.”
“Then which is?” said the man, looking to right and left.
“There is no way in for you,” said Kenneth; and a murmur of applause followed the words.
“Look ye here, my lad,” said the man, holding out his paper. “D’ye see this?”
“Oh yes, I can see it,” cried Kenneth. “Here, Scoody, this gentleman wants a light for his pipe; throw him a box of matches.”
“No nonsense, please,” cried the man. “I come in the name of the law. Sandy, gang and ope that gate.”
“Gin ye gang that gate,” roared Tavish, “I’ll break the head o’ ye.”
The man who had stepped forward, started back at this menacing warning, for Tavish suddenly appeared standing up like a giant near the gateway, with something which looked like a great stone in his hand.
“Put that doon, mon,” cried the bailiff. “Ye’ll be getting into trouble. Now, young sir, come doon and ope the gate, and read this paper. I take possession here in the name of the law.”
“All right!” cried Kenneth mockingly. “Take away.”
There was a laugh, and Kenneth shouted again,—
“Hi, Grant! you can show him how to take away.”
“Are you going to open these gates, sir, and let us in?” cried the bailiff, as soon as a hearty laugh had subsided.
“No.”
“Are you going to tell your men to open, then?”
“No, I’m not.”
“Do you know that you are resisting the law, young sir?”
“No, but I know I’m resisting you.”
“By this paper I have proper warrant to take possession of all here.”
“Have you? Well, I don’t care what warrant you have. My father’s out, and I’m not going to let a set of ragged-looking Southroners come and do what they please in Dunroe.”
“I tell you, I have a proper warrant for taking possession.”
“Then put it back in your pocket, and come again when my father’s at home.”
“Look here, me laddie, it’ll be a bad day’s wark for ye, if ye resist the law.”
“You be off, and come again when my father’s at home, I tell you.”
“I’ve come a’ these lang miles, me laddie, and I’m no’ gaeing back wi’out takking possession. Noo, ance mair, will ye open the gates?”
“No.”
“Then we must break them in.”
“Mind we don’t break your head in, then, that’s all.”
“If ye daur!”
“Oh, we daur. Don’t we, Scood?”
“Oh ay,” roared the young gillie.
The bailiff walked back to his men, whispered a few orders, and then turned once more to Kenneth, who was standing now well in sight on the crumbling battlements, with Max by his side.
“Noo, my laddie, let’s hae a’ this bet o’ besness settled doucely. Ye’ll come doon and open the gates?”
“No surrender!” cried Kenneth.
“Ye’ll hae the gates opened?”
“No; so blow your trumpet again. Defiance! There!”
He took a clean aim with a great potato; and the bailiff had to dodge the shot very sharply, to avoid receiving the blow on his cheek.
But the shot was not wasted, for a man behind had it full in the chest, and a shout arose.
“That will do!” cried the bailiff. “You’ve struck a blow, so you must put up with the consequences. Noo, my lads, come on!”
Chapter Twenty Five.How Donald played the War March.The bailiff turned to his men and gave them an order, whose effect was to make them shuffle together.“You hear me, sir!” cried the bailiff. “You struck the first blow.”“You lie, you bun-faced Southroner!” cried Kenneth. “You made the first blow in that old pocket-handkerchief.”“Will you surrender?”“No!”“Then come on, my lads. Forward!”“Hurray! hurray!” shouted Ken, pointing upwards; and the bailiff and his men stopped and stared with open mouths at the scene.“Look, Max! Look, Scoody! Hurray! Mackhai! Mackhai!”A shrill, piercing, cracked old voice echoed the cry from above, and the lads on the crumbling battlements over the gateway, where they stood ready with pails of water for sending down through the machicolations, stood gazing at a tall weird figure in full war-paint, with the front of his bonnet cocked up with its eagle pinion feathers, his grey hair flying in the breeze, his eyes flashing, tartan scarf buckled with his great cairngorm brooch, as old Tonal’ climbed slowly into sight, and stood on the narrow ledge of battlement at the very top of the right-hand tower.“Ta Mackhai!” he yelled. “Ta Mackhai!” and, as he stood there, with scarf and kilt fluttering about his tall, lean old figure, he looked like one of the ancient fighting men of the clan come back from the Middle Ages to battle in defence of his chief.“Ta Mackhai! Ta Mackhai!” he yelled again, in answer to a tremendous cheer from the party within.“Come doon, ye auld idgit!” shouted the bailiff.“Ta Mackhai! Ta Mackhai!” yelled Tonal’; and, raising an old claymore in one hand, his dirk in the other, to the full stretch of his long arms, he shrieked out,—“Doon wi’ ta caterans! Doon wi’ ta Lowland loons! Mackhai! Mackhai! Fecht, laddies! fecht! Hech! hech! hech! Hurray!”“Hech! hech! hech! Hurray!” shouted Kenneth, roaring with laughter. “Fecht, laddies, fecht!”The weird-looking old piper waved his claymore wildly about his head, and it flashed in the sun; but in his efforts he nearly toppled off the tower headlong down to the front of the castle. He made a snatch at the ancient crenelation, and, to the horror of all, a quantity of the crumbling stone fell with a crash, and, but for a rapid dash backward, two of the bailiffs men would have been crushed.But, active still as a wild cat, the old man saved himself; and, though one of his legs came right over the front, and he lay on his face for a few moments, he climbed back, stood erect again, planted one foot on the remaining crenele, and raised his flashing broadsword, tore off his bonnet, dashed it down, and, as his thin long grey hair streamed out in the sea breeze, he yelled once more,—“Mackhai! Mackhai! Fecht, laddies, fecht!”Then he disappeared.“He’s coming down with his old carving-knife, Maxy,” cried Kenneth, wiping the tears from his eyes. “I shall have to go and lock the old chap up, or he’ll do some one a mischief.”“Hi, there!” shouted the bailiff; and his voice was the signal for the three dogs to burst into a tremendous trio of barking. “Look here, I give you fair warning. You’re resisting the law, and it’ll be the worse for you if any one of my men is hurt.”“Come roond and we’ll pitch ye all into ta watter!” shouted Scoodrach.“Yes, come round the other side, you bun-faced looking bailiff!” cried Kenneth; and the defenders uttered a fresh cheer, while Grant in his excitement took off his black coat and white cravat, and rolled up his sleeves, before putting on an apron one of the maids had fetched.“Hurray, Grant! you look as if you were going to clean the plate,” cried Max excitedly.“I’m going to take care, sir, that that scum does not touch it,” said Grant, with dignity. “Well done, laddie!” he added to himself. “I’m beginning to like him after a’.”“Are you going to open this gate?” cried the bailiff, waving his piece of blue paper.“Yes, when you are gone,” cried Kenneth, stooping quickly, picking a potato out of the basket at his feet, and throwing it with such good aim that it struck the bailiff in the chest.This was the signal for a general discharge, Max and Scoodrach hurling potatoes with all their might at the attacking party, and with more or less good aim.“Oh, if they’d only come close in ready for the boiling lead!” cried Kenneth.“Here, Shon!” shouted Max, whose face was crimson with excitement; “more potatoes—I mean cannon balls. Bring up a sack.”“It’ll be the worse for you,” shouted the bailiff. “Come on, my lads, in with you!”There was a rush made for the gateway, but a shower of vegetable bullets came now from the whole force of defenders, Tavish throwing two at a time, and Long Shon hitting every shot.This checked the advance for a moment, and just then old Tonal’ reappeared at the front of the tower, with his hair streaming out like the tail of a silvery comet. The old man’s face was puffed out and red, for now, in place of his claymore and dirk, he had his pipes in hand.“Fecht, laddies, fecht!” he yelled; and, in spite of his being such an anachronism, there was something grand now in the wild old figure, as he stood there in full view, from crown to buckled shoon, claymore sheathed, the jewels in his dirk sparkling, and the sun flashing from his eyes as he yelled out, “Ta slogan of ta Mackhai! Mackhai! Mackhai!”“Oh, do hold me, Maxy, or I shall go overboard,” cried Kenneth, as he held his sides and roared with laughter, for the old retainer sent forth a tremendous blast from his pipes, which came echoing back from the walls within, as he marched up and down at the front of the crumbling tower about eight steps each way, blowing with all his might, his efforts being responded to by fresh cheers from the little garrison.