'Yes, father!' they all answered gravely, 'no one could be moregenerous!'
'Don't I let you dress as you please?'
'Yes, father!'--this a little sheepishly.
'Then, my dears, don't you think it would be nicer and kinder of younot to try and make me feel uncomfortable, even if I do assume a dresswhich is ridiculous in your eyes, though quite common enough in thecountry where we are about to sojourn?' There was no answer exceptthat which appeared in their hanging heads. He was a good father andthey all knew it. He was quite satisfied and went on:
'There, now, run away and enjoy yourselves! We shan't have anotherword about it.' Then he went on deck again and stood bravely the fireof ridicule which he recognised around him, though nothing more wassaid within his hearing.
The astonishment and the amusement which his get-up occasioned on the_Ban Righ_ was, however, nothing to that which it created in Aberdeen.The boys and loafers, and women with babies, who waited at the landingshed, followed _en masse_ as the Markam party took their way to therailway station; even the porters with their old-fashioned knots andtheir new-fashioned barrows, who await the traveller at the foot ofthe gang-plank, followed in wondering delight. Fortunately thePeterhead train was just about to start, so that the martyrdom was notunnecessarily prolonged. In the carriage the glorious Highland costumewas unseen, and as there were but few persons at the station atYellon, all went well there. When, however, the carriage drew near theMains of Crooken and the fisher folk had run to their doors to see whoit was that was passing, the excitement exceeded all bounds. Thechildren with one impulse waved their bonnets and ran shouting behindthe carriage; the men forsook their nets and their baiting andfollowed; the women clutched their babies, and followed also. Thehorses were tired after their long journey to Yellon and back, and thehill was steep, so that there was ample time for the crowd to gatherand even to pass on ahead.
Mrs. Markam and the elder girls would have liked to make some protestor to do something to relieve their feelings of chagrin at theridicule which they saw on all faces, but there was a look of fixeddetermination on the face of the seeming Highlander which awed them alittle, and they were silent. It might have been that the eagle'sfeather, even when arising above the bald head, the cairngorm broocheven on the fat shoulder, and the claymore, dirk and pistols, evenwhen belted round the extensive paunch and protruding from thestocking on the sturdy calf, fulfilled their existence as symbols ofmartial and terrifying import! When the party arrived at the gate ofthe Red House there awaited them a crowd of Crooken inhabitants,hatless and respectfully silent; the remainder of the population waspainfully toiling up the hill. The silence was broken by only onesound, that of a man with a deep voice.
'Man! but he's forgotten the pipes!'
The servants had arrived some days before, and all things were inreadiness. In the glow consequent on a good lunch after a hard journeyall the disagreeables of travel and all the chagrin consequent on theadoption of the obnoxious costume were forgotten.
That afternoon Markam, still clad in full array, walked through theMains of Crooken. He was all alone, for, strange to say, his wife andboth daughters had sick headaches, and were, as he was told, lyingdown to rest after the fatigue of the journey. His eldest son, whoclaimed to be a young man, had gone out by himself to explore thesurroundings of the place, and one of the boys could not be found. Theother boy, on being told that his father had sent for him to come fora walk, had managed--by accident, of course--to fall into the waterbutt, and had to be dried and rigged out afresh. His clothes nothaving been as yet unpacked this was of course impossible withoutdelay.
Mr. Markam was not quite satisfied with his walk. He could not meetany of his neighbours. It was not that there were not enough peopleabout, for every house and cottage seemed to be full; but the peoplewhen in the open were either in their doorways some distance behindhim, or on the roadway a long distance in front. As he passed hecould see the tops of heads and the whites of eyes in the windows orround the corners of doors. The only interview which he had wasanything but a pleasant one. This was with an odd sort of old man whowas hardly ever heard to speak except to join in the 'Amens' in themeeting-house. His sole occupation seemed to be to wait at the windowof the post-office from eight o'clock in the morning till the arrivalof the mail at one, when he carried the letter-bag to a neighbouringbaronial castle. The remainder of his day was spent on a seat in adraughty part of the port, where the offal of the fish, the refuse ofthe bait, and the house rubbish was thrown, and where the ducks wereaccustomed to hold high revel.
