Mr. Standfast

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'That's a bloody lee,' said one of the Fusilier jocks.

The man took no notice of the interruption, being carried away
by the torrent of his own rhetoric, but he had not allowed for the
persistence of the interrupter. The jock got slowly to his feet, and
announced that he wanted satisfaction. 'If ye open your dirty gab to
blagyird honest men, I'll come up on the platform and wring your neck.'

At that there was a fine old row, some crying out 'Order',
some 'Fair play', and some applauding. A Canadian at the back
of the hall started a song, and there was an ugly press forward.
The hall seemed to be moving up from the back, and already
men were standing in all the passages and right to the edge of
the platform. I did not like the look in the eyes of these
new-comers, and among the crowd I saw several who were obviously
plain-clothes policemen.

The chairman whispered a word to the speaker, who continued
when the noise had temporarily died down. He kept off the army
and returned to the Government, and for a little sluiced out pure
anarchism. But he got his foot in it again, for he pointed to the
Sinn Feiners as examples of manly independence. At that,
pandemonium broke loose, and he never had another look in. There were
several fights going on in the hall between the public and
courageous supporters of the orator.

Then Gresson advanced to the edge of the platform in a vain
endeavour to retrieve the day. I must say he did it uncommonly
well. He was clearly a practised speaker, and for a moment his
appeal 'Now, boys, let's cool down a bit and talk sense,' had an
effect. But the mischief had been done, and the crowd was surging
round the lonely redoubt where we sat. Besides, I could see that for
all his clever talk the meeting did not like the look of him. He was
as mild as a turtle dove, but they wouldn't stand for it. A missile
hurtled past my nose, and I saw a rotten cabbage envelop the
baldish head of the ex-deportee. Someone reached out a long arm
and grabbed a chair, and with it took the legs from Gresson. Then
the lights suddenly went out, and we retreated in good order by the
platform door with a yelling crowd at our heels.

It was here that the plain-clothes men came in handy. They held
the door while the ex-deportee was smuggled out by some side
entrance. That class of lad would soon cease to exist but for the
protection of the law which he would abolish. The rest of us,
having less to fear, were suffered to leak into Newmilns Street. I
found myself next to Gresson, and took his arm. There was
something hard in his coat pocket.

Unfortunately there was a big lamp at the point where we
emerged, and there for our confusion were the Fusilier jocks. Both
were strung to fighting pitch, and were determined to have
someone's blood. Of me they took no notice, but Gresson had
spoken after their ire had been roused, and was marked out as a
victim. With a howl of joy they rushed for him.

I felt his hand steal to his side-pocket. 'Let that alone, you fool,'
I growled in his ear.

'Sure, mister,' he said, and the next second we were in the thick
of it.

It was like so many street fights I have seen - an immense crowd
which surged up around us, and yet left a clear ring. Gresson and I
got against the wall on the side-walk, and faced the furious soldiery.
My intention was to do as little as possible, but the first minute
convinced me that my companion had no idea how to use his fists,
and I was mortally afraid that he would get busy with the gun in
his pocket. It was that fear that brought me into the scrap. The
jocks were sportsmen every bit of them, and only one advanced to
the combat. He hit Gresson a clip on the jaw with his left, and but
for the wall would have laid him out. I saw in the lamplight the
vicious gleam in the American's eye and the twitch of his hand to
his pocket. That decided me to interfere and I got in front of him.

This brought the second jock into the fray. He was a broad,
thickset fellow, of the adorable bandy-legged stocky type that I had
seen go through the Railway Triangle at Arras as though it were
blotting-paper. He had some notion of fighting, too, and gave me a
rough time, for I had to keep edging the other fellow off Gresson.

'Go home, you fool,' I shouted. 'Let this gentleman alone. I
don't want to hurt you.'

The only answer was a hook-hit which I just managed to guard,
followed by a mighty drive with his right which I dodged so that
he barked his knuckles on the wall. I heard a yell of rage, and
observed that Gresson seemed to have kicked his assailant on the
shin. I began to long for the police.

Then there was that swaying of the crowd which betokens the
approach of the forces of law and order. But they were too late to
prevent trouble. In self-defence I had to take my jock seriously,
and got in my blow when he had overreached himself and lost his
balance. I never hit anyone so unwillingly in my life. He went over
like a poled ox, and measured his length on the causeway.

