The Hills is Lonely Page 14

  While I munched and drank and my clothes steamed, I examined the room, which was reasonably clean. It boasted no ceiling except for the rafters over which lay the dark thatch and from which hung various species of dried, salt fish, a bundle of rabbit skins, a herring net and an iron girdle. The fireplace was of rough stone and the peat fire burned upon the flat hearth. A chimney pot saved it from being what is known as a ‘black house’, but so inadequate was the tiny window that the designation was merited. The furniture was a replica of what I now expected to see in the homes of the crofters who did not cater for tourists, namely a bench, table, dresser and the one wooden chair upon which I was now sitting. A long blue curtain covered an alcove in which was probably a recess bed. There was no clue to the number of people in the household. It might have been only the three I had met or it might have been a dozen.

  The men, having finished their tea, put down their cups and stumped outside to begin the task of loading the protesting cattle into the likewise protesting boat. I too stood up and thanked my hostesses for their hospitality, but as the loading looked like taking some time they pressed me to stay and steam my skirts for a little longer in front of the fire. The mother questioned me courteously about my stay in Bruach, plainly disbelieving that I found the remoteness to my liking. They were both astounded when I told them I actually enjoyed the wild weather and was in no hurry to go back to England. Though they gave every appearance of accepting my statements I got the impression that they could imagine only two reasons why a woman should choose to settle down in Bruach: either that she was running away from the police, or escaping from a lurid past. My plain homely features probably inclined them to the former belief.

  In my turn I questioned them about their own lives. Did they differ much from those of the Bruachites? It seemed not.

  ‘You haven’t many places to cayley,’ I said. They admitted there was little of what could be called ‘good cayleying’.

  ‘I suppose you have lots and lots of books here,’ I began, resolving that in return for their kindness I could perhaps send them some.

  Mother drew herself up haughtily.

  ‘No indeed!’ she answered frigidly. ‘None at all.’

  ‘No books? You don’t like them. How strange!’ I said.

  ‘It’s no strange at all.’ The daughter’s denial cut witheringly into an atmosphere that had changed suddenly from the cordial to the antipathetic. I puzzled as to what on earth I had said to upset them.

  ‘I should have thought you would have had plenty of books,’ I began, but the mother cut me short.

  ‘Forty-five years I’ve lived in this house and never a bug did I see in it yet,’ she asserted indignantly.

  ‘Good heavens no!’ I expostulated, glancing round fruitlessly to see if there was a book of any sort I might use as an illustration. ‘Books,’ I repeated desperately. ‘Printed pages, magazines, reading books.’ My cheeks burned; I was mortified that they should think I would repay their generosity by making such an aspersion.

  To my immense relief the two women relaxed simultaneously and indulged in quite genuine laughter.

  ‘I thought for a minute you must be one of them social women we used to get comin’ round askin’ questions about bugs and childrens and things.’

  ‘Do they really do that?’ I enquired mirthfully.

  ‘Aye, indeed they do,’ nodded the old mother. ‘One comes to me and she says she’ll tell me how to bring up my thirteen childrens.’

  ‘You have thirteen children?’ I asked.

  ‘Aye, so I had,’ admitted the old woman proudly.

  The daughter giggled. ‘Tell Miss Peckwitt what you told the woman,’ she implored her mother, and the latter continued the story eagerly.

  ‘Says she to me, “How many childrens?” “Thirteen,” says I. “How many have you?” She looks at me surprised. “Why, none at all” says she. “Well,” says I, “go you away and have fourteen and then maybe I’ll take some notice of you when you come back here and tell me how to bring up my thirteen.” ’

  The shouting of the men broke into our laughter and hurriedly taking my leave I ran down to the shore where Lachy and Ruari were waiting to stow me into an impatient Seagull. The engine was already throbbing and as soon as I was aboard we started off, the poor old boat struggling valiantly to tow the rowing-boat with its quivering, snorting cargo of cattle. Even to my unpractised eye it looked decidedly overloaded, for not only was it crammed full of beasts but the bottom had been partly filled with shingle so as to provide a level base upon which the animals could stand. I said as much to Murdoch who was perched on the bow of the towed boat, his coat-tails almost touching the water.

