CHAPTER LXVIII: THE CREW OF THE BONNIE ANNIE
Having caught as many fish as he wanted, Malcolm rowed to the
other side of the Scaurnose. There he landed and left the dinghy in
the shelter of the rocks, the fish covered with long broad leaved
tangles, climbed the steep cliff, and sought Blue Peter. The brown
village was quiet as a churchyard, although the sun was now growing
hot. Of the men some were not yet returned from the night's fishing,
and some were asleep in their beds after it. Not a chimney smoked.
But Malcolm seemed to have in his own single being life and joy
enough for a world; such an intense consciousness of bliss burned
within him, that, in the sightless, motionless village, he seemed
to himself to stand like an altar blazing in the midst of desert
Carnac. But he was not the only one awake: on the threshold of
Peter's cottage sat his little Phemy, trying to polish a bit of
serpentine marble upon the doorstep, with the help of water, which
stood by her side in a broken tea cup.
She lifted her sweet gray eyes, and smiled him a welcome.
"Are ye up a'ready, Phemy?" he said.
"I ha'ena been doon yet," she answered. "My mither was oot last
nicht wi' the boat, an' Auntie Jinse was wi' the bairn, an' sae I
cud du as I likit."
"An' what did ye like, Phemy?"
"A'body kens what I like," answered the child: "I was oot an' aboot
a' nicht. An' eh, Ma'colm! I hed a veesion."
"What was that, Phemy?"
"I was upo' the tap o' the Nose, jist as the sun rase, luikin'
aboot me, an' awa' upo' the Boar's Tail I saw twa angels sayin'
their prayers. Nae doobt they war prayin' for the haill warl', i'
the quaiet o' the mornin' afore the din begud. Maybe ane them was
that auld priest wi' the lang name i' the buik o' Genesis, 'at
hed naither father nor mither--puir man!--him 'at gaed aboot
Malcolm thought he might take his own time to set the child right,
and asked her to go and tell her father that he wanted to see him.
In a few minutes Blue Peter appeared, rubbing his eyes--one of
the dead called too early from the tomb of sleep.
"Freen' Peter," said Malcolm, "I'm gaein' to speak oot the day."
Peter woke up.
"Weel," he said, "I am glaid o' that, Ma'colm,--I beg yer pardon,
my lord, I sud say.--Annie!"
"Haud a quaiet sough, man. I wadna hae 't come oot at Scaurnose
first. I'm come noo 'cause I want ye to stan' by me."
"I wull that, my lord."
"Weel, gang an' gether yer boat's crew, an' fess them doon to the
cove, an' I'll tell them, an' maybe they'll stan' by me as weel."
"There's little fear o' that, gien I ken my men," answered Peter,
and went off, rather less than half clothed, the sun burning hot
upon his back, through the sleeping village, to call them, while
Malcolm went and waited beside the dinghy.
At length six men in a body, and one lagging behind, appeared coming
down the winding path--all but Peter no doubt wondering why they
were called so soon from their beds, on such a peaceful morning,
after being out the night before. Malcolm went to meet them.
"Freen's," he said, "I'm in want o' yer help."
"Onything ye like, Ma'colm, sae far 's I'm concernt, 'cep' it be
to. ride yer mere. That I wull no tak in han'," said Jeames Gentle.
"It's no that," returned Malcolm. "It's naething freely sae hard's
that, I'm thinkin'. The hard 'll be to believe what I'm gaein' to
"Ye'll no be gaein' to set up for a proaphet?" said Girnel, with
something approaching a sneer.
Girnel was the one who came down behind the rest.
"Na, na; naething like it," said Blue Peter.
"But first ye'll promise to haud yer tongues for half a day?" said
"Ay, ay; we'll no clype."--"We s' haud ower tongues," cried one
and another and another, and all seemed to assent.
"Weel," said Malcolm, "My name 's no Ma'colm MacPhail, but--"
"We a' ken that," said Girnel.
"An' what mair du ye ken?" asked Blue Peter, with some anger at
"Weel, ye ken little," said Peter, and the rest laughed.
"I'm the Markis o' Lossie," said Malcolm.
Every man but Peter laughed again: all took it for a joke
precursive of some serious announcement. That which it would have
least surprised them to hear, would have been that he was a natural
son of the late marquis.
"My name 's Ma'colm Colonsay," resumed Malcolm, quietly; "an' I'm
the saxt Markis o' Lossie."
A dead silence followed, and in doubt, astonishment, bewilderment,
and vague awe, accompanied in the case of two or three by a strong
inclination to laugh, with which they struggled, belief began. Always
a curious observer of humanity, Malcolm calmly watched them. From
discord of expression, most of their faces had grown idiotic. But
after a few moments of stupefaction, first one and then another
turned his eyes upon Blue Peter, and perceiving that the matter was
to him not only serious but evidently no news, each began to come
to his senses, the chaos within him slowly arranged itself, and
his face gradually settled into an expression of sanity--the
foolishness disappearing while the wonder and pleasure remained.
"Ye mauna tak it ill, my lord," said Peter, "gien the laads be ta'en
aback wi' the news. It's a some suddent shift o' the win, ye see,
"I wuss yer lordship weel," thereupon said one, and held out his
"Lang life to yer lordship," said another.
