The Short Stories of John Buchan (Complete Collection). Buchan JohnЧитать онлайн книгу.
cried Ewan.
“May be a score,” said I.
He stopped for a while in deep thought.
“Then there’s not above a dozen behind me. There are four of us here, true men, and five who are no. We must go back or forward, for a goat could not climb these craigs. Well-a-day, my cousin, if we had your five whiggishly-inclined gentlemen with us we might yet make a fight for it.” And he bit his lip and looked doubtfully at the company.
“We will fight nane,” said the Deacon. “We are men o’ peace, traivelling to further our lawful calling. Are we to dip our hands in bluid to please a Hieland Jaicobite?” The two Campbells groaned in acquiescence, but I thought I saw a glint of something not peaceful in Graham’s eye.
“But ye are Scots folk,” said Ewan, with a soft, wheedling note in his voice. “Ye will never see a countryman fall into the hands of redcoat English soldiers?”
“It’s the law o’ the land,” said a Campbell, “and what for should we resist it to pleesure you? Besides, we are merchants and no fechtin’ tinklers.”
I saw Ewan turn his head and look down the road. Far off in the stillness of the grey weather one could hear the sound of feet on the hill-gravel.
“Gentlemen,” he cried, turning to them with a last appeal ,“you see I have no way of escape. You are all proper men, and I beseech you in God’s name to help a poor gentleman in his last extremity. If I could win past the gentry in front, there would be the seacoast straight before, where even now there lies a vessel to take me to a kinder country. I cannot think that loyalty to my clan and kin should be counted an offence in the eyes of honest men. I do not know whether you are Highland or Lowland, but you are at least men, and may God do to you as you do to me this day. Who will stand with me?”
I sprang to his side, and the four of us stood looking down the road, where afar off came into sight the moving shapes of the foe.
Then he turned again to the others, crying out a word in Gaelic. I do not know what it was, but it must have gone to their hearts’ core, for the little man Macneil with a sob came running toward us, and Graham took one step forward and then stopped.
I whispered their names in Ewan’s ear and he smiled. Again he spoke in Gaelic, and this time Graham could forbear no more, but with an answering word in the same tongue he flung himself from his horse and came to our side. The two red- headed Campbells stared in some perplexity, their eyes bright with emotion and their hands twitching towards their belts.
Meantime the sound of men came nearer and the game grew desperate. Again Ewan cried in Gaelic, and this time it was low entreaty, which to my ignorant ears sounded with great pathos. The men looked at the Deacon and at us, and then with scarlet faces they too dropped to the ground and stepped to our backs.
Out of the mist came a line of dark weather-browned faces and the gleam of bright coats. “Will you not come?” Ewan cried to the Deacon.
“I will see no blood shed,” said the man, with set lips.
And then there was the sharp word of command, and ere ever I knew, the rattle of shots; and the next moment we were rushing madly down on the enemy.
I have no clear mind of what happened. I know that the first bullet passed through my coat-collar and a second grazed my boot. I heard one of the Highlanders cry out and clap his hand to his ear, and then we were at death-grips. I used my sword as I could, but I had better have had a dirk, for we were wrestling for dear life, and there was no room for fine play. I saw dimly the steel of Ewan and the Highlanders gleam in the rain; I heard Graham roaring like a bull as he caught at the throat of an opponent. And then all was mist and madness and a great horror. I fell over a little brink of rock with a man a-top of me, and there we struggled till I choked the life out of him. After that I remember nothing till I saw the air clear and the road vacant before us.
Two bodies lay on the heath, besides the one I had accounted for in the hollow. The rest of the soldiers had fled down the pass, and Ewan had his way of escape plain to see. But never have I seen such a change in men. My cousin’s coat was red and torn, his shoes all but cut from his feet. A little line of blood trickled over his flushed brow, but he never heeded it, for his eyes burned with the glory of battle. So, too, with his followers, save that one had a hole in his ear and the other a broken arm, which they minded as little as midge-bites. But how shall I tell of my companions? The two Campbells sat on the ground nursing wounds, with wild red hair dishevelled and hoarse blasphemy on their lips. Every now and then one would raise his head and cry some fierce word of triumph. Graham had a gash on his cheek, but he was bending his sword- point on the ground and calling Ewan his blood-brother. The little man Macneil, who had fought like a Trojan, was whimpering with excitement, rubbing his eyes, and staring doubtfully at the heavens. But the Deacon, that man of peace—what shall I say of him? He stood some fifty yards down the pass, peering through the mist at the routed fugitives, his naked sword red in his hand, his whole apparel a ruin of blood and mire, his neatly-dressed hair flying like a beldame’s. There he stood hurling the maddest oaths.
“Hell!” he cried. “Come back and I’ll learn ye, my lads. Wait on, and I ‘ll thraw every neck and give the gleds a feed this day.”
Ewan came up and embraced me. “Your Whigamores are the very devil, cousin, and have been the saving of me. But now we are all in the same boat, so we had better improve our time. Come, lads!” he cried, “is it for the seashore and a kinder land?”
And all except the Deacon cried out in Gaelic the word of consent, which, being interpreted, is “Lead, and we follow.”
THE BLACK FISHERS
Once upon a time, as the story goes, there lived a man in Gledsmuir, called Simon Hay, who had born to him two sons. They were all very proper men, tall, black-avised, formed after the right model of stalwart folk, and by the account of the place in fear of neither God nor devil. He himself had tried many trades before he found the one which suited his talent; but in the various professions of herd, gamekeeper, drover, butcher, and carrier he had not met with the success he deserved. Some makeshift for a conscience is demanded sooner or later in all, and this Simon could not supply. So he flitted from one to the other with decent haste, till his sons came to manhood and settled the matter for themselves. Henceforth all three lived by their wits in defiance of the law, snaring game, poaching salmon, and working evil over the green earth. Hard drinkers and quick fighters, all men knew them and loved them not. But with it all they kept up a tincture of reputability, foreseeing their best interest. Ostensibly their trade was the modest one of the small crofter, and their occasional attendance at the kirk kept within bounds the verdict of an incensorious parish.
It chanced that in spring, when the streams come down steely-blue and lipping over their brims, there came the most halcyon weather that ever man heard of. The air was mild as June, the nights soft and clear, and winter fled hot-foot in dismay. Then these three girded themselves and went to the salmon-poaching in the long shining pools of the Callowa in the haughlands below the Dun Craigs. The place was far enough and yet not too far from the town, so that an active walker could go there, have four hours’ fishing, and return, all well within the confines of the dark.
On this night their sport was good, and soon the sacks were filled with glittering backs. Then, being drowsy from many nights out o’ bed, they bethought them of returning. It would be well to get some hours of sleep before the morning, for they must be up betimes to dispose of their fish. The hardship of such pursuits lies not in the toil but the fate which hardens expediency into necessity.
At the strath which leads from the Callowa vale to Gled they halted. By crossing the ridge of hill they would save three good miles and find a less frequented path. The argument was irresistible; without delay they left the highway and struck over the bent and heather. The road was rough, but they were near its end, and a serene glow of conscious labour began to steal over their minds.
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