I found myself explaining things politely to the constables. 'These
men objected to this gentleman's speech at the meeting, and I had
to interfere to protect him. No, no! I don't want to charge anybody.
It was all a misunderstanding.' I helped the stricken jock to rise
and offered him ten bob for consolation.

He looked at me sullenly and spat on the ground. 'Keep your
dirty money,' he said. 'I'll be even with ye yet, my man - you
and that red-headed scab. I'll mind the looks of ye the next time I
see ye.'
Gresson was wiping the blood from his cheek with a silk
handkerchief. 'I guess I'm in your debt, Mr Brand,' he said. 'You
may bet I won't forget it.'

I returned to an anxious Amos. He heard my story in silence and
his only comment was -'Well done the Fusiliers!'

'It might have been worse, I'll not deny,' he went on. 'Ye've
established some kind of a claim upon Gresson, which may come in
handy ... Speaking about Gresson, I've news for ye. He's sailing
on Friday as purser in the _Tobermory. The _Tobermory's a boat that
wanders every month up the West Highlands as far as Stornoway.
I've arranged for ye to take a trip on that boat, Mr Brand.'

I nodded. 'How did you find out that?' I asked.

'It took me some finding,' he said dryly, 'but I've ways and
means. Now I'll not trouble ye with advice, for ye ken your job as
well as me. But I'm going north myself the morn to look after
some of the Ross-shire wuds, and I'll be in the way of getting
telegrams at the Kyle. Ye'll keep that in mind. Keep in mind, too,
that I'm a great reader of the_Pilgrim's _Progress and that I've a
cousin of the name of Ochterlony.'

CHAPTER FIVE
Various Doings in the West

The _Tobermory was no ship for passengers. Its decks were littered
with a hundred oddments, so that a man could barely walk a step
without tacking, and my bunk was simply a shelf in the frowsty
little saloon, where the odour of ham and eggs hung like a fog. I
joined her at Greenock and took a turn on deck with the captain
after tea, when he told me the names of the big blue hills to the
north. He had a fine old copper-coloured face and side-whiskers
like an archbishop, and, having spent all his days beating up the
western seas, had as many yarns in his head as Peter himself.

'On this boat,' he announced, 'we don't ken what a day may
bring forth. I may put into Colonsay for twa hours and bide there
three days. I get a telegram at Oban and the next thing I'm awa
ayont Barra. Sheep's the difficult business. They maun be fetched
for the sales, and they're dooms slow to lift. So ye see it's not what
ye call a pleasure trip, Maister Brand.'

Indeed it wasn't, for the confounded tub wallowed like a fat sow
as soon as we rounded a headland and got the weight of the south-
western wind. When asked my purpose, I explained that I was a
colonial of Scots extraction, who was paying his first visit to his
fatherland and wanted to explore the beauties of the West
Highlands. I let him gather that I was not rich in this world's goods.

' Ye'll have a passport?' he asked. 'They'll no let ye go north o'
Fort William without one.'

Amos had said nothing about passports, so I looked blank.

'I could keep ye on board for the whole voyage,' he went on,
'but ye wouldna be permitted to land. if ye're seekin' enjoyment, it
would be a poor job sittin' on this deck and admirin' the works O'
God and no allowed to step on the pier-head. Ye should have
applied to the military gentlemen in Glesca. But ye've plenty o'
time to make up your mind afore we get to Oban. We've a heap
o' calls to make Mull and Islay way.'

The purser came up to inquire about my ticket, and greeted me
with a grin.

,Ye're acquaint with Mr Gresson, then?' said the captain. 'Weel,
we're a cheery wee ship's company, and that's the great thing on
this kind o' job.'

I made but a poor supper, for the wind had risen to half a gale,
and I saw hours of wretchedness approaching. The trouble with me
is that I cannot be honestly sick and get it over. Queasiness and
headache beset me and there is no refuge but bed. I turned into my
bunk, leaving the captain and the mate smoking shag not six feet
from my head, and fell into a restless sleep. When I woke the place
was empty, and smelt vilely of stale tobacco and cheese. My throbbing
brows made sleep impossible, and I tried to ease them by
staggering upon deck. I saw a clear windy sky, with every star as
bright as a live coal, and a heaving waste of dark waters running to
ink-black hills. Then a douche of spray caught me and sent me
down the companion to my bunk again, where I lay for hours
trying to make a plan of campaign.