“Hurrah! Hech! Hurrah!” cried Tavish, who was infected by the excitement and the national music. “Hey, but we will fecht, Maister Ken! we’ll die for ye. Oh, it’s crand—it’s crand!”“Fecht, then, all o’ ye,” cried Kenneth, taking up the broad dialect; and then roaring to those in the yard, “You girls, bring up everything you can. Never mind what it is—anything we can throw.”A shrill scream of delight came from within, and, as the dogs barked furiously, the old piper still stamped up and down and played the war march of the Clan Mackhai.“Don’t stand glowering at that owd gowk,” cried the bailiff. “Come on!”The men murmured, and held back, as the ammunition kept flying, and they had to dodge the missiles, some of the younger men catching the potatoes and throwing them back.“Stop that, some of ye,” cried the bailiff. “Ye’re no’ playing crecket. Noo then, forward!”This time his followers obeyed, and they made a rush, to be received by a tremendous volley, which produced first blood, Scoodrach having sent a big Dalmahoy or a Scotch Regent—this is a doubtful point in the chronicle of the attack and defence of Dunroe—and hit one of the bailiff’s men full in the nose, one of Max’s shots taking effect at the same time in a man’s eye, and the first of the wounded staggered back to the hospital ambulance; in other words, he bolted down the rocks to the water’s edge and began to bathe his face.Another shout, though, from the bailiff, and the assaulting party charged home right up to the gateway, and began to thunder and thrust at the crumbling old gates, which were, however, held fast by the wooden props and stones.“We can’t get through here,” grumbled one man. “Is there no other way?”“No, not without a latter,” said another.“Then let’s fetch a latter.”“No, no; push all together, and down the gates will go. They can’t hit us here.”Squish, splash, wash, came down a perfect torrent of water through the machicolations, as what Kenneth called “the boiling lead” was brought to bear through the openings left by the old architect for the defence of the gate.“No, no, no; don’t rin!” cried the bailiff; “it’s only watter.”Plosh!Half a pailful poured down by Max came full upon the speaker’s head, and he turned and headed the stampede, amidst the roars of laughter of the defenders.“Yah! it’s a’ doon me back—it’s a’ doon me back,” snarled the bailiff, stamping with fury, as he dashed the water out of his hat, and wrung his clothes, to the great delight of his men as well.“Ye shall a’ pay for this!” he shouted, as he waved the wet paper he held. “Ye’ll know ye’re reseesting the law.”“Come and have another shower-bath!” cried Max.“Yes, you want it!” roared Kenneth. “Bring some more ammunition. Hi, Tonal’, play up, auld mon!”“Fecht, laddies, fecht!” shouted back the old piper, as he took the piece from his lips for a moment.“Yes, we’ll fecht!” cried Kenneth.“Gin ye come here, ye togs, she’ll slit a’ yer weams!” yelled Scoodrach excitedly; and then there was a pause, for the bailiff was holding a consultation, and then he pointed down to the beach.“What’s he pointing at?” said Kenneth, as his followers placed fresh ammunition—the wet and the dry—ready.“I know,” cried Max. “That old bit of a mast.”“What, the broken topmast of the wreck?”“Yes. They’re going to fetch it, and make a battering-ram to knock down the gate.”“Then we’ll half drown the beggars,” cried Kenneth. “More water here! Cookie, let’s have some hot.”“Hey, but ye shall have sax pots fu’, Maister Kenneth,” cried the woman, and in a very short time, as the bailiffs men went down to get the old spar, six kettles and saucepans of boiling water were brought up into the old broken gateway tower.“Pour it into the pails, and soften it down, Maxy. We mustn’t give it to ’em too hot,” cried Kenneth.“How much cold shall I put?”“Half and half; that’ll suit ’em. Shall I give ’em some whisky and sugar with it, Grant?”“Nay, nay,” cried the old butler; “and don’t make it too cold, or there’ll be no sting in it to frighten ’em.”“Now then, girls,” cried Kenneth, “bring them along.”Everybody worked with a will, and plenty of missiles were carried up the broken stone stairs and stored ready, Max making himself so busy, and growing so excited, that Tavish patted him on the shoulder.“Hey,” he said softly, “’twas a gran’ petty she were born so far sooth.”As for Scoodrach, he grew quite friendly, and grinned hugely at the way in which Max took to the defence.“It’s a rare game, isn’t it, Maxy?” cried Kenneth, in the temporary lull of the attack.“Game! I never enjoyed anything so much in my life. Shall we beat them off?”“Shall she peat ’em off!” cried Tavish fiercely. “She wull peat ’em off! D’ye think ta children of ta Mackhai will let ta thieves come past ta gates?”“Hurray!” cried Kenneth; and Scoodrach tossed up his bonnet as he shouted, and then nearly tumbled off the battlements as he tried to catch the cap, and stood scratching his curly red head as the woollen-tufted covering fell below.“Hullo, Scood!” cried Max.“It ton’t matter,” cried the gillie; “she can fecht petter withoot a ponnet.”“Look at old Donald,” whispered Max.The pipes had ceased, and they looked up, to see the old man stooping in a striking attitude, bareheaded and with his right hand shading his eyes, one knee resting on the corner crenele of the tower, his left arm grasping his pipes, while he watched the movements of the bailiff’s men, as they now began to lift the spar on to their shoulders.“Be quite ready for them when they come,” cried Kenneth, after a hearty laugh at the old family retainer.“Oh ay,” said Scood, “we’ll pe retty;” and, with a queer look, he drew a sgian-dhu from his belt.“Ah, none of that, Scoody!” cried Kenneth. “Give me that knife.”“Nay; she wants it for ta togs when ta gate’s knockit down.”“No, you don’t. Here, Max, take away that knife.”“Nay, she will na give it up,” growled Scoody menacingly; and his face grew dark as Max seized his wrist and took the knife.“Ye daurna do that if ta young chief wasna here,” he said angrily.“Yes, I dare,” cried Max, turning away, and giving Kenneth the knife, which he jerked over his shoulder into the courtyard.At that moment the pipes struck up again, “The Campbells are coming,” and old Tonal’ recommenced his short march to and fro, for the bailiffs gang, after shouldering the old spar, were in full march up the steep slope towards the gateway, and as they approached they gave a triumphant cheer.“Now, once more,” cried the bailiff: “where’s Mr Mackhai?”“What do you mean with your ‘once more’? You never asked that before.”“Never you mind about that, my lad; and you’ll find yourself in prison for this day’s work. Where’s Mr Mackhai?”“Gone to Inverness, ugly,” cried Kenneth derisively.“Then you’ve got to give up this place to me quietly, under an—”Bang!“Who threw that potato?”“I did,” cried Max, laughing at the success of his aim, and his shot was followed by a shower which disorganised the enemy so that they ducked and dodged, and ended by dropping the old spar, from which all leaped, so as to save their toes.“Pick it up, you great fools,” roared the bailiff angrily. “And you look here,” he cried, shaking the paper: “all the proper legal forms have been gone through, and this is an eviction order at the suit of— Hang them! how they can throw!” cried the man angrily, as a fresh missile struck him on the cheek.“Fecht, laddies, fecht!” yelled Tonal’, stopping for a moment to shout, and then blowing again with all his might.“You’d better go and pull that old madman down,” cried the bailiff. “Now, once for all,” he continued, shaking the paper, “will you surrender?”“No!” shouted Kenneth.“No!” yelled Scoodrach; “she’ll fecht till she ties. Come on!”“All right,” said the bailiff, turning to his men, who had once more got the spar on their shoulders. “No, no,” he said; “half of you get one side, half the other, and swing it by your hands. Keep step, and run with it against the gate. The rotten old wood will fly like tinder.”The men obeyed, got the spar, which was about twenty feet long, well swung between them, and stood ready.