“Dinna touch it—dinna touch it!” said Aunt Tibbie, shudderin’.
So we a’ went to the cliff, and there, standin’ by the stane, in my withered claes and puckered shoon, and wi’ my whitened face an’ a’, I told them again; and we men went down to the hole on the cliff side, while the women sat on the stane above, and we shook hands all round.
That same evening, two boats shot out o’ our little bay, the first one a new craft, Rab’s ain, wi’ a gran’ flag flying, and carrying him an’ his bonnie bride hame. Auntie and Mistress Miller were with us; uncle sitting by me while I stood at the tiller, and two men forward. Behind it was a row-boat, wi’ a piper at the prow, playin’ the bride hame. In this boat we a’ went back to Slievochan, except Rab and Maggie; and once more I slept in my old room till mornin’; when, wi’ a fit-out o’ claes, and some money that I was to repay as soon as I could draw my wages, I set out for England.
It was when the Polar Expedition of 1827 was getting ready, and I was one o’ them that joined it, though ye may not know my name.
I’ll no’ describe onything o’ that voyage, sin’ ye will ha’ it that I’m repeatin’ frae book; but I’m near to the end o’ my yarn now. When we met the last o’ the natives near to the Pole, there was a party came out to barter with us, and one man came forward to speak English, which he did sae weel that we lookit hard at him. We had little to barter at that time, but presently this fellow pulls out something frae his pouch, an’ holds it up by the end, and ye’ll no believe it, but there was the row o’ beads that had nigh lost me my life, and had quite lost me my hame above ten years before! Up to him I strode. “David Preece,” I shouted in his ear, “ye can gae back to Slievochan; for ’twas no you that killit Rory Smith, nor that stole my present, meant for Maggie Miller.”
“No,” said Preece, slowly, after looking round to see whether any of the Esquimaux noticed him; “and I’ll tell you, for your comfort, that you didn’t kill Rory Smith neither; for when I went to the great American plains, after leaving Scotland, and finishing a job in Cornwall, I went across with a party of trappers and Indians, and there was Rory sitting on a mustang, and looking for all the world like a Mexikin. I shall come home with you now, and bring this necklace with me. The people here think it’s a charm.”
As Sandy Macpherson ceased, and his eyes came back out of space, the men found their tongues.
“And did he come back, Sandy?”
“Yes; but not with me.”
“And did you go back to what d’ye call it—Slievochan?”