When Saft Tammie beheld him coming he raised his eyes, which weregenerally fixed on the nothing which lay on the roadway opposite hisseat, and, seeming dazzled as if by a burst of sunshine, rubbed themand shaded them with his hand. Then he started up and raised his handaloft in a denunciatory manner as he spoke:--
'"Vanity of vanities, saith the preacher. All is vanity." Mon, bewarned in time! "Behold the lilies of the field, they toil not,neither do they spin, yet Solomon in all his glory was not arrayedlike one of these." Mon! Mon! Thy vanity is as the quicksand whichswallows up all which comes within its spell. Beware vanity! Bewarethe quicksand, which yawneth for thee, and which will swallow thee up!See thyself! Learn thine own vanity! Meet thyself face to face, andthen in that moment thou shalt learn the fatal force of thy vanity.Learn it, know it, and repent ere the quicksand swallow thee!' Thenwithout another word he went back to his seat and sat there immovableand expressionless as before.
Markam could not but feel a little upset by this tirade. Only that itwas spoken by a seeming madman, he would have put it down to someeccentric exhibition of Scottish humour or impudence; but the gravityof the message--for it seemed nothing else--made such a readingimpossible. He was, however, determined not to give in to ridicule,and although he had not yet seen anything in Scotland to remind himeven of a kilt, he determined to wear his Highland dress. When hereturned home, in less than half-an-hour, he found that every memberof the family was, despite the headaches, out taking a walk. He tookthe opportunity afforded by their absence of locking himself in hisdressing-room, took off the Highland dress, and, putting on a suit offlannels, lit a cigar and had a snooze. He was awakened by the noiseof the family coming in, and at once donning his dress made hisappearance in the drawing-room for tea.
He did not go out again that afternoon; but after dinner he put on hisdress again--he had, of course dressed for dinner as usual--and wentby himself for a walk on the sea-shore. He had by this time come tothe conclusion that he would get by degrees accustomed to the Highlanddress before making it his ordinary wear. The moon was up and heeasily followed the path through the sand-hills, and shortly struckthe shore. The tide was out and the beach firm as a rock, so hestrolled southwards to nearly the end of the bay. Here he wasattracted by two isolated rocks some little way out from the edge ofthe dunes, so he strolled towards them. When he reached the nearestone he climbed it, and, sitting there elevated some fifteen or twentyfeet over the waste of sand, enjoyed the lovely, peaceful prospect.The moon was rising behind the headland of Pennyfold, and its lightwas just touching the top of the furthermost rock of the Spurs somethree-quarters of a mile out; the rest of the rocks were in darkshadow. As the moon rose over the headland, the rocks of the Spurs andthen the beach by degrees became flooded with light.
For a good while Mr. Markam sat and looked at the rising moon and thegrowing area of light which followed its rise. Then he turned andfaced eastwards and sat with his chin in his hand looking seawards,and revelling in the peace and beauty and freedom of the scene. Theroar of London--the darkness and the strife and weariness of Londonlife--seemed to have passed quite aw
ay, and he lived at the moment afreer and higher life. He looked at the glistening water as it stoleits way over the flat waste of sand, coming closer and closerinsensibly--the tide had turned. Presently he heard a distant shoutingalong the beach very far off.
'The fishermen calling to each other,' he said to himself and lookedaround. As he did so he got a horrible shock, for though just then acloud sailed across the moon he saw, in spite of the sudden darknessaround him, his own image. For an instant, on the top of the oppositerock he could see the bald back of the head and the Glengarry cap withthe immense eagle's feather. As he staggered back his foot slipped,and he began to slide down towards the sand between the two rocks. Hetook no concern as to falling, for the sand was really only a few feetbelow him, and his mind was occupied with the figure or simulacrum ofhimself, which had already disappeared. As the easiest way of reaching_terra firma_ he prepared to jump the remainder of the distance. Allthis had taken but a second, but the brain works quickly, and even ashe gathered himself for the spring he saw the sand below him lying somarbly level shake and shiver in an odd way. A sudden fear overcamehim; his knees failed, and instead of jumping he slid miserably downthe rock, scratching his bare legs as he went. His feet touched thesand--went through it like water--and he was down below his kneesbefore he realised that he was in a quicksand. Wildly he grasped atthe rock to keep himself from sinking further, and fortunately therewas a jutting spur or edge which he was able to grasp instinctively.To this he clung in grim desperation. He tried to shout, but hisbreath would not come, till after a great effort his voice rang out.Again he shouted, and it seemed as if the sound of his own voice gavehim new courage, for he was able to hold on to the rock for a longertime than he thought possible--though he held on only in blinddesperation. He was, however, beginning to find his grasp weakening,when, joy of joys! his shout was answered by a rough voice from justabove him.