“Now, when I say ‘go!’” cried the bailiff, “off with you at a good run, down with the gate, and rush in. I shall be close behind. Ready? Go!”The men started, but they did not keep step, and before they had reached the gate, not only were they in confusion, but, amidst the shrieking of the pipes and the shouts and cheers of the defenders, they were met by such a storm of missiles, that, after bearing up against it for a few moments, they again dropped the great spar, and ran back.This movement was the signal for a roar of derisive cheers, the boys indulging in quite a war-dance, which was ended by Scoodrach standing on his head upon one of the creneles, as a sign of his contempt for the enemy.It was a dangerous feat, and he would have overbalanced himself, had not his father caught hold of one of his legs and dragged him back.“What are ye gaun to dae?” he growled.“Here, Scood, go and fetch the dining-room—no, you go, Grant—the table-cover, and that old long spear out of the hall.”The old butler smiled grimly, and began to descend from the broken rampart to the courtyard.“What are you going to do, Ken?” asked Max.“Hoist our colours. I’ll let them see whether we’re going to surrender.”“Want any more hot watter, Maister Ken?” cried the cook.“Yes, to be sure—coppersful. Bring it along.”For the first time in Kenneth’s recollection he saw the butler run, and in a few minutes he was back, with a red table-cover and a rusty-headed old lance.“That’s right! I’ll show ’em!” cried Kenneth, as he tied two corners to the lance shaft; and, amidst fresh cheering, this was stuck in a corner and fixed in position with stones, so that the colours flew out triumphantly.“Now then, come on!” shouted Kenneth, and a roar of defiance was uttered by the garrison, as the bailiff led back his men, making them pick up the battering-ram, and organising them for a fresh attack.“A set o’ cooards!” he exclaimed; “I’m ashamed o’ ye.”“Weel, ye rin too,” grumbled one of the men.“Haud yer clack,” cried the bailiff. “Noo then—go!”There was another rush, and another shower of missiles as effective as the last; but this time the men charged on, and gave a moderately effective thump on the great gate; but it was not delivered all together and with a will, for, although a little desperate, the attacking party could not help dodging the potatoes which came thudding against them, and they were confused by the shouts, yells, and the shrieking of the pipes.But they delivered another stroke, and another, as Tonald yelled again,—“Fecht, lads, fecht!” and then blew and stamped up and down in a wonderful state of excitement.Hot water was poured down, potatoes, pails, pots of earthenware flew, and came down with a crash like exploding shells, and the excitement had nearly reached its height, when, in the midst of the storm of missiles thrown, the gate began to yield beneath the blows, and Kenneth was about to shout to his followers to run down and fight inside the gate, whose defenders now were the dogs alone, who barked and growled savagely at every blow.“Don’t be beaten, lads; never mind their throwing. Keep it up,” cried the bailiff. “Never mind that. Go on. Another, and another, and down she comes.”Bopp!But it was not the gate. There was a loud explosion—quite a heavy, echoing report, but the way was not open to the bailiff’s men, and the occupants of Dunroe were not to be evicted that day.For the attacking party suddenly ceased their efforts, to stand gazing in awe at something which had happened, and then they turned and fled.Just when the wild confusion was at its height, and attackers and defenders were wild with excitement, the battering-ram threatening, the gates cracking, missiles flying, and both parties shouting with all their might, Donald Dhu was blowing his best, stamping up and down, gazing wildly at the participators in the fray, when in his excitement he stepped upon a loose stone near the edge of the tower, where the crenelation was broken away, slipped, and went headlong down, to fall in a sitting position, and cause the loud report that startled all.“Oh, poor old Donald! he’s killed!” cried Kenneth, with a cry of anguish, as all the fun of the defence passed away, and he saw himself face to face with a tragedy, whose occurrence had paralysed every one present; the sight of the falling man and the report being followed by a dead silence, which affected even the dogs.But, to the astonishment of all, the old man suddenly sprang up, clapped his hand to his side, and whirled out his claymore from its sheath.“Fecht, laddies, fecht!” he yelled, as he waved the flashing blade above his head. “Doon wi’ t’ enemies o’ ta Mackhai!”Uttering these last words as if they were a war-cry, he dashed at the bailiff, who stared wildly at the weird-looking old Highlander for a moment, and then, with his men, he turned and fled, the whole party retreating as hard as they could go.“Hurray!” shouted Kenneth, and a burst of cheers followed, all shouting frantically as they saw old Tonal’ in full pursuit.Full pursuit?He only went about half a dozen yards; then he limped, then he stopped short, and then he turned slowly, making his sword a walking-stick, as the gates were thrown open, and the dogs dashed out, barking savagely, and took up the pursuit, adding wings to the flight of the bailiffs men. These ran the harder as they saw the light cavalry let loose, in the shape of Bruce, followed at a distance by the heavies, as represented by Dirk, who could not go so fast, and with the infantry in support in the ragged person of Sneeshing, who hindered his advance by keeping on firing shots.The rest of the garrison poured forth, led by Kenneth, closely followed by Max and Scood, the former running up to old Donald, who came limping on.“Are you much hurt, old man?” cried Kenneth, taking one arm.“Ta togs! I’d ha’ slit the weam o’ ivery ane!” panted the piper.“But are you much hurt? Anything broken?”“Proken, dear laddie, son o’ my sin auld Chief—proken all to pits. Didna ye hear ta clash?”“Let’s carry him in,” cried Max.“Na, na, my bonnie Southron chiel’,” said the old man, smiling at Max. “Na, na, she can walk; put, Maister Crant, she could tak’ chust a tram o’ Talisker or Clen Nevis, for she’s a pit shakken wi’ coming town sae quick.”The lads helped the old man toward the gateway while Grant ran off eagerly enough for the whisky.“Scoody, fetch a chair,” cried Max.“Lat her carry the auld man in,” said Tavish.“Na, na, let her pe. I want to see ’em—I want to see ’em,” cried the old man, waving them off impatiently; and he limped to where his instrument, with the green baize bag and pennoned ivory-tipped pipes, lay on the ground.“Oh tear! wae’s me!” he moaned, as he stooped down and picked up the instrument. “Put ta enemies o’ ta Mackhai listened to ta pibroch, and she turned and fled; put,” he added, looking round piteously, “it was a pran new pahg, it was a pran new pahg.”“What!” cried Kenneth and Max, as a light struck in upon them, and the circle of sympathisers pressed round; “is the bag burst?”“Purst!” groaned Tonal’ mournfully; “ant I tried so hart to haud her up, but she couldna dae it, and come doon setting on ta pran new skin. Tidn’t she hear her co pang?”
The bailiff turned to his men and gave them an order, whose effect was to make them shuffle together.
“You hear me, sir!” cried the bailiff. “You struck the first blow.”
“You lie, you bun-faced Southroner!” cried Kenneth. “You made the first blow in that old pocket-handkerchief.”
“Will you surrender?”
“No!”
“Then come on, my lads. Forward!”
“Hurray! hurray!” shouted Ken, pointing upwards; and the bailiff and his men stopped and stared with open mouths at the scene.
“Look, Max! Look, Scoody! Hurray! Mackhai! Mackhai!”
A shrill, piercing, cracked old voice echoed the cry from above, and the lads on the crumbling battlements over the gateway, where they stood ready with pails of water for sending down through the machicolations, stood gazing at a tall weird figure in full war-paint, with the front of his bonnet cocked up with its eagle pinion feathers, his grey hair flying in the breeze, his eyes flashing, tartan scarf buckled with his great cairngorm brooch, as old Tonal’ climbed slowly into sight, and stood on the narrow ledge of battlement at the very top of the right-hand tower.
“Ta Mackhai!” he yelled. “Ta Mackhai!” and, as he stood there, with scarf and kilt fluttering about his tall, lean old figure, he looked like one of the ancient fighting men of the clan come back from the Middle Ages to battle in defence of his chief.
