Catriona

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"Ah, but I'll no tell ye that," said Andie.

"Little need when I ken," was my retort.

"There's just the ae thing ye can be fairly sure of, Shaws," says
Andie. "And that is that (try as ye please) I'm no dealing wi'
yoursel'; nor yet I amnae goin' to," he added.

"Well, Andie, I see I'll have to be speak out plain with you," I
replied. And told him so much as I thought needful of the facts.

He heard me out with some serious interest, and when I had done, seemed
to consider a little with himself.

"Shaws," said he at last, "I'll deal with the naked hand. It's a queer
tale, and no very creditable, the way you tell it; and I'm far frae
minting that is other than the way that ye believe it. As for
yoursel', ye seem to me rather a dacent-like young man. But me, that's
aulder and mair judeecious, see perhaps a wee bit further forrit in the
job than what ye can dae. And here the maitter clear and plain to ye.
There'll be nae skaith to yoursel' if I keep ye here; far free that, I
think ye'll be a hantle better by it. There'll be nae skaith to the
kintry - just ae mair Hielantman hangit - Gude kens, a guid riddance!
On the ither hand, it would be considerable skaith to me if I would let
you free. Sae, speakin' as a guid Whig, an honest freen' to you, and
an anxious freen' to my ainsel', the plain fact is that I think ye'll
just have to bide here wi' Andie an' the solans."

"Andie," said I, laying my hand upon his knee, "this Hielantman's
innocent."

"Ay, it's a peety about that," said he. "But ye see, in this warld,
the way God made it, we cannae just get a'thing that we want."

CHAPTER XV - BLACK ANDIE'S TALE OF TOD LAPRAIK

I HAVE yet said little of the Highlanders. They were all three of the
followers of James More, which bound the accusation very tight about
their master's neck. All understood a word or two of English, but Neil
was the only one who judged he had enough of it for general converse,
in which (when once he got embarked) his company was often tempted to
the contrary opinion. They were tractable, simple creatures; showed
much more courtesy than might have been expected from their raggedness
and their uncouth appearance, and fell spontaneously to be like three
servants for Andie and myself.

Dwelling in that isolated place, in the old falling ruins of a prison,
and among endless strange sounds of the sea and the sea-birds, I
thought I perceived in them early the effects of superstitious fear.
When there was nothing doing they would either lie and sleep, for which
their appetite appeared insatiable, or Neil would entertain the others
with stories which seemed always of a terrifying strain. If neither of
these delights were within reach - if perhaps two were sleeping and the
third could find no means to follow their example - I would see him sit
and listen and look about him in a progression of uneasiness, starting,
his face blenching, his hands clutched, a man strung like a bow. The
nature of these fears I had never an occasion to find out, but the
sight of them was catching, and the nature of the place that we were in
favourable to alarms. I can find no word for it in the English, but
Andie had an expression for it in the Scots from which he never varied.

"Ay," he would say, "ITS AN UNCO PLACE, THE BASS."

It is so I always think of it. It was an unco place by night, unco by
day; and these were unco sounds, of the calling of the solans, and the
plash of the sea and the rock echoes, that hung continually in our
ears. It was chiefly so in moderate weather. When the waves were
anyway great they roared about the rock like thunder and the drums of
armies, dreadful but merry to hear; and it was in the calm days that a
man could daunt himself with listening - not a Highlandman only, as I
several times experimented on myself, so many still, hollow noises
haunted and reverberated in the porches of the rock.

This brings me to a story I heard, and a scene I took part in, which
quite changed our terms of living, and had a great effect on my
departure. It chanced one night I fell in a muse beside the fire and
(that little air of Alan's coming back to my memory) began to whistle.
A hand was laid upon my arm, and the voice of Neil bade me to stop, for
it was not "canny musics."

"Not canny?" I asked. "How can that be?"

"Na," said he; "it will be made by a bogle and her wanting ta heid upon
his body."

"Well," said I, "there can be no bogles here, Neil; for it's not likely
they would fash themselves to frighten geese."

"Ay?" says Andie, "is that what ye think of it! But I'll can tell ye
there's been waur nor bogles here."

"What's waur than bogles, Andie?" said I.

"Warlocks," said he. "Or a warlock at the least of it. And that's a
queer tale, too," he added. "And if ye would like, I'll tell it ye."

To be sure we were all of the one mind, and even the Highlander that
had the least English of the three set himself to listen with all his
might.

