“I was one o’ his oarsmen,” said Dan, “but I haena seen him since the day he gied me the letter to gi’e to you—that was the day after he hid the brandy an’ the tobacco in Mr. Gordon o’ the Granaries’ cellar, thinkin’ he could get it out next nicht; but the gaugers got scent o’t, and it took us a’ oor time to get off frae Dumbarton. It was then that I lost my e’e.”
“Brandy!—tobacco!—excisemen after him!” said Colonel Gordon, evidently under great excitement “Gordon of the Granaries’ cellar!—are you in earnest? I’m perfectly stunned. On your life, tell me everything you know about this matter.”
Dan did so, and pulling from the inside of his vest an old pocket-book, he showed a bit of dingy paper with some hieroglyphics on it that none but the initiated could decipher.
“Ye understand, sir, the smugglers that I rowed the boat for had lots o’ hidin’-places for their stuff, an’ this was one o’ the books they keepit. There, now,—that anchor wi’ the five twists o’ rope round it, means five kegs o’ brandy; that R K inside o’ the rope, means Roseneath kirkyard; that’s your brither’s mark, B Y D and a drawing o’ a ‘boyn’ or tub,—it was something about the Duke o’ Gordon in the north country.”
“Yes,” said the Colonel quickly, “Bydand is part of the Gordon crest, and Aboyne their castle;—but go on.”
“STRANGER THAN FICTION.”
“Weel, here’s for Gordon o’ the Granaries;—a castle, that’s Dumbarton;—a granary wi’ a G, that’s Gordon’s place; an’ there’s the anchor wi’ five twists, an’ twa tobacco-pipes made like a five; and there’s the duke’s mark. An’ that mark’s,—beggin’ your pardon, Mr. Kirkwood,—Ma’colm Kirkwood’s;—it’s a comb, an’ a kirk, an’—an’—” Here Dan was interrupted by Mr. Kirkwood saying warmly:
“A gallows-tree, a wood or ‘wuddie,’ sure enough, for hanging smugglers on. Both the entries and signatures are very suggestive.”
“An’,” continued Dan, “that mark o’ the half-moon on legs wi’ the wings on’t, means that the vera nicht ony o’ the ither companies o’ the gang sees’t, they’re to get the stuff awa’ to some ither place immediately, that’s markit on the paper, if there’s twa marks o’ the heid men on’t, like what this has, but no’ unless. An’ I got the book frae your brither, to tak’ to anither party o’ the smugglers when the hue and cry about the thing blew past. For your brither, sir, never thocht the gaugers wad find out the stuff in the granaries; but they fand it, an’ puir Mr. Gordon had to pay the fine, an’ it ruined him; an’ nobody kens till this day whae put it there, except mysel’—at least that I ken o’. I left the smugglers for gude an’ a’ after that.”
Dan’s story, corroborated as it was by the outlandish book of entries, completely unhinged both gentlemen. From Mr. Kirkwood’s manner, one would have guessed that the Malcolm Kirkwood had been a relative of his; but of that I can say nothing. With Colonel Gordon it was otherwise. When they reached home they got all out of Dan they could, and more than they relished, for his brother’s connection with smuggling was new to the Colonel.