CHAPTER LI.

Waikato Times, Volume XIX, Issue 1639, 6 January 1883, Page 5

CHAPTER LI .

After a tedious afternoon; spent in beating, out of .Western Port in the teeth oi what was now aT smart* southerly "tffSSßSPftiS* )ft>flft "ago" ' Griffith's Point towards evening, and went away, close-hauled, for the JCarwiu. Jn a xonpleof hours wehad j^Ade what Muckl^-

body told us was Capo Pattcrbon, and, thus getting the wind abeam, found ourselves, about dusk, running into Andersons Inlet, as I found the mouth of the Tar win was called. The anchor was let go as the last remnants of daylight, faded from the v west, but the moon, near her full, had already mounted the east, and revealed to us the dim and shadowy shores, wooded thickly to the water's edge. It was a lonely and depressing scene, and so we all felt it, as we sat smoking about the deck after supper. Even the jovial Mucklebody succumbed to the genius loci, and, as he sat with his back against the boom — the moonlight silvering his rugged features and stumpy briar pipe — his conversation took an unwontedly superstitious turn. " This is an ceric-like place," he said, slowly. " Ane could a'most faincy them lines o' dairk trees was twa mucklo airmies o1o 1 deevUs closin' in on us in the moonlicht." Shuter laughed at the gloomy conceit. "Growing quite poetical and imaginative, Muckle," he said. " Idea worthy of Milton or Dante, that I Place is confoundedly lonely and dreary-looking, though, by this light." " Yes, croaked Fysshe, from his seat on the heel of the bowsprit, "it is one of those localities, which," without presenting any characteristics of the more sublimely terrible, are, nevertheless, calculated to inoculate the mind with indefinable presentiments of impending calamity." " Gude guide us, Mr. Feesh I" said the Scotchman ; "if ye mean that they gar us feel as if somethin' wrang was gaun tae happen, why canna ye say Bae, wi'out a' that clamjafry o' lang words? But ye're richt cneuch, lad ; this is an uncanny -looking spot, an' if it werena for the gums, and boxes, and blackwoods, instead o' the Scotch firs, it pits me muckle in mind o' a loch in auld Scotland, whaur a got siccan a deil o' a fricht ance, that it gars me shiver, tae this hour tae theenk on'fc !" " Lei's hear all about that, Muckle," said Shuter, as, Bcenting a story, we all drew nearer to the Scotchman. "Weel, a dinna athegither care aboot speakin' o't, an', aiblins, yell mak a joke o't, though it was nac joke tae me at the time, a can tell ye I Verra gude," ho added, when we had all promised due solemnity. " Gie's a drap o1o 1 whuskey, an' ye sail hae the story. 11 Loch Carbie they ca' the place," he went on, after an appreciative smack of his lips over the whiskey. " It's in Argyleshire, no vcrra far frae Inverary, an', as a've telt ye, it's joost siccan anither place as this we're in the noo. Ma mither was a Stuart, frae Argyleshire, an', as ano o1o 1 her brothers lived close by this loch, a was aften ower there frae Glasgie on a veesit. It was when a was aboot twenty - twa or three, a theenk, that, while a was stappin' wi this uncle in the simmer, a became acquent wi a lassie that leeved on the ither side o' the loch. Jessie Lyle her name was — the dochtcr o' a respectable fairmer, an' as — whatever a maybe noo — a was then no' a badlookin' chiel, we tqoic a faincy tae ither, an' a used tae cross the water neaily ilka nicht tae see her. " Weel, we had made mailters up atween us tae get mairried in the spring; an', aboot aucht o'clock the nicht before a was tae gang back tae Glasgie, a took the bit boatie, as usual, tae cross the loch. The simmer was drawin' tae a close, an' it was as bonnie an' evenin' as ever cc beheld, wi the moon, joost as she is the noo, wi'in a day or twa o' the fu\ Weel, lads, it was aboot twa mile across, an' a micht hae got haulf-way, when, happem'n' tao turn ma heid tae seaward, a saw a sicht that garred me drap ma sculls wi astonishment. Bicht in the rnooth o' the loch — stannin' in before the licht air frae the