  ‘Ach, cattle’s got sense; they’re not like humans,’ be retorted with so much acerbity that I concluded he himself was a little apprehensive.

  For perhaps a mile we plodded on without mishap and then Seagull started to roll; so also did the cattle-boat.

  ‘It’s the tide rip!’ roared Ruari. ‘I told you we’d meet it. By God! you’d best watch out now.’

  Murdoch answered with a cool nod and taking out his beloved pipe he began to fill and light it methodically. His position on the bow looked precarious but, refusing to show the least sign of perturbation, he settled the pipe more comfortably in his mouth and puffed at it with satisfaction. I turned to watch the weaving line of the tide rip coming nearer and nearer. How the catastrophe happened I never really knew, but it was probably due to a sudden movement of some of the beasts coinciding with a particularly severe roll of the boat. I heard first a concerted yell from the Seagull’s crew and wheeling round saw that the heavily laden rowing-boat lay over on her side with the sea pouring in over her gunwale; that the cattle were struggling in the water and bellowing with terror, and then, after a moment of anguish, that the boat had vanished beneath the waves. Fortunately someone had the presence of mind to slash the tow-rope or Seagull might have suffered the same fate. It was not until some moments later that I realised there was no sign of Murdoch.

  ‘Murdoch!’ I screamed and scanned the water for a trace of him among the panic-stricken beasts who were already swimming strongly and most sensibly back towards Rhuna. It seemed an age but must have been only a matter of seconds before Murdoch’s white head appeared some twenty yards away from the side of the boat and, despite the dreadful anxiety of the moment, I remember noticing how large and red and bulbous was his nose. Angus, Ruari and Lachy stood staring stupidly at the scene, their attitudes expressive of something very like indifference.

  ‘Can he swim?’ I shouted distractedly.

  ‘No,’ answered Lachy, and pinioned my two arms behind my back as I tried to slip off my coat. ‘No you don’t,’ he said firmly, ‘one corpse is enough.’

  ‘He won’t be a corpse if you’ll let me go,’ I argued, but Ruari turned angrily upon me.

  ‘Stay where you are!’ he commanded. ‘We can throw him a rope.’

  ‘For God’s sake throw it then!’ I sobbed, feeling sick with panic and frustration. ‘Don’t let him drown. Do something!’

  In the space of the last few seconds, or perhaps at some equally perilous moment in his career, Murdoch had apparently learned to tread water, since he remained visible for a considerable time. Angus grabbed a coil of rope and threw it towards the unfortunate man. The aim was excellent; it fell within a few inches of Murdoch, but as Angus had forgotten to keep a hold of the other end it was wasted effort. Murdoch’s voice came plaintively over the water: ‘I canna’ keep this up much longer. Save me! I’ll drown!’

  ‘It’ll take more than a bit of watter to drown you,’ comforted Ruari, and picking up an oar he hurled it with such accuracy that it looked as though he intended to put Murdoch out of his misery quickly rather than assist in his rescue.

  There was no shadow of doubt that Murdoch was in imminent danger of drowning before our very eyes and yet in spite of the seriousness of the situation, one half of my mind was conscious that the whole episode smacked of
farce. Fortunately, however, Murdoch managed to grasp a second oar that was thrown; another coil of rope went out to him, this time with all four of us hanging on to the end, and he was safely hauled aboard, where he gasped and shivered for some minutes. He seemed comparatively undaunted by his experience and taking a flask of whisky from his pocket he tipped it to his lips and drank deeply.

  ‘Did any of you see my pipe?’ he asked when he was sufficiently stimulated. ‘It was in my mouth when I went down.’

  Murdoch contrived to be ludicrous even in the most unsuitable circumstances. The four of us shook our heads.

  ‘There was somethin’ in your mouth when you when down,’ said Lachy, ‘but whether it was your heart or your pipe I couldna’ tell.’

  ‘Indeed it was my pipe,’ responded Murdoch.

  ‘Ach, then I expect you swallowed it,’ said Lachy.

