For Lack of Gold. A novel, etc

Front matter

VOL. I. A NOVEL. BY CHARLES GIBBON, AT7THOE OF 'KOBIN GRAY,' ETC. ' O, why should Fate such pleasure have Life's dearest bands untwining ? Or, why sae sweet a flower as love Depend on Fortune's shining? '—Burns. IN THREE VOLUMES. VOL. I. LONDON : BLACKIE & SON, PATERNOSTER ROW ; AND GLASGOW AND EDINBURGH. 1871. [All Bights reserved.] JOHN CHII.DS AND SON, PRINTERS. CONTENTS OF VOL. I. CHAP. PAGE I. THE ROUP . . . . . . . . 1 II. BY THE FIRESIDE . . . . . . 17 III. A PRETTY HYPOCRITE . . . . 44 IV. PLAIN SPEAKING . . . . . . 55 V. ABBOTSKIRK . . . . . . . . 72 VI. A THUNDERBOLT . . . . . . 88 VII. A QUESTION OF HONOUR . . . . 102 VIII. MILL O' COMRIE . . . . . . 115 IX. THE HOME . . . . . . . . 12S X. THE SIEGE . . . . . . . . 138 XI. A BREACH . . . . . . . . 159 XII. HIDE AND SEEK . . . . . . 169 XIII.

THE TRYST . . . . . . . . 182 XIV. THE DEIL 0' DUNDARROCH . . . . 203 CONTENTS. CHAP. PAGE XV. BALQUHERRIE . . . . . . . . 218 XVI. THE FLITTING OF DRUMSLIEVE . . 233 XVII. FORLORN . . . . . . . . 251 xvm. Hallowe'en . . . . . . . . 263 XIX. ' THE SPEAK GAED OUT ' . . . . 278 XX. AN INTERRUPTION . . . . . . 288 XXI. A DEBT CANCELLED . . . . . . LOB LACK OF GOLD.

Chapter I. The Roup

Everything was to be sold — stock and plenishing, crop, cattle, implements, and household gear. Even with all it was feared there would not be enough realized to satisfy the creditors. Intimation of the sale had been posted on the gate of the parish kirk for a fortnight previous ; and for two Sabbath after noons it had formed the staple of conversation for the folks of the village, and of the farms and cottar houses for ten miles round. There were peculiar circumstances associated Avith the event, and it was can- A'assed by all classes with as much interest as they displayed in debating the sound- TOL. I. ness of the doctrine enunciated by the new minister in his latest sermon. Discussions as to the result of the harvest, which was just over, the question of the price of barley and of the prospects of the green crop, were interspersed Avith comments, ejaculations, and surmises regarding the forthcoming sale.

On the morning of the appointed day, Benjie Geddes, the old shoemaker and bellman, made a tour of the village, with the sIoav steps of one conscious of responsi bility. His bell kept time to his deliberate motions, and at intervals he paused, whilst in a cracked AToice he made this proclama tion : — ' Take no — tice, there will be sauld, this day, by pub — lie roup, at Drumslieve, the stock, and the crop, and the plenishing, and the house effecks, as specifeed twa or three weeks syne. The roup to begin at ten o' the clock — and suner if the folk gather. Oh aye, oh aye.' Three.emphatic clangs of the bell closed the announcement ; and Benjie, with his pale grey eyes fixed steadily before him, and his weather-pinched features set as hard as if he feared that somebody would corrupt him in the discharge of his duty by tempting him with a dram, made his way through the little group which gathered round him at every halt.

His pace was a species of hobble —half shuffle and half trot — displaying much action, although it attained little speed. In this way he proceeded down the street, attended by a troupe of boys and girls who were going to school. For the most part, the boys carried their books under their arms, and the chief book of each pack was the Bible, in its pale yellow marled sheepskin binding, Avhich seemed to haAre been expressly designed to match the yellow ochre of the cottage interior walls. The girls had cotton bags, mostly of a blue check pattern, and these con tained their books and ' pieces ' — a scone and treacle, or a bannock. In favoured instances, there were, hidden in the lower depths of the bags, or in the pouches of the boys, amongst marbles and bits of twine, apples or ' SAveeties,' Avhich were frequently exchanged as love-tokens when ever the dominie happened to be busy .vith his blackboard, and his back turned to his pupils.

At the foot of the street Benjie turned to the left, taking the road for Drumslieve, and the greater part of his retinue reluct antly deserted him to proceed to the school, which stood on the rising ground a little way off the main road. But several of the youngsters continued to follow him, prompt ed by sheer wilfulness, or tempted by the bright October day. They enjoyed — as truants can enjoy — the great gusts of wind which swept down from the Grampians and across the howe, shaking the trees until the leaves fluttered to the ground in showers, and were whirled along the road in fantastic contortions suggestive of the gambols of elves and fays. The truants gambolled, too, forgetting the school and the tawse — that leather strap, with one half cut in stripes, Avliich, deftly wielded, made the palms of the culprits tingle.

