Catriona by Robert Louis Stevenson (good book recommendations txt) 📕

I have yet said little of the Highlanders. They were all three of the followers of James More, which bound the accusation very tight about their master’s neck. All understood a word or two of English, but Neil was the only one who judged he had enough of it for general converse, in which (when once he got embarked) his company was often tempted to the contrary opinion. They were tractable, simple creatures; showed much more courtesy than might have been expected from their raggedness and their uncouth appearance, and fell spontaneously to be like three servants for Andie and myself.

Dwelling in that isolated place, in the old falling ruins of a prison, and among endless strange sounds of the sea and the sea-birds, I thought I perceived in them early the effects of superstitious fear. When there was nothing doing they would either lie and sleep, for which their appetite appeared insatiable, or Neil would entertain the others with stories which seemed always of a terrifying strain. If neither of these delights were within reach—if perhaps two were sleeping and the third could find no means to follow their example—I would see him sit and listen and look about him in a progression of uneasiness, starting, his face blenching, his hands clutched, a man strung like a bow. The nature of these fears I had never an occasion to find out, but the sight of them was catching, and the nature of the place that we were in favourable to alarms. I can find no word for it in the English, but Andie had an expression for it in the Scots from which he never varied.

“Ay,” he would say, “it’s an unco place, the Bass.”

It is so I always think of it. It was an unco place by night, unco by day; and these were unco sounds, of the calling of the solans, and the plash of the sea and the rock echoes, that hung continually in our ears. It was chiefly so in moderate weather. When the waves were anyway great they roared about the rock like thunder and the drums of armies, dreadful but merry to hear; and it was in the calm days that a man could daunt himself with listening—not a Highlandman only, as I several times experimented on myself, so many still, hollow noises haunted and reverberated in the porches of the rock.

This brings me to a story I heard, and a scene I took part in, which quite changed our terms of living, and had a great effect on my departure. It chanced one night I fell in a muse beside the fire and (that little air of Alan’s coming back to my memory) began to whistle. A hand was laid upon my arm, and the voice of Neil bade me to stop, for it was not “canny musics.”

“Not canny?” I asked. “How can that be?”

“Na,” said he; “it will be made by a bogle and her wanting ta heid upon his body.” [13]

“Well,” said I, “there can be no bogles here, Neil; for it’s not likely they would fash themselves to frighten geese.”

“Ay?” says Andie, “is that what ye think of it! But I’ll can tell ye there’s been waur nor bogles here.”

“What’s waur than bogles, Andie?” said I.

“Warlocks,” said he. “Or a warlock at the least of it. And that’s a queer tale, too,” he added. “And if ye would like, I’ll tell it ye.”

To be sure we were all of the one mind, and even the Highlander that had the least English of the three set himself to listen with all his might.

My faither, Tam Dale, peace to his banes, was a wild, sploring lad in his young days, wi’ little wisdom and little grace. He was fond of a lass and fond of a glass, and fond of a ran-dan; but I could never hear tell that he was muckle use for honest employment. Frae ae thing to anither, he listed at last for a sodger and was in the garrison of this fort, which was the first way that ony of the Dales cam to set foot upon the Bass. Sorrow upon that service! The governor brewed his ain ale; it seems it was the warst conceivable. The rock was proveesioned free the shore with vivers, the thing was ill-guided, and there were whiles when they but to fish and shoot solans for their diet. To crown a’, thir was the Days of the Persecution. The perishin’ cauld chalmers were all occupeed wi’ sants and martyrs, the saut of the yearth, of which it wasnae worthy. And though Tam Dale carried a firelock there, a single sodger, and liked a lass and a glass, as I was sayin,’ the mind of the man was mair just than set with his position. He had glints of the glory of the kirk; there were whiles when his dander rase to see the Lord’s sants misguided, and shame covered him that he should be haulding a can’le (or carrying a firelock) in so black a business. There were nights of it when he was here on sentry, the place a’ wheesht, the frosts o’ winter maybe riving in the wa’s, and he would hear ane o’ the prisoners strike up a psalm, and the rest join in, and the blessed sounds rising from the different chalmers—or dungeons, I would raither say—so that this auld craig in the sea was like a pairt of Heev’n. Black shame was on his saul; his sins hove up before him muckle as the Bass, and above a’, that chief sin, that he should have a hand in hagging and hashing at Christ’s Kirk. But the truth is that he resisted the spirit. Day cam, there were the rousing compainions, and his guid resolves depairtit.

In thir days, dwalled upon the Bass a man of God, Peden the Prophet was his name. Ye’ll have heard tell of Prophet Peden. There was never the wale of him sinsyne, and it’s a question wi’ mony if there ever was his like afore. He was wild’s a peat-hag, fearsome to look at, fearsome to hear, his face like the day of judgment. The voice of him was like a solan’s and dinnle’d in folks’ lugs, and the words of him like coals of fire.

