Adventure and adventurers -- Fiction; Historical fiction; Kidnapping -- Fiction; Scotland -- History -- 18th century -- Fiction
At that I turned tail upon their boat (where my adviser had once more
begun to tee-hee with laughter), leaped back the way I had come, from
one stone to another, and set off running across the isle as I had never
run before. In about half an hour I came out upon the shores of the
creek; and, sure enough, it was shrunk into a little trickle of water,
through which I dashed, not above my knees, and landed with a shout on
the main island.
A sea-bred boy would not have stayed a day on Earraid; which is only
what they call a tidal islet, and except in the bottom of the neaps, can
be entered and left twice in every twenty-four hours, either dry-shod,
or at the most by wading. Even I, who had the tide going out and in
before me in the bay, and even watched for the ebbs, the better to get
my shellfish--even I (I say) if I had sat down to think, instead of
raging at my fate, must have soon guessed the secret, and got free. It
was no wonder the fishers had not understood me. The wonder was rather
that they had ever guessed my pitiful illusion, and taken the trouble to
come back. I had starved with cold and hunger on that island for close
upon one hundred hours. But for the fishers, I might have left my bones
there, in pure folly. And even as it was, I had paid for it pretty dear,
not only in past sufferings, but in my present case; being clothed like
a beggar-man, scarce able to walk, and in great pain of my sore throat.
I have seen wicked men and fools, a great many of both; and I believe
they both get paid in the end; but the fools first.
CHAPTER XV
THE LAD WITH THE SILVER BUTTON: THROUGH THE ISLE OF MULL
The Ross of Mull, which I had now got upon, was rugged and trackless,
like the isle I had just left; being all bog, and brier, and big stone.
There may be roads for them that know that country well; but for my part
I had no better guide than my own nose, and no other landmark than Ben
More.
I aimed as well as I could for the smoke I had seen so often from the
island; and with all my great weariness and the difficulty of the way
came upon the house in the bottom of a little hollow about five or
six at night. It was low and longish, roofed with turf and built of
unmortared stones; and on a mound in front of it, an old gentleman sat
smoking his pipe in the sun.
With what little English he had, he gave me to understand that my
shipmates had got safe ashore, and had broken bread in that very house
on the day after.
“Was there one,” I asked, “dressed like a gentleman?”
He said they all wore rough great-coats; but to be sure, the first of
them, the one that came alone, wore breeches and stockings, while the
rest had sailors’ trousers.
“Ah,” said I, “and he would have a feathered hat?”
He told me, no, that he was bareheaded like myself.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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