“No doubt, sir” says the captain, “and fine coats.”
“Oho!” says the stranger, “is that how the wind sets?” And he laid his hand quickly on his pistols.
“Don’t be hasty,” said the captain. “Don’t do a mischief before ye see the need of it. Ye’ve a French soldier’s coat upon your back and a Scotch tongue in your head, to be sure; but so has many an honest fellow in these days, and I dare say none the worse of it.”
“So?” said the gentleman in the fine coat: “are ye of the honest party?” (meaning, Was he a Jacobite? for each side, in these sort of civil broils, takes the name of honesty for its own).
“Why, sir,” replied the captain, “I am a true-blue Protestant, and I thank God for it.” (It was the first word of any religion I had ever heard from him, but I learnt afterwards he was a great church-goer while on shore.) “But, for all that,” says he, “I can be sorry to see another man with his back to the wall.”
“Can ye so, indeed?” asked the Jacobite. “Well, sir, to be quite plain with ye, I am one of those honest gentlemen that were in trouble about the years forty-five and six; and (to be still quite plain with ye) if I got into the hands of any of the red-coated gentry, it’s like it would go hard with me. Now, sir, I was for France; and there was a French ship cruising here to pick me up; but she gave us the go-by in the fog — as I wish from the heart that ye had done yoursel’! And the best that I can say is this: If ye can set me ashore where I was going, I have that upon me will reward you highly for your trouble.”
“In France?” says the captain. “No, sir; that I cannot do. But where ye come from — we might talk of that.”
And then, unhappily, he observed me standing in my corner, and packed me off to the galley to get supper for the gentleman. I lost no time, I promise you; and when I came back into the roundhouse, I found the gentleman had taken a money-belt from about his waist, and poured out a guinea or two upon the table. The captain was looking at the guineas, and then at the belt, and then at the gentleman’s face; and I thought he seemed excited.
“Half of it,” he cried, “and I’m your man!”
The other swept back the guineas into the belt, and put it on again under his waistcoat. “I have told ye sir” said he, “that not one doit of it belongs to me. It belongs to my chieftain,” and here he touched his hat, “and while I would be but a silly messenger to grudge some of it that the rest might come safe, I should show myself a hound indeed if I bought my own carcase any too dear. Thirty guineas on the seaside, or sixty if ye set me on the Linnhe Loch. Take it, if ye will; if not, ye can do your worst.”
“Ay,” said Hoseason. “And if I give ye over to the soldiers?”
“Ye would make a fool’s bargain,” said the other. “My chief, let me tell you, sir, is forfeited, like every honest man in Scotland. His estate is in the hands of the man they call King George; and it is his officers that collect the rents, or try to collect them. But for the honour of Scotland, the poor tenant bodies take a thought upon their chief lying in exile; and this money is a part of that very rent for which King George is looking. Now, sir, ye seem to me to be a man that understands things: bring this money within the reach of Government, and how much of it’ll come to you?”
“Little enough, to be sure,” said Hoseason; and then, “if they, knew” he added, drily. “But I think, if I was to try, that I could hold my tongue about it.”
“Ah, but I’ll begowk* ye there!” cried the gentleman. “Play me false, and I’ll play you cunning. If a hand is laid upon me, they shall ken what money it is.”
* Befool.
“Well,” returned the captain, “what must be must. Sixty guineas, and done. Here’s my hand upon it.”
“And here’s mine,” said the other.
And thereupon the captain went out (rather hurriedly, I thought), and left me alone in the roundhouse with the stranger.
At that period (so soon after the forty-five) there were many exiled gentlemen coming back at the peril of their lives, either to see their friends or to collect a little money; and as for the Highland chiefs that had been forfeited, it was a common matter of talk how their tenants would stint themselves to send them money, and their clansmen outface the soldiery to get it in, and run the gauntlet of our great navy to carry it across. All this I had, of course, heard tell of; and now I had a man under my eyes whose life was forfeit on all these counts and upon one more, for he was not only a rebel and a smuggler of rents, but had taken service with King Louis of France. And as if all this were not enough, he had a belt full of golden guineas round his loins. Whatever my opinions, I could not look on such a man without a lively interest.
“And so you’re a Jacobite?” said I, as I set meat before him.
“Ay,” said he, beginning to eat. “And you, by your long face, should be a Whig?”*
* Whig or Whigamore was the cant name for those who were loyal to King George.
“Betwixt and between,” said I, not to annoy him; for indeed I was as good a Whig as Mr. Campbell could make me.
“And that’s naething,” said he. “But I’m saying, Mr. Betwixt-and-Between,” he added, “this bottle of yours is dry; and it’s hard if I’m to pay sixty guineas and be grudged a dram upon the back of it.”
“I’ll go and ask for the key,” said I, and stepped on deck.
The fog was as close as ever, but the swell almost down. They had laid the brig to, not knowing precisely where they were, and the wind (what little there was of it) not serving well for their true course. Some of the hands were still hearkening for breakers; but the captain and the two officers were in the waist with their heads together. It struck me (I don’t know why) that they were after no good; and the first word I heard, as I drew softly near, more than confirmed me.
It was Mr. Riach, crying out as if upon a sudden thought: “Couldn’t we wile him out of the roundhouse?”
“He’s better where he is,” returned Hoseason; “he hasn’t room to use his sword.”
“Well, that’s true,” said Riach; “but he’s hard to come at.”
“Hut!” said Hoseason. “We can get the man in talk, one upon each side, and pin him by the two arms; or if that’ll not hold, sir, we can make a run by both the doors and get him under hand before he has the time to draw.”
At this hearing, I was seized with both fear and anger at these treacherous, greedy, bloody men that I sailed with. My first mind was to run away; my second was bolder.
“Captain,” said I, “the gentleman is seeking a dram, and the bottle’s out. Will you give me the key?”
They all started and turned about.
“Why, here’s our chance to get the firearms!”
Riach cried; and then to me: “Hark ye, David,” he said, “do ye ken where the pistols are?”
“Ay, ay,” put in Hoseason. “David kens; David’s a good lad. Ye see, David my man, yon wild Hielandman is a danger to the ship, besides being a rank foe to King George, God bless him!”
I had never been so be-Davided since I came on board: but I said Yes, as if all I heard were quite natural.
“The trouble is,” resumed the captain, “that all our firelocks, great and little, are in the