CHAPTER XXVIII
JOHN SCARLETT COMES ASHORE
Kate's sojourn on the island had given her back all her girlish springof carriage and swift grace of movement. Fleet and light as a goat shesped over the short turf and threaded the sharp shark's fins of theblack basaltic ridges, her eyes fixed upon the shifting groups on theshore.
Was her love lying there dead before her, or at least in utmost dangerof his life? The men stood so close together, all looking inwardand downward, that Kate was among them before any one saw her come.She cleft a way through the shouldering press, and there on the wetpebbles of the beach, dragged just a few yards from the shore on whicha back-draught from the smooth glides and rattling currents of thetide-race of Suliscanna had cast him, lay the body of John Scarlett.
Kate gave a sharp cry, half of disappointment and half of relief. Herlove it was not; but his friend it was. And if this were John Scarlett,where would Wat Gordon be by this time--of a surety lying deep in thegreen heave of some far-reaching "gloop," or battered against the cruelcliffs of the "goes," into which the surges swelled and thundered,throwing themselves in bootless assault upon the perpendicular cliffs,and fretting their pure green arches into delicatest gray lace of foamand little white cataracts which came pouring back into the gloomydepths along every crevice and over every ledge.
John Scarlett lay with his broad chest naked and uncovered, for hiscoat and waistcoat had already become centres of two separate quarrels,shrill and contentious as the bickerings of sparrows over the wormwhich they hold by either end and threaten to rend in pieces.
Patterns of muskets and sword-blades were wrought upon theveteran's breast in a fashion which was then common to all men ofadventuring--land travellers and seafarers alike. The old soldier'sarms and breast were a mass of scars and cicatrices, both from his manypublic campaigns and from his innumerable excursions upon the field ofprivate honor.
"This has been a man indeed," said one of the men that stood by;"many a knife has been tried on that skin, and many, I warrant, gatdeeper holes and deadlier cuts than these in the making of this prettypatchwork."
"He is an enemy of the chief, that is beyond a doubt," said another;"for he is not a man of the isles, and our Lord Murdo forbade thecoming of any else. It will be safer to stick him with a gully-knifebefore he comes to, lest a worst thing happen us."
And it is likely that this amiable intention might have become thefinding and conclusion of the meeting, but that at that moment Katepierced the throng and threw herself down on the salt, clammy pebblesat John Scarlett's head. She put her hand upon his heart, but could notfeel it beat. Before long she was reinforced by Mrs. McAlister, whoarrived panting. She swept the men unceremoniously aside with her arm,and addressed them in their own tongue, in words which carried insultand railing in the very sound of them.
The two women had not worked long at the chill, sea-tossed body of themaster-at-arms before John Scarlett opened his eyes and looked abouthim.
"Bess Landsborough!" he said, without manifesting the least surprise,"what for did ye no' meet me at the kirk stile of Colmonel, where Itrysted wi' ye?"
"John Scarlett!" cried Mrs. McAlister, "I declare in the name o' a'that's holy, Jack Scarlett, the King's Dragoon--what in the worldhas brocht ye here, lying bare and broadcast on the cauld stanes ofSuliscanna?"
"I cam' seekin' you, Bess," said John Scarlett, easing himself up onhis elbow with a grimace of pain. "I heard in Colmonel that ye hadkilted your coats o' green satin and awa' wi' John Hielandman. So Ie'en cam' round this gate to see if ye had tired o' him."
"And I see that, dead or alive, ye can lie as gleg as ever--certes,there never was a dragoon that was single-tongued, since Satan madethe first o' that evil clan oot o' the red cinders of hell!" answeredMistress McAlister, vigorously.
"Weel, Bess, it skills little," replied Scarlett, rising slowly toa sitting posture. "But if ye would prevail on these honest men towithdraw a little and not glower at my nakedness, as if they had neverin their lives before cast eyes on a man that has had a wash, it isgreatly grateful I will be, and forgive you that little mislippen aboutthe tryst."
As John Scarlett turned himself about, he pressed Kate's hand sharplyto intimate that he desired her to pretend complete ignorance ofhis person and purpose. But the fear which now had become almost acertainty, that she had seen her lover go down in the tide-race ofSuliscanna, dominated her heart. She was scarce conscious of themeeting of John Scarlett and his ancient sweetheart, but continuedto gaze steadily and with straining eyes out upon the smooth andtreacherous swirls of the Suck.
