Lochinvar: A Novel

by S. R. Crockett

It was a night clear and infinite with stars when the four—Kate, Wat, Scarlett, and Bess—took up each their share of the arms and provisions, which the last-named had provided in the shelter of the dike. The air was still. There was no sound save the ceaseless soughing whisper of the mighty salt river as it rushed northward past the isle—the strange pervading sound of the Suck gurgling afar like the boiling of a pot. Only at intervals and from a distance came the shouting of choruses and the loud "Hooch!" of some reveller yet in the active stages of drinking long life and prosperity to the returned chieftain.

As soon as they had passed the ridge and left the village behind them, Wat paused for a consultation.

"'Tis little use," he said, "to think of making a raft at this time of night. Yet certain it is that we must be clear of the isle by the morning—that is, if one of us is to remain alive."

"I for ane am gaun to bide on Suliscanna!" said Mistress McAlister.

"There is but one way that I can think of," continued Wat, not heeding her; "there are two boats at the landing-place. I saw the men unloading them when I landed to-night. Now we could not take the larger of these into the tide-race, but if the tide be favorable we might seize the smaller and pilot it through the sea-cavern, by which I came hither, to my hiding-place on the isle of Fiara."

Jack Scarlett nodded silent assent as he listened to Wat's suggestion. The night-air had restored all his confidence, and he felt ready for anything. So on the darksome ridge overlooking the landing-place the two women were left to consume their souls with impatience, while Wat and Scarlett, with their daggers in their hands, stole stealthily down to effect their desperate capture.

The boats lay together on the inner side of a little stone breakwater. They were not drawn up on the beach, but secured stem and stern with ropes, and floated in the gentle undulation of the tide. Wat and Scarlett strained their eyes into the darkness for a sight of any watch. But spite of the stars, the night was too impenetrable for them to distinguish the presence of any human being on board.

Wat dropped into the water, having left his powder and shot, together with the pistols, in the care of Scarlett. He swam a few strokes out to the boat and listened. In the larger he could clearly distinguish the breathing of two men. The other appeared to be entirely empty. Promptly Wat cut the cord which secured the stem, and let that boat fall away and swing round with her head towards the shore. Then beckoning Scarlett, whose figure he could discern black against the sand of the beach, Wat stepped on board. Scarcely was he over the side when his foot trod on the soft body of a man. Wat was on him in a moment and had the fellow by the throat. But the helpless gurgle of his respiration, and the pervading smell of Hollands which disentangled itself from every part of his person, convinced Wat that he had nothing to fear from the crew of this boat.

There remained the other and larger, which was anchored farther out in the water of the little harbor. Cautiously Wat lifted the small double-pronged anchor, which still held their first prize. Scarlet waded in and was helped over the side. The tide swept them slowly round towards the larger vessel in which Wat had heard the breathing of men. Presently their boat went groaning and wheezing against the side-planks of her companion. Wat promptly and silently secured his position with the five-pronged boat-anchor which he had kept beside him for the purpose.

Scarlett and he were on board in a moment, and Wat found himself in the heat of a combat with a man who struck at him with a bar of iron as he came over the side. But the striker's companion did not move to his assistance, and with Wat's hand at his throat and Scarlett's knee on his breast, resistance was very brief indeed. A lantern was burning inside a small coil of ropes. This Wat folded in the cloak with which the sleepy-headed watch had been covering themselves in the bottom of the boat, and let a ray of its light fall on the faces of his captives. Both were known to him. They were the Calf and the Killer, the two inevitable scoundrels of Haxo the Bull's retinue.