THE TALE OF TOD LAPRAIK

MY faither, Tam Dale, peace to his banes, was a wild, sploring lad in
his young days, wi' little wisdom and little grace. He was fond of a
lass and fond of a glass, and fond of a ran-dan; but I could never hear
tell that he was muckle use for honest employment. Frae ae thing to
anither, he listed at last for a sodger and was in the garrison of this
fort, which was the first way that ony of the Dales cam to set foot
upon the Bass. Sorrow upon that service! The governor brewed his ain
ale; it seems it was the warst conceivable. The rock was proveesioned
free the shore with vivers, the thing was ill-guided, and there were
whiles when they but to fish and shoot solans for their diet. To crown
a', thir was the Days of the Persecution. The perishin' cauld chalmers
were all occupeed wi' sants and martyrs, the saut of the yearth, of
which it wasnae worthy. And though Tam Dale carried a firelock there,
a single sodger, and liked a lass and a glass, as I was sayin,' the
mind of the man was mair just than set with his position. He had
glints of the glory of the kirk; there were whiles when his dander rase
to see the Lord's sants misguided, and shame covered him that he should
be haulding a can'le (or carrying a firelock) in so black a business.
There were nights of it when he was here on sentry, the place a'
wheesht, the frosts o' winter maybe riving in the wa's, and he would
hear ane o' the prisoners strike up a psalm, and the rest join in, and
the blessed sounds rising from the different chalmers - or dungeons, I
would raither say - so that this auld craig in the sea was like a pairt
of Heev'n. Black shame was on his saul; his sins hove up before him
muckle as the Bass, and above a', that chief sin, that he should have a
hand in hagging and hashing at Christ's Kirk. But the truth is that he
resisted the spirit. Day cam, there were the rousing compainions, and
his guid resolves depairtit.

In thir days, dwalled upon the Bass a man of God, Peden the Prophet was
his name. Ye'll have heard tell of Prophet Peden. There was never the
wale of him sinsyne, and it's a question wi' mony if there ever was his
like afore. He was wild's a peat-hag, fearsome to look at, fearsome to
hear, his face like the day of judgment. The voice of him was like a
solan's and dinnle'd in folks' lugs, and the words of him like coals of
fire.

Now there was a lass on the rock, and I think she had little to do, for
it was nae place far decent weemen; but it seems she was bonny, and her
and Tam Dale were very well agreed. It befell that Peden was in the
gairden his lane at the praying when Tam and the lass cam by; and what
should the lassie do but mock with laughter at the sant's devotions?
He rose and lookit at the twa o' them, and Tam's knees knoitered
thegether at the look of him. But whan he spak, it was mair in sorrow
than in anger. 'Poor thing, poor thing!" says he, and it was the lass
he lookit at, "I hear you skirl and laugh," he says, "but the Lord has
a deid shot prepared for you, and at that surprising judgment ye shall
skirl but the ae time!" Shortly thereafter she was daundering on the
craigs wi' twa-three sodgers, and it was a blawy day. There cam a
gowst of wind, claught her by the coats, and awa' wi' her bag and
baggage. And it was remarked by the sodgers that she gied but the ae
skirl.

Nae doubt this judgment had some weicht upon Tam Dale; but it passed
again and him none the better. Ae day he was flyting wi' anither
sodger-lad. "Deil hae me!" quo' Tam, for he was a profane swearer.
And there was Peden glowering at him, gash an' waefu'; Peden wi' his
lang chafts an' luntin' een, the maud happed about his kist, and the
hand of him held out wi' the black nails upon the finger-nebs - for he
had nae care of the body. "Fy, fy, poor man!" cries he, "the poor fool
man! DEIL HAE ME, quo' he; an' I see the deil at his oxter." The
conviction of guilt and grace cam in on Tam like the deep sea; he flang
doun the pike that was in his hands - "I will nae mair lift arms
against the cause o' Christ!" says he, and was as gude's word. There
was a sair fyke in the beginning, but the governor, seeing him
resolved, gied him his discharge, and he went and dwallt and merried in
North Berwick, and had aye a gude name with honest folk free that day
on.

It was in the year seeventeen hunner and sax that the Bass cam in the
hands o' the Da'rymples, and there was twa men soucht the chairge of
it. Baith were weel qualified, for they had baith been sodgers in the
garrison, and kent the gate to handle solans, and the seasons and
values of them. Forby that they were baith - or they baith seemed -
earnest professors and men of comely conversation. The first of them
was just Tam Dale, my faither. The second was ane Lapraik, whom the
folk ca'd Tod Lapraik maistly, but whether for his name or his nature I
could never hear tell. Weel, Tam gaed to see Lapraik upon this
business, and took me, that was a toddlin' laddie, by the hand. Tod
had his dwallin' in the lang loan benorth the kirkyaird. It's a dark
uncanny loan, forby that the kirk has aye had an ill name since the
days o' James the Saxt and the deevil's cantrips played therein when
the Queen was on the seas; and as for Tod's house, it was in the
mirkest end, and was little liked by some that kenned the best. The
door was on the sneck that day, and me and my faither gaed straucht in.
Tod was a wabster to his trade; his loom stood in the but. There he
sat, a muckle fat, white hash of a man like creish, wi' a kind of a
holy smile that gart me scunner. The hand of him aye cawed the
shuttle, but his een was steeked. We cried to him by his name, we
skirted in the deid lug of him, we shook him by the shou'ther. Nae
mainner o' service! There he sat on his dowp, an' cawed the shuttle
and smiled like creish.