I argued that if Amos had wanted me to have a passport he
would have provided one, so I needn't bother my head about that.
But it was my business to keep alongside Gresson, and if the boat
stayed a week in some port and he went off ashore, I must follow
him. Having no passport I would have to be always dodging
trouble, which would handicap my movements and in all likelihood
make me more conspicuous than I wanted. I guessed that Amos
had denied me the passport for the very reason that he wanted
Gresson to think me harmless. The area of danger would, therefore,
be the passport country, somewhere north of Fort William.

But to follow Gresson I must run risks and enter that country.
His suspicions, if he had any, would be lulled if I left the boat at
Oban, but it was up to me to follow overland to the north and hit
the place where the _Tobermory made a long stay. The confounded
tub had no plans; she wandered about the West Highlands looking
for sheep and things; and the captain himself could give me no
time-table of her voyage. It was incredible that Gresson should take
all this trouble if he did not know that at some place - and the right
place - he would have time to get a spell ashore. But I could
scarcely ask Gresson for that information, though I determined to
cast a wary fly over him. I knew roughly the _Tobermory's course -
through the Sound of Islay to Colonsay; then up the east side of
Mull to Oban; then through the Sound of Mull to the islands with
names like cocktails, Rum and Eigg and Coll; then to Skye; and
then for the Outer Hebrides. I thought the last would be the place,
and it seemed madness to leave the boat, for the Lord knew how
I should get across the Minch. This consideration upset all my
plans again, and I fell into a troubled sleep without coming to
any conclusion.

Morning found us nosing between Jura and Islay, and about
midday we touched at a little port, where we unloaded some cargo
and took on a couple of shepherds who were going to Colonsay.
The mellow afternoon and the good smell of salt and heather got
rid of the dregs of my queasiness, and I spent a profitable hour on
the pier-head with a guide-book called _Baddely's _Scotland, and one
of Bartholomew's maps. I was beginning to think that Amos might
be able to tell me something, for a talk with the captain had
suggested that the _Tobermory would not dally long in the neighbourhood
of Rum and Eigg. The big droving season was scarcely on yet,
and sheep for the Oban market would be lifted on the return
journey. In that case Skye was the first place to watch, and if I
could get wind of any big cargo waiting there I would be able to
make a plan. Amos was somewhere near the Kyle, and that was
across the narrows from Skye. Looking at the map, it seemed to me
that, in spite of being passportless, I might be able somehow to
make my way up through Morvern and Arisaig to the latitude of
Skye. The difficulty would be to get across the strip of sea, but
there must be boats to beg, borrow or steal.

I was poring over Baddely when Gresson sat down beside me.
He was in a good temper, and disposed to talk, and to my surprise
his talk was all about the beauties of the countryside. There was a
kind of apple-green light over everything; the steep heather hills
cut into the sky like purple amethysts, while beyond the straits the
western ocean stretched its pale molten gold to the sunset. Gresson
waxed lyrical over the scene. 'This just about puts me right inside,
Mr Brand. I've got to get away from that little old town pretty
frequent or I begin to moult like a canary. A man feels a man when
he gets to a place that smells as good as this. Why in hell do we
ever get messed up in those stone and lime cages? I reckon some
day I'll pull my freight for a clean location and settle down there
and make little poems. This place would about content me. And
there's a spot out in California in the Coast ranges that I've been
keeping my eye on,' The odd thing was that I believe he meant it.
His ugly face was lit up with a serious delight.

He told me he had taken this voyage before, so I got out Baddely
and asked for advice. 'I can't spend too much time on holidaying,' I
told him, 'and I want to see all the beauty spots. But the best of
them seem to be in the area that this fool British Government
won't let you into without a passport. I suppose I shall have to
leave you at Oban.'

'Too bad,' he said sympathetically. 'Well, they tell me there's
some pretty sights round Oban.' And he thumbed the guide-book
and began to read about Glencoe.

I said that was not my purpose, and pitched him a yarn about
Prince Charlie and how my mother's great-grandfather had played
some kind of part in that show. I told him I wanted to see the place
where the Prince landed and where he left for France. 'So far as I
can make out that won't take me into the passport country, but I'll
have to do a bit of footslogging. Well, I'm used to padding the
hoof. I must get the captain to put me off in Morvern, and then I
can foot it round the top of Lochiel and get back to Oban through
Appin. How's that for a holiday trek?'

