Part 31 (1/2)
”Where did they go?” I said; ”by what way? Quick, tell me.”
”They took the road doun to the ferry,” said he, in great amazement.
”It's no an 'oor since they gaed.”
Thereupon I flung him his lawing, and we rushed from the house.
CHAPTER V
EAGLESHAM
It was dawning morn, grey and misty, with a thaw setting in on the surface of the snow. Down the narrow, crooked streets, with a wind s.h.i.+vering in our teeth, we went at a breakneck gallop. I lashed my horse for its life, and the poor brute, wearied as it was by the toils of the night, answered gallantly to my call. Sometimes, in a steep place, we slipped for yards; often I was within an ace of death; and at one street-turning with a mighty clatter Nicol came down, though the next minute he was up again. A few sleepy citizens rubbed their eyes and stared from their windows, and in the lighted doorway of a tavern, a sailor looked at us wonderingly.
In less time than it takes to tell, we were at the water-edge. Here there is a rough quay, with something of a harbour behind it, where lie the sugar-boats from the Indies, when the flood-tide is too low to suffer them to go up stream to the city. Here, also, the ferry four times daily crosses the river.
Before us the water lay in leaden gloom, with that strange, dead colour which comes from the falling of much snow. Heavy waves were beginning to roll over the jetty, and a mist was drooping lower and ever lower.
Two men stood by an old anchor coiling some rope. We pulled up our horses and I cried out in impatience where the ferry might be.
”Gone ten meenutes syne,” said one, with no change on his stolid face.
”There she is gin ye hae een i' your heid to see.”
And he pointed out to the waste of waters. I looked and saw a sail rising and sinking in the trough of the waves.
”When does she return?” I cried out, with many curses on our laggard journey.
”Whiles in an 'oor, whiles in twae. She'll be twae the day ere she's back, for the ferryman, Jock Gellatly, is a fou' as the Baltic wi' some drink that a young gentleman gave him.”
So we turned back to the harbour tavern, with all the regrets of unsuccess.
The man had said two hours, but it was nearer three, ere that wretched sh.e.l.l returned, and, when it came, 'twas with a drunken man who could scarce stagger ash.o.r.e. I was in no mood for trifling.
”Here, you drunken swine,” I cried, ”will you take us across and be quick about it?”
”I maun hae anither gless o' Duncan's whusky,” said the fellow, with a leer.
”By G.o.d, and you will not,” I cried. ”Get aboard and make no more delay, or, by the Lord, I'll throw you into the stream.”
The man hiccuped and whined. ”I canna, I canna, my bonny lad. I had ower muckle guid yill afore I sterted, and I maun hae some whusky to keep it doon. I'm an auld man, and the cauld air frae the water is bad for the inside. Let me be, let me be,” and he lay down on the quay with the utter helplessness of a sot.
”Here is a devil of a mess,” I cried to Nicol. ”What is to be done?”
”I'll hae to tak the boat mysel', Laird,” said my servant, quietly. ”If I droon ye, dinna complain.”
Indeed, I was in no mood for complaining at anything which would carry me further on my quest. With some difficulty we got the horses aboard and penned them in the stalls. Then Nicol hoisted the sail, and we shoved off, while I kept those at bay with a boat-hook who sought to stop us. Once out on the stormy waters I was beset with a thousand fears. I have ever feared the sea, and now, as we leaped and dived among the billows, and as the wind scoured us like a thres.h.i.+ng floor, and, above all, as the crazy boat now almost lay sideways on the water, I felt a dreadful sinking of my courage, and looked for nothing better than immediate death. It was clear that Nicol, who knew something of seamans.h.i.+p as he knew of most things, had a hard task to keep us straight, and by his set face and white lips, I guessed that he, too, was not without his fears. Nevertheless, the pa.s.sage was narrow, and in less time than I had expected, we saw a dim line of sand through the fog. Running in there, we beached the coble, and brought the horses splas.h.i.+ng to sh.o.r.e.
The place was dreary and waste, low-lying, with a few huts facing the river. Beyond the land seemed still flat, though, as far as the mist suffered me to see, there seemed to be something of a rise to the right.
My feet and hands were numbed with cold, and the wound in my wrist, which I got in scaling the wall, smarted till it brought the water to my eyes. I was so stiff I could scarce mount horse, and Nicol was in no better plight.
We rode to the nearest cottage and asked whither the folk had gone who landed with the last ferry. The woman answered gruffly that she had seen none land, and cared not. At the next house I fared little better; but at the third I found a young fisher lad, who, for the sake of a silver piece, told me that they had headed over the moor about three hours ago.