Complete Works of Bram Stoker (47 page)

‘Too many light carts and fast horses  —  too much silence in the barn  —  too little liquor going, to be all safe. There’s something up here tonight.’ He was under the lee of the barn and looked up where he had fixed the rockets ready to fire. This gave him a new idea.

‘I fixed them low so as to go over the sandhills and not be noticeable at Collieston or beyond. They are now placed up straight and will be seen for fifty miles if the weather be clear.’

It was too dark to see very clearly, and he would not climb up to examine them lest he should be noticed and his purpose of acquiring information frustrated; but then and there he made up his mind that Port Erroll or its neighbourhood had been the spot chosen for the running of the smuggled goods. He determined to find out more, and straightway went round to the front and entered the room.

CHAPTER II

As soon as Sailor Willy was seen to enter, a large part of the gathering looked relieved, and at once began to chat and gabble in marked contrast to their previous gloom and silence. Port Erroll was well represented by its womankind, and by such of its men as were not away at the fishing; for it was the intention to mask the smuggling scheme by an assemblage at which all the respectability would be present. There appeared to be little rivalry between the two shoemakers, MacPherson and Beagrie, who chatted together in a corner, the former telling his companion how he had just been down to the lifeboat-house to see, as one of the Committee, that it was all ready in case it should be wanted before the night was over. Lang John and Lang Jim, the policemen of the place, looked sprucer even than usual, and their buttons shone in the light of the many paraffin lamps as if they had been newly burnished. Mitchell and his companions of the salmon fishery were grouped in another corner, and Andrew Mason was telling Mackay, the new flesher, whose shed was erected on the edge of the burn opposite John Reid’s shop, of a great crab which he had taken that morning in a pot opposite the Twa Een.

But these and nearly all the other Port Erroll folk present were quiet, and their talk was of local interest; the main clack of tongues came from the many strange men who stood in groups near the centre of the room and talked loudly. In the midst of them was the bridegroom, more joyous than any, though in the midst of his laughter he kept constantly turning to look at the door. The minister from Peterhead sat in a corner with the bride and her mother and father  —  the latter of whom, despite his constant laughter, had an anxious look on his face. Sailor Willy was greeted joyously, and the giver of the feast and the bridegroom each rose, and, taking a bottle and glass, offered him a drink.

‘To the bride’, said he; but seeing that no one else was drinking, he tapped the bridegroom on the shoulder, ‘Come, drink this with me, my lad!’ he added. The latter paused an instant and then helped himself from MacDonald’s bottle. Willy did not fail to notice the act, and holding out his glass said:

‘Come, my lad, you drink with me! Change glasses in old style!’ An odd pallor passed quickly across the bridegroom’s face, but MacDonald spoke quickly:

‘Tak it, mon, tak it!’ So he took the glass, crying ‘No heeltaps’, threw back his head, and raised the glass. Willy threw back his head too, and tossed off his liquor, but, as he did so, took care to keep a sharp eye on the other, and saw him, instead of swallowing his liquor, pour it into his thick beard. His mind was quite made up now. They meant to keep him out of the way by fair means or foul.

Just then two persons entered the room, one of them, James Cruickshank of the Kilmarnock Arms, who was showing the way to the other, an elderly man with a bald head, keen eyes, a ragged grey beard, a hooked nose, and an evil smile. As he entered MacDonald jumped up and came over to greet him.

‘Oh! Mr. Mendoza, this is braw! We hopit tae see ye the nicht, but we were that feared that ye wadna come.’

‘Mein Gott, but why shall I not come  —  on this occasion of all  —  the occasion of the marriage of the daughter of mein goot frient, Tam Smack? And moreovers when I bring these as I haf promise. For you, mein frient Keith, this cheque, which one week you cash, and for you, my tear Miss Alice, these so bright necklace, which you will wear, ant which will sell if so you choose.’

As he spoke he handed his gifts to the groom and bride. He then walked to the corner where Mrs. Mac sat, exchanging a keen look with his host as he did so. The latter seemed to have taken his cue and spoke out at once.

‘And now, reverend sir, we may proceed  —  all is ready.’ As he spoke the bridal pair stood up, and the friends crowded round. Sailor Willy moved towards the door, and just as the parson opened his book, began to pass out. Tammas Mac immediately spoke to him:

‘Ye’re no gangin’, Sailor Willy? Sure ye’ll wait and see Tam Keith marrit on my lass?’

He instantly replied: ‘I must go for a while. I have some things to do, and then I want to try to bring Maggie down for the dance!’ and before anything could be said, he was gone.

