Inchbracken: The Story of a Fama Clamosa, Page 2

  CHAPTER II.

  A STORM.

  The rumble of the stage coach past the window died away down thestreet, and silence fell on the room we have been considering. Thescratching of Roderick's pen could be heard in the stillness, savewhen lost in the momentary roar of a gust descending the chimney,followed by the hiss of its watery burden on the coals, or when a barof 'The Lass o' Gowrie' escaped for an instant from the suppression inwhich it was held that the sermon might not be disturbed.

  At length there sounded the shuffling of feet and the opening andclosing of a door. A tap, and the door of their own room opened; andentered the beadle, Joseph Smiley, a little ferrety-looking man withsharp restless eyes, that seemed as though they would squint in theiralert impatience to look at everything at once. His dress was a rustyblack coat, like the old one of an undertaker's man, and a soiledwhite wisp of neckcloth. He took off with both hands a limp and soddenhat, streaming with moisture, and deposited it under the table, with asort of deprecatory bow to Mary, as who should say, 'It is not strongenough to be treated in the usual way, let us lay it down tenderly.'Recovering, he turned to the door, and with an encouraging 'Come in,boy,' introduced a tall over-grown lad of seventeen, dressed in afisherman's oilskin suit, from which the rain trickled in copiousstreams.

  'I wuss ye gude e'en, mem an' sir,' said Joseph 'Though it's faar fraewhat I wad ca' a gude e'en mysel', an' deed an' it's juist a mostterrible nicht, though nae doubt them 'at sent it kens best.--Ay, Sir!It was juist the powerfu' ca' o' duty 'at garred me lay by the drapparrich an' steer frae the ingle neuk this nicht. Here's a laddie comea' the gate frae Inverlyon, e'y tap o' the coach to fesh ye back wi'him to see his granny 'ats lyin' near hand her end.'

  'But Inverlyon is fen miles off, and in another parish,' the ministerwas here able to interrupt, a matter not always to be obtained whenJoseph held forth, for he loved the continuous sound of his own voiceabove every other noise.

  'And why did they not get Mr. Watson, the minister of Inverlyon?' putin Mary; 'I am sure Mr. Watson would have gone at once, and he is sogood and so kind a man.'

  'Na, na, mem! Naebody 'at kens my granny wad ventur to bring MesterWatson in ower by her!' cried the fisher lad, casting aside hisbashfulness, and steadying himself on the tall limbs on which he hadbeen swaying to and fro. 'He bed in, whan a' the gude folk cam out,an' sae she'll hae nane o' him!'

  'But why should you want to take Mr. Brown all that distance to-night?and a night like this? Has your grandmother some dreadful secret onher mind? And would not a writer be the best person to get?'

  'Na, mem! na! There's nothing like that! My Granny's a godly auldwife, tho' maybe she's gye fraxious whiles, an' mony's the sairpaipin' she's gi'en me; gin there was ocht to confess she kens theroad to the Throne better nor maist. But ye see there's a maggitgotten intil her heid, an' she says she beut to testifee afore shegangs hence.'

  'Ay! weel I wat,' said Joseph, swaying his head solemnly to and fro,'she's a holy auld wife that same Luckie Corbet! an' I'm sure,minister, it'll be a preev'ledge to ye to resaive her testimony! She'srael zealous against Erastianism an' a' the sins in high places. I'mthinkin', sir, she's gye an' like thae covenanters lang syne, 'atMester Dowlas was tellin' 's about whan he lectur'd up by on theHurlstane Muir, about Jenny Geddes down Edinbro' way, an' mair siclike.'

