The Four Macnicols by William Black (the gingerbread man read aloud .txt) 📖

or other of the boys had been lowered, for slighter offences, into this dungeon; but no one had ever been condemned to go to the bottom--if bottom there were. But Nicol did not flinch. He was satisfied of the justice of his sentence. He was aware he deserved the punishment. Above all he was determined to save that penny.

At the same time, when the other three had poised themselves so as to lower the rope gradually, and when he found himself descending into that black mole, he looked rather nervously below him. Of course he could see nothing. But there was a vague tradition that this dungeon was haunted by ghosts, vampires, warlocks, and other unholy things; and there was a chill, strange, earthy odour arising from it; and the walls that he scraped against were slimy and damp. He uttered no word, however; and those above kept slowly paying out the coil of rope.

Rob became somewhat concerned.

'It'll be no easy job to pull him back,' he said in a whisper.

'It's as deep as the dungeon they put Donald Gorm Mor into,' said his cousin Neil.

'Maybe there's no bottom at all,' said Duncan, rather awe-stricken.

Suddenly a fearful thing happened. There was a cry from below--a quick cry of alarm; and at the same moment they were startled by a wild whizzing and whirring around them, as if a legend of fiends had rushed out of the pit. With a shriek of fright Duncan sprang back from the edge of the dungeon; and that with such force that he knocked over his two companions. Moreover, in falling, they let go the rope; when they rose again they looked round in the twilight, but could find no trace of it. It had slipped over the edge. And there was no sound from below.

Rob was the first to regain his senses. He rushed to the edge of the hole and stooped over.

'Nicol, are ye there?'

His heart jumped within him when he heard his brother's voice.

'Yes, I am; and the rope too. How am I to get up?'

Rob turned quickly.

'Duncan, down to the boat with ye! Loosen the lug-sail halyards, and bring them up--quick, quick!'

Duncan was off like a young roe. He slid down the crags; he dashed through the larch-wood; he jumped into the boat on the beach. Presently he was making his way as quickly back again, the halyards coiled round his arm so as not to prevent his climbing.

'Nicol!' shouted Rob.

'Ay?'

'I am lowering the halyards to ye. Fasten them to the end of the rope.'

'I canna see them.'

'Grope all round till ye come to them.'

And so, in process of time, the end of the rope was hauled up, and thereafter--to the great relief of every one--and to his own, no doubt, Nicol appeared alive and well, though somewhat anxious to get away from the neighbourhood of that dungeon. He went immediately out into the warm summer air, followed by the others.

'Man, what a fright I got!' he said at last, having recovered his speech.

'Ay, and so did we,' Neil admitted.

'What was't?' said he, timidly; as if almost afraid to put his own fears and suspicions into words.

'I dinna ken,' Neil said, looking rather frightened.

'Ye dinna ken!' Rob MacNicol said, with a scornful laugh. 'Ye ought to ken, then. It was nothing but a lot of bats; and Duncan yelled as if he had seen twenty warlocks; and knocked us over, so that we lost the rope. Come! boys, begin your games now; the steamer will be in early the day.'

Well, it seemed easier to dismiss superstitious fears out here in the sunlight. Perhaps it had been only bats, after all. Warlocks did not whirr in the air--at least, they were understood not to do so. Witches were supposed to reserve their aerial performances for the night-time. Perhaps it was only bats, as Rob asserted. Indeed, it would be safer--especially in Rob's presence--to accept his explanation of the mystery. At the same time the younger boys occasionally darted a stealthy glance backward to that gloomy apartment that had so suddenly become alive with unknown things.