  ‘I did not then,’ replied Murdoch. ‘My insides would be warmer than they are new if I’d swallowed my pipe —it was lit, I tell you.’

  Everyone laughed rather more than the remark or the occasion warranted, and though Murdoch that day came within an ace of losing his life, or so it seemed to me, I never heard him refer to the incident except to bemoan the loss of the best pipe he’d ever had.

  The mishap caused some delay in our programme and there was talk of taking Murdoch and Angus along with us to pick up the geologists. I, maintaining that the old man should get into dry clothes as soon as possible, prevailed upon Ruari to deliver him to his family before he should involve us in any more hair-raising experiences. As soon as this had been accomplished, Seagull’s bow was turned once more towards the hills. We were already an hour later than the time we had promised to return and when we again chugged into the little sheltered harbour there was neither sight nor sound of the geologists. Ruari stopped the engine and the sudden quiet pressed on our ear-drums. Lachy stepped ashore.

  ‘Give a shout,’ he urged Ruari, and straightway Ruari let forth a bellow which split the intense quiet like a bomb and resounded among the hills for some moments afterwards. There was an echoing sound, scratchily feeble, in return, and after tying the boat the three of us went along the steep track towards it. It was not long before we met two of the geologists tottering down towards us, carrying between them a heavy sack.

  ‘What the devil!’ began one of the men truculently, but was soon subdued by Ruari’s suave but picturesque excuses for our late arrival. ‘Well, we’ll go and round up the others,’ the geologist replied sulkily. ‘We’ve all been down to the jetty once, but when we found you hadn’t turned up we thought we might as well keep working until you did.’ He gestured towards the heavy bag which had been dropped on first seeing us. ‘Here,’ he instructed Ruari imperiously, ‘you can carry that down to the boat and put it aboard.’

  The two left us to go in search of the rest of their party while Ruari, with Lachy’s assistance, lifted the sack on to his back. Ruari, as I have said before, was a strong man but his load was a heavy one, and he was quite distressed by the time we eventually reached the jetty. He deposited the sack with a bump on the rocks and rubbed his back tenderly.

  ‘My God! That sack’s so hard and heavy you’d think it was stones they had in it,’ he grumbled.

  ‘It is stones,’ answered Lachy, who was more familiar with the ways of geologists.

  ‘Stones?’ Ruari almost spat ‘I’ll give them stones if they try to play tricks like that on me,’ he threatened. He looked at me for confirmation.

  ‘Of course they’re stones,’ I told him, my face breaking into a smile at his outraged expression. He eyed me suspiciously from beneath knitted brows and his fingers plucked at the string which tied the neck of the bag. Out of the corner of my eye I perceived the party of geologists coming out of the dusk down the track towards the boat. Lachy saw them too.

  ‘Look,’ I told Ruari. ‘If you don’t believe me you can ask them for yourself, for here they come now.’

  But Ruari had the sack open and was fingering the samples of gneiss and gabbro which would no doubt afford material for research for many months to come. He turned menacingly towards the approaching group. ‘You buggers!’ he yelled angrily. ‘Ill teach you to play a joke like that on an old man. You ought to be ashamed of yourselves!’ And before anyone, least of all myself, realised his intention he had turned the bag upside down and tipped the whole of its contents into the water.

  There was a heartrending groan from the weary geologists and some of them raced forward impetuously in a vain attempt to save the treasure they had so industriously gathered. Their groans tailed off into sighs and their sighs melted into a stricken silence as they sank down hopelessly on the nearby rocks and stared dispiritedly at the ever-widening circle of ripples on the water where their treasure had disappeared. Ruari continued to glower at them with implacable wrath. I glanced uneasily at Lachy who was bending over the engine of Seagull, an unlit cigarette between his teeth and a superfluously intent expression on his face.

  ‘Ruari,’ I began timorously, feeling it incumbent on me to say something, ‘they were not just ordinary stones. These men were not playing a joke on you. They’re samples,’ I floundered as Ruari bent his chilly gaze on me, ‘specimens for studying,’ I faltered.

  ‘Is that so?’ asked Ruari in somewhat mollified tones. I nodded.

