_V.--A Cairn of Remembrance_
It is a good way, when you are in doubt, to wait and let events shape adecision, and this was how I came to regard the Black Colonel's letter.
He had set me a pretty puzzle in his written words, because, contrastedwith the light touch-and-go of spoken words, these always seem to havesomething fateful in them, as of a king's signature to a decree.Moreover, I was vaguely conscious of being the guardian of a woman'sinstinct for safety, an instinct which arrives with the cradle and onlygoes with the grave, and that made me feel somewhat helpless; a man indepths he cannot fathom, for such is the uncharted sea of womanhood.
Marget Forbes and her mother lived in the Dower House, thrown to them,as a piece of bread might be tossed from a rich man's table, whenCorgarff was declared forfeit and the castle occupied by soldiery. Hermen-folk had been out with Charlie and had not come back from Culloden,as the Cairn of Remembrance on the hills might have told any seeker forthem. Each clansman, as he departed, had put a stone to it, and nonehad returned to lift that stone again, so it became a tombstone.
They were dead for ever to Corgarff and to the lands which had been theproperty of their forbears, almost since time was in thoseblood-heathered Highlands. Families rose and fell, for family reasons,or as the clans to which they belonged prospered or had adversity.Thus vital changes in a corner of the Scottish Highlands, like this ofours, were more frequent than the historians, men apt to assess onsurface generalities and neglectful of the hidden human wells, usuallymake out.
But, as the changes took place within what I may call the ring-fence ofthe clan system, they really only mattered to those who were directlyconcerned. Corgarff Castle, however, had been held by the same Forbesfamily in direct, unbroken line, partly because its successive chiefshad strong right arms, partly because the domain had little to makeanybody else covetous. The Sabine women whom the old Romans took,would have been the beautiful ones, and it is the same with the face ofMother Earth. What appears best is taken first!
There was no great personal bitterness in the Aberdeenshire Highlandsas between clans or families who were on different sides in the"Forty-Five." The ambition, or the greed of chiefs, often determinedthe sides, and a consciousness of that made lesser men tolerant witheach other. Thus, an acquaintanceship between Marget and her motherand myself, although begun under a certain stress of circumstance,passed naturally into friendship, and, on my part, into somethingwarmer. We were of the same Celtic strain, and, in the heart and mindof upbringing, blood tells all the time. But I had not seen much ofthem, and nothing at all since the tale of the Black Colonel's escapein the Pass had set the countryside talking and, doubtless, secretlyrejoicing.
It was a fine thing, a very fine thing, that he should have escapedfrom the red-coats so perfectly, so dramatically. They were the livingtokens of a government which, on every ground of sentiment, was aliento the Highland people, a government, moreover, that had been tactlessin its plans and its acts. The Black Colonel stood for a native royalcause which had colour and flair, even if its genius for government hadbeen exhausted.
We soldiers were only disliked for what we represented, for the dryHanoverian salt we ate, not for ourselves, because most of us wereHighland by bone and heart. The Black Colonel was liked for what herepresented, rather than for himself. He had, indeed, a way ofcommandeering other men's goods, when he needed them, that wasinconvenient to those others. But there was a strong local pride inhis name and achievements, as the name and achievements of a first-ratefighting man, whose sword-handle held in its silver-work the letter"S," standing for Stuart, an allegiance and a challenge never hidden byhim.
Naturally, like every other Forbes, Farquharson, or Gordon--I omit nonewith those names--Marget would be quietly rejoicing over the BlackColonel's success in out-manoeuvring us. I say "us," although I wasnot in the pursuit, a fact, I reflected, which might relieve me alittle of Marget's scorn if she knew. Did she know? Had gossipcarried her that news also? It could not tell her that I was out ofthe chase after the Black Colonel, because I was meeting him privately,and that her affairs were the occasion of the meeting.
Of the dangers wrapped in all this, I was to have an inkling when I didmeet Marget, and that came about as if it did not matter, as if nothingmatters! I had been up the Don valley with a patrol, was returning,and scarce a mile from Corgarff Castle, when I saw a woman's figureahead, going my road, a very soft and gracious sight, believe me,against the hill-side. Soon, thanks either to my eyes which could thensee far, or to a man's feeling of instinct for the presence of a womanwho interests him, I discovered that it was Marget Forbes. She turnedround, perhaps at the approaching sound of our steady tramp, or perhapsmoved by some unconscious woman's sense, and, as my men passed on and Ifell behind them, she said, "Ah, Captain Gordon, where have you beenthese many days? Chasing the Black Colonel, eh?"
