The Black Colonel

  Produced by Al Haines

  THE BLACK COLONEL

  BY

  JAMES MILNE

  BY THE SAME AUTHOR

  THE ROMANCE OF A PRO-CONSUL THE EPISTLES OF ATKINS JOHN JONATHAN AND COMPANY NEWS FROM SOMEWHERE MY SUMMER IN LONDON THE GORDON HIGHLANDERS

  "A tale of the times of old, of the deeds of the days of other years." _Ossian_.

  JOHN LANE THE BODLEY HEAD LIMITED

  LONDON

  MCMXXI.

  TO J. T. M., WHO KNOWS THE

  STORY OF THE BLACK COLONEL

  _Chapters and Contents_

  I. WE MEET IN THE PASS II. TRAPPED BY THE RED-COATS III. OVER THE HILLS OF HOME IV. THE OPENING ROAD V. A CAIRN OF REMEMBRANCE VI. THE FINGER OF FATE VII. A PARLEY AND A SURPRISE VIII. THE CONQUERING HERO IX. 'TWIXT NIGHT AND MORN X. THE WAY OF A WOMAN XI. THE CRACK OF THUNDER XII. RAIDERS OF THE DARK XIII. THE WOUND OF ABSENCE XIV. THE CARDS OF LOVE XV. NEWS FROM SOMEWHERE XVI. THE WOOIN' O'T! XVII. A SONG OF OTHER SHORES XVIII. MY GARDEN OF CONTENT

  _Personal and Particular_

  The strangest thing about this tale is that it happened, though not,may be, as I here relate it; which is merely to seek, in a humblespirit, the great company of George Washington, who could not tell--astory!

  That of the Black Colonel came to me in scraps of talk from my motherwhen, as Byron grandly sang of himself, "I roved, a Young Highlander,o'er Dark Lochnagar," a wild landscape beloved of Queen Victoria, atBalmoral, for, you see, the eminences will come in. My mother had itfrom her people, a Forbes family long planted in the brave uplands ofDeeside, and I was taken a generation nearer to it in the conversationof my grandfather, whose folk were on the no less brave uplands ofDonside. Nay, he could remember, what my own father, born like him,and myself, in the Forbes Country, first stirred me by saying, when theRed Coats still garrisoned the Castle of Braemar and the Castle ofCorgarff, old Grampian strongholds where they had been installed tooverawe the Jacobites of the Aberdeenshire Highlands.

  The "Seventeen-Forty-Five," with the "Standard on the Braes o'Mar . . . up and streamin' rarely" for Bonnie Prince Charlie, saw fierytimes in those remote parts, and knew times of dule afterwards, and thedifficulty about any authentic tale of events, is that, in its passagedown time, from mouth to mouth, it necessarily loses immediacy ofphrase, even of fable, and that rude frame of living and loving,fighting and dying, in which it was originally set. But human naturedoes not change, we only think it does in changed circumstances, and ifJock Farquharson, of Inverey, could return from the Hills of Beyond andread our chronicle of himself and others, why, he might recognize it,which would mean, perhaps, that some of the romantic colour, thedancing atmosphere, and the high spirit of adventure of those ancientyears, has been saved from them. It was little he did not know aboutthe gallantries and the intrigues of war-making and love-making,holding them the natural occupations of a Highland gentleman, even whenhe had become a "broken man" and an "outlaw"; as you may now, if youplease, go on to learn, with many other things of surprise, diversionand quality.

  J. M.

  THE CALEDONIAN CLUB, LONDON, _Midsummer Day_, 1921.

  THE BLACK COLONEL

  _I--We Meet in the Pass_

  We might have gone by each other inthe Pass, the Black Colonel andI, if his horse had not kicked astone as we came together. Itstruck my foot and then a rock, making a rattlein the dark night. You know how noise gainswhen you cannot see the cause of it, and allyour senses are in your ears.

  "Woa, Mack!" said the Black Colonel tohis beast; "can't you stand still with thosemettlesome legs of yours? You may," he wenton, more to himself than to the horse, "needthem to-night, for our friend, Captain IanGordon of his Hanoverian Majesty's forces, islate, and when a man is late it generally bodestrouble; for a woman anyhow, I might confessfrom my experience. It is less matter if awoman be late, because it is a fashion with thesweet sex that you should wait upon it, andI am always willing to oblige out of my ownwarmth in gallantry, or so folk say. Eh!Mack? Kept you waiting at many a gate,have I, forgetful that it was cold outside?"

