Up in Ardmuirland Part 7

Bildy's hero-worship of my brother increased as time went by. He regularly came to Ma.s.s, and obedient to Robina's instructions sat still and looked "straicht at Father Fleming." On one particular Sunday, when we had a priest staying with us (an old friend of Val's), the latter invited him to preach. This did not suit Bildy at all. After Ma.s.s he walked home alone, not waiting for Robina, who was chatting with her neighbors outside the church, and showed by his manner that something was amiss. Widow Lamont put down her book, in which she had been piously reading her "Prayers for Ma.s.s," and accosted him with the usual formula:

"Weel, Bildy, what kind o' preachin' had ye the day?"

But the answer was not that which they took a simple pleasure in drawing from him usually. Bildy began to bite his hand--a trick he had when annoyed.

"That's nae preachin'," he cried indignantly. "Yon monnie canna'

preach! Wha's the reason Father Fleming canna' preach the day? Eh!"

(with withering contempt.) "Sic a monnie preach!"

The diminutive, in Bildy's phraseology, implied depreciation; that was why he stigmatized a regular six-footer as a "monnie."

When Doddy came to Ardmuirland, Bildy discovered his real vocation!

Doddy--or, in English, Georgie--was the orphan child of Robina's sister. His father had married a second wife and had gone out to Canada, and Widow Lamont had insisted upon having the little chap with her; for his father and step-mother were both Protestants, and Doddy stood little chance of being reared in the faith of his baptism. So the man agreed, and undertook to pay a trifle weekly for the child's keep, until he could earn something for himself.

Doddy was almost a baby--not more than four, and quite small of his age; but he soon discovered that he had a slave at his beck and call in the spellbound Bildy. The man seemed to worship the little fellow.

Whenever Bildy was free from his ordinary occupations he was playing with Doddy, as though they were both children--with this difference: Doddy was always the tyrant, and Bildy the submissive subject.

It was a proof of the man's absolute harmlessness that he never so much as touched any one who angered him. Sometimes other children, attracted by Doddy, would come to join in the games, and often drove poor Bildy away. He would slink off, the picture of misery, and make his way home, biting his hand--his only sign of displeasure.

When Doddy was five, and had to attend school, Bildy would watch with the utmost patience the road by which the child had to return, until he caught sight of the tiny figure in the distance; then he would run to meet Doddy with every demonstration of joy, pick him up, set him on his shoulder, and amble off up the hill to the cottage.

Bildy had been about six years in Ardmuirland, and had become a favorite with every one. The poor fellow was so unfeignedly pleased to receive any little notice from any one that all accosted him kindly, and no one in the district would have dreamed of causing him unhappiness. Doddy had grown into a sharp little lad of seven, and was no longer so dependent upon Bildy for companionship. Yet Bildy did not relinquish altogether his post of guardian, but kept a wary eye upon the movements of his little master, ready at all times to do his bidding.

Winter set in that year unusually early. At the beginning of December earth and water were bound in the chains of a very hard frost. Nothing could more delight the heart of a schoolboy, and those of Ardmuirland were in their element. There was a small, shallow pond close by the schoolhouse, and there they were able to slide and sport about to their hearts' content. But children are changeful. When the frost had lasted more than two whole weeks, the little pond was not exciting enough. There was a mountain lake about a mile farther on, a much larger piece of water. Thither the more adventurous spirits determined to go one holiday afternoon. Doddy, who was precocious for his years, made up his mind to go too, proud in being the companion of much bigger boys. Unluckily, none of the parents of the boys had any idea of the proposed adventure; had they known, the project would have been sternly prohibited. It is possible that the young adventurers knew this and kept the matter quiet.

But Doddy's faithful guardian had watched the boy steal off, to be met by five or six others, and followed them at a distance. He did not venture to join the party openly, fearing to be driven off ignominiously, as he often had been before on other occasions. By the time he reached them they had been some half-hour at the lake, and had most of them ventured cautiously to try the bearing power of the ice.

The long frost had made this quite safe in most parts; but, unluckily, the lads were not aware that there were other portions where rising springs prevented the water from freezing much, if at all. As long as they kept near to the place upon which they had first set foot all was well; but security made them venturesome. They started a game of shinty, and threw themselves into the sport with fervor.

Bildy, partly hidden behind the bushes which skirted the water, watched the game with interest, his eyes on his beloved Doddy. Suddenly, while he looked on, Doddy disappeared, and a shout of terror arose from the other boys, who were too full of fear to do much toward helping the unfortunate child, though one or two slid down prostrate and tried to crawl to the hole into which Doddy had fallen, in order to help him out with their sticks.