'God be thankit, I'm nae too late!' and a fisherman with greatthigh-boots came hurriedly climbing over the rock. In an instant herecognised the gravity of the danger, and with a cheering 'Haud fast,mon! I'm comin'!' scrambled down till he found a firm foothold. Thenwith one strong hand holding the rock above, he leaned down, andcatching Markam's wrist, called out to him, 'Haud to me, mon! Haud tome wi' ither hond!'
Then he lent his great strength, and with a steady, sturdy pull,dragged him out of the hungry quicksand and placed him safe upon therock. Hardly giving him time to draw breath, he pulled and pushedhim--never letting him go for an instant--over the rock into the firmsand beyond it, and finally deposited him, still shaking from themagnitude of his danger, high upon the beach. Then he began to speak:
'Mon! but I was just in time. If I had no laucht at yon foolish ladsand begun to rin at the first you'd a bin sinkin' doon to the bowelso' the airth be the noo! Wully Beagrie thocht you was a ghaist, andTom MacPhail swore ye was only like a goblin on a puddick-steel! "Na!"said I. "Yon's but the daft Englishman--the loony that had escapitfrae the waxwarks." I was thinkin' that bein' strange and silly--ifnot a whole-made feel--ye'd no ken the ways o' the quicksan'! Ishouted till warn ye, and then ran to drag ye aff, if need be. But Godbe thankit, be ye fule or only half-daft wi' yer vanity, that I was nothat late!' and he reverently lifted his cap as he spoke.
Mr. Markam was deeply touched and thankful for his escape from ahorrible death; but the sting of the charge of vanity thus made oncemore against him came through his humility. He was about to replyangrily, when suddenly a great awe fell upon him as he remembered thewarning words of the half-crazy letter-carrier: 'Meet thyself face toface, and repent ere the quicksand shall swallow thee!'
Here, too, he remembered the image of himself that he had seen and thesudden danger from the deadly quicksand that had followed. He wassilent a full minute, and then said:
'My good fellow, I owe you my life!'
The answer came with reverence from the hardy fisherman, 'Na! Na! Yeowe that to God; but, as for me, I'm only too glad till be the humbleinstrument o' His mercy.'
'But you will let me thank you,' said Mr. Markam, taking both thegreat hands of his deliverer in his and holding them tight. 'My heartis too full as yet, and my nerves are too much shaken to let me saymuch; but, believe me, I am very, very grateful!' It was quite evidentthat the poor old fellow was deeply touched, for the tears wererunning down his cheeks.
The fisherman said, with a rough but true courtesy:
'Ay, sir! thank me and ye will--if it'll do yer poor heart good. An'I'm thinking that if it were me I'd be thankful too. But, sir, as forme I need no thanks. I am glad, so I am!'
That Arthur Fernlee Markam was really thankful and grateful was shownpractically later on. Within a week's time there sailed into PortCrooken the finest fishing smack that had ever been seen in theharbour of Peterhead. She was fully found with sails and gear of allkinds, and with nets of the best. Her master and men went away by thecoach, after having left with the salmon-fisher's wife the paperswhich made her over to him.
As Mr. Markam and the salmon-fisher walked together along the shorethe former asked his companion not to mention the fact that he hadbeen in such imminent danger, for that it would only distress his dearwife and children. He said that he would warn them all of thequicksand, and for that purpose he, then and there, asked questionsabout it till he felt that his information on the subject wascomplete. Before they parted he asked his companion if he had happenedto see a second figure, dressed like himself on the other rock as hehad approached to succour him.