  The Black Colonel and I had met before,though slightly, distantly, and I knew his habitof talking to his horse. Not an unnaturalthing, because Mack was an animal of fineintelligence, coupled, it is true, with thestallion's devil of a temper, and they had spentmuch time alone together, which begetsunderstanding. Were they, indeed, not a romanceof the countryside, inseparable, with afriendship only found between a lonely man and hishorse or his dog? They had been through awhole chapter of adventures together, and werewilling to face more, or they would not havebeen there in the Pass.

  When the stone hit my foot I stood still,knowing it must be the Black Colonel, yetwishful to be certain before I spoke. Hiswords to Mack revealed his presence, but leftme unsure whether he knew that I was withina few yards of him. Of course the horse knew,for animals of the higher order have an instinctwhich is often more sure than reason in a man.It is their reason, the shield of guidance whichNature gives to all her creatures.

  Suddenly communication seemed to arisebetween us, although no word of mutualgreeting had been spoken. You know howthose things come about! No, you don't,nor do I, nor does anybody else, but they dohappen out of a world 'twixt earth and heaven.They call them uncanny in our land, whichonly means they are unknown, the mysteriesof them, but some day they will grow clearand be no more black witchery, only golden light.

  "Walked all the way from Corgarff Castle?"he abruptly asked, preparing the way, with theusual nothings of conversation. It is oddlydifficult to get into natural talk in a dark,dividing night, when eyes, faces, gestures, arehidden, and I just answered, "Yes, walkedover the hills, as I've often done before,knowing them well, without having the honourof a safe conduct from you."

  "Some day," he snapped, "you'll be ableto bring your red-coats by the same paths,knowing them, as you say, well, and captureme for the Lowland money your Governmentputs on my Highland head. Nobody is toowell off in our parts in these times. CaptainGordon, not, it may be, even you, who wasborn, I suppose, with an eye for prosperity."

  It was unfair of him to say that, and as heclimbed off Mack and threw the bridle looseon the horse's neck he mumbled as much.

  "A touch of temper against your royalemployer, nothing worse; not bad temper,merely temper, so pray excuse it. Mostly Ihave, as you know, been accustomed to expressmyself with the sword. . . ."

  "Except," I interrupted with some sharpness,for I was still nettled, "when you haveconfided your language to the dirk, or let itspeak in silence for itself."

  "Now we are even, Captain Gordon, forthat is not worthy of you, if, as I take it, yousuggest that, on occasion, I have struck foul.No, sir, not that, never on my honour, as agentleman; outlawed, if you like, though thattroubles me little. But the fine ethics of thebroad-sword and the dirk are too nice fordiscussion between a Gordon and a Farquharson;met as we are with, I suspect, a Forbes toattract and divide us. Besides, I spokeclumsily, not meaning any personal insult,since I want, sincerely want, to be friendly, ifthat be possible. Anger is a poor hostess,believe me, and I, who have been in its way,should know better than you who are young, amiably young."

  Mine melted under his soft words, becausesuch, even when they are not deeply sincere,may turn wrath aside like balm. Moreover,he had a wild charm of manner which, if itdid not quite capture another man, as almostsurely it would have won a woman, yet hadits effect. Where exactly it lay I have neverbeen able to decide, but the melody of histongue had something to do with it, even whenhe spoke in Sassenach English. We couldhave talked in the Gaelic, I also having itnatively, but the Black Colonel would alwaysspeak English if he met somebody to whomhe c
ould show his command of the language.It was one of his several accomplishments,acquired by study and travel in England andFrance, and he prided and guarded them all,as a woman does her graces of the person.

  So we stood in the chasm of night and thePass, one waiting upon the other, because ourtrouble, as in all affairs where two men anda maid are concerned, was how to begin,more particularly as we had no idea whatwould be the end. The Black Colonel hadsaid as much when he spoke the name Forbes,the third of our Aberdeenshire clans, thoughit may not have all the lustre of the Gordonsor the Farquharsons.

  "Ehum," he murmured, dropping into aScots mannerism which made no more thanan overture to speech between us, and yetsignified something already said.

  "Your letter was urgent," I said. "Itmight have been a summons to anotherhoisting of the Stuart Standard on the Braesof Mar."

  "And would you have come?" he inquired;"would you have come?"

  "It is hard," I answered coldly, "to tellwhat a man would or would not do if hishonour could always march with his inclination.But no summons from you would bringme to the colours, even of those who were ourrightful Scottish kings."

  "Still, you have come to-night."

  "True, but it must occur to you that it isnot of the first order of a gentleman to forcea meeting, by wrapping a threat in a woman'sChristian name, even when you send yourmessage by so secure a hand as that of yourghillie, Red Murdo."

  He turned his head and, I felt, though Icould still only see vaguely, was looking straightat me, as, certainly, I was looking at him.While we looked and saw not, a quick, lowwhistle came from the foot of the Pass and ananswering whistle, just as low, blew from thetop of it.