“Ta Mackhai! Ta Mackhai!” he yelled again, in answer to a tremendous cheer from the party within.
“Come doon, ye auld idgit!” shouted the bailiff.
“Ta Mackhai! Ta Mackhai!” yelled Tonal’; and, raising an old claymore in one hand, his dirk in the other, to the full stretch of his long arms, he shrieked out,—
“Doon wi’ ta caterans! Doon wi’ ta Lowland loons! Mackhai! Mackhai! Fecht, laddies! fecht! Hech! hech! hech! Hurray!”
“Hech! hech! hech! Hurray!” shouted Kenneth, roaring with laughter. “Fecht, laddies, fecht!”
The weird-looking old piper waved his claymore wildly about his head, and it flashed in the sun; but in his efforts he nearly toppled off the tower headlong down to the front of the castle. He made a snatch at the ancient crenelation, and, to the horror of all, a quantity of the crumbling stone fell with a crash, and, but for a rapid dash backward, two of the bailiffs men would have been crushed.
But, active still as a wild cat, the old man saved himself; and, though one of his legs came right over the front, and he lay on his face for a few moments, he climbed back, stood erect again, planted one foot on the remaining crenele, and raised his flashing broadsword, tore off his bonnet, dashed it down, and, as his thin long grey hair streamed out in the sea breeze, he yelled once more,—
“Mackhai! Mackhai! Fecht, laddies, fecht!”
Then he disappeared.
“He’s coming down with his old carving-knife, Maxy,” cried Kenneth, wiping the tears from his eyes. “I shall have to go and lock the old chap up, or he’ll do some one a mischief.”
“Hi, there!” shouted the bailiff; and his voice was the signal for the three dogs to burst into a tremendous trio of barking. “Look here, I give you fair warning. You’re resisting the law, and it’ll be the worse for you if any one of my men is hurt.”
“Come roond and we’ll pitch ye all into ta watter!” shouted Scoodrach.
“Yes, come round the other side, you bun-faced looking bailiff!” cried Kenneth; and the defenders uttered a fresh cheer, while Grant in his excitement took off his black coat and white cravat, and rolled up his sleeves, before putting on an apron one of the maids had fetched.
“Hurray, Grant! you look as if you were going to clean the plate,” cried Max excitedly.
“I’m going to take care, sir, that that scum does not touch it,” said Grant, with dignity. “Well done, laddie!” he added to himself. “I’m beginning to like him after a’.”
“Are you going to open this gate?” cried the bailiff, waving his piece of blue paper.
“Yes, when you are gone,” cried Kenneth, stooping quickly, picking a potato out of the basket at his feet, and throwing it with such good aim that it struck the bailiff in the chest.
This was the signal for a general discharge, Max and Scoodrach hurling potatoes with all their might at the attacking party, and with more or less good aim.
“Oh, if they’d only come close in ready for the boiling lead!” cried Kenneth.
“Here, Shon!” shouted Max, whose face was crimson with excitement; “more potatoes—I mean cannon balls. Bring up a sack.”
“It’ll be the worse for you,” shouted the bailiff. “Come on, my lads, in with you!”
There was a rush made for the gateway, but a shower of vegetable bullets came now from the whole force of defenders, Tavish throwing two at a time, and Long Shon hitting every shot.
This checked the advance for a moment, and just then old Tonal’ reappeared at the front of the tower, with his hair streaming out like the tail of a silvery comet. The old man’s face was puffed out and red, for now, in place of his claymore and dirk, he had his pipes in hand.
“Fecht, laddies, fecht!” he yelled; and, in spite of his being such an anachronism, there was something grand now in the wild old figure, as he stood there in full view, from crown to buckled shoon, claymore sheathed, the jewels in his dirk sparkling, and the sun flashing from his eyes as he yelled out, “Ta slogan of ta Mackhai! Mackhai! Mackhai!”
“Oh, do hold me, Maxy, or I shall go overboard,” cried Kenneth, as he held his sides and roared with laughter, for the old retainer sent forth a tremendous blast from his pipes, which came echoing back from the walls within, as he marched up and down at the front of the crumbling tower about eight steps each way, blowing with all his might, his efforts being responded to by fresh cheers from the little garrison.
“Hurrah! Hech! Hurrah!” cried Tavish, who was infected by the excitement and the national music. “Hey, but we will fecht, Maister Ken! we’ll die for ye. Oh, it’s crand—it’s crand!”
“Fecht, then, all o’ ye,” cried Kenneth, taking up the broad dialect; and then roaring to those in the yard, “You girls, bring up everything you can. Never mind what it is—anything we can throw.”
A shrill scream of delight came from within, and, as the dogs barked furiously, the old piper still stamped up and down and played the war march of the Clan Mackhai.
“Don’t stand glowering at that owd gowk,” cried the bailiff. “Come on!”
The men murmured, and held back, as the ammunition kept flying, and they had to dodge the missiles, some of the younger men catching the potatoes and throwing them back.
“Stop that, some of ye,” cried the bailiff. “Ye’re no’ playing crecket. Noo then, forward!”
This time his followers obeyed, and they made a rush, to be received by a tremendous volley, which produced first blood, Scoodrach having sent a big Dalmahoy or a Scotch Regent—this is a doubtful point in the chronicle of the attack and defence of Dunroe—and hit one of the bailiff’s men full in the nose, one of Max’s shots taking effect at the same time in a man’s eye, and the first of the wounded staggered back to the hospital ambulance; in other words, he bolted down the rocks to the water’s edge and began to bathe his face.
Another shout, though, from the bailiff, and the assaulting party charged home right up to the gateway, and began to thunder and thrust at the crumbling old gates, which were, however, held fast by the wooden props and stones.
“We can’t get through here,” grumbled one man. “Is there no other way?”
“No, not without a latter,” said another.
“Then let’s fetch a latter.”
“No, no; push all together, and down the gates will go. They can’t hit us here.”
Squish, splash, wash, came down a perfect torrent of water through the machicolations, as what Kenneth called “the boiling lead” was brought to bear through the openings left by the old architect for the defence of the gate.
“No, no, no; don’t rin!” cried the bailiff; “it’s only watter.”
Plosh!
Half a pailful poured down by Max came full upon the speaker’s head, and he turned and headed the stampede, amidst the roars of laughter of the defenders.
“Yah! it’s a’ doon me back—it’s a’ doon me back,” snarled the bailiff, stamping with fury, as he dashed the water out of his hat, and wrung his clothes, to the great delight of his men as well.
“Ye shall a’ pay for this!” he shouted, as he waved the wet paper he held. “Ye’ll know ye’re reseesting the law.”
“Come and have another shower-bath!” cried Max.
“Yes, you want it!” roared Kenneth. “Bring some more ammunition. Hi, Tonal’, play up, auld mon!”
“Fecht, laddies, fecht!” shouted back the old piper, as he took the piece from his lips for a moment.
“Yes, we’ll fecht!” cried Kenneth.
“Gin ye come here, ye togs, she’ll slit a’ yer weams!” yelled Scoodrach excitedly; and then there was a pause, for the bailiff was holding a consultation, and then he pointed down to the beach.
“What’s he pointing at?” said Kenneth, as his followers placed fresh ammunition—the wet and the dry—ready.
“I know,” cried Max. “That old bit of a mast.”
“What, the broken topmast of the wreck?”
“Yes. They’re going to fetch it, and make a battering-ram to knock down the gate.”
“Then we’ll half drown the beggars,” cried Kenneth. “More water here! Cookie, let’s have some hot.”
“Hey, but ye shall have sax pots fu’, Maister Kenneth,” cried the woman, and in a very short time, as the bailiffs men went down to get the old spar, six kettles and saucepans of boiling water were brought up into the old broken gateway tower.
“Pour it into the pails, and soften it down, Maxy. We mustn’t give it to ’em too hot,” cried Kenneth.
“How much cold shall I put?”
“Half and half; that’ll suit ’em. Shall I give ’em some whisky and sugar with it, Grant?”
