CHAPTER X.

THE KING'S SHILLING--IN CORNEY'S CAVE--"SURRENDER IN THE KING'S NAME"--CAPTURE AND ESCAPE.

My grandfather found himself at long last among the birchen woods that in those days lay not far off the bay that leads to Beauly. The day was already far spent, and Dash and he were getting hungry.

Suddenly he sat down upon a stone close to the sea, and Dash laid his beautiful muzzle on his knee and looked up sympathisingly in his face.

"Whatever is to be done now, doggie!" said my grandfather.

"Never mind, master, never mind."

That is about all the advice a dog can give one in times of trouble, but the look of unquenchable affection that is conveyed by the eyes is better far, and more soothing, than the set phrases of sympathy vouchsafed to one from human lips.

"Here I am, Dash, in one of the prettiest of pickles. I've turned my back on Inverness, on Falkirk Lodge at any rate, and now here I am with nothing in the world except what I stand up in, just as poor as you, Dash, and as hungry as a hawk. What a fool I was to leave the Craigs. I wasn't so very unhappy there, Dash, even though I did sleep under the counter; the rats daren't come near me when you were there. Heigho! hungry and tired, and nothing to get food with.

"O yes, by the way, there is that shilling."

He took the coin from his pocket and looked at it.

"That shilling, Dash, would keep you and me alive and well for three days. But I would not break it to save my life--no, nor your life, Dash. The King's shilling! Well, if I had wanted it I would have asked for it, and could have fought for my country as bravely as did the Robertsons of old.

"Dash, I _could_ be a soldier, but never, _never_ a slave!

"There goes the King's shilling."

He flung it far into the sea as he spoke.

"Some cod-fish may swallow it, Dash, and I hope it will agree better with him than it has with me. Come, doggie, we'll gather some dulse."*

* A kind of edible seaweed.

Dash didn't care for it, but he made pretence to eat some just to please his master.

There was a fisherman's hut not far off, and near the door, sitting at her knitting on an upturned coble, a buxom fisher-lass.

My grandfather drew near, and addressing her in Gaelic, begged for a drop of water for his dog.

"My father and I are just going to have a bit of dinner; you and the doggie must come in and take pot-luck." That was the lassie's reply.

"To be sure," cried her grey-bearded father from the doorway, "the lad must come in and the beastie too. What says the Good Book? 'Be ye careful to entertain strangers, for some have entertained angels unawares.'"

My grandfather thanked them, and gladly entered the hut. "But," he said, laughing, "Dash here may be an angel, but there isn't much angel about me. Why, I'm a runaway. I'm not sure, indeed, that I'm not a deserter."

Then he told the good people all the story.

And the old man's wrath was aroused.

"Is it," he cried, "is it that they would be making a soldier of you by force? The villains! Let the French do that, but Britons will never bow to it!"

My grandfather thought that meal the most delicious he had ever eaten in his life. And it was only boiled haddock and potatoes after all.

Dash was of the same opinion.

"Now, boy," said the old man, as he bade him good-bye, "go home to your people on the Braes, and defy your proud Cousin Fraser. Pride always goes before a fall. The Lord Himself be with you, laddie. Good-day, good-day."

* * * * *

It now occurred to my grandfather that the old fisherman's advice was very good indeed, and that he had best go and see his people.

He walked briskly on now, with Dash galloping and barking around him.

Something would turn up.

In the bright lexicon of youth, there ought to be no such word as "Fail."

"Dear boy, you're welcome home."

These were his father's first words.

"If nothing better happens, why, you can join your brothers at the farm."

Ian had half expected a scolding, and the tears came to his eyes as his mother embraced him. He spent three or four very happy days at the farm, and visited many times and oft his old friends and his old haunts.

Rachel had grown wonderfully, and was a trifle more reserved and shy, pretending to take more interest in the dog than in his master.

"Love me, love my dog."

There is truth in that old saying.

But there was one friend he missed, and that was Tom Grahame, the boy he had nearly slain with his big kilt pin.