"God be guid to us," says Tam Dale, "this is no canny?"

He had jimp said the word, when Tod Lapraik cam to himsel'.

"Is this you, Tam?" says he. "Haith, man! I'm blythe to see ye. I
whiles fa' into a bit dwam like this," he says; "its frae the stamach."

Weel, they began to crack about the Bass and which of them twa was to
get the warding o't, and little by little cam to very ill words, and
twined in anger. I mind weel that as my faither and me gaed hame
again, he cam ower and ower the same expression, how little he likit
Tod Lapraik and his dwams.

"Dwam!" says he. "I think folk hae brunt for dwams like yon."

Aweel, my faither got the Bass and Tod had to go wantin'. It was
remembered sinsyne what way he had ta'en the thing. "Tam," says he,
"ye hae gotten the better o' me aince mair, and I hope," says he,
"ye'll find at least a' that ye expeckit at the Bass." Which have
since been thought remarkable expressions. At last the time came for
Tam Dale to take young solans. This was a business he was weel used
wi', he had been a craigsman frae a laddie, and trustit nane but
himsel'. So there was he hingin' by a line an' speldering on the craig
face, whaur its hieest and steighest. Fower tenty lads were on the
tap, hauldin' the line and mindin' for his signals. But whaur Tam hung
there was naething but the craig, and the sea belaw, and the solans
skirlin and flying. It was a braw spring morn, and Tam whustled as he
claught in the young geese. Mony's the time I've heard him tell of
this experience, and aye the swat ran upon the man.

It chanced, ye see, that Tam keeked up, and he was awaur of a muckle
solan, and the solan pyking at the line. He thocht this by-ordinar and
outside the creature's habits. He minded that ropes was unco saft
things, and the solan's neb and the Bass Rock unco hard, and that twa
hunner feet were raither mair than he would care to fa'.

"Shoo!" says Tam. "Awa', bird! Shoo, awa' wi' ye!" says he.

The solan keekit doon into Tam's face, and there was something unco in
the creature's ee. Just the ae keek it gied, and back to the rope.
But now it wroucht and warstl't like a thing dementit. There never was
the solan made that wroucht as that solan wroucht; and it seemed to
understand its employ brawly, birzing the saft rope between the neb of
it and a crunkled jag o' stane.

There gaed a cauld stend o' fear into Tam's heart. "This thing is nae
bird," thinks he. His een turnt backward in his heid and the day gaed
black aboot him. "If I get a dwam here," he toucht, "it's by wi' Tam
Dale." And he signalled for the lads to pu' him up.

And it seemed the solan understood about signals. For nae sooner was
the signal made than he let be the rope, spried his wings, squawked out
loud, took a turn flying, and dashed straucht at Tam Dale's een. Tam
had a knife, he gart the cauld steel glitter. And it seemed the solan
understood about knives, for nae suner did the steel glint in the sun
than he gied the ae squawk, but laighter, like a body disappointit, and
flegged aff about the roundness of the craig, and Tam saw him nae mair.
And as sune as that thing was gane, Tam's heid drapt upon his shouther,
and they pu'd him up like a deid corp, dadding on the craig.

A dram of brandy (which he went never without) broucht him to his mind,
or what was left of it. Up he sat.

"Rin, Geordie, rin to the boat, mak' sure of the boat, man - rin!" he
cries, "or yon solan'll have it awa'," says he.

The fower lads stared at ither, an' tried to whilly-wha him to be
quiet. But naething would satisfy Tam Dale, till ane o' them had
startit on aheid to stand sentry on the boat. The ithers askit if he
was for down again.

"Na," says he, "and niether you nor me," says he, "and as sune as I can
win to stand on my twa feet we'll be aff frae this craig o' Sawtan."

Sure eneuch, nae time was lost, and that was ower muckle; for before
they won to North Berwick Tam was in a crying fever. He lay a' the
simmer; and wha was sae kind as come speiring for him, but Tod Lapraik!
Folk thocht afterwards that ilka time Tod cam near the house the fever
had worsened. I kenna for that; but what I ken the best, that was the
end of it.