“Nay, nay,” cried the old butler; “and don’t make it too cold, or there’ll be no sting in it to frighten ’em.”
“Now then, girls,” cried Kenneth, “bring them along.”
Everybody worked with a will, and plenty of missiles were carried up the broken stone stairs and stored ready, Max making himself so busy, and growing so excited, that Tavish patted him on the shoulder.
“Hey,” he said softly, “’twas a gran’ petty she were born so far sooth.”
As for Scoodrach, he grew quite friendly, and grinned hugely at the way in which Max took to the defence.
“It’s a rare game, isn’t it, Maxy?” cried Kenneth, in the temporary lull of the attack.
“Game! I never enjoyed anything so much in my life. Shall we beat them off?”
“Shall she peat ’em off!” cried Tavish fiercely. “She wull peat ’em off! D’ye think ta children of ta Mackhai will let ta thieves come past ta gates?”
“Hurray!” cried Kenneth; and Scoodrach tossed up his bonnet as he shouted, and then nearly tumbled off the battlements as he tried to catch the cap, and stood scratching his curly red head as the woollen-tufted covering fell below.
“Hullo, Scood!” cried Max.
“It ton’t matter,” cried the gillie; “she can fecht petter withoot a ponnet.”
“Look at old Donald,” whispered Max.
The pipes had ceased, and they looked up, to see the old man stooping in a striking attitude, bareheaded and with his right hand shading his eyes, one knee resting on the corner crenele of the tower, his left arm grasping his pipes, while he watched the movements of the bailiff’s men, as they now began to lift the spar on to their shoulders.
“Be quite ready for them when they come,” cried Kenneth, after a hearty laugh at the old family retainer.
“Oh ay,” said Scood, “we’ll pe retty;” and, with a queer look, he drew a sgian-dhu from his belt.
“Ah, none of that, Scoody!” cried Kenneth. “Give me that knife.”
“Nay; she wants it for ta togs when ta gate’s knockit down.”
“No, you don’t. Here, Max, take away that knife.”
“Nay, she will na give it up,” growled Scoody menacingly; and his face grew dark as Max seized his wrist and took the knife.
“Ye daurna do that if ta young chief wasna here,” he said angrily.
“Yes, I dare,” cried Max, turning away, and giving Kenneth the knife, which he jerked over his shoulder into the courtyard.
At that moment the pipes struck up again, “The Campbells are coming,” and old Tonal’ recommenced his short march to and fro, for the bailiffs gang, after shouldering the old spar, were in full march up the steep slope towards the gateway, and as they approached they gave a triumphant cheer.
“Now, once more,” cried the bailiff: “where’s Mr Mackhai?”
“What do you mean with your ‘once more’? You never asked that before.”
“Never you mind about that, my lad; and you’ll find yourself in prison for this day’s work. Where’s Mr Mackhai?”
“Gone to Inverness, ugly,” cried Kenneth derisively.
“Then you’ve got to give up this place to me quietly, under an—”
Bang!
“Who threw that potato?”
“I did,” cried Max, laughing at the success of his aim, and his shot was followed by a shower which disorganised the enemy so that they ducked and dodged, and ended by dropping the old spar, from which all leaped, so as to save their toes.
“Pick it up, you great fools,” roared the bailiff angrily. “And you look here,” he cried, shaking the paper: “all the proper legal forms have been gone through, and this is an eviction order at the suit of— Hang them! how they can throw!” cried the man angrily, as a fresh missile struck him on the cheek.
“Fecht, laddies, fecht!” yelled Tonal’, stopping for a moment to shout, and then blowing again with all his might.
“You’d better go and pull that old madman down,” cried the bailiff. “Now, once for all,” he continued, shaking the paper, “will you surrender?”
“No!” shouted Kenneth.
“No!” yelled Scoodrach; “she’ll fecht till she ties. Come on!”
“All right,” said the bailiff, turning to his men, who had once more got the spar on their shoulders. “No, no,” he said; “half of you get one side, half the other, and swing it by your hands. Keep step, and run with it against the gate. The rotten old wood will fly like tinder.”
The men obeyed, got the spar, which was about twenty feet long, well swung between them, and stood ready.
“Now, when I say ‘go!’” cried the bailiff, “off with you at a good run, down with the gate, and rush in. I shall be close behind. Ready? Go!”
The men started, but they did not keep step, and before they had reached the gate, not only were they in confusion, but, amidst the shrieking of the pipes and the shouts and cheers of the defenders, they were met by such a storm of missiles, that, after bearing up against it for a few moments, they again dropped the great spar, and ran back.
This movement was the signal for a roar of derisive cheers, the boys indulging in quite a war-dance, which was ended by Scoodrach standing on his head upon one of the creneles, as a sign of his contempt for the enemy.
It was a dangerous feat, and he would have overbalanced himself, had not his father caught hold of one of his legs and dragged him back.
“What are ye gaun to dae?” he growled.
“Here, Scood, go and fetch the dining-room—no, you go, Grant—the table-cover, and that old long spear out of the hall.”
The old butler smiled grimly, and began to descend from the broken rampart to the courtyard.
“What are you going to do, Ken?” asked Max.
“Hoist our colours. I’ll let them see whether we’re going to surrender.”
“Want any more hot watter, Maister Ken?” cried the cook.
“Yes, to be sure—coppersful. Bring it along.”
For the first time in Kenneth’s recollection he saw the butler run, and in a few minutes he was back, with a red table-cover and a rusty-headed old lance.
“That’s right! I’ll show ’em!” cried Kenneth, as he tied two corners to the lance shaft; and, amidst fresh cheering, this was stuck in a corner and fixed in position with stones, so that the colours flew out triumphantly.
“Now then, come on!” shouted Kenneth, and a roar of defiance was uttered by the garrison, as the bailiff led back his men, making them pick up the battering-ram, and organising them for a fresh attack.
“A set o’ cooards!” he exclaimed; “I’m ashamed o’ ye.”
“Weel, ye rin too,” grumbled one of the men.
“Haud yer clack,” cried the bailiff. “Noo then—go!”
There was another rush, and another shower of missiles as effective as the last; but this time the men charged on, and gave a moderately effective thump on the great gate; but it was not delivered all together and with a will, for, although a little desperate, the attacking party could not help dodging the potatoes which came thudding against them, and they were confused by the shouts, yells, and the shrieking of the pipes.
But they delivered another stroke, and another, as Tonald yelled again,—
“Fecht, lads, fecht!” and then blew and stamped up and down in a wonderful state of excitement.
Hot water was poured down, potatoes, pails, pots of earthenware flew, and came down with a crash like exploding shells, and the excitement had nearly reached its height, when, in the midst of the storm of missiles thrown, the gate began to yield beneath the blows, and Kenneth was about to shout to his followers to run down and fight inside the gate, whose defenders now were the dogs alone, who barked and growled savagely at every blow.
“Don’t be beaten, lads; never mind their throwing. Keep it up,” cried the bailiff. “Never mind that. Go on. Another, and another, and down she comes.”
Bopp!
But it was not the gate. There was a loud explosion—quite a heavy, echoing report, but the way was not open to the bailiff’s men, and the occupants of Dunroe were not to be evicted that day.
For the attacking party suddenly ceased their efforts, to stand gazing in awe at something which had happened, and then they turned and fled.
Just when the wild confusion was at its height, and attackers and defenders were wild with excitement, the battering-ram threatening, the gates cracking, missiles flying, and both parties shouting with all their might, Donald Dhu was blowing his best, stamping up and down, gazing wildly at the participators in the fray, when in his excitement he stepped upon a loose stone near the edge of the tower, where the crenelation was broken away, slipped, and went headlong down, to fall in a sitting position, and cause the loud report that startled all.
“Oh, poor old Donald! he’s killed!” cried Kenneth, with a cry of anguish, as all the fun of the defence passed away, and he saw himself face to face with a tragedy, whose occurrence had paralysed every one present; the sight of the falling man and the report being followed by a dead silence, which affected even the dogs.