The boy had gone south--nobody knew his destination--to seek his fortune, as resolute young Scotch lads did in those days, and do still.

Meanwhile, to return for a moment to Falkirk Lodge, the wrath of the newly-fledged Captain Fraser knew no bounds.

He was deprived of the services of a good clerk, and his company of a soldier.

He wrote at once to the commandant at Fort Augustus, describing poor Ian, from head to foot, from his blue bonnet to his brogue sheen,* and branding him as a deserter.

* Highland boots or shoes.

Now every soldier was valuable in those warlike days, so the commandant lost no time in attempting to arrest my grand-dad. He was just sitting down to dinner one day, when little Rachel rushed in.

"O Ian, Ian," she cried, the tears rolling over her cheeks, "the soldiers are coming, three of them with guns and bayonets and all. O, where can you hide? They will hang you and shoot you and all."

This was a time for action and coolness too. There was no fear about Ian. But quite the reverse. He comforted and reassured poor Rachel.

"They can never take me," he said; "I am no deserter, but I want some fun. I'll go to the forest, father; the soldiers will tire looking for me in a week's time. Put some food for me now and then in Corney's Cave. Don't cry, Rachel. This is quite a romance. Dash and I will be playing at being outlaws. Good-bye."

He sprang out by the back door, just as the feather bonnets and bayonets of a sergeant and a file of soldiers appeared on the brae.

Dash went with him.

Corney's Cave was the very place in which Ian's father and grandmother and Fiona had been hidden during the terrible fight at the old farm, after Culloden. Though used as a whisky-still, it was at present out of employment. There was no fear of any smoke being seen, as this found its way, by a kind of natural chimney in the rocks, into a shepherd's hut.

Here my grandfather could lie quiet for a month or more, if he chose, without the possibility of being captured.

He lit himself a fire, for there was plenty of dry peats and wood in a corner; then making Dash lie down, he went out to pull heather for a couch. He was very systematic with his work. The heather was tied up in little bundles, and when about two score of these were placed side by side, the green ends upwards, they formed a bed that many a fugitive king, in olden times, would have reposed upon with delight.

Just before darkling, Dash emitted a low growl, and next moment a tiny, bare-headed gillie crept into the cave.

He brought plenty of cakes and cheese and milk for Ian and Dash. He also told my grandfather all about the soldiers. They had searched all day in the forest, but had now returned to Beauly, as no one on the Braes or near there would give them food.

Then the lad said good-night and slipped away as silently as a heather newt.

It was certainly lonesome enough in that cave, and but for the presence of Dash, I believe my grandfather would have dreaded a visit from ghosts or water-kelpies.

As it was, after making up a good fire, which lit the whole cave up in the most cheery way, Ian and Dash enjoyed a hearty supper.

Then he said his prayers and lay down to sleep, a Highland plaid his only covering.

He had "backed" the fire and stowed away a kindling peat, so he had no fear for the morrow.

For quite a long time he lay awake, thinking and wondering how all this was going to end. The strangeness of the situation and his surroundings, no doubt, helped to make him wakeful. The fire burned lower and lower, the black roof at one moment enveloped in shadow and darkness, and next, lit up with flickering gleams of light. Outside was the low moan of the wind and the murmur of the stream over its stony bed; but presently these sounds seemed to draw farther and farther off, and soon were heard no more.

For Ian slept.

He strolled only a little way from the cave next forenoon, but as the sun began to sink in the west, the irksomeness of cave-life became unbearable, and he determined to risk all and treat himself and Dash to a stroll in the forest. Among those grand old trees, with the green, cool moss beneath his feet, he forgot his troubles, and soldiers were soon banished from his thoughts away.

He had a rude awakening.

For while lying on his back listening to the sweet even-song of the birds, and watching the crimson light of the westering sun, flickering on the branches of the lofty pines, Dash suddenly sprang up and barked. Ian was on his feet in a moment.

"Now we have you! Surrender in the King's name!"

[Illustration: "Surrender, in the King's name!"]

So near were the soldiers to him, that he seemed to look down the muzzles of their muskets.