  'Ay! an' I'm thinkin' it's that auld carline, Jenny Geddes, 'at'sraised a' the fash! My granny gaed to hear Mester Dowlas whan hepreached among the whins down by the shore, an' oh, but he was bonny!An' a graand screed o' doctrine he gae us. For twa hale hours hepreached an' expundet an' never drew breath, for a the wind wasskirlin', an' the renn whiles skelpin' like wild. An' I'm thinkin' mygranny's gotten her death o't a'. But oh! an' he was graand on JennyGeddes! an' hoo she was a mither in Israel, an' hoo she up wi' thecreepie an' heaved it at the Erastian's heid. An' my granny was juistfairly ta'en wi't a', an' she vooed she beut to be a mither in Israeltae, an' whan she gaed hame she out wi' the auld hugger 'at she keepsthe bawbees in, aneath the hearth-stane, for to buy a creepie o' herain,--she thocht a new ane wad be best for the Lord's wark,--an' shecoupet the chair whaur hung her grave claes, 'at she airs fornent thefire ilka Saturday at e'en, an' out there cam a lowe, an' scorched ahole i' the windin' sheet, an' noo puir body we'll hae to hap her inher muckle tartan plaid. An' aiblins she'll be a' the warmer'e'ymoulds for that. But, however, she says the sheet was weel waur'd, forthe guid cause. An' syne she took til her bed, wi' a sair host, an'sma' winder, for there was a weet dub whaur she had been sittin' amangthe whins. An' noo the host's settled on her that sair, she whilescanna draw her breath. Sae she says she maun let the creepie birlin'slide, but she beut to testifee afore some godly minister or she gangshence. An' I'm fear'd, sir, ye maun hurry, for she's rael farthrough.'

  Joseph listened with a groan of solemn approval. 'Oh, minister, butit's a high preev'lidge! an' I'm no grudgin' the weet an' the gutterscomin' ower to fesh ye, forby the drap parrich growin' cauld at hame!''Roderick! It is impossible for you to go. Ten miles! and such anight! And then, think of kind Mr. Watson; how hurt he will be!'

  Joseph sighed, and muttered under his breath about sojourners inMeshech, but Mr. Brown took no notice, and replied to his sister,--

  'The coach will pass going down at seven to-morrow morning.'

  'I'm fear'd, sir, ye'll be ower late by than. She'll maybe no live ormornin.' An' she canna thole waitin', my granny.'

  'But we have no gig, you must remember, and I know the inn gig isaway, so it cannot be helped,' replied Mary.

  'I'm thinkin' sir,' suggested Joseph, 'Patey Soutar wad be wullen' togie us his pownie, seein' its you. It's a sore nicht for the puirbeast, but than there's the gude cause, an' ye'll no be forgettin' theruch wather e'y pay, sir. Patey's pownie's a canny baste, an'sure-fittet e'y dark. Mony's the time he's brocht Patey safe hame, an'him wi' a drappie in's heid 'at garred him see no' that strecht aforehim.'

  'Yes,' returned the minister, with a patient shrug; 'and he won't runaway with me, that's certain.' It was manifest he would have to go,reason or no reason. To reduce the question to one of common sensewould have raised too many questions hard or inconvenient to answer;and as to his own comfort, he had long learned to yield that. In apopular movement the people who are wont to be led will sometimesdrive by the mere force already communicated to their inertia, and theminister, accustomed to lead, will sometimes find himself pushed ordriven by the very impulse he has himself originated.

  Mary's remonstrances were in vain. She could only do her best towardsarming her brother against the storm, and seeing that his mackintoshand plaid were securely wrapped around him. Considerate, as usual, forevery one but himself, the minister offered the young fishermanshelter for the night, to await the morning coach, but that wasdeclined with a 'Na na, sir! Shanks' naig diz fine for the like o' me.An' surely gin _ye_ can thole the rough nicht, I'se do weel enough.'

  Up the steep hill road that runs eastward from Glen Effick andgradually gains the upland moor dividing it from the sea, the twowayfarers floundered in the darkness. The water-courses being alreadychoked with their hurrying floods, the road became the natural ventfor the superfluous deluge, and had changed into a roaring torrent,carrying down stones and gravel in its course, and rendering travelagainst the stream both difficult and dangerous. The pony had fullopportunity to prove his character for sagacity and sure-footedness,and he vindicated it triumphantly, for he kept on his way despite ofall impediments, while poor Sandie, the fisher lad, found his footinggive way and himself rolled over among the rattling stones more thanonce, when he would pick himself up again with a 'Hech sirse! but myhirdies are sair forfuchan.'