Each spoke a hearty word, and shook hands with him--all except
Girnel, who held back, looking on, with his right hand in his
trouser pocket. He was one who always took the opposite side--
a tolerably honest and trustworthy soul, with a good many knots
and pieces of cross grain in the timber of him. His old Adam was
the most essential and thorough of dissenters, always arguing and
disputing, especially on theological questions.
"Na," said Girnel; "ye maun saitisfee me first wha ye are, an' what
ye want o' me. I'm no to be drawn into onything 'at I dinna ken a'
aboot aforehan'. I s' no tie mysel' up wi' ony promises. Them 'at
gangs whaur they kenna, may lan' at the widdie (gallows)."
"Nae doobt," said Malcolm, "yer ain jeedgement 's mair to ye nor
my word, Girnel; but saw ye ever onything in me 'at wad justifee
ye in no lippenin' to that sae far 's it gaed?"
"Ow na! I'm no sayin' that naither. But what ha'e ye to shaw anent
the privin' o' 't?"
"I have papers signed by my father, the late marquis, and sealed
and witnessed by well known gentlemen of the neighbourhood."
"Whaur are they?" said Girnel, holding out his hand.
"I don't carry such valuable things about me," answered Malcolm.
"But if you go with the rest, you shall see them afterwards."
"I'll du naething i' the dark," persisted Girnel. "Whan I see the
peppers, I'll ken what to du."
With a nod of the head as self important as decisive, he turned
"At all events," said Malcolm, "you will say nothing about it before
you hear from one of us again?"
"I mak nae promises," answered Girnel, from behind his own back.
A howl arose from the rest.
"Ye promised a'ready," said Blue Peter.
"Na, I didna that. I said never a word."
"What right then had you to remain and listen to my disclosure?"
said Malcolm. "If you be guilty of such a mean trick as betray me
and ruin my plans, no honest man in Portlossie or Scaurnose but
will scorn you."
"There! tak ye that!" said Peter. "An' I s' promise ye, ye s'
never lay leg ower the gunnel o' my boat again. I s' hae nane but
Christian men i' my pey."
"Ye hired me for the sizon, Blew Peter," said Girnel, turning
"Oh! ye s' ha'e yer wauges. I'm no ane to creep oot o' a bargain,
or say 'at I didna promise. Ye s' get yer reward, never fear. But
into my boat ye s' no come. We'll ha'e nae Auchans i' oor camp.
Eh, Girnel, man, but ye ha'e lost yersel' the day! He'll never loup
far 'at winna lippen. The auld worthies tuik their life i' their
han', but ye tak yer fit (foot) i' yours. I'm clean affrontit 'at
ever I hed ye amo' my men."
But with that there rushed over Peter the recollection of how he
had himself mistrusted, not Malcolm's word indeed, but his heart.
He turned, and clasping his hands in sudden self reproach,
"My lord, I saired ye ill mysel' ance," he cried; "for I misdoobted
'at ye wasna the same to me efter ye cam to yer ain. I beg yer
pardon, my lord, here i' the face o' my freen's. It was ill temper
an' pride i' me, jist the same as it's noo in Girnel there; an' ye
maun forgi'e him, as ye forga'e me, my lord, as sune 's ye can."
"I'll du that, my Peter, the verra moment he wants to be forgi'en,"
But Girnel turned with a grunt, and moved away towards the cliff.
"This 'll never du," said Peter. "A man 'at 's honest i' the main
may play the verra dog afore he gets the deevil oot o' 'im ance
he 's in like that. Gang efter 'im, laads, an' kep (intercept) 'im
an' keep 'im. We'll ha'e to cast a k-not or twa aboot 'im, an' lay
'im i' the boddom o' the boat."
The six had already started after him like one man. But Malcolm
"Let him go: he has done me no wrong yet, and I don't believe will
do me any. But for no risk must we prevent wrong with wrong."
So Girnel was allowed to depart--scarcely in peace, for he was
already ashamed of himself. With the understanding that they were
to be ready to his call, and that they should hear from him in the
course of the day, Malcolm left them, and rowed back to the Psyche.
There he took his basket of fish on his arm, which he went and
distributed according to his purpose, ending with Mrs Courthope at
the House. Then he fed and dressed Kelpie, saddled her and galloped
to Duff Harbour, where he found Mr Soutar at breakfast, and arranged
with him to be at Lossie House at two o'clock. On his way back he
called on Mr Morrison, and requested his presence at the same hour.
Skirting the back of the House, and riding as straight as he could,
he then made for Scaurnose, and appointed his friends to be near
the House at noon, so placed as not to attract observation and yet
be within hearing of his whistle from door or window in the front.
Returning to the House, he put up Kelpie, rubbed her down and fed
her; then, as there was yet some time to spare, paid a visit to
the factor. He found his lady, for all his present of fish in the
earlier morning, anything but friendly. She did all she could to
humble him; insisted on paying him for the fish; and ordered him,
because they smelt of the stable, to take off his boots before he
went upstairs--to his master's room, as she phrased it. But Mr
Crathie was cordial, and, to Malcolm's great satisfaction, much
recovered. He had better than pleasant talk with him.