It was said easily, with a half-smile, as if she were alluding tosomething which had happened since we last met, as, indeed, it had. Itwas good, however, that the light was failing, because I could feel myface burn, not with shame, but with a confusion in which there was morethan the Black Colonel.
"Oh no, Mistress Marget," I answered, "one cannot always be in thecompany of the Black Colonel, however interesting some of us may findhim." This, observe, was intended as a delicate touch for her, but itprobably struck her as clumsy, so much finer is a woman's feeling thana man's.
"You found him interesting then," she merely replied. "I'm glad tohear that, because, as a distant relative of ours, he is really one ofthe men-folk of the family. Perhaps he has some of the nature which,so they say, characterizes our women? His Forbes grandmother orgreat-grandmother, whichever she was, would have passed it on to him."
She stopped when she noticed the sweet conceit into which she hadfallen, for certainly what she had claimed in name of the Forbes women,was richly present in herself. She had sparkle, bloom, charm, thatwitching, elusive, mixed something in a woman which nobody can describebut which every true man feels, and she looked it all in the gloamin'of that perfect Highland evening.
"My dear Mistress Forbes," I said more formally, "I could forgive theBlack Colonel much if I thought he had any of the qualities of yourForbes women-folk. As it is, I envy him your championship," at whichshe looked at me with considering eyes.
"A woman naturally champions all her men," she said with a deft smilefor me, as being also a relation, "and it would be sad if she didn't;but I have never yet seen the Black Colonel. He has not come our way,although, no doubt, we should, for what has been, make him as welcomeas your men, quartered in our old castle, might permit."
"Naturally! Why not?" I said, for I understand her feelings though,somehow, the remark stung me a little. "Perhaps," I added, "you mayhave your wish gratified and meet him one of these days."
"Do you mean as a prisoner," she asked quickly.
"No. I mean that when the Black Colonel wants to call on anybody, hedoes not let danger or ceremony stand in his path. So far, I take it,there has been no occasion for you to make his personal acquaintance,and may that continue."
"Why should you say that? Whether he be good or ill, he is apicturesque figure, a stout fighter, a man who has stood up for hisfaith through thick and thin, and, moreover, one of us. I have heardthe things that are said about him, things no woman cares to hear abouta man, but to hear is not to believe, is it? Only," and Marget laughedquietly, "here am I defending a rank Jacobite to the Georgian commanderof Corgarff Castle, whose business it is to lay that rank Jacobite bythe heels--if he can!"
"Oh, we'll catch him some day," I lightly, rather wryly, observed, "buthis luck does serve him well."
"There's often a reason for luck," answered she; "more in it than justluck. Now, if a company of soldiers went after a man of resource, likethe Black Colonel, would their chance of catching him not be less ifthey had no captain leading them? A boyish lieutenant may haveenergetic qualities, but they are hardly l
ikely to be a match for thoseof the Black Colonel."
We were getting on to ground perilous for me, because Marget hadevidently heard something and was determined to test it at first hand.Behind the curiosity there seemed, judging by her tone, to be a fightgoing on between friendliness and pique. It is a dangerous mixture fora man to have to counteract in a woman, because, responding to thefriendliness, he may make admissions which increase the pique.
Therefore I sought to give our talk a turn by saying, "Everybody seemsto know everything there is to be known about the Black Colonel'sescape, so there's an end of it--until next time."
"But, Captain Gordon, although one knows generally, one may still keepwondering--may one not? A woman always wonders; it is one of herprivileges, and often wonder is kinder to her than certainty."
"Wonder, dear lady, is a hard thing to gratify, being illimitable,like . . . !
"Like the hills," she caught me up, "when one is alone amongthem--alone, or going to meet somebody in the dark of the night, or thedimness of early morning."
"It would depend on the somebody," I said boldly, facing her boldness,"and whether it was a man or a woman that was to be met."
"But," she said quite softly, "it must be a man that any other manwould be meeting in these parts, because . . ." She stopped abruptly.
"Because what? Tell me!"
"Nothing; only that every man needs to be mothered by a woman, a chargewhich any good woman, young or old, will instinctively assume, even ifshe knows that it may be only a cross for her to bear." Her voice waslow, almost a whisper, may be a first whisper of the mother of men inher, a revelation to all women, come it when it may; and that thoughtkept me silent.
We had, by this time, reached the Dower House, and she said"Good-night," and I answered, as simply, "Good-night."
What I really said to myself was, "Philandering, was I, instead ofsoldering, on the night the Black Colonel was raided--that's the storyshe's heard!"
And I was concerned, strangely concerned--like Marget herself.