Now there was a lass on the rock, and I think she had little to do, for it was nae place far decent weemen; but it seems she was bonny, and her and Tam Dale were very well agreed. It befell that Peden was in the gairden his lane at the praying when Tam and the lass cam by; and what should the lassie do but mock with laughter at the sant’s devotions? He rose and lookit at the twa o’ them, and Tam’s knees knoitered thegether at the look of him. But whan he spak, it was mair in sorrow than in anger. “Poor thing, poor thing!” says he, and it was the lass he lookit at, “I hear you skirl and laugh,” he says, “but the Lord has a deid shot prepared for you, and at that surprising judgment ye shall skirl but the ae time!” Shortly thereafter she was daundering on the craigs wi’ twa-three sodgers, and it was a blawy day. There cam a gowst of wind, claught her by the coats, and awa’ wi’ her bag and baggage. And it was remarked by the sodgers that she gied but the ae skirl.

Nae doubt this judgment had some weicht upon Tam Dale; but it passed again and him none the better. Ae day he was flyting wi’ anither sodger-lad. “Deil hae me!” quo’ Tam, for he was a profane swearer. And there was Peden glowering at him, gash an’ waefu’; Peden wi’ his lang chafts an’ luntin’ een, the maud happed about his kist, and the hand of him held out wi’ the black nails upon the finger-nebs—for he had nae care of the body. “Fy, fy, poor man!” cries he, “the poor fool man! Deil hae me, quo’ he; an’ I see the deil at his oxter.” The conviction of guilt and grace cam in on Tam like the deep sea; he flang doun the pike that was in his hands—“I will nae mair lift arms against the cause o’ Christ!” says he, and was as gude’s word. There was a sair fyke in the beginning, but the governor, seeing him resolved, gied him his discharge, and he went and dwallt and merried in North Berwick, and had aye a gude name with honest folk free that day on.

It was in the year seeventeen hunner and sax that the Bass cam in the hands o’ the Da’rymples, and there was twa men soucht the chairge of it. Baith were weel qualified, for they had baith been sodgers in the garrison, and kent the gate to handle solans, and the seasons and values of them. Forby that they were baith—or they baith seemed—earnest professors and men of comely conversation. The first of them was just Tam Dale, my faither. The second was ane Lapraik, whom the folk ca’d Tod Lapraik maistly, but whether for his name or his nature I could never hear tell. Weel, Tam gaed to see Lapraik upon this business, and took me, that was a toddlin’ laddie, by the hand. Tod had his dwallin’ in the lang loan benorth the kirkyaird. It’s a dark uncanny loan, forby that the kirk has aye had an ill name since the days o’ James the Saxt and the deevil’s cantrips played therein when the Queen was on the seas; and as for Tod’s house, it was in the mirkest end, and was little liked by some that kenned the best. The door was on the sneck that day, and me and my faither gaed straucht in. Tod was a wabster to his trade; his loom stood in the but. There he sat, a muckle fat, white hash of a man like creish, wi’ a kind of a holy smile that gart me scunner. The hand of him aye cawed the shuttle, but his een was steeked. We cried to him by his name, we skirled in the deid lug of him, we shook him by the shou’ther. Nae mainner o’ service! There he sat on his dowp, an’ cawed the shuttle and smiled like creish.

“God be guid to us,” says Tam Dale, “this is no canny?”

He had jimp said the word, when Tod Lapraik cam to himsel’.

“Is this you, Tam?” says he. “Haith, man! I’m blythe to see ye. I whiles fa’ into a bit dwam like this,” he says; “its frae the stamach.”

Weel, they began to crack about the Bass and which of them twa was to get the warding o’t, and little by little cam to very ill words, and twined in anger. I mind weel that as my faither and me gaed hame again, he cam ower and ower the same expression, how little he likit Tod Lapraik and his dwams.

“Dwam!” says he. “I think folk hae brunt for dwams like yon.”

Aweel, my faither got the Bass and Tod had to go wantin’. It was remembered sinsyne what way he had ta’en the thing. “Tam,” says he, “ye hae gotten the better o’ me aince mair, and I hope,” says he, “ye’ll find at least a’ that ye expeckit at the Bass.” Which have since been thought remarkable expressions. At last the time came for Tam Dale to take young solans. This was a business he was weel used wi’, he had been a craigsman frae a laddie, and trustit nane but himsel’. So there was he hingin’ by a line an’ speldering on the craig face, whaur its hieest and steighest. Fower tenty lads were on the tap, hauldin’ the line and mindin’ for his signals. But whaur Tam hung there was naething but the craig, and the sea belaw, and the solans skirlin and flying. It was a braw spring morn, and Tam whustled as he claught in the young geese. Mony’s the time I’ve heard him tell of this experience, and aye the swat ran upon the man.

It chanced, ye see, that Tam keeked up, and he was awaur of a muckle solan, and the solan pyking at the line. He thocht this by-ordinar and outside the creature’s habits. He minded that ropes was unco saft things, and the solan’s neb and the Bass Rock unco hard, and that twa hunner feet were raither mair than he would care to fa’.

“Shoo!” says Tam. “Awa’, bird! Shoo, awa’ wi’ ye!” says he.

The solan keekit doon