But, to the astonishment of all, the old man suddenly sprang up, clapped his hand to his side, and whirled out his claymore from its sheath.
“Fecht, laddies, fecht!” he yelled, as he waved the flashing blade above his head. “Doon wi’ t’ enemies o’ ta Mackhai!”
Uttering these last words as if they were a war-cry, he dashed at the bailiff, who stared wildly at the weird-looking old Highlander for a moment, and then, with his men, he turned and fled, the whole party retreating as hard as they could go.
“Hurray!” shouted Kenneth, and a burst of cheers followed, all shouting frantically as they saw old Tonal’ in full pursuit.
Full pursuit?
He only went about half a dozen yards; then he limped, then he stopped short, and then he turned slowly, making his sword a walking-stick, as the gates were thrown open, and the dogs dashed out, barking savagely, and took up the pursuit, adding wings to the flight of the bailiffs men. These ran the harder as they saw the light cavalry let loose, in the shape of Bruce, followed at a distance by the heavies, as represented by Dirk, who could not go so fast, and with the infantry in support in the ragged person of Sneeshing, who hindered his advance by keeping on firing shots.
The rest of the garrison poured forth, led by Kenneth, closely followed by Max and Scood, the former running up to old Donald, who came limping on.
“Are you much hurt, old man?” cried Kenneth, taking one arm.
“Ta togs! I’d ha’ slit the weam o’ ivery ane!” panted the piper.
“But are you much hurt? Anything broken?”
“Proken, dear laddie, son o’ my sin auld Chief—proken all to pits. Didna ye hear ta clash?”
“Let’s carry him in,” cried Max.
“Na, na, my bonnie Southron chiel’,” said the old man, smiling at Max. “Na, na, she can walk; put, Maister Crant, she could tak’ chust a tram o’ Talisker or Clen Nevis, for she’s a pit shakken wi’ coming town sae quick.”
The lads helped the old man toward the gateway while Grant ran off eagerly enough for the whisky.
“Scoody, fetch a chair,” cried Max.
“Lat her carry the auld man in,” said Tavish.
“Na, na, let her pe. I want to see ’em—I want to see ’em,” cried the old man, waving them off impatiently; and he limped to where his instrument, with the green baize bag and pennoned ivory-tipped pipes, lay on the ground.
“Oh tear! wae’s me!” he moaned, as he stooped down and picked up the instrument. “Put ta enemies o’ ta Mackhai listened to ta pibroch, and she turned and fled; put,” he added, looking round piteously, “it was a pran new pahg, it was a pran new pahg.”
“What!” cried Kenneth and Max, as a light struck in upon them, and the circle of sympathisers pressed round; “is the bag burst?”
“Purst!” groaned Tonal’ mournfully; “ant I tried so hart to haud her up, but she couldna dae it, and come doon setting on ta pran new skin. Tidn’t she hear her co pang?”
Chapter Twenty Six.“Suit of Andrew Blande.”A shriek of hearty laughter rose as poor Tonal’s naïve question was heard, and the old man tucked his pipes under his arm, and then took hold of the sheath and raised his claymore to return it to its peaceful state; but, as he raised the glistening basket-hilt to the full length of his stretch, it fell from his grasp with a clang upon the stones; the old man’s eyes closed, and he would have fallen, had not Max thrown his arm about his waist.“Oh, Donald, old man!” cried Kenneth piteously; “I wouldn’t have laughed if I had known.”“Whisht, laddie!” said Tavish. “Lat me tak’ him;” and, raising the old man in his arms, he bore him through the gates and into the servants’ quarters. Here he was laid upon a bed, and the whisky Grant had brought applied to his lips.“Oh, if we only had Mr Curzon here!” whispered Max.“Nay, laddie, we dinna want him,” said Tavish. “There’s naething proken but ta pipes—nae banes. He’s a bit shakkit i’ ta pack. It’s a coot way doon.”Just then the old man revived and looked round wonderingly, and his eyes flashed directly, as there was a loud barking again from the dogs.“Dinna ye hear?” he cried; “dinna ye hear? Ta enemy of ta Mackhai!”“Tavish! Scoody!” cried Kenneth excitedly. “Come on!”“Na,” said Scoodrach, grinning; “it’s naething but ta togs.”“But the gates! the gates!”“She shut ’em up chust noo, and it’s ta togs that canna get in.”A watch was kept as soon as the old man had been ministered to, and Tavish seemed to be right: Donald had been terribly shaken, but no bones were broken. He displayed a good deal of solicitude at one minute, though, and looked round wildly.“What is it, Tonal’?” said Kenneth, taking his hand.“Gude laddie,” he replied,—“gude laddie; but ta pipes—ta pipes!”“You shall have a new set,” cried Kenneth.“Yes; I’ll buy him a set,” cried Max.“Na, na. T’auld pipe is ta best. Lat ’em lay ’em here.”“Here?” said Kenneth inquiringly.“Yes, laddie, here.”The old man’s whim was gratified, and he dropped off to sleep with his arm round his instrument, cuddling it up to him on the pillow as if it had been a darling child.Donald was left to sleep; and, under Kenneth’s orders, all hands were set to work to clear away the traces of the fight, while Scoodrach was sent out to scout and bring back tidings of the whereabouts of the enemy.The young gillie had recovered his sgian-dhu from where it had been thrown by Kenneth, and he ran off with alacrity, delighted with his task; while baskets and maunds were brought, and amidst plenty of hearty laughter the potatoes were gathered up, the women entering into the task heart and soul.But, like Humpty Dumpty, the various earthenware pots that had fallen from the wall, even with the aid of all the king’s horses and men, could not have been put together again, so Long Shon gathered the sherds into a basket, throwing one load into the sea, and coming back for another.“I say, look here, Tavvy,” cried Kenneth very innocently, after hurling a potato with magnificent aim at Max’s back, and completely ignoring his inquiring gaze as the visitor turned round.“Tid she call me?”“Yes; we must have this old spar out of the way, for they may come back and have better luck next time.”“Hey, but they wadna daur come back,” cried Tavish.“I don’t know, Tavvy. Anyhow, we’ll have the spar where they can’t get it. Where shall we put it?”“She’d better pit it inside ta castle,” said Tavish.“Well, we’ll all help you carry it. You’ll help, Max?”“Oh yes, I’ll help,” replied Max, offering the potato to Kenneth. “Do you want to throw this at any one else?”“Eh? No. Yes, I do. I’ll keep it for the bailiffs. I say, though, this is a rum game. Those people can’t have any right to come like that.”“I don’t know for certain,” said Max; “but I’m afraid they have—if—”He stopped short, for Kenneth flushed up.“Oh, come, Maxy, that’s too bad. Don’t insult my father by saying things in that underhanded way. My father doesn’t owe money, I’m sure.”Max felt uncomfortable, for he had an undefined feeling that there was something very wrong, but it was all misty and confused.“I didn’t want to hurt your feelings, Ken,” he said.“Then you shouldn’t. There, never mind. Hi, Long Shon, come and help carry this old spar.”“She ton’t want any one to help her carry ta bit o’ wud,” said Tavish contemptuously. “She could pitch it like ta caber.”He raised himself to his full height, as he strode towards the gateway where the spar lay. Then, stooping down, he lifted one end and rested it upon his shoulder, after which he kept on hitching it up and getting farther under till he had reached the middle, when he grasped it with both hands firmly, took a step back, and the far end rose slowly from the ground, the spar swaying in equilibrium slowly up and down as the great fellow stood firm till it was at rest, and perfectly horizontal, when he strode slowly and steadily toward the gate and went through into the yard.“There, Maxy, talk about a Samson!” cried Kenneth; “what do you think of that?”“I’d give something to be as strong,” said Max, as he ran into the courtyard, followed by Kenneth, the two boys applauding loudly as Tavish gave himself a jerk, leaped aside, and the spar fell with a clang which echoed from the ruined walls.“She’s chust a wee pit heavy, Maister Ken,” said Tavish, passing his arm across his brow, “and she wadna like to carry ta pit o’ wood to Falkirk.”“Ta Chief—ta Chief!” shouted Scoodrach, coming running in through the gate.