Читать книгу A Lost Lady of Old Years - John Buchan - Страница 9

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The wind was already shaking in the sails when he clambered aboard, and the windlass groaned with the lifting anchor. Mr. Berritch cried a cheery greeting from the bow, as Francis, heavy with sleep, tumbled down below to bed. The moon was up, the night airs were fine, and in a little the lugger was heading by the south end of Inchkeith for the swell of the North Ocean.

At dawn Francis was up and sniffing the salt air over the bulwarks. A landsman born, he had little acquaintance with the going down to the sea in ships, and the easy movement and the brisk purpose of the lugger delighted his heart. He was still in the first heat of adventure; the white planking, the cordage, and the tarry smell were all earnests of something new; and with the vanishing smoke and spires he beheld the end of a life crimped and hampered. He felt extraordinary vigour of body and a certain haphazard quality of mind which added breadth to his freedom. But at the last sight of the Pentlands' back, sentiment woke for one brief moment ere she shook her wings and fled.

He turned from his meditation to find Mr. Berritch at his elbow with a smile and a good-morning. Seen in the first light his face had an ugly look about the eyes and ponderous jaw, a shadow in the lines of his mouth. With him came another, whose face Francis had not seen before,—a lean youth with bleak eyes, a hanging chin, and a smirk always on the verge of his lips.

"Ye came well off frae your venture, Francie," said Mr. Berritch. "I have to present to ye Mr. Peter Stark, a young gentleman out o' Dumbarton, bound on the same errand to France as yoursel'. Starkie, this is Mr. Birkenshaw I telled ye o'."

The two bowed awkwardly, and the elder man went off and left them. Francis got little comfort from the sight of the gawky boy before him. If this were a type of the gentleman-adventurer, then it would have suited better with his tastes to have chosen another trade. As for Mr. Stark, he assumed an air of wonderful shrewdness, which raw youth at all times believes to be the mark of the man of affairs.

"What's garred ye take the road, Mr. Birkenshaw?" said he, with the drawling accent of the West.

The other looked him up and down with rudeness and leisure, scanning every detail of his rustic clothes, his ill-tied hair, and the piteous aping of the fine gentleman in his carriage. This was no better than the tavern sots in Edinburgh with whom he had brawled a year before.

"What if I do not care to make my business public on every shipboard, sir?" he said with chill insolence. "Do you think I should go about making proclamation of my past?"

The boy looked aggrieved and taken aback. "But between men of honour," he said sullenly.

Francis laughed the laugh of the man to whom all old burdens are now but the merest names. "Honour!" he said, with a sense of diplomacy in the assumption of a part, "honour is not a luxury for you or me, my friend. We're running atween the jaws o' government warships, and whatever we may have done it's unlikely that there'll be much talk o' fair trial for suspects. Every man is his neighbour's enemy till he has put his breast before him to the bullet. Then there may be friendship. But what talk is this of honour, sir, atween two chance acquaintances?" And he stood, darkly suspicious, in a fervour of self-admiration.

The other bent low in respect for this new revelation of spirit. He felt a tingle of shame for his petty villainies in the presence of one whose crimes might yet be called high-treason. By a mere chance Francis had fallen upon the part best suited to take his comrade's fancy. Henceforth he might act as he pleased and yet loom heroic to the reverent eyes of Mr. Stark. The frank homage pleased him, and he felt a morsel of liking for this uncouth westlander. So leaning over the rail, they spoke of their joint fortunes.

With the freshets of the wider seas Francis rose in spirits. His mind, in the Edinburgh and Dysart days, had always been panoramic, raking the future with its spy-glass and finding solace in visions. He had never entered a brawl or a debauch without some glimpse of himself in the act of cutting a fine figure to cheer his fancy. For the mere approval of gossip he had cared little, but much for the verdict of a certain select imaginary coterie who kept house in his brain. Now his part was the adventurer, and he sought to play it to his satisfaction.

"They say that France is weel-filled wi' Scots," said Mr. Stark. "I hae near twae hunner guineas I took frae my faither, and I'm the lad to mak' mair." And he stuck his hat more jauntily, and whistled the stave of a song.

"Guineas for auld men," said Francis. "For me, I have little thought on gear, if I but get free hand and fair play. Lasses and gear fall soon to the high hand. For myself, I am for the King's court, the rightful King's, as a gentleman should. Ye'll be a Whig since ye come from the Westlands, Mr. Stark?"

"Whig did you say? Na, na! I was a Whig yince when Kate Mallison was yin, and I gaed to the Kirk to watch her. But noo I'll sing Jamie come hame wi' any braw lad that's to my mind." And the boy grimaced and swaggered with fine abandonment.

Something in the attitude struck the finical Francis with disgust. This Dumbarton apprentice had not the figure or speech of a King's man. He was on the point of giving him back some rude gibe, when a thought of his new part smote upon him. He checked his tongue and held a diplomatic peace. To the true master no tool was too feeble for use, so he set to to flatter Mr. Stark.

