Chapter V: Loch Arkaig

Day followed day with no sign of the soldiers, and as time passed, Rob wished most fervently that Muckle John had not disappeared so abruptly, leaving him in an unknown country with a helpless old man.

One morning there was a movement in Lovat's hut and the old chief stood peering out of the doorway looking very savage and uncouth. He had forgotten to place his wig on his head and the scattered tags of grey hair were caught by every gust of wind.

"Rob," he said at last, shivering with the cold, "take a day in the hills and learn where the English are and whether a French frigate is off the coast."

Only too glad to fall in with such a suggestion Rob prepared to set off at once. Suddenly Lord Lovat called to him.

"Rob," he said, "where did you come from that night?"

"I came from Culloden."

"Culloden--and did you meet anyone on the road?"

"Only Muckle John."

The Fraser's cold eyes swooped down on him like a hawk dropping from the clouds.

"Muckle John," he repeated, "I seem to know the name--so you came with him did ye? And where were you, Rob, when the horsemen arrived? Was Muckle John with you then?"

"No, he had left me."

"Of course--of course--and then he came back and told you he was going away on important business, Rob."

"He said he would return."

At that Lovat left him, laughing as though something mightily funny had been said. But at the door he turned, still convulsed with his humour, and wagging a finger at him remarked:

"Mind my words, laddie, the race is not always to the swift nor the battle to the strong."

But Rob only looked at him in wonder, seeing nothing but an old sick man overtaken by dotage.

Then setting out upon the heather he made for the head of Loch Arkaig.

Throughout the day he saw no glimpse of red-coats, and when evening was falling he stepped boldly down upon the shore of the loch, and thence onward to Lochnanuagh, where, to his excitement, the white sails of a frigate were bellied out with the breeze. Hastily concealing himself he peered through the heather upon the beach where a great number of people, principally Camerons and Macdonalds, were collected, and with them a squarely built, consequential little man very plainly dressed, who seemed greatly agitated about the numbers on the shore and anxious to disperse the crowd at all costs. But the more he cajoled and threatened the more closely they thronged the beach, and in the meanwhile the frigate had run down her anchor and lowered a boat. In it Rob could distinguish four men and some cargo, which had been slung down from the deck. On the shore there was a sudden silence almost startling after the clash of voices before. The creak of the rowlocks came nearer, and though far up the hill--so still was the day--Rob could catch the French manner of their speech, and once he heard the small man upon the beach cough and blow his nose.

But immediately the keel of the boat grated upon the shingle, the greatest animation was displayed. The sailors threw the cargo (which comprised some half-dozen little casks) upon the sand, and under the instructions of the little man they were carried into a secluded place and a rope slipped round them, whereupon he set about paying the sailors.

At that moment, however, there was a sullen boom like the noise of a gun far out at sea, and without a second's delay the boat shot away to the frigate, the anchor was raised, and running up her canvas she wheeled like a sea-bird and catching the breeze sped towards open water. From the noise of firing out at sea it was apparent that an action was in progress between an English man-of-war and the French ships.

The excitement upon the beach now boiled to fever heat. The hills nearest the bay were soon black with spectators, and in the midst of this new sensation the casks upon the beach were forgotten by all except the little man.

Indeed, had he not passed so close leading a Shetland pony very carefully and yet urging it to its fullest speed, Rob would never have remembered the landing of that mysterious cargo and consequently never have been mixed up in the tragedy of gold. But to Rob there was something enormously mystifying about the character of this solitary traveller, with his anxious manner, and the rattling casks ranged high upon the pony's flanks. It was like an old wife's tale of the fairies and their secret kegs of heather ale.

Partly because they were going the same road--partly because his curiosity was awake--he followed him through the heather, keeping a sharp eye meanwhile, for again and again the man upon the track would swing suddenly about and send his gaze ranging the hill-side for fear of being followed by the people on the shore. But always he did so with the utmost haste, urging the pony onwards after each halt, as though he feared the approach of night, or something that Rob knew nothing about.

And so they reached Loch Arkaig, and on the shore of the loch the man seemed to hesitate and take thought, and then hitching the pony to a tree he conveyed the casks to the sand beside the edge of the heather, and flinging off his coat, drew a spade from a hidden place and commenced to dig.

Twilight had come, and so shadowy had the shore grown that Rob crept nearer, wriggling through the tufts of heather and rock as noiselessly as an Indian.

Suddenly, however, he saw the head and shoulders of some one else silhouetted against the grey surface before him, a man who crouched and ducked his head as the digging ceased or recommenced upon the beach with the same care that he himself was practising. It was evident to Rob that there was more in all of this than he had imagined.

At last, apparently satisfied, the watcher began to retreat towards him, running on all fours up the hill-side. So rapidly did he come, indeed, that Rob had no time to roll out of the way, and with a swift bound the newcomer flung his full weight upon him, uttering no sound whatever, and together they rolled over and over in each other's arms.

One moment Rob was uppermost, then the other, who seemed all arms and legs and sharp clawing fingers. Twice Rob felt his throat gripped and two thumbs upon his windpipe, and each time he managed to jerk his head away. Then with a swift dive of his right arm he reached the knife in his stocking, and pulling it out he plunged it into his assailant's shoulder. It was a small blade, ill-fitted for dangerous work such as this; but a thin scream told him that he had penetrated the man's thick great-coat. Then perceiving his opponent jerk his head about with the pain, Rob clutched a heavy stone and driving it against his temple sent him senseless upon the ground.

It was a narrow escape, but fortune had apparently come to his aid in the nick of time. With a gasp of relief he sprang to his feet, when out of the darkness a voice said: "Stand, or I fire!" and the cold barrel of a pistol was rammed against his cheek.

He had forgotten the man upon the shore.

"I am unarmed," gasped Rob; "and it is the man upon the ground whom you should guard against, not me."

At that the pistol was lowered, and seating himself the newcomer laid it upon his knee and ordered him to relate his account of the fight, to which he listened with the closest interest. Then rising he bound the unconscious man's arms and legs with some rope which lay upon the beach, and thrust a rough gag into his mouth.

"And now, my lad," said he, "tell me what brings you here."

With some hesitation Rob related his experiences of the last two days, and when he had finished his companion clapped him upon the back.

"Bravely done," he said; "and let me tell you that Archibald Cameron is proud to meet ye." So saying he wrung him warmly by the hand and sprang to his feet.

He was that Dr. Archibald Cameron, brother to Lochiel, who was to suffer death at the hands of the Government in the year '53, a very gallant gentleman and the last to fall in the Stuart cause.

The moon was climbing into the sky as they stepped towards their prisoner; but Cameron first took Rob aside and whispered in his ear:

"What I buried," said he, speaking in the Lowland tongue, "would set the Highlands in a blaze. It is a merciful Providence you turned up as you did. For now we can hide it all the easier in another place, or maybe two places. But give me your oath on the naked dirk that no word of it will ever pass your lips except to the Prince."

"The Prince?" echoed Rob, who had followed him with difficulty.

"And who else? Did ye no jump to what the bonny casks meant? French gold, boy--enough to buy every claymore in the Highlands and Argyll as well. Now d'ye see? Come, Rob."

With that, Cameron approached the man upon the ground and motioned Rob to take his legs while he grasped him by the arms. So they made for a hollow place, and as they laid him down he groaned and opened his eyes, and at that moment the moon, clearing the tops of the trees, played its pale shafts upon the ghastly face of Ephraim Macaulay, late schoolmaster in Inverness.