south, an' wi her hull an' sails loomin' black an' disteenct against the moonlicht behint her —was a lairge ship. Plenty o' sma' craift we had aboot the loch an' islands, but what could a ship o' that size be doin' there 1 A rubbit ma een an' lookit again — but there she was plain enough. "A didna ken what tae mak o't, an' sac a joost restit on ma oars an' waited tae see what would chance neist. As she cam' nearer, a began tae theenk, frae her height oot o' the water, that she must needs be a line-o'-battle-ship — them were the days o' three-deckers, ye ken— but by the time she was abreest o' me a could see she was no 1 like ony man-o-war a had ever met wi before. Her poop an' forecaistle were raised up amaist like twa towers aboon her waist ; her bowsprit was cockit up like a wee fourth mast, an', as she clewed up her tapsails, a could see her taps as braid an' heavy as the gallery o' a lichthoose. ' There's a gun 1' a said tae myself as a red flash frae her forecaistle drave the white smoke oot intil the moonlicht, but nae report oam' till ma ears, an 1 when, the neist moment, a mass o' foam splashit up unner her bows, a heard neither the plunge o' the ainchor nor the rushin 1 o' the cable through the hawse-hole. u This puzzled me, as ye may weel guess •, but a was no' easy frichtened in them days, an', though a couldna help a bit o' a sheever, a sune pluckit up hairt an' began tae pu towards the ship. ' All see what she's made o\ at a' events!' a thocht, an' when a had pud twa or three hunnerd yairds further, a turned ma heid tae hae anither look. ' A line-o'-baittle-ship she is, after a', a muttered, as a coonted three rows o' ports. ' What a fule a am ! — though a could hae sworn that was a gun a saw fired. What in the name o1o 1 wonncr, can she be doin' here?' 11 Closer an' closer a drew, expeckin ilka moment tae be hailed by a sentry, but, save for the dip o' ma sculls, a' was as still as deith. There was somethin' uncanny in the deep silence aboard o' her, but a set ma teeth hard, like the dour chiel a was in them days, an' vowed to; see the maitter oot. At last a was close alongside, an', keepin' against the ebb tide wi the sculls, a lookit up an' saw her tall side aboon me, like the wa' o' a hoose. • Ship ahoy ! ' a sung oot at the tap o' ma voice, an' the cry gaed skirlin' awa doon the loch— but there was nae answer 1 A cauld sweat brak oot on ma forehead, an' for a moment a felt verra like turnin' tail, but a sune maistered mysel' an' pud roon unner her bows. When a lookit up at her figureheid a got anither stairt, for what was it but a muckle crucifeex in white an' gowd, an' twenty feet long, if it was an inch. Then the cable caught ma cc ; •it was in the shaiiow o1o 1 the ship, but a could see plain enough that jit was a hempen ane. • That's verra auld style/ a said tae mysel', as a stretched oot ma ban' tae touch it, when — gude guide us I — ship, an' cable, ajj' a' vanished 1 like lichtnin', an' left me sittin' like ane stupified. For twa or three meenutes a let the boat dpeef fc doon unheeded wi ■ the tide ; then a shook mysel' thegither— took a drink o' whiskey frae nia flask— an' pjt'd awa for hame like a madman." ""Capital!" said Shuter, finding that the Scotchman paused. •; Beats , the Flying Dutchman hollow, ! . Quite' certain you didn't have (she whiskey before you saw this wonderful ship— eh, Mugfte?" •'A kinned ye'd la»gb at &" said Muoklebody, gravely j>" but hear the, rest. When a reached ma uncle's, hoose again, the fwmily, was ha'ein' a bit crack by the fire before gangin' tae bed, an' they stared haird at ,me . when a came rushin', in as if $tie devil was aifter me. * What's the maitter, Saunnera ?v* sneered ma uncle. ;•; • Ye look as if yetf seen;* ghaist.' { An' flo,a,Jiae l ' l a answered— 'pufc iV, jyas the ghaist 6' a ship, an' no' o' a man I ' Fni^jflxpeckinftae brlaughed at-^a.was eurpri^,ta> Bf*§,pBF JrMtaned^heyjayookit, "?when<a said thfo.;; he lpma, seen, the Spainißh',Bjfei| l^,ffifcßnckVwjfe f jn a low jfoice, i.tft^sVsH£ : | #?Wi ,