“What! my father?” cried Kenneth, flushing up. “I say, Maxy, what will he say? Where is he, Scoody?”“Chust here on ta pony,” whispered the lad, with his eyes wide; and he looked round for a way to escape, as if he had a pricking of conscience as to what had been going on.“Take the pony and rub him down. I’ve ridden hard. Where’s Mr Kenneth?” came from outside.The voice sounded very harsh and stern, so much so that Kenneth shrank from meeting him, but it was only for a moment.“I’m here, father,” he cried, and he went out, followed closely by Max,—who felt that he had no business to go, but that if he stayed back, it would be like leaving his friend in the lurch.“Oh, there you are—both of you,” said The Mackhai sternly; and Max noted that he was deadly pale, while the veins in his temples were swollen, and looked like a network right round to the front of his brow.“Yes, father, here we are—both of us,” said Kenneth, unconsciously repeating his father’s form of expression.“Then perhaps, sir, you will explain to me what is the meaning of that piece of tomfoolery?”The Mackhai was evidently greatly agitated, and fighting down his anger, as he spoke in a cold, cutting tone, and pointed upward to the ruined battlements.Kenneth and Max had both forgotten it till they glanced up, and saw the dining-room table-cover floating from the spear staff in the wind.“That, father?” cried Kenneth, forcing a laugh, while Max felt a strange desire to beat a retreat; “that’s the banner of the Mackhais.”“No fooling, sir, at a time like this,” cried The Mackhai, so fiercely that his son turned pale. “And now please explain what’s all this I have just learned on the way, about a party of men coming here, and there being a desperate fight. Is this true?”“Well, there has been a fight, father. I don’t know about desperate.”“Not desperate, sir! when I found two men on the road, one bruised and battered about so that he can’t see out of his eyes, and his face all blood-smeared, while the other is lamed, and can hardly walk.”“Well, sir,” said Kenneth boldly, “a pack of scoundrels came here with a cock-and-bull story about taking possession of Dunroe; and as you were out, and I knew it must be some trick, I called our people together, shut the gates, set them at defiance, and—there was a fight, and we beat ’em off.”A flush of pride came across The Mackhai’s face, and a bright look fell upon his son, but they passed away directly, and he continued, with lowering brow.“And you have done this, sir?” he said sternly; “and you,” he added, turning sharply upon Max,—“you knew better than this stupid country boor of a boy. Why didn’t you stop him?”“I did not think of doing so, sir,” said Max, hesitating; and then, speaking out firmly, “I helped him, and did my best to beat the people off. I’m afraid I was worse than he.”“What?” cried The Mackhai; “you did?”“Yes, sir, I did.”The Mackhai burst into a wild, discordant laugh.“You did?” he repeated mockingly. “You helped to beat off these scoundrels of the law?”“Yes, sir.”Kenneth flushed, for it seemed to him that his father was casting a doubt on his friend’s pluck.“Yes, father, that he did; and no fellow could have fought better.”“This is most delicious!” cried The Mackhai mockingly. “You, Maximilian Blande, fought with all your might to defend my home from these people?”“I thought the property of the gentleman who had been very kind to me was in danger, sir, and I helped his son with all my might,” said Max warmly. “I’m sorry if I’ve done wrong. Don’t be angry with Kenneth, sir. I’m sure he meant to do what was right.”“Right!” cried the Mackhai. “You young idiots, you don’t know what you’ve done,—you do not, Kenneth. As for you, you young viper, are you as cunning as you are high, or is this childishness and—”“Mackhai! Mackhai!” yelled Scoodrach, coming tearing into the courtyard from the house. “Maister Maister Ken, Maister Max, ta deevils have been and cot ta poat, and they’ve landed on ta rocks, and got into ta house.”“What!” cried Kenneth excitedly. “Come on, father. Oh, why didn’t I put a sentry there?”Taken in the rear, the boy felt, and, forgetful of his father’s words, he was about to rush away to the defence, when, paler than ever, his father clapped his hand upon his shoulder.“Stop!” he cried; and he drew himself up to his full height, as there were the sounds of feet from within, and the bailiff came through the inner archway of the castle, to stand among the ruins of old Dunroe, to proclaim the ruin of the new.“Mr Mackhai,” he said sharply, as he presented a slip of paper, “in the Queen’s name I take possession here—suit of Mr Andrew Blande, Lincoln’s Inn, London.”“What!” cried Max, whose jaw dropped as he grasped the state of affairs. “It is a lie! my father would not do such a thing.”“Your cursed father, sir, would do anything that is mean and base—even to sending you down here to be a spy upon us, till he could tie the last knot in the miserable net he has thrown around me.”“Oh, Max!” cried Kenneth, as his face flushed, and then turned pale.“Be a man, my boy,” said his father sternly. “Recollect that you are a Mackhai. Let this legal robber take all; let him and his son enjoy their prize. Ken, my boy, my folly has made a beggar of you. I have lost all now, but one thing. I am still a gentleman of a good old race. He cannot rob me of that. Come.”He walked proudly through the archway into the house with his son, and the rest followed, leaving Max Blande standing alone in the old courtyard, staring wildly before him, till he started as if stung. For all at once a jackdaw on the inner part of one of the towers uttered what sounded to him a mocking, jeering—Tah!
A shriek of hearty laughter rose as poor Tonal’s naïve question was heard, and the old man tucked his pipes under his arm, and then took hold of the sheath and raised his claymore to return it to its peaceful state; but, as he raised the glistening basket-hilt to the full length of his stretch, it fell from his grasp with a clang upon the stones; the old man’s eyes closed, and he would have fallen, had not Max thrown his arm about his waist.
“Oh, Donald, old man!” cried Kenneth piteously; “I wouldn’t have laughed if I had known.”
“Whisht, laddie!” said Tavish. “Lat me tak’ him;” and, raising the old man in his arms, he bore him through the gates and into the servants’ quarters. Here he was laid upon a bed, and the whisky Grant had brought applied to his lips.
“Oh, if we only had Mr Curzon here!” whispered Max.
“Nay, laddie, we dinna want him,” said Tavish. “There’s naething proken but ta pipes—nae banes. He’s a bit shakkit i’ ta pack. It’s a coot way doon.”
Just then the old man revived and looked round wonderingly, and his eyes flashed directly, as there was a loud barking again from the dogs.
“Dinna ye hear?” he cried; “dinna ye hear? Ta enemy of ta Mackhai!”
“Tavish! Scoody!” cried Kenneth excitedly. “Come on!”
“Na,” said Scoodrach, grinning; “it’s naething but ta togs.”
“But the gates! the gates!”
“She shut ’em up chust noo, and it’s ta togs that canna get in.”
A watch was kept as soon as the old man had been ministered to, and Tavish seemed to be right: Donald had been terribly shaken, but no bones were broken. He displayed a good deal of solicitude at one minute, though, and looked round wildly.
“What is it, Tonal’?” said Kenneth, taking his hand.
“Gude laddie,” he replied,—“gude laddie; but ta pipes—ta pipes!”
“You shall have a new set,” cried Kenneth.
“Yes; I’ll buy him a set,” cried Max.
“Na, na. T’auld pipe is ta best. Lat ’em lay ’em here.”
“Here?” said Kenneth inquiringly.
“Yes, laddie, here.”
The old man’s whim was gratified, and he dropped off to sleep with his arm round his instrument, cuddling it up to him on the pillow as if it had been a darling child.
Donald was left to sleep; and, under Kenneth’s orders, all hands were set to work to clear away the traces of the fight, while Scoodrach was sent out to scout and bring back tidings of the whereabouts of the enemy.
The young gillie had recovered his sgian-dhu from where it had been thrown by Kenneth, and he ran off with alacrity, delighted with his task; while baskets and maunds were brought, and amidst plenty of hearty laughter the potatoes were gathered up, the women entering into the task heart and soul.