It was about this time o' the year; my grandfaither was out at the
white fishing; and like a bairn, I but to gang wi' him. We had a grand
take, I mind, and the way that the fish lay broucht us near in by the
Bass, whaur we foregaithered wi' anither boat that belanged to a man
Sandie Fletcher in Castleton. He's no lang deid neither, or ye could
speir at himsel'. Weel, Sandie hailed.

"What's yon on the Bass?" says he.

"On the Bass?" says grandfaither.

"Ay," says Sandie, "on the green side o't."

"Whatten kind of a thing?" says grandfaither. "There cannae be
naething on the Bass but just the sheep."

"It looks unco like a body," quo' Sandie, who was nearer in.

"A body!" says we, and we none of us likit that. For there was nae
boat that could have brought a man, and the key o' the prison yett hung
ower my faither's at hame in the press bed.

We keept the twa boats close for company, and crap in nearer hand.
Grandfaither had a gless, for he had been a sailor, and the captain of
a smack, and had lost her on the sands of Tay. And when we took the
glass to it, sure eneuch there was a man. He was in a crunkle o' green
brae, a wee below the chaipel, a' by his lee lane, and lowped and flang
and danced like a daft quean at a waddin'.

"It's Tod," says grandfather, and passed the gless to Sandie.

"Ay, it's him," says Sandie.

"Or ane in the likeness o' him," says grandfaither.

"Sma' is the differ," quo' Sandie. "De'il or warlock, I'll try the gun
at him," quo' he, and broucht up a fowling-piece that he aye carried,
for Sandie was a notable famous shot in all that country.

"Haud your hand, Sandie," says grandfaither; "we maun see clearer
first," says he, "or this may be a dear day's wark to the baith of us."

"Hout!" says Sandie, "this is the Lord's judgment surely, and be damned
to it," says he.

"Maybe ay, and maybe no," says my grandfaither, worthy man! "But have
you a mind of the Procurator Fiscal, that I think ye'll have
foregaithered wi' before," says he.

This was ower true, and Sandie was a wee thing set ajee. "Aweel,
Edie," says he, "and what would be your way of it?"

"Ou, just this," says grandfaither. "Let me that has the fastest boat
gang back to North Berwick, and let you bide here and keep an eye on
Thon. If I cannae find Lapraik, I'll join ye and the twa of us'll have
a crack wi' him. But if Lapraik's at hame, I'll rin up the flag at the
harbour, and ye can try Thon Thing wi' the gun."

Aweel, so it was agreed between them twa. I was just a bairn, an' clum
in Sandie's boat, whaur I thoucht I would see the best of the employ.
My grandsire gied Sandie a siller tester to pit in his gun wi' the leid
draps, bein mair deidly again bogles. And then the as boat set aff for
North Berwick, an' the tither lay whaur it was and watched the
wanchancy thing on the brae-side.

A' the time we lay there it lowped and flang and capered and span like
a teetotum, and whiles we could hear it skelloch as it span. I hae
seen lassies, the daft queans, that would lowp and dance a winter's
nicht, and still be lowping and dancing when the winter's day cam in.
But there would be fowk there to hauld them company, and the lads to
egg them on; and this thing was its lee-lane. And there would be a
fiddler diddling his elbock in the chimney-side; and this thing had nae
music but the skirling of the solans. And the lassies were bits o'
young things wi' the reid life dinnling and stending in their members;
and this was a muckle, fat, creishy man, and him fa'n in the vale o'
years. Say what ye like, I maun say what I believe. It was joy was in
the creature's heart, the joy o' hell, I daursay: joy whatever. Mony
a time I have askit mysel' why witches and warlocks should sell their
sauls (whilk are their maist dear possessions) and be auld, duddy,
wrunkl't wives or auld, feckless, doddered men; and then I mind upon
Tod Lapraik dancing a' the hours by his lane in the black glory of his
heart. Nae doubt they burn for it muckle in hell, but they have a
grand time here of it, whatever! - and the Lord forgie us!

Weel, at the hinder end, we saw the wee flag yirk up to the mast-heid
upon the harbour rocks. That was a' Sandie waited for. He up wi' the
gun, took a deleeberate aim, an' pu'd the trigger. There cam' a bang
and then ae waefu' skirl frae the Bass. And there were we rubbin' our
een and lookin' at ither like daft folk. For wi' the bang and the
skirl the thing had clean disappeared. The sun glintit, the wund blew,
and there was the bare yaird whaur the Wonder had been lowping and
flinging but ae second syne.

