The coming storm was so apparent that the fishermen of Samalaman secured their boats upon the beach just as some heavy drops, bursting from the region of the storm clouds, showed that the elemental war had begun.
The Atlantic rolled its enormous billows upon the coast, dashing them with inconceivable fury upon the headlands, and scouring the sands and creeks, which, from the number of shoals and sunken rocks in them, exhibited the magnificent spectacle of breakers white with foam extending for miles. The blast howled among the grim and desolate rocks. Still greater masses of black clouds advanced from the west, pouring forth torrents of rain and hail. A sudden flash illuminated the gloom, and was followed by the crash and roar of thunder which gradually became fainter until the dash of the waves upon the shore prevailed over it.
Far as the eye could reach the ocean boiled and heaved in one wide extended field of foam, the spray from the summits of the waves sweeping along its surface like drifting snow.
Seaward no sign of life was to be seen, save when a gull, labouring hard to bear itself against the breeze, hovered overhead, or shot across the gloom like a meteor. Long ranges of giant waves rushed in succession to the shore, chasing each other like monsters at play. The thunder of their shock echoed among the crevices and caves, the spray mounted along the face of the cliffs in columns, the rocks shook as if in terror, and the baffled wave returned to meet its advancing successor.
By-and-bye there came a pause like the sudden closing of a blast furnace, or as if the storm had retired within itself; but now and then, in fitful bursts, proclaiming that its power was but partially smothered. During the conflict of the elements Mary Macleod seemed to suffer the most acute agonies of mind; and no sooner did it abate than, wrapping herself in her plaid, she sallied out and proceeded towards the sea shore. There, straining her eyes over the dark and fearful deep, she thought she saw, by a broad flash of lightning, a small speck on the wild waters, pitching as if in dark uncertainty, about the mouth of Loch-Moidart. With the speed of frenzy away flew the maiden to the nearest cottage, and grasping a burning peat and a lapful of dried brushwood, she, with equal speed, retraced her steps to the shore. In an instant the beacon threw its crackling flame far over the loch, and in an instant more the small black craft at Shona had cut from her moorings and stood out to the entrance of the bay. Now rose the struggle in Mary’s mind. There stood the maid of Moidart in the shade of the lurid beacon, listening to the fitful blast, like the angel of pity. Something was passing on in the troubled bosom of that dark loch over which she often looked, that drew forth all the energies of her soul; but what that something was, was as hidden to her as futurity. She was startled from this state of intense feeling by a momentary flash on the water, instantaneously followed by a crash among the rocks at her side, and then came booming on her ear a sound as if the island of Shona had burst from its centre. “A Dhia nan dùl bi maile ris” (God of the elements be with him) ejaculated Mary as she bent her trembling knees on the wet sand, and then, like a spring from life to death, a boat rushed ashore, grounding on the shingle at her feet. A band of armed men immediately sprung on land, one of whom, gently clasping the girl, pressed her to his heart. “Failte ’Phrions” faltered Mary, giving a momentary scope to the woman in her bosom, but instantly recollecting herself, she whispered, “Guide him some of you to the hut of Marsaly Buie in the copse of Cul-a-chnaud, and I shall meet you there when the sun of the morning shall show me the fate of the pursuer.” By this time the intrepid girl was joined by the villagers, who extinguished all traces of the late fire, and carried the stranger’s boat where none but a friend could find it. The storm had again broken from its restless slumber, and the rain and sickly sun of the following day showed the pretended smuggler scattered on the beach. She appeared to have been well armed, and the easily recognised body of Captain Ferguson’s first mate was one of the twelve who were washed ashore.
JAMES MACPHERSON, THE FAMOUS
MUSICIAN & FREEBOOTER.
The story of James Macpherson is one which has induced much curiosity and inquiry, and, short as the time is since he was done to death, shows how soon facts may become garbled and altered in complexion. Sir Walter Scott, for instance, makes Inverness the closing scene of the proceedings. That he was wrong is clearly shown by the records of the Sheriff Court of Banff.