The instant he left the door he slipped round to the back of the barn, and running across the sandhills to the left, crossed the wooden bridge, and hurrying up the roadway by the cottage on the cliff gained the watch-house. He knew that none of the company in the barn could leave till the service was over, with the minister’s eye on them, without giving cause for after suspicion; and he knew, too, that as there were no windows on the south side of the barn, nothing could be seen from that side. Without a moment’s delay he arranged his signals for the call for aid; and as the rockets whizzed aloft, sending a white glare far into the sky, he felt that the struggle had entered on its second stage.

The night had now set in with a darkness unusual in August. The swaithes of sea-mist whirled in by the wind came fewer and fainter, and at times a sudden rift through the driving clouds showed that there was starlight somewhere between the driving masses of mist and gloom. Willy Barrow once more tried all his weapons and saw that all his signals were in order. Then he strapped the revolver and the cutlass in his belt, and lit a dark lantern so that it might be ready in case of need. This done, he left the watch-house, locking the door behind him, and, after looking steadily across the Bay to the Scaurs beyond, turned and walked northward towards the Watter’s Mou’. Between the cliff on the edge of this and the watch-house there was a crane used for raising the granite boulders quarried below, and when he drew near this he stopped instinctively and called out, ‘Who is there?’ for he felt, rather than saw, some presence. ‘It is only me, Willy,’ came a soft voice, and a woman drew a step nearer through the darkness from behind the shaft of the crane.

‘Maggie! Why, darling, what brings you here? I thought you were going to the wedding!’

‘I knew ye wadna be there, and I wanted to speak wi’ ye’  —  this was said in a very low voice.

‘How did you know I wouldn’t be there?  —  I was to join you if I could.’

‘I saw Bella Cruickshank hand ye the telegram as ye went by the Post Office, and  —  and I knew there would be something to keep ye. O Willy, Willy! why do ye draw awa frae me?’ for Sailor Willy had instinctively loosened his arms which were round her and had drawn back  —  in the instant his love and his business seemed as though antagonistic. He answered with blunt truthfulness:

‘I was thinking, Maggie, that I had no cause to be making love here and now. I’ve got work, mayhap, tonight!’

‘I feared so, Willy  —  I feared so!’ Willy was touched, for it seemed to him that she was anxious for him, and answered tenderly:

‘All right, dear! All right! There’s no danger  —  why, if need be, I am armed,’ and he slipped his hand on the butt of the revolver in his belt. To his surprise Maggie uttered a deep low groan, and turning away sat on the turf bank beside her, as though her strength was failing her. Willy did not know what to say, so there was a space of silence. Then Maggie went on hurriedly:

‘O my God! it is a dreadfu’ thing to lift yer han’ in sic a deadly manner against yer neighbours, and ye not knowing what woe ye may cause.’ Willy could answer this time:

‘Ay, lass! it’s hard indeed, and that’s the truth. But that’s the very reason that men like me are put here that can and will do their duty no matter how hard it may be.’

Another pause, and then Maggie spoke again. Willy could not see her face, but she seemed to speak between gasps for breath.

‘Ye’re lookin’ for hard wark the nicht?’

‘I am!  —  I fear so.’

‘I can guess that that telegram tellt ye that some boats would try to rin in somewhere the nicht.’

‘Mayhap, lass. But the telegrams are secret, and I must not speak of what’s in them.’

After a long pause Maggie spoke again, but in a voice so low that he could hardly hear her amid the roar of the breaking waves which came in on the wind:

‘Willy, ye’re not a cruel man!  —  ye wadna, if ye could help it, dae harm to them that loved ye, or work woe to their belongin’s?’

‘My lass! that I wouldn’t.’ As he answered he felt a horrible sinking of the heart. What did all this mean? Was it possible that Maggie, too, had any interest in the smuggling? No, no! a thousand times no! Ashamed of his suspicion he drew closer and again put his arm around her in a protecting way. The unexpected tenderness overcame her, and, bursting into tears, she threw herself on Willy’s neck and whispered to him between her sobs:

‘O Willy, Willy! I’m in sic sair trouble, and there’s nane that I can speak to. Nae! not ane in the wide warld.’

‘Tell me, darling; you know you’ll soon be my wife, and then I’ll have a right to know all!’

‘Oh, I canna! I canna! I canna!’ she said, and taking her arms from round his neck she beat her hands wildly together. Willy was something frightened, for a woman’s distress touches a strong man in direct ration to his manliness. He tried to soothe her as though she were a frightened child, and held her tight to him.