  ‘Yes, these men are students,’ I persevered. ‘They get a degree for this sort of thing.’

  The words ‘students’ and ‘degree’ Ruari understood at once. He turned with a conciliatory smile to the group of scowling men.

  ‘Well, if that’s it now you must excuse me, but I thought it was a nasty bit of a game you were playin’ on an old man, makin’ him carry a big bag of stones down the mountain side,’ he apologised magnanimously. ‘But ach,’ he went on, ‘it’s lucky indeed I havena’ thrown away the sack itself and I’ll have it full for you in a couple of minutes just.’

  The geologists, still in a state of mental and physical overthrow and utterly bereft of speech, stared glumly white Ruari bent and began to fill the sack with shingle from the beach.

  ‘That’s no good!’ the leader found his voice. ‘For heaven’s sake let’s get home!’ he snapped sullenly.

  ‘Ach, but it’s no trouble at all,’ Ruari declared, with an extravagant flourish of his hand, ‘and what harm I’ve done I must try to undo as best I can.’

  ‘You’re a damn fool!’ returned the irate one ungraciously, and snatching the sack from Ruari clambered gloomily aboard Seagull.

  ‘Well if I mustn’t, I mustn’t. I dare say you know best yourselves,’ murmured Ruari with a puzzled nod.

  As soon as the rest of the party were aboard we cast off and Seagull gambolled ponderously towards the Bruach shore. Talk was desultory, for Ruari was surprisingly abashed after his experience, while Lachy and I hovered between profound sympathy and irrepressible mirth.

  It was an exceedingly melancholy party of ‘jolly gees’ who were landed at Bruach and who climbed stiffly and slowly up the brae towards the special bus which awaited them. Ruari watched them go, a sly expression on his face. ‘Yon men are fools,’ he observed as he baled out Seagull while I secured the tiller.

  ‘It’s you who were the fool,’ I told him. ‘You should have known that the stones wouldn’t be ordinary stones.’

  ‘Me? A fool?’ exclaimed Ruari indignantly. ‘Is it me that’s the fool, when they’ve had to hire my boat to take them again tomorrow?’

  ‘You wretch!’ I chuckled.

  ‘I’m thinkin’,’ said Ruari, cocking a speculative eye at the cloudless horizon, ‘that we’re in for another fine day tomorrow. You’ll be comin’ with us again, Miss Peckwitt?’

  ‘No,’ I said with a shudder. ‘I can’t face that crowd again.’

  Ruari turned to Lachy who had just come alongside in the dinghy to take us ashore.

  ‘What was you talkin’ about to yon man?’ he asked.

  I had noticed that Lachy seemed to be having quite a volub
le conversation with one of the geologists while he was taking them ashore.

  ‘Ach, he wasn’t a geologist at all,’ replied Lachy. ‘He called himself a cartyographer or somethin’ like that.’

  ‘A what?’ demanded Ruari.

  A cartyographer,’ repeated Lachy. ‘I had some fun with him I can tell you.’

  ‘How was that?’ asked Ruari.

  ‘Well he was wantin’ to know all the place names in Gaelic and in English,’ said Lachy.

  ‘But I distinctly saw you pointing to Rhu Corran, and calling it Allt Rhunan,’ I accused.

  ‘So I did,’ agreed Lachy cheerfully. ‘And I told him Corry Dhy was Cnoc Dhanaid, and plenty others wrong besides. The old nosey parker he was.’

  Ruari chuckled appreciatively.

  ‘But Lachy,’ I expostulated feebly. ‘If he said he was a cartographer you should have told him correctly. It’s very important.’

  ‘Ach,’ said Lachy scornfully, ‘what does he want to know the right names for? He doesn’t live about here at all. He’s only after makin’ a map.’

  8 A Ceilidh

  The acquisition of the Gaelic is, I believe, a necessity for those who wish to lead a full life in the Hebrides, and accordingly I purchased a Gaelic grammar and set myself the task of mastering the idiosyncrasies of that much-exalted tongue. Languages have never been my strong point but having the advantage of actually residing and conversing with natural Gaelic speakers, I estimated that by the end of three months I should have achieved a reasonable degree of fluency.