They fired as he darted off through the woods, and one bullet whistled close past his head. Then the chase began.

As well might they have attempted to follow a red-deer on foot.

Ian soon left them far behind. Then patted Dash's faithful head, and took matters very leisurely.

They made a long detour, however, and only Apache Indians could have followed their trail back to the cave. Here was the wee gillie waiting by the fire. He was very glad to see Ian, and told him all the news. My grandfather kept him quite a long time chatting by the fire and he promised to come again after dusk next evening.

The place looked gloomier when the gillie went, but Ian heaped more wood on the fire, and the excellent supper sent by his mother made him feel once more happy.

It wasn't such a disagreeable life, this, after all. Many a better man than he had been an outlaw, he told himself. There was King Bruce, for instance, and Sir William Wallace, and many a brave knight besides on whose heads a price was set, and who lived in caves and forests, just as he was living now.

Ah! brighter days would come.

For a whole week poor Ian stuck to his cave, only venturing out after dusk.

The soldiers still hung around the woods, so the gillie told Ian, and the sergeant had even declared that he would stop "till Doomsday in the afternoon," rather than return without his prisoner.

Ian thought that cave-life till Doomsday in the afternoon would become rather monotonous. However, he unluckily made up his mind, one evening, to pay a visit to his old dominie's house.

The soldiers would hardly be in that neighbourhood.

So, as soon as gloaming, and the gillie had come and gone, and darkness was creeping down and filling up the glens, he crept out of his hiding, and made his way up the steep rocks, and on to the brae-lands above. Although it must have been well on to nine o'clock, much to his joy he noticed lights still glimmering in the dominie's window.

He had left Dash tied up, and walked very cautiously, frequently looking round when he heard the slightest sound. There was just one little copse to pass through, then he should be safe.

Alas! he had no sooner entered, than he was seized and thrown down.

His captors were the soldiers.

They bound his hands behind his back, then told him to march.

The men chatted right merrily all the way to Beauly, but Ian spoke hardly a word.

No, he had not let down his heart. Not a bit of it; he was only meditating how best he could escape.

"Well," said the sergeant, as they neared a small inn--the landlord and his daughter were well-known to Ian's father--"Well, lad, you have led us a nice dance, but I bear no ill-will. Come in here with us, and we'll wet your whistle."

Ian didn't want his whistle wetted, but he had to enter all the same.

They were kindly received, and shown into the best room.

"Poor boy," said the girl, aloud, "and have they caught you after all?"

But she took the opportunity of whispering in his ear, "Pretend to sleep, and fly when I put out the lights."

"Yes, we've caught the young rascal," said the sergeant, "and I've a good mind to catch you also."

But Ellen glided off like an eel, and presently returned with cakes and cheese, and a huge black bottle, and I need hardly say what that contained.

They forced Ian to drink some, though he had never touched spirits before.

After this, the men proceeded to make themselves merry. And right merry they seemed to be. As Ian passed his glass as often as any of them, though he managed to spill it, instead of drinking it, they patted him on the shoulder, and told him he would make a splendid soldier. The lad volunteered a song, and was rapturously encored. Then he kept up the delusion by talking nonsense.

Presently he pretended to tumble off his chair.

My grandfather now began to snore aloud.

"He's safe enough, anyhow," said the sergeant. "So, lads, another toast."

By one o'clock the fun grew fast and furious, and presently in came Ellen.

"Now, soldiers, it's bed-time."

"No, no, no."

"Father will give you no more to-night. Pay, and go to bed."

"We'll sit here till morning dawns, my beautiful, winsome, charming----"

Ellen cut short the oration in true Highland fashion, by a sounding slap across the speaker's cheek.

"Ye'll sit in the dark, then," she cried, and out went the candle.

Now was Ian's chance. In the confusion that followed, he made his way to the door, and by two o'clock was safe and sound once more in the cave.

Dash was delighted, and, the fire being replenished, both had supper, and then went to sleep together on the heather couch.

When he awoke next morning, Ian could hardly believe for a time that his adventure had been aught else save a troubled dream.