It may be guessed that the task prospered, for soon the face of the one beamed with conscious worth. Then the voice of Mr. Berritch broke roughly in upon the colloquy.

"Heh, Starkie, come and gie's a lift wi' this wecht."

The boy looked queerly at his companion and ambled off to obey. He came back with face flushed from stooping, only to find in Francis a mood of stony disdain.

For a little he looked out to sea and bit his lips. Then he said in accents of apology: "He askit little to tak' me ower, so I maun needs help him in his bit jobs."

"I have nothing to do with your affairs," said his immovable comrade, "but I would be sweered to fetch and carry for any man. And what talk is this o' money? Does he charge hire like an Alloa ferryman?"

To the bargaining mind of the other such a tone seemed uncalled for. "Ye wadna expect him to dae't for love? I couldna dae't mysel'."

"Then, by God, Mr. Stark, ye have most of the lessons of gentility to learn."

At this moment of time the voice of Mr. Berritch was again audible. He came aft the vessel with his brow shining from toil. Now, on the high seas, he was a different man from the secret gentleman of Dysart. His tones were boisterous and full of authority, his eye commanding, and his figure trimmer. More, his jaw looked uglier, and his narrow, unkindly eyes a full half more disconcerting.

"Starkie, my lad," he shouted, "ye maun come and gie's a hand. And you, Mr. Birkenshaw, gang to the bows and help Tam Guthrie wi' the ropes. I'm terrible short-handed this voyage, and I canna hae idlers."

The hectoring note roused contradiction in Francis's blood. He bore no dear affection for Mr. Berritch, and he had no mind to serve him. He scarcely even felt the debt of obligation, for had he not already risked his liberty for the captain's gold?

"Ye would not have me work like a tarry sailor, Mr. Berritch?" said he.

"E'en so," said the bold ship's captain. "I would have ye work like a tarry sailor when ye're on my lugger." And he looked the young man up and down with insolent eye.

Francis became for the moment magnanimous. "If ye were to ask it as a favour, I would be the first to oblige ye, but ..."

The other cut him short, frowning.

"Weel, weel, sir, if ye're mindit to play the fine gentleman ye can dae it and be damned to ye. But ye'll pay me twenty guineas down for your passage, when I micht hae been content wi' ten if ye had shown decent civility."

Francis grew dusky with sudden wrath.

"I thought I had paid ye for my passage already," said he, hoarsely. "Besides, I had a thought that there was a talk o' friendship in the matter."

Mr. Berritch laughed long and loud. "Is't like," he said, "when ye winna dae a bit obleegement when I ask ye? Na, na, my man, ye'll gie me the twenty afore ye steer frae thae boards, and seein' that ye're payin' for it a' ye can take your leisure like a gentleman."

It would be hard to tell the full irritation of his hearer's mind. To be blocked and duped thus early in his career of adventure by a knavery more complete than his own, was bitter as wormwood. A certain trust in the generous and the friendly had remained to him even in his renunciation of virtue, and now its loss seemed more vexatious than consisted with his new view of the world. He was in a maze of self-distrust and wounded sentiment, to which, as the minutes passed, was joined the more wholesome passion of anger.

For one brief second he was tempted to a curious course. He had almost paid the money demanded, posed as the wounded friend, and continued in this lofty character. But the feeling passed, and his vexation sealed his resolve to send Mr. Berritch and his crew to the devil rather than yield.

"What's he taking from you?" he asked Starkie, who stood watching the result with the interest of malice.

"He's daein' it for ten," was the answer.

"Then this is my word to you, Mr. Berritch," and Francis drew himself up with bravado. "Ye offered to take me over for friendliness, and, though we fall out over the matter of friendship, I hold ye to your bargain. You land me in France hale and safe, or I'll ken the reason why," and he tapped his sword-handle with rising pride.

"And this is my word to you, Mr. Birkenshaw," said the captain, his face aflame with rage. He had flung down the rope-end, and stood with arms on hips and blazing eyes. "I hae three men here wi' me, ilka ane a match for you, and I mysel' could soon gar ye pit up your bit swirdie. But I'm a man o' peace, and I likena violence. If ye dinna pay me your farin' here and now, I land ye in Berwick afore night, whaur I ken o' some who will hae meikle to say to ye aboot your misdeeds."

The man's whole carriage had changed from the bluff bravado he had once affected to an air of cunning and respectable malice. Francis felt the hopelessness of his case, and his thoughts grew hotter. He drew his blade and was in the act of rushing upon his foe, when that worthy whistled shrilly, and at the sign the three ship hands, truculent fellows all, came running to his side. Francis glanced toward Starkie and there read the folly of his action. If the Westlander had but joined him he would have forthwith attacked the quarto with some good-will. But his comrade clearly had no love for the sight of steel, for with a very white face and shaking legs he was striving to act the mediator.