Noo, then ! ' he added, turnin' tae tho choeldren,' be aff tae bed wi ye a' ! It's gettin' ower late' — an' in twa meenutes there was naebody left by the fire but hirasel', an' his wife, an' me. " Then a telt them ma story, an' mair an' mair frichtened they lookit as a spalc, until, when a had feenished, ma uncle laid his han' solemnly on ma shouther. ' Saunners,' he said, ' ye hae this nicht seen a sight that bodes ill tae some ane aboot Loch Carbie. There's no' a saul in a' the neighbourhood that wad smile at what ye hae telt us, for ne'er comes that uncanny vaissel but for a deith-warnin' I ' Ay, but as for that,' a said, •there's aye deith somewhere 1' 'True, laddie,' said ma uncle ; ' but this thing bodes evil tae a parteeklar faimily — the Campbells o' Ardoigh. I maun tell ye the story.' " 'It was in auld George the Third's time,' went on ma uncle, ' when there was war between us and Spain, when a Spanish ship-o'-war cad the Santisrimo Salvador, got driven awa to the north here by a storm, and rinned intill Loch Carbie for shelter. Seem' her lyin' at her ainchor there the neist mornin', Allan Campbell o' Ardoigh made up a plan tae get haud o' her — a clever plan enough, too, but ane that was worthy o' the fair and fause Campbells. He pit aff in a boat, wi a white flaig, an' tauld the Spainiards that peace had been proclaimed between Great Britain and Spain. A glaid mon was the Spainish captain tae hear it, for he had a lot o1o 1 his men doon wi scurvy, an' the ithers was worn oot wi the severe weather the ship had been in for mair than a week, sac he treated Campbell like a laird, an' accepted an invitation tae coom an veesit him.. Weel, Allan made ready a gran' feast, an' the captain cam' ashore tae it wi maist o' his officers an' a gude wheen o' his men ; but when they were in the middle o't, they were set upon by a haill swarm o' Campbells. The puir deluded Spainiards made a gude fecht o' it, but they were takken unawares, an' far oot-num'ered as weel, sac they were a' killed, though the captain focht like a tiger— killin' three Campbells himsel' before Allan nearly sweepit his heicl aff his body wi a single stroke o' the claymore. In the meantime, a lot mair o' Allan's men had pit aff tae the ship wi a supply o' liquor, an' aifter they had made the few healthy men on board as drunk as they could get them, they pit ilka saul o' them tao deith. An' frae that time tae this,' said ma uncle, in conclusion, ' whenever the deith-hoor o' a Campbell o' Ardoigh is at han' that fearfu' ship is sure tae be seen by someane that's near an' dear tae the doomed pairson.' ' Ay, but there's nae Campbell near to me that a ken oV a said wi a laugh. ' A dinna want tae frichten ye, ma lad,' replied ma uncle, in a low voice, ' but Jessie Lyle's mither was a Campbell o' Ardoigh, an' a direct descendant o' this verra Allan liimsel', too.' " Wpel, ma freens," concluded Mucklebody, solemnly and slowly, " when a crossed the water neist mornin', a f'and that, the nicht before, a side o' bacon had drapped frae the roof o' the kitchen, where it was.hangit, upon puir Jessie Lyle's heid an' Irak her neck /" For some time after the Scotchman had thus impressively brought his story to an end there was a deep silence, broken only by the ripple of water at our bows, and then %ye all started, as, thrilling through the night air, there came to us a long, weird cry, which the highly strung state of our nerves prevented us at first from recognising as the ordinary bush " coo-ee." "Someane hailin' us frae the shore," said Mucklebody, a^d he returned the cry with stentorian lungs. The voice on the shore replied, and presently from the left bank we saw a small dark object put out, which soon turned out to be a boat. In a few minutes it was alongside, and the occupant, a tall, lanky fellow in Crimean shirt and moleskin trousers, scrambled on deck and inquired what was the namo of our craft. " Not Joe Hutchinson's boat," he said, in a drawling, nasal tone. " Not the Emu V "Na," returned Mucklebody, " She's no' the Emu, nor the Kaiiflaroo, neither 1" "Well, now," that's curious!" said the man, taking off an old straw hat to scratch a shock head. "We expected the Emu just about now, you see. You're sure she ain't tho Emit, eh ?" " Dinna a tell ye, sac, mon, as plain's a can speak 1" " Well, now, that is curious ! And she don't belong to Joe Hutchinson, don't she?" " She belangs tae me," said Mucklebody, " an' no' tae Joe Hutchinson — nor Joe onybody else !" The man scratched his head again, replaced his hat, and slowly re-entered his boat. Then he took hold of the oars, pulled a few strokes, stopped suddenly short, ruminated for a few moments, and leant back towards us. "Long Joe Hutchinson, you know," he said. " Long Joe Hutchinson, of Port Albert. You're sure she ain't his, eh ?" " Deil tak baith ye an' Joe Hutchinson I" roared Mucklebody. " A tell ye ance mair, the craift's mine." "Yours, eh?" said the man, reflectively. "Yours, and not Joe Hutchinson's. Well, now, that is curious," and off he rowed. " Did ever onybody see siccan a born fule as that?" said the Scotchman, looking after him. " Exceptional tardiness of apprehension," said Fysshe. "Exceptional fiddlestick!" said Shuter. " Poking fun at old Muckle, the fellow was, that's all." "It's a gey gude job for him, then, that a didna suspeck it at the time," answered the irate Mucklebody. "Ad hae tumbled him ower the side wi 1 verra little ceremony — an' Lang Joe Hutchinson tae the back o' him 1"