‘There! there! my darling. Don’t cry. I’m here with you, and you can tell me all your trouble.’ She shook her head; he felt the movement on his breast, and he went on:

‘Don’t be frightened, Maggie; tell me all. Tell me quietly, and mayhap I can help ye out over the difficult places.’ Then he remained silent, and her sobs grew less violent; at last she raised her head and dashed away her tears fiercely with her hand. She dragged herself away from him: he tried to stop her, but she said:

‘Nae, nae, Willy dear; let me speak it in my am way. If I canna trust ye, wha can I trust? My trouble is not for mysel.’ She paused, and he asked:

‘Who, then, is it for?’

‘My father and my brothers.’ Then she went on hurriedly, fearing to stop lest her courage should fail her, and he listened in dead silence, with a growing pain in his heart.

‘Ye ken that for several seasons back our boat has had bad luck  —  we took less fish and lost mair nets than any of the boats; even on the land everything went wrong. Our coo died, and the shed was blawn doon, and then the blight touched the potatoes in our field. Father could dae naething, and had to borrow money on the boat to go on with his wark; and the debt grew and grew, till now he only owns her in name, and we never ken when we may be sold up. And the man that has the mortgage isn’t like to let us off or gie timel’

‘Who is he? His name?’ said Willie hoarsely.

‘Mendoza  —  the man frae Hamburg wha lends to the boats at Peterhead.’

Willy groaned. Before his eyes rose the vision of that hard, cruel, white face that he had seen only a few minutes ago, and again he saw him hand out the presents with which he had bought the man and woman to help in his wicked scheme. When Maggie heard the groan her courage and her hope arose. If her lover could take the matter so much to heart all might yet be well, and in the moment all the womanhood in her awoke to the call. Her fear had broken down the barriers that had kept back her passion, and now the passion came with all the force of a virgin nature. She drew Willy close to her  —  closer still  —  and whispered to him in a low sweet voice, that thrilled with emotion:

‘Willy, Willy, darlin’; ye wouldna see harm come to my father  —  my father, my father!’ and in a wave of tumultuous, voluptuous passion she kissed him full in the mouth. Willy felt for the moment half dazed. Love has its opiates that soothe and stun even in the midst of their activity. He clasped Maggie close in his arms, and for a moment their hearts beat together and their mouths breathed the same air. Then Willy drew back, but Maggie hung limp in his arms. The silence which hung in the midst of nature’s tumult broke its own spell. Willy realised what and where he was: with the waves dashing below his feet and the night wind laden with drifting mist wreathing around him in the darkness, and whistling amongst the rocks and screaming sadly through the ropes and stays of the flagstaff on the cliff. There was a wild fear in his heart and a burning desire to know all that was in his sweetheart’s mind.

‘Go on, Maggie! go on!’ he said. Maggie roused herself and again took up the thread of her story  —  this time in feverish haste. The moment of passion had disquieted and disturbed her. She seemed to herself to be two people, one of whom was new to her, and whom she feared, but woman-like, she felt that as she had begun so must she go on; and thus her woman’s courage sustained her.

‘Some weeks ago, father began to get letters frae Mr. Mendoza, and they aye upset him. He wrote answers and sent them away at once. Then Mr. Mendoza sent him a telegram frae Hamburg, and he sent a reply  —  and a month ago father got a telegram telling him to meet him at Peterhead. He was very angry at first and very low-spirited after; but he went to Peterhead, and when he cam back he was very still and quite pale. He would eat naething, and went to bed although it was only seven o’clock. Then there were more letters and telegrams, but father answered nane o’ them  —  sae far as I ken  —  and then Mr. Mendoza cam to our hoose. Father got as pale as a sheet when he saw him, and then he got red and angry, and I thocht he was going to strike him; but Mr. Mendoza said not to frichten his daughter, and father got quiet and sent me oot on a message to the Nether Mill. And when I cam back Mr. Mendoza had gone, and father was sitting with his face in his hands, and he didna hear me come in. When I spoke, he started up and he was as white as a sheet, and then he mumbled something and went into his room. And ever since then he hardly spoke to any one, and seemed to avoid me a’thegither. When he went away the last time he never even kissed me. And so, Willy  —  so, I fear that that awfu’ Mr Mendoza has made him dae something that he didna want to dae, and it’s all breaking my heart!’ and again she laid her head on her lover’s breast and sobbed. Willy breathed more freely; but he could not be content to remain in doubt, and his courage was never harder tried than when he asked his next question.