It remained for Bildy to come to their a.s.sistance. With a frightened cry the man rushed over the ice to the spot, and regardless of the cautions which the others shrilled at him, plunged into the water.

Doddy had fallen in where there was only very thin ice around the edge of an open sheet of water. Luckily, it was shallow for a man, though it covered the child. Bildy managed to seize the boy and rose up gasping from the pool, holding Doddy aloft. He seated the frightened child on his shoulder, and was able to keep half his own body out of the water. Thus they remained till help came in the shape of one or two farm-servants, who had been summoned by the screams of the boys.

It was not a difficult matter to get the two out of the water safely; indeed, any one more sensible than poor Bildy could have lifted the child onto thicker ice, after wading some paces in the water. Both were shivering with cold and drenched with water, which froze on their clothes during their hurried progress home to bed.

The after-effects were not serious, as far as Doddy was concerned. He got a severe cold, but nothing worse--not taking into account the castigation administered with a good-will by his "auntie." With poor Bildy it was different. He had been in the ice-cold water far longer than the boy, and a serious attack of pneumonia was the result. The poor fellow had probably little stamina. He did not rally, even when the climax seemed to have been successfully pa.s.sed, but grew weaker every day.

"Robina Lamont wants me to go to that poor fellow," Val said one day.

"She wants me to do what I can for him, as the doctor gives no hope of recovery. I can baptize him conditionally, of course, and I am starting now. Would you like to come, Ted?"

I was most anxious to accompany him, and we set out at once for the Lamonts' cottage.

Bildy looked frightfully wasted; his face was the color of parchment, and his brown eyes looked enormously large and startlingly bright. But what touched me more than his emaciated appearance was the wonderful expression of emotion which shone from those large eyes as we appeared at the bedside; they looked at Val with the yearning affection that one sees sometimes in a faithful dog. The poor fellow put out his white, wasted hand to Val with evident delight.

"Bildy's been wearyin' for ye, Father," said Robina. "He's often cried out for Father Fleming."

The dying man's eyes were proof that she spoke truly.

The short ceremony was soon over, and after some prayers for the sick man we took our leave. For the few days that he lingered after that, the visit of the priest--twice every day and sometimes oftener--was the culminating point of satisfaction for poor Bildy.

I was there with Val when the end came. Bildy pa.s.sed away quite peacefully while we joined in the prayers for the dying; a calm smile was on his face, and some vision of delight before his wide-open eyes, which it is not for mortals to attempt to fathom.

"Poor fellow!" exclaimed Val, as we took our way home; "life has held little of happiness for him. Indeed, one can hardly call it life in the full sense of the word; it was mere existence, as far as we can see."

"Let's hope that life has begun for him at last," I said reverently.

"I have little doubt of that," replied the priest.

VII

SMUGGLERS

"My enemy's dog, Though he had bit me, should have stood that night Against my fire."

(_"King Lear"--Act IV, Sc. 7._)

"Aebody kent Davie Forbes wes tarrible at the smugglin'," said w.i.l.l.y.

We had been discussing the _pros_ and _cons_ of illicit distilling--known inland as "smuggling"--and I found that w.i.l.l.y agreed with the general opinion of the district that the only harm in it was the penalty due "'gin ye get foond oot by the gauger." He a.s.sured me that in his young days the practice was widespread. This had brought us to Davie Forbes and his persistence in escaping government dues, and led on to the narrative which I here set down in intelligible English.

Davie was a fine, hearty specimen of a Scottish crofter, whose appearance did not tally with his acknowledged seventy-nine years; for his handsome, ruddy face, framed by white whiskers, and crowned with abundant, curly white locks, showed scarcely a wrinkle. He was stalwart and straight, too, as many a man twenty years his junior would dearly love to be.

Davie's wife had been dead many years at the date of this story; his only daughter, Maggie Jean, was housekeeper for him and her two unmarried brothers, Jock and Peter. Like many of his fellows who might have to support a widowed mother or other helpless relatives, he had not married until rather late in life. Consequently, Maggie Jean, the youngest of the family, was a strapping la.s.s of thirty, and Jock, the eldest, a "lad" of thirty-six; for an unmarried man in our neighborhood, be it known, is a lad till he becomes decrepit!

The family residence of the Forbes stood about half-way up Ben Sgurrach, the highest hill in the district, and the house was at least 1,000 feet above the sea. It was sheltered from the east wind by a clump of scarecrow-looking pine trees, and a spur of barren rock rose behind it on the north. I could imagine those trees, though I have never seen them; we have some such in our little wood behind the presbytery. Gaunt-looking figures they are indeed! Some have been twisted into uncouth shapes by adverse winds; others stand draped in veritable garments of gray lichen--weird and s.h.a.ggy. The latter, seen in the dusk, are calculated to terrify a chance comer who might find himself in their neighborhood; for he would probably mistake them for goblins.