  As they won their way upwards, the darkness grew less intense, and theflooding of the road less serious; but it was not till they hadreached the level of the moorland looking straight out to sea, thatthey were able to realize the full fury of the tempest, whichthreatened each moment to catch them up in its a
rms and dash them tothe ground. The rain, however, had abated, and there was refreshmentin the salt keen breath of the distant sea. An occasional rift in theclouds let through a feeble glimmer, and as they staggered along theycould make out the broken horizon line of the black tumbling waters.

  A flash--and the distant boom of a gun. 'I'm thinkin', sir, there's aship out yon'er. It's a sair nicht to be on the water.'

  Presently another flash--and a rocket cleft its way aloft through thedarkness, while the roar of the angry ocean, as they drew near, grewlouder and louder.

  They now began to descend from the higher level, encountering on thedownward course a repetition of the perils and difficulty which hadhindered their ascent. Their attention was fully engrossed in pickingtheir steps and left them no leisure to observe other things. At thebottom of the hill there was a considerable breadth of flooded meadow,and there a wooden bridge half submerged spanned the flooded waters ofthe Effick, shivering in the boiling flood, and threatening to giveway beneath them as they hurried across. They now found themselves onthe sea road, level and well made, and their troubles or at least thedangers of the way were at an end.

  And now for the first time they could realize the horror of the ragingsea, with the great billows hurling themselves against the shore, andcasting their sheets of foam high in the air, and drenching the roadin showers of spray. Again they see the flash of a minute gun, but itsvoice is drowned in the tumult of the elements. The flash now, not asbefore, far out at sea--the ship was coming perilously near the shore.

  'I'm fear'd they'll hae sair wark to win round Inverlyon pint, noo,'said Sandie; 'they're ower far in shore!'--'The Lord pity them!' hewent on, as another flash showed the vessel to be still nearing theland. 'They're driftin' fair in for the Effick Mouth! The Lord haemercy on their souls!'

  'How is the tide to-night, Sandie?' the minister enquired. 'Do youthink we can cross the mouth of the bay by the sands under the rocks?It will be wet, of course, with the spray from the waves, but we aretoo wet ourselves to mind that, and it saves full four miles of theway.'

  'Na, sir! The sea's in the nicht, an' there's five feet o' water onthe sands. We maun gang round.'

  As they journeyed along, they twice again saw the flash of the signalguns; the second time the ship herself became visible, very near theshore, a helpless waif apparently, tossed on the summit of a mountainsurge. The bulwarks, which showed as those of a large vessel, stoodout black against the murky horizon for an instant, and then sankagain among the tumbling waves. Two of her masts were gone, but thethird entangled in the wreck of rigging, still held out. Presentlythere was a crash audible above the storm. Another, and they saw theship impaled on the jagged rocks at the mouth of the bay. The furiousbillows rushed up after her, wave on wave, as if refusing to bebaulked of their prey, washed over her from end to end, broke down theremaining mast, and shook and ground her among the rocks. A few crieswere carried shoreward, shrill above the tempest, and then went out inthe night. Another crash--and the wreck parted asunder and fell backinto the sea, and was whirled away among the furious breakers, whichtore it plank from plank, and strewed the relics of that goodly shipfor miles along the shore.

  It was wearing towards morning, and the wind was perceptibly fallingwhen these wayfarers reached their destination. A candle burning inthe window seemed the only sign of life in the whole slumbering town;and even that guttered and flickered low in its socket, an emblem ofthe life slowly burning itself out on the adjoining bed. A stentoriousbreathing, coming at irregular and ever-lengthening intervals, toldthat Sandie's granny was already setting out on her long journey--thatshe had closed her eyes for ever on all the things of time, even theministrations of religion; and that the mysteries to which thoseministrations can, at the best, but darkly point, would shortly beuncovered to her immortal view.

  The minister was dried and warmed and refreshed, but there was littlecall for his services. The watchers were too weary with their watchingto give much heed to consolation; he did, however, what was possibleand retired to rest.