He gave the scheme his approval. 'But if it was me, Mr Brand, I
would have a shot at puzzling your gallant policemen. You and I
don't take much stock in Governments and their two-cent laws,
and it would be a good game to see just how far you could get into
the forbidden land. A man like you could put up a good bluff on
those hayseeds. I don't mind having a bet ...'

'No,' I said. 'I'm out for a rest, and not for sport. If there was
anything to be gained I'd undertake to bluff my way to the Orkney
Islands. But it's a wearing job and I've better things to think about.'
'So? Well, enjoy yourself your own way. I'll be sorry when you
leave us, for I owe you something for that rough-house, and beside
there's darned little company in the old moss-back captain.'

That evening Gresson and I swopped yarns after supper to the
accompaniment of the 'Ma Goad!' and 'Is't possible?' of captain
and mate. I went to bed after a glass or two of weak grog, and
made up for the last night's vigil by falling sound asleep. I had very
little kit with me, beyond what I stood up in and could carry in my
waterproof pockets, but on Amos's advice I had brought my little
nickel-plated revolver. This lived by day in my hip pocket, but at
night I put it behind my pillow. But when I woke next morning to
find us casting anchor in the bay below rough low hills, which I
knew to be the island of Colonsay, I could find no trace of the
revolver. I searched every inch of the bunk and only shook out
feathers from the mouldy ticking. I remembered perfectly putting
the thing behind my head before I went to sleep, and now it had
vanished utterly. Of course I could not advertise my loss, and
I didn't greatly mind it, for this was not a job where I could
do much shooting. But it made me think a good deal about Mr
Gresson. He simply could not suspect me; if he had bagged my
gun, as I was pretty certain he had, it must be because he wanted it
for himself and not that he might disarm me. Every way I argued
it I reached the same conclusion. In Gresson's eyes I must seem
as harmless as a child.

We spent the better part of a day at Colonsay, and Gresson, so
far as his duties allowed, stuck to me like a limpet. Before I went
ashore I wrote out a telegram for Amos. I devoted a hectic hour to
the _Pilgrim's _Progress, but I could not compose any kind of
intelligible message with reference to its text. We had all the same
edition - the one in the _Golden _Treasury series - so I could have
made up a sort of cipher by referring to lines and pages, but that
would have taken up a dozen telegraph forms and seemed to me
too elaborate for the purpose. So I sent this message:

__Ochterlony, Post Office, Kyle,
I hope to spend part of holiday near you and to see you if boat's
programme permits. Are any good cargoes waiting in your
neighbourhood? Reply Post Office, _Oban.

It was highly important that Gresson should not see this, but it
was the deuce of a business to shake him off. I went for a walk in
the afternoon along the shore and passed the telegraph office, but
the confounded fellow was with me all the time. My only chance
was just before we sailed, when he had to go on board to check
some cargo. As the telegraph office stood full in view of the ship's
deck I did not go near it. But in the back end of the clachan I found
the schoolmaster, and got him to promise to send the wire. I also
bought off him a couple of well-worn sevenpenny novels.

The result was that I delayed our departure for ten minutes and
when I came on board faced a wrathful Gresson. 'Where the hell
have you been?' he asked. 'The weather's blowing up dirty and the
old man's mad to get off. Didn't you get your legs stretched
enough this afternoon?'

I explained humbly that I had been to the schoolmaster to get
something to read, and produced my dingy red volumes. At that his
brow cleared. I could see that his suspicions were set at rest.

We left Colonsay about six in the evening with the sky behind us
banking for a storm, and the hills of Jura to starboard an angry
purple. Colonsay was too low an island to be any kind of breakwater
against a western gale, so the weather was bad from the start. Our
course was north by east, and when we had passed the butt-end of
the island we nosed about in the trough of big seas, shipping tons
of water and rolling like a buffalo. I know as much about boats as
about Egyptian hieroglyphics, but even my landsman's eyes could
tell that we were in for a rough night. I was determined not to get
queasy again, but when I went below the smell of tripe and onions
promised to be my undoing; so I dined off a slab of chocolate and a cabin
biscuit, put on my waterproof, and resolved to stick it out on deck.

I took up position near the bows, where I was out of reach of
the oily steamer smells. It was as fresh as the top of a mountain, but
mighty cold and wet, for a gusty drizzle had set in, and I got the
spindrift of the big waves. There I balanced myself, as we lurched
into the twilight, hanging on with one hand to a rope which
descended from the stumpy mast. I noticed that there was only an
indifferent rail between me and the edge, but that interested me and
helped to keep off sickness. I swung to the movement of the vessel,
and though I was mortally cold it was rather pleasant than
otherwise. My notion was to get the nausea whipped out of me by the
weather, and, when I was properly tired, to go down and turn in.