The hale way hame I roared and grat wi' the terror o' that
dispensation. The grawn folk were nane sae muckle better; there was
little said in Sandie's boat but just the name of God; and when we won
in by the pier, the harbour rocks were fair black wi' the folk waitin'
us. It seems they had fund Lapraik in ane of his dwams, cawing the
shuttle and smiling. Ae lad they sent to hoist the flag, and the rest
abode there in the wabster's house. You may be sure they liked it
little; but it was a means of grace to severals that stood there
praying in to themsel's (for nane cared to pray out loud) and looking
on thon awesome thing as it cawed the shuttle. Syne, upon a suddenty,
and wi' the ae dreidfu' skelloch, Tod sprang up frae his hinderlands
and fell forrit on the wab, a bluidy corp.

When the corp was examined the leid draps hadnae played buff upon the
warlock's body; sorrow a leid drap was to be fund! but there was
grandfaither's siller tester in the puddock's heart of him.

Andie had scarce done when there befell a mighty silly affair that had
its consequence. Neil, as I have said, was himself a great narrator.
I have heard since that he knew all the stories in the Highlands; and
thought much of himself, and was thought much of by others on the
strength of it. Now Andie's tale reminded him of one he had already
heard.

"She would ken that story afore," he said. "She was the story of
Uistean More M'Gillie Phadrig and the Gavar Vore."

"It is no sic a thing," cried Andie. "It is the story of my faither
(now wi' God) and Tod Lapraik. And the same in your beard," says he;
"and keep the tongue of ye inside your Hielant chafts!"

In dealing with Highlanders it will be found, and has been shown in
history, how well it goes with Lowland gentlefolk; but the thing
appears scarce feasible for Lowland commons. I had already remarked
that Andie was continually on the point of quarrelling with our three
MacGregors, and now, sure enough, it was to come.

"Thir will be no words to use to shentlemans," says Neil.

"Shentlemans!" cries Andie. "Shentlemans, ye hielant stot! If God
would give ye the grace to see yoursel' the way that ithers see ye, ye
would throw your denner up."

There came some kind of a Gaelic oath from Neil, and the black knife
was in his hand that moment.

There was no time to think; and I caught the Highlander by the leg, and
had him down, and his armed hand pinned out, before I knew what I was
doing. His comrades sprang to rescue him, Andie and I were without
weapons, the Gregara three to two. It seemed we were beyond salvation,
when Neil screamed in his own tongue, ordering the others back, and
made his submission to myself in a manner the most abject, even giving
me up his knife which (upon a repetition of his promises) I returned to
him on the morrow.

Two things I saw plain: the first, that I must not build too high on
Andie, who had shrunk against the wall and stood there, as pale as
death, till the affair was over; the second, the strength of my own
position with the Highlanders, who must have received extraordinary
charges to be tender of my safety. But if I thought Andie came not
very well out in courage, I had no fault to find with him upon the
account of gratitude. It was not so much that he troubled me with
thanks, as that his whole mind and manner appeared changed; and as he
preserved ever after a great timidity of our companions, he and I were
yet more constantly together.

CHAPTER XVI - THE MISSING WITNESS

ON the seventeenth, the day I was trysted with the Writer, I had much
rebellion against fate. The thought of him waiting in the KING'S ARMS,
and of what he would think, and what he would say when next we met,
tormented and oppressed me. The truth was unbelievable, so much I had
to grant, and it seemed cruel hard I should be posted as a liar and a
coward, and have never consciously omitted what it was possible that I
should do. I repeated this form of words with a kind of bitter relish,
and re-examined in that light the steps of my behaviour. It seemed I
had behaved to James Stewart as a brother might; all the past was a
picture that I could be proud of, and there was only the present to
consider. I could not swim the sea, nor yet fly in the air, but there
was always Andie. I had done him a service, he liked me; I had a lever
there to work on; if it were just for decency, I must try once more
with Andie.

It was late afternoon; there was no sound in all the Bass but the lap
and bubble of a very quiet sea; and my four companions were all crept
apart, the three Macgregors higher on the rock, and Andie with his
Bible to a sunny place among the ruins; there I found him in deep
sleep, and, as soon as he was awake, appealed to him with some fervour
of manner and a good show of argument.

"If I thoucht it was to do guid to ye, Shaws!" said he, staring at me
over his spectacles.

"It's to save another," said I, "and to redeem my word. What would be
more good than that? Do ye no mind the scripture, Andie? And you with
the Book upon your lap! WHAT SHALL IT PROFIT A MAN IF HE GAIN THE
WHOLE WORLD?"

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