But, like Humpty Dumpty, the various earthenware pots that had fallen from the wall, even with the aid of all the king’s horses and men, could not have been put together again, so Long Shon gathered the sherds into a basket, throwing one load into the sea, and coming back for another.
“I say, look here, Tavvy,” cried Kenneth very innocently, after hurling a potato with magnificent aim at Max’s back, and completely ignoring his inquiring gaze as the visitor turned round.
“Tid she call me?”
“Yes; we must have this old spar out of the way, for they may come back and have better luck next time.”
“Hey, but they wadna daur come back,” cried Tavish.
“I don’t know, Tavvy. Anyhow, we’ll have the spar where they can’t get it. Where shall we put it?”
“She’d better pit it inside ta castle,” said Tavish.
“Well, we’ll all help you carry it. You’ll help, Max?”
“Oh yes, I’ll help,” replied Max, offering the potato to Kenneth. “Do you want to throw this at any one else?”
“Eh? No. Yes, I do. I’ll keep it for the bailiffs. I say, though, this is a rum game. Those people can’t have any right to come like that.”
“I don’t know for certain,” said Max; “but I’m afraid they have—if—”
He stopped short, for Kenneth flushed up.
“Oh, come, Maxy, that’s too bad. Don’t insult my father by saying things in that underhanded way. My father doesn’t owe money, I’m sure.”
Max felt uncomfortable, for he had an undefined feeling that there was something very wrong, but it was all misty and confused.
“I didn’t want to hurt your feelings, Ken,” he said.
“Then you shouldn’t. There, never mind. Hi, Long Shon, come and help carry this old spar.”
“She ton’t want any one to help her carry ta bit o’ wud,” said Tavish contemptuously. “She could pitch it like ta caber.”
He raised himself to his full height, as he strode towards the gateway where the spar lay. Then, stooping down, he lifted one end and rested it upon his shoulder, after which he kept on hitching it up and getting farther under till he had reached the middle, when he grasped it with both hands firmly, took a step back, and the far end rose slowly from the ground, the spar swaying in equilibrium slowly up and down as the great fellow stood firm till it was at rest, and perfectly horizontal, when he strode slowly and steadily toward the gate and went through into the yard.
“There, Maxy, talk about a Samson!” cried Kenneth; “what do you think of that?”
“I’d give something to be as strong,” said Max, as he ran into the courtyard, followed by Kenneth, the two boys applauding loudly as Tavish gave himself a jerk, leaped aside, and the spar fell with a clang which echoed from the ruined walls.
“She’s chust a wee pit heavy, Maister Ken,” said Tavish, passing his arm across his brow, “and she wadna like to carry ta pit o’ wood to Falkirk.”
“Ta Chief—ta Chief!” shouted Scoodrach, coming running in through the gate.
“What! my father?” cried Kenneth, flushing up. “I say, Maxy, what will he say? Where is he, Scoody?”
“Chust here on ta pony,” whispered the lad, with his eyes wide; and he looked round for a way to escape, as if he had a pricking of conscience as to what had been going on.
“Take the pony and rub him down. I’ve ridden hard. Where’s Mr Kenneth?” came from outside.
The voice sounded very harsh and stern, so much so that Kenneth shrank from meeting him, but it was only for a moment.
“I’m here, father,” he cried, and he went out, followed closely by Max,—who felt that he had no business to go, but that if he stayed back, it would be like leaving his friend in the lurch.
“Oh, there you are—both of you,” said The Mackhai sternly; and Max noted that he was deadly pale, while the veins in his temples were swollen, and looked like a network right round to the front of his brow.
“Yes, father, here we are—both of us,” said Kenneth, unconsciously repeating his father’s form of expression.
“Then perhaps, sir, you will explain to me what is the meaning of that piece of tomfoolery?”
The Mackhai was evidently greatly agitated, and fighting down his anger, as he spoke in a cold, cutting tone, and pointed upward to the ruined battlements.
Kenneth and Max had both forgotten it till they glanced up, and saw the dining-room table-cover floating from the spear staff in the wind.
“That, father?” cried Kenneth, forcing a laugh, while Max felt a strange desire to beat a retreat; “that’s the banner of the Mackhais.”
“No fooling, sir, at a time like this,” cried The Mackhai, so fiercely that his son turned pale. “And now please explain what’s all this I have just learned on the way, about a party of men coming here, and there being a desperate fight. Is this true?”
“Well, there has been a fight, father. I don’t know about desperate.”
“Not desperate, sir! when I found two men on the road, one bruised and battered about so that he can’t see out of his eyes, and his face all blood-smeared, while the other is lamed, and can hardly walk.”
“Well, sir,” said Kenneth boldly, “a pack of scoundrels came here with a cock-and-bull story about taking possession of Dunroe; and as you were out, and I knew it must be some trick, I called our people together, shut the gates, set them at defiance, and—there was a fight, and we beat ’em off.”
A flush of pride came across The Mackhai’s face, and a bright look fell upon his son, but they passed away directly, and he continued, with lowering brow.
“And you have done this, sir?” he said sternly; “and you,” he added, turning sharply upon Max,—“you knew better than this stupid country boor of a boy. Why didn’t you stop him?”
“I did not think of doing so, sir,” said Max, hesitating; and then, speaking out firmly, “I helped him, and did my best to beat the people off. I’m afraid I was worse than he.”
“What?” cried The Mackhai; “you did?”
“Yes, sir, I did.”
The Mackhai burst into a wild, discordant laugh.
“You did?” he repeated mockingly. “You helped to beat off these scoundrels of the law?”
“Yes, sir.”
Kenneth flushed, for it seemed to him that his father was casting a doubt on his friend’s pluck.
“Yes, father, that he did; and no fellow could have fought better.”
“This is most delicious!” cried The Mackhai mockingly. “You, Maximilian Blande, fought with all your might to defend my home from these people?”
“I thought the property of the gentleman who had been very kind to me was in danger, sir, and I helped his son with all my might,” said Max warmly. “I’m sorry if I’ve done wrong. Don’t be angry with Kenneth, sir. I’m sure he meant to do what was right.”
“Right!” cried the Mackhai. “You young idiots, you don’t know what you’ve done,—you do not, Kenneth. As for you, you young viper, are you as cunning as you are high, or is this childishness and—”
“Mackhai! Mackhai!” yelled Scoodrach, coming tearing into the courtyard from the house. “Maister Maister Ken, Maister Max, ta deevils have been and cot ta poat, and they’ve landed on ta rocks, and got into ta house.”
“What!” cried Kenneth excitedly. “Come on, father. Oh, why didn’t I put a sentry there?”
Taken in the rear, the boy felt, and, forgetful of his father’s words, he was about to rush away to the defence, when, paler than ever, his father clapped his hand upon his shoulder.
“Stop!” he cried; and he drew himself up to his full height, as there were the sounds of feet from within, and the bailiff came through the inner archway of the castle, to stand among the ruins of old Dunroe, to proclaim the ruin of the new.
“Mr Mackhai,” he said sharply, as he presented a slip of paper, “in the Queen’s name I take possession here—suit of Mr Andrew Blande, Lincoln’s Inn, London.”
“What!” cried Max, whose jaw dropped as he grasped the state of affairs. “It is a lie! my father would not do such a thing.”
“Your cursed father, sir, would do anything that is mean and base—even to sending you down here to be a spy upon us, till he could tie the last knot in the miserable net he has thrown around me.”
“Oh, Max!” cried Kenneth, as his face flushed, and then turned pale.
“Be a man, my boy,” said his father sternly. “Recollect that you are a Mackhai. Let this legal robber take all; let him and his son enjoy their prize. Ken, my boy, my folly has made a beggar of you. I have lost all now, but one thing. I am still a gentleman of a good old race. He cannot rob me of that. Come.”
He walked proudly through the archway into the house with his son, and the rest followed, leaving Max Blande standing alone in the old courtyard, staring wildly before him, till he started as if stung. For all at once a jackdaw on the inner part of one of the towers uttered what sounded to him a mocking, jeering—
Tah!