Adventure stories; Scotland -- History -- 18th century -- Fiction
These thoughts brought me to the head of the beach. I cast a look
behind, the boat was nearing the brig, and Alan flew his handkerchief
for a farewell, which I replied to with the waving of my hand. But Alan
himself was shrunk to a small thing in my view, alongside of this pass
that lay in front of me. I set my hat hard on my head, clenched my
teeth, and went right before me up the face of the sand-wreath. It made
a hard climb, being steep, and the sand like water underfoot. But I
caught hold at last by the long bent-grass on the brae-top, and pulled
myself to a good footing. The same moment men stirred and stood up here
and there, six or seven of them, ragged-like knaves, each with a dagger
in his hand. The fair truth is, I shut my eyes and prayed. When I
opened them again, the rogues were crept the least thing nearer without
speech or hurry. Every eye was upon mine, which struck me with a
strange sensation of their brightness, and of the fear with which they
continued to approach me. I held out my hands empty; whereupon one
asked, with a strong Highland brogue, if I surrendered.
“Under protest,” said I, “if ye ken what that means, which I misdoubt.”
At that word, they came all in upon me like a flight of birds upon a
carrion, seized me, took my sword, and all the money from my pockets,
bound me hand and foot with some strong line, and cast me on a tussock
of bent. There they sat about their captive in a part of a circle and
gazed upon him silently like something dangerous, perhaps a lion or a
tiger on the spring. Presently this attention was relaxed. They drew
nearer together, fell to speech in the Gaelic, and very cynically
divided my property before my eyes. It was my diversion in this time
that I could watch from my place the progress of my friend’s escape. I
saw the boat come to the brig and be hoisted in, the sails fill, and
the ship pass out seaward behind the isles and by North Berwick.
In the course of two hours or so, more and more ragged Highlandmen kept
collecting. Neil among the first, until the party must have numbered
near a score. With each new arrival there was a fresh bout of talk,
that sounded like complaints and explanations; but I observed one
thing, none of those who came late had any share in the division of my
spoils. The last discussion was very violent and eager, so that once I
thought they would have quarrelled; on the heels of which their company
parted, the bulk of them returning westward in a troop, and only three,
Neil and two others, remaining sentries on the prisoner.
“I could name one who would be very ill pleased with your day’s work,
Neil Duncanson,” said I, when the rest had moved away.
He assured me in answer I should be tenderly used, for he knew he was
“acquent wi’ the leddy.”
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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