"Have ye a cloak or a plaid, Bess, that I may gird myself with it, andgo decently to my quarters--unless these gentlemen still desire tofinish me here?" asked Scarlett, calmly.
Whereat the wife of Alister drew a plaid of rough brown wool from theshoulders of the man nearest to her and cast it about him. By this timeScarlett had managed to stand upon his feet, and even to walk a fewsteps along the pebbles of the shore. All Suliscanna was now gatheredabout the new-comer, and on the skirts of the crowd the minister andAlister stood apart with bent brows in anxious consultation.
"It is the chief's order!" said the minister. "We will have to answerfor it with our lives if we do not ward him safely."
"In the vaults of the tower will be the best and securest place,"answered Alister.
Then, with no more words spoken, Alister McAlister stepped up to hiswife, and, seizing her by the arm, said, "This is chief's business--doas I bid you, now!"
And Mrs. McAlister knew that the time had come for her to obey. Forwell as she could make the burly _dhuine wassail_ do her bidding whenthe business was his own or hers, Bess never put her general supremacyto the test by offering resistance to her husband's will when the clanor the chief were in question.
"Tell the Lowland man," said Alister, looking his wife straight in theeyes, "that it is the order of the chief that he be warded till we hearwhat is to be done with him. We did not ask him to come to Suliscanna,and we must see that he does not invite himself quietly away again nowthat he is here. He is to bide in the tower at our house-end, and yecan boil him Lowland brose as muckle as ever he can sup, since ye seemto be so well acquainted with his kind of folk."
When Mistress McAlister had interpreted this to John Scarlett, theold campaigner gave the brown plaid a twirl about his shoulders, andcrying, "Content--lead on!" accepted the situation with a soldier'sphilosophy.
The ancient tower of Suliscanna, in which Scarlett presently foundhimself, was no extensive castle, but simply a half-ruinous block-houseconstructed for defence by some former lords of the isle. The upperpart was a mere shell in which Alister's wild goats were sometimespenned, when for some herdsman's purpose they had been collected in thevicinity of the huts by the expectation of the spare crystals of saltwhen the pans were drawn. But underneath there was a vaulted dungeonstill strong and intact. This subterranean "strength" possessed a doorof solid wood--a rare thing in Suliscanna--brought at some remoteperiod from the main-land; for, save drif-twood, there is no plantthicker-stemmed than the blackberry to be found on all these outermostislands of the sea. This door was secured by a ponderous lock, thebolt of which ran into the stone for nearly two feet, while the woodof which it was composed was studded with great iron nails and coveredwith hide like a targe. It was the sole article of value which had beenleft in the ancient tower when my lord's new house was built farther upthe hill.
The tower stood at the summit of the first ascent of the island,close beside the cottage of Alister McAlister--of which, indeed, verycharacteristically and economically, it formed the gable-end. Heatherbloomed close up to the door of it, and looked into the dungeon atevery narrow peep-hole, so that when Scarlett set his head to one ofthese he found himself staring into a fairy forest of rose and green,in which the muir-fowl crouched and the grasshoppers chirred.
John Scarlett found that during the time he had been conferring withthe representative of the Lord of the Small Isles and h
is wife Bessupon the pebbles of the beach, a bed of fragrant heather tops had beenmade for him by the clansmen in this arched and airy sleeping-place.Alister went in with him, glanced comprehensively around, and nodded.
"Now you will be comfortable and make yourself at home," the actionsaid. And John Scarlett smiled back at his taciturn jailer. For indeed,except the stone seat which ran round the vault, and the new-laidbed of heather tops in the corner, the available accommodations ofthe Tower of Suliscanna consisted exclusively of an uneven area ofhard-beaten earthen floor made visible by the light of half a dozennarrow port-holes, which looked in different directions out upon themoor and through the gable against the dark wall of Bess Landsborough'shouse.
Alister locked the dungeon door by turning the huge key with a spar ofdriftwood thrust through the head of it like the bar of a capstan. Thenhe called to him a shaggy gillie and bade him watch the door on theperil of his head. Whereupon the red-headed Gael grinned obediently,pulled himself an armful of heather, and effectually double-locked thedoor by stretching himself across the entrance with his hand on hisdirk and his sword naked by his side.