I stood there till the dark had fallen. By that time I was an
automaton, the way a man gets on sentry-go, and I could have
easily hung on till morning. My thoughts ranged about the earth,
beginning with the business I had set out on, and presently - by
way of recollections of Blenkiron and Peter - reaching the German
forest where, in the Christmas of 1915, I had been nearly done in by
fever and old Stumm. I remembered the bitter cold of that wild
race, and the way the snow seemed to burn like fire when I stumbled
and got my face into it. I reflected that sea-sickness was kitten's
play to a good bout of malaria.

The weather was growing worse, and I was getting more than
spindrift from the seas. I hooked my arm round the rope, for my
fingers were numbing. Then I fell to dreaming again, principally
about Fosse Manor and Mary Lamington. This so ravished me that
I was as good as asleep. I was trying to reconstruct the picture as I
had last seen her at Biggleswick station ...

A heavy body collided with me and shook my arm from the
rope. I slithered across the yard of deck, engulfed in a whirl of
water. One foot caught a stanchion of the rail, and it gave with me,
so that for an instant I was more than half overboard. But my
fingers clawed wildly and caught in the links of what must have
been the anchor chain. They held, though a ton's weight seemed to
be tugging at my feet ... Then the old tub rolled back, the waters
slipped off, and I was sprawling on a wet deck with no breath in
me and a gallon of brine in my windpipe.

I heard a voice cry out sharply, and a hand helped me to my feet.
It was Gresson, and he seemed excited.

'God, Mr Brand, that was a close call! I was coming up to find
you, when this damned ship took to lying on her side. I guess I
must have cannoned into you, and I was calling myself bad names
when I saw you rolling into the Atlantic. If I hadn't got a grip on
the rope I would have been down beside you. Say, you're not hurt?
I reckon you'd better come below and get a glass of rum under
your belt. You're about as wet as mother's dish-clouts.'

There's one advantage about campaigning. You take your luck
when it comes and don't worry about what might have been. I
didn't think any more of the business, except that it had cured me
of wanting to be sea-sick. I went down to the reeking cabin without
one qualm in my stomach, and ate a good meal of welsh-rabbit and
bottled Bass, with a tot of rum to follow up with. Then I shed my
wet garments, and slept in my bunk till we anchored off a village in
Mull in a clear blue morning.

It took us four days to crawl up that coast and make Oban, for
we seemed to be a floating general store for every hamlet in those
parts. Gresson made himself very pleasant, as if he wanted to atone
for nearly doing me in. We played some poker, and I read the little
books I had got in Colonsay, and then rigged up a fishing-line, and
caught saithe and lythe and an occasional big haddock. But I found
the time pass slowly, and I was glad that about noon one day we
came into a bay blocked with islands and saw a clean little town
sitting on the hills and the smoke of a railway engine.

I went ashore and purchased a better brand of hat in a tweed
store. Then I made a bee-line for the post office, and asked for
telegrams. One was given to me, and as I opened it I saw Gresson
at my elbow.

It read thus:

_Brand, Post office, Oban. Page 117, paragraph 3. _Ochterlony.

I passed it to Gresson with a rueful face.

'There's a piece of foolishness,' I said. 'I've got a cousin who's a
Presbyterian minister up in Ross-shire, and before I knew about
this passport humbug I wrote to him and offered to pay him a visit.
I told him to wire me here if it was convenient, and the old idiot
has sent me the wrong telegram. This was likely as not meant for
some other brother parson, who's got my message instead.'

'What's the guy's name?' Gresson asked curiously, peering at
the signature.

'Ochterlony. David Ochterlony. He's a great swell at writing
books, but he's no earthly use at handling the telegraph. However,
it don't signify, seeing I'm not going near him.' I crumpled up the
pink form and tossed it on the floor. Gresson and I walked to the
_Tobermory together.

That afternoon, when I got a chance, I had out my _Pilgrim's
_Progress. Page 117, paragraph 3, read:

'__Then I saw in my dream, that a little off the road, over
against the Silver-mine, stood Demas (gentlemanlike) to call to
passengers to come and see: who said to Christian and his
fellow, Ho, turn aside hither and I will show you a _thing.

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