Then the games began. Rob had come to the conclusion that a wise chieftain should foster a love for national sports and pastimes; and to that end he had invented a system of marks, the winning of a large number of which entitled the holder to pecuniary or other reward. As for himself, his part was that of spectator and arbiter; he handicapped the competitors; he declared the prizes. On this occasion he ensconced himself in a niche of the ruins, where he was out of the glare of the sun, and gracefully surrounded by masses of ivy; while his relatives hauled out to the middle of the green plateau several trunks of fir-trees, of various sizes, that had been carefully lopped and pruned for the purpose of 'tossing the caber.' Well, they 'tossed the caber,' they 'put the stone,' they had wrestling-matches and other trials of strength, Rob the while surveying the scene with a critical eye, and reckoning up the proper number of marks. But now some milder diversions followed. Three or four planks, rudely nailed together, and forming a piece of rough flooring about two or three yards square, were hauled out from an archway, placed on the grass, and a piece of tarpaulin thrown over it. Then two of the boys took out their Jew's-harps--alas! alas! that was the only musical instrument within their reach, until the coveted bagpipes should be purchased--and gaily struck up with 'Green grow the rashes, O!' as a preliminary flourish. What was this now? What but a performance of the famous sword-dance by that renowned and valiant henchman, Nicol MacNicol of Erisaig, in the kingdom of Scotland! Nicol, failing a couple of broadswords or four dirks, had got two pieces of rusty old iron and placed them cross-wise on the extemporised floor. With what skill and nimbleness he proceeded to execute this sword-dance,--which is no doubt the survival of some ancient mystic rite,--with what elegance he pointed his toes and held his arms akimbo; with what amazing dexterity, in all the evolutions of the dance, he avoided touching the bits of iron; nay, with what intrepidity, at the most critical moment, he held his arms aloft and victoriously snapped his thumbs, it wants a Homeric chronicler to tell. It needs only be said here that, after it, Neil's 'Highland Fling' was a comparative failure, though he, better than most, could give that outflung quiver of the foot which few can properly acquire, and without which the dancer of the 'Highland Fling' might just as well go home and go to bed. The great chieftain, having regarded these and other performances with an observant eye, and having awarded so many marks to this one and to that, declared the games over, and invited the competitors one and all to a royal banquet.

It was a good deal more wholesome than most banquets, for it consisted of a scone and a glass of fresh milk apiece--butter being as yet beyond the means of the MacNicols. And it was a good deal more sensible than most banquets, for there was no speech-making after it. But there was some interesting conversation.

'Nicol, what did ye find in the dungeon?' Duncan said.

'Oh, man, it was a gruesome place,' said Nicol, who did not want to make too little of the perils he had encountered.

'What did ye see?'

'How could I see anything? But I felt plenty on the way down; and I'm sure it's fu' o' creeping things and beasts. And then when I was near the foot, I put my hand on something leevin', and it flew up and hit me; and in a meenit the whole place was alive. Man, what a noise it was! And then down came the rope, and I fell; and I got sich a dour on the head!'

'Nothing but bats!' said Rob, contemptuously.

'I think it was houlets,' [1] said Duncan, confidently; 'for there was one in the wood when I was gaun through, and I nearly ran my head against him. He was sitting in one of the larches--man, he made a noise!'

'Ye've got your heads filled with nothing but witches and warlocks the day!' said Rob, impatiently, as he rose to his feet. 'Come, and get the things into the basket. We maun be back in Erisaig before the _Glenara_ comes in.'

Very soon thereafter the small party made their way down again to the shore, and entered the war-galley of the chieftain, the halyards being restored to their proper use. There were no more signs of any squall; but the light steady breeze was contrary; and as Robert of the Red Hand was rather anxious to get back before the steamer should arrive, and as he prided himself on his steering, he himself took the tiller, his cousin Neil being posted as look-out forward.

It was a tedious business this beating up against the contrary wind; but there was nothing the MacNicols delighted in so much as in sailing, and they had grown to be expert in handling a boat. And it needed all their skill to get anything out of these repeated tacks with this old craft, that had a sneaking sort of fashion of falling away to leeward. However, they had the constant excitement of putting about; and the day was fine; and they were greatly refreshed after their arduous pastimes by that banquet of scones and milk. Nor did they know that this was to be the last day of their careless boyish idleness; that never again would the great chieftain, heedless of what the morrow might bring forth, hold these high frolics in the halls of Eilean-na-Rona.

Patience and perseverance will beat even contrary winds; and at last, after one long tack stretching almost to the other side of Loch Scrone, they put about and managed to make the entrance to the harbour, just weathering the rocks that had nearly destroyed them on their setting out. But here another difficulty waited them. Under the shelter of the low-lying hills, the harbour was in a dead calm. No sooner had they passed the rocks than they found themselves on water as smooth as glass, and there were no oars in the boat. For this oversight Rob MacNicol was not responsible; the fact being that oars were valuable in Erisaig, and not easily to be borrowed, whereas this old boat was at anybody's disposal. There was nothing for it but to sit and wait for a puff of wind.

Suddenly they heard a sound--the distant throbbing of the _Glenara's_ paddles. Rob grew anxious. This old boat was right in the fairway of the steamer; and the question was whether, in coming round the point, she would see them in time to slow.

'I wish we were out of here,' said he.

As a last resource, he threw the tiller into the boat, took up the helm, and tried to use this as a sort of paddle. But this was scarcely of any avail; and they could hear, though they could not see, that the steamer was almost at the point.

The next moment she