A copious spring of excellent water and several convenient crevices in the surrounding rocks made Davie's place an excellent site for a still.

His son Jock was occupied with odd jobs provided for him as handy man at a shooting lodge not far from the foot of the hill, where he tended the garden and looked after the pony at ordinary times, and acted as gillie when the shooting season came round. Peter did most of the work on the croft, lower down the hill; for David himself was getting past arduous labors, though he directed the distilling, in which Peter, and occasionally Jock, did the greater part of the work. Much of the barley for the still grew on their own land, where also they raised corn for their own oatmeal and for Maggie Jean's chickens, as well as turnips for her "coo." The customers for whiskey were many; for owing to its innocence of government duty it was cheaper than could be got from a merchant, while for quality it was renowned. Davie was a past master in the art of distilling, and the secluded nature of his storehouses enabled him to keep it until its rawness had worn off with age.

Many a tale was told of Davie's adventures in his contraband trade. In days when he was young and strong revenue officers would scour the hills with a small band of soldiers in their company, the better to over-awe the country folk. On one such occasion Davie had the misfortune to be apprehended in his house, when off his guard; for he was well known to the preventive men of the district, who had long been seeking to trap him. They had tracked him from his still, which they then took charge of, and surrounded his house to prevent escape. But Davie was too wary for them in the end. He feigned submission, and got his old mother to bring out refreshments for the party within the house, and went himself to the door with gla.s.ses and whiskey for the two soldiers on guard there. But they never tasted their dram; Davie was the renowned wrestler of the neighborhood, and in a second or two he had tripped up both men and had made off for some secret hiding-place in the hills before the party inside, aroused by the cries of the sentinels, were able to understand what had happened. Both the unfortunate soldiers had been so badly bruised by their fall on the flagstones near the doorway that they were unable to rise without help.

At another time he was still more successful. The revenue officers and their escort surprised his house at midnight, and demanded admission in the King's name. Old Jeandy, his mother, who was then alive, made as much difficulty as possible in getting the door open in order to give Davie time to conceal himself. But he did better than hide in the house. Springing out of bed, he actually broke a hole through the "divets" or turfs of the thatch, and creeping through it, climbed down outside, just as his adversaries, certain of capturing their prize, were mounting the ladder which led to his bed-chamber. When the exciseman saw the empty bed he cried with an angry oath:

"Here's the nest--still warm; but the bird's awa'!" The "bird" had flown to a more hidden place of retirement under cover of the darkness!

In later years Davie was not much molested by the representatives of the excise. A gauger was indeed stationed in a town ten miles distant, but he was elderly, and not over energetic. He would make a formal visit now and again to suspected districts, and content himself with a few casual inquiries. As a matter of fact, he was personally quite inadequate to the task of searching for illicit stills in a district of such abundant hidden recesses.

But there was a change of front when the old officer retired and a young and energetic man succeeded him. A "new broom" is eulogized in proverb; and Mr. Michael Bonar, being new to his district, and a man of youth and determination, boasted that he meant to sweep away the taint of smuggling from the neighborhood of Ardmuirland, which bore a bad name in that respect.

The boast of the incautious gauger was repeated far and wide, and a strong spirit of opposition was aroused. Many a wary pract.i.tioner began to devise cunning means of concealment, and to invent traps to catch their adversary and turn him into ridicule. Davie Forbes was not behindhand in making remote preparations for the ganger's certain visit to him. But it was then mid-winter, and if Bonar was the canny man that he was said to be, there would be little fear of any attempted search for Davie's implements and stores before spring had set in. So the Forbes family congratulated themselves upon the security of their airy nest, and would smile grimly when the name of Bonar was mentioned.

The gauger was, it is true, canny, but his youth made him perhaps a trifle too venturesome. He was not unused to climbing, and had scaled many a mountain more imposing than Ben Sguarrach; but it was not in winter; forgetfulness of that trifling circ.u.mstance led to his discomfiture. Ben Sguarrach was indeed no pleasant place in wintry weather. Its open s.p.a.ces were swept by icy blasts; snow often drifted to unparalleled depths, and made the ascent dangerous to those who were not familiar with the mountain in its more peaceful aspects.

To Bonar's ardent mind the season of the year seemed likely to a.s.sist rather than hinder him. Days were short; nights were dark (if the moon should happen to be unpropitious), but they were long. No work was possible at such a time in a mountain distillery, and stores could not be shifted so readily as in summer time. So he determined to bide his opportunity and make a secret visit to Davie Forbes' dwelling, just to reconnoiter. He would thus be enabled to form his plan of campaign for a more bold attack.