The captain regarded his opponent grimly and calmly. As the anger ebbed from Francis' brain his reason returned and he regarded his folly with some little shame. But sufficient remained to make him obdurate. "Take me to Berwick if it please ye," he cried, "but ye'll never see the glint o' my money."

"To Berwick ye'll gang," was the sour answer, "and I wis ye may like it." And without more words he went about his business.

Francis went over to the gunwale and looked out to sea. The September day was ending in a drizzle of mist and small rain. He could not see the shore, save as a dim outline; but he guessed that they must be well down the Berwick coast, seeing that they had rounded the Bass in the early morning. The threat of Mr. Berritch had no special terrors for him, his misdeeds were out of the region of actual crime, and in any case Berwick was too far away for punishment. But, unless he liked to face a ship's crew and captain with the bare sword, he would be carried ignominiously into harbour, and find himself stranded purposeless once more in his own land. And yet he would never pay the money, he reflected, as he became cognisant of his own root of pride. He had sudden yearnings towards virtue, produced by his sudden disgust at villainy in another. But above all the bitterness rose highest that he should be thus frustrated in the first glamour of his hopes.

The gallant Mr. Stark came up with consolations—not without timidity. His respect for his companion had grown hugely in the last minutes, and he was disposed himself to assume something of a haughty bearing. But he got no word from the sullen figure at the bulwarks, till he had exhausted his vocabulary of condolence.

"Mr. Birkenshaw," said he, "I hae a word to say to ye anent your ways o' getting to France. I haena your experience, but I can see wi' my ain een that this road is no the safest. If ye were to land at Berwick, it's no abune ninety mile across the country to the west. Ye could walk it in three days, and there ye'd find a boat to set ye ower for something less than this man's twenty guineas."

Francis flamed up in wrath. "And ye would have me carried ashore like a greeting child! No, by God, though I have to sweem for it, that man and his folk will never lay their tarry hands on me," and he stared fiercely into the mist.

But as he looked and meditated some fragments of a plan began to grow up in his brain. It would be little to his disadvantage to cross the land and embark from the west. It would save him the intolerable humiliation of a voyage in Mr. Berritch's company and another scene of wrangling at the end. Moreover, it would save him money, and somewhere in Francis, now that he was cast on himself, there lurked a trace of the old Birkenshaw providence. Again, it would keep up his reputation in the eyes of Starkie and his own self-respect; both weighty considerations for a vain man. But the matter of the landing still stuck in his throat and had all but driven him to the paths of virtue.

Then Mr. Stark spoke out with resolution.

"It maitters little to me what way I gang, and I thocht o' offering ye my company. Twae men are aye better than yin, and I ken the Westlands." The boy spoke with a fine air of the heroical which took the other's fancy. The offer screwed Francis's decision to the point of some crazy piece of bravado, and none the less stirred some hidden generosity.

"I have taken a great liking to ye, Mr. Stark," he replied with condescension, "and I own I'll be glad o' your company. But there's one thing I must tell you if ye would come with me. If when we come to Berwick they offer to put hands on me and set me in their bit boat, there and then I gang overboard and sweem ashore. Are you fit for the ploy, Mr. Stark?"

"Sweem," cried the other, joyfully, seeing in this a chance of bravery without peril. "I was bred aside the sea, and I've leeved in the water since I was a bairn."

It might have been five in the afternoon, but in the misty weather it was hard to guess the time. They were coasting near the land, for the light breeze was clear behind them, and the water lay deep under the shadow of the craggy shore. Through the haze they could discern the red face of the cliffs, thatched with green and founded on a chaos of boulders. Even there they heard the lip of water on the beach above the ceaseless hiss of rain. Gulls hung uneasily about their track, and through the damp air came the cry of sandpipers, thin and far. It was mournful weather, and the heart of the soaked and angry Francis suffered momentary desolation.

But he was recalled to action by the harsh voice of Mr. Berritch behind him. "Well, my lad," said the captain, "are ye in a better frame o' mind? Yonder's Berwick and mouth o' Tweed, and yonder ye gang if ye dinna dae my bidding. So if we are to continue our way thegether, I'll trouble you for your guineas, Mr. Birkenshaw."

Francis looked over the gunwale to the low shore, not three hundred yards off. A glimpse of house and wall to the left showed where the town began. To hesitate would be to end all his bravado in smoke, so he glanced with meaning at the excited Starkie and spoke up with creditable boldness,—

"I told ye before, I'm thinking, Mr. Berritch, that you would get no guineas of mine, and I'm no used to go back on my word."

"Then we'll hae the boat," said the captain. "Geordie, get the boat oot."

"And I have something more to say to ye, ye thief o' a Fife packman. Ye've matched me this time with your promises and smirks, but I'll win my ways without ye and pay ye for a' this and mair some day. So I'll bid ye good-day, Mr. Berritch, till our next meeting."

And with this tearful defiance he was over the bulwarks, followed by the dauntless Stark, leaving the grim Mr. Berritch someway between irritation and laughter. Two heads dipped on the misty waters, and a little after two mortals were wringing their clothes on the sanded beach.