It was the dominie's instru ment of torture, and his sceptre at the same time. To escape its infliction every artifice of youthful guile was put in force ; yet the truants were remarkably deficient in imaginative device, for they seemed to have only one excuse to offer for their absence, Avhen the ogre, avIio kept the gates of knowledge, questioned them. ' Please, sir, I had to bide at hame to mind the bairn,' Avas the general answer. Frequently the excuse was genuine ; for all the wives of the Adllage seemed to have children just able to crawl into mischief, and the services of the eldest boy or girl were necessary to guard the little one, especially on busy occasions, such as the washing day. The bellman did not appear to observe his followers until he reached the bridge which crosses the water of Comrie, at no great distance below the mill.

Then he turned suddenly round on them, and shaking his bell in their faces, shouted — ■ ' Crae aAva back wi' ye, ye loons ; gae awa back, or I'll let the dominie ken o' your capers.' There was an instant halt ; a rapid glance of dismay and disappointment in terchanged ; and then the timidest of the boys obediently set off at a run towards the village. The others quietly watched Benjie until he had disappeared, and then slyly continued their journey toward the centre of attraction and business for the day. 'To that centre the folk were moving from all quarters, in gigs, on horseback, and afoot. Benjie was passed by many of them, and saluted by all ; but as he could not keep pace Avith them, he found on arriving at Drumslieve that a considerable crowd had already assembled. Indeed, such a gathering had not been witnessed on any similar occasion for many a day ; and the scene was more like a fair than a simple auction of the entire belongings of an unlucky farmer.

For him there was no Avant of sym pathy ; but that did not appear on the surface. The countenances of the people were fresh and blithe ; the salutations of acquaintances loud and hearty. There was a brief word of regret for the circumstances which had brought them together, and immediately afterward an inquiry as to the value of something the speaker might be purposing to buy. The croAvd was dispersed in groups over the steading, the cattle courts, the house, and the home-lying fields. The men Avere busy digging their fingers into the haunches of cattle ; gripping the backs of sheep ; examining the mouths of horses ; and in specting the implements, ploughs, harrows, carts, harness, &c, &c. The women were ranging through the house testing the furniture, the linen, the blankets, the crockery, and the pots and pans.

The dairy utensils received especial attention — but nothing escaped them in their pro- A'ince, and nothing failed to elicit the ex clamation — • Hech, sirs, but it's a sorry thing to come to this pass. Save us and keep us a' frae the like ! — and him just gaun to be married, puir lad. Hoav muckle will this be worth, think ye, Mistress Munro ? ' Mrs Munro gave her opinion, and the guidwives passed on to another part of the sIioav, with a homely sense of the tragic element which underlay the very common place event, but with a keen eye to the chance of a bargain, all the same. Thc air was heavy with the hum of voices, and the dull sound was pierced occasionally by a loud shout of laughter, that might have grated on the ears of a sensitive listener at such an hour. But life would be unbearable if one were al ways conscious of a neighbour's misfortunes.

The busy men who had come hither in the expectation of picking up something cheap, or of securing some particular object of which they stood in present need, were waiting impatiently for the auctioneer to begin business. On the other hand, there were all the idlers of the country-side, who had come just to see what was doing, and who were contentedly chatting with acquaintances. Then there were the good natured folk, fairly well-to-do in the world, who had arrived, not with any intention of purchasing, but to fulfil an important office, notwithstanding, that is, ' to gie the bodes a lift.' Whenever they saw the sale of anything flagging they gave it a fillip by making a bid for it, and taking their chance of having to purchase stock or plenishing for which they had no par ticular use if their offer happened to be the last.

It was a neighbourly service, and re cognized as one of the customs of the roup. These bidders did not run anything above its value ; for whilst they were in friend ship anxious that the chattels should not go much under value, the possibility of having to accept the bargain for which they offered, controlled their enthusiasm with discretion. Some of them attended the sale out of mere habit, whether or not they happened to be acquainted with the person whose goods were to be exposed ; but there were few of them who did not know Angus Lamb, more or less. On the outskirts of this miscellaneous assembly were all the tramps who had been within a day's march of the place. They had come to see AA'hat odd pence they could pick up, and to share in the customary hospitality of the occasion. Of that there was no stint, for half-a-dozen men were busily employed serving out to probable bidders a morning dram of usque baugh, and to all comers a draught of ale with a hunk of bread and cheese.

The auctioneer announced that the roup would begin with the harness and implements. He accordingly mounted a cart which had been placed in front of the stable, and the crowd gathered round him. He was a little man, with a red pimply face, and a squint which rendered it impossible for any one to tell in Avhat direction he was gazing, and which would have made the effort to catch his eye a serious undertaking, had it not been for his exceedingly active habit. He rarely missed a nod, and he was quick at in terpreting a wink. He could take any degree of banter, and was often happy, if someAvhat coarse, in his retort ; so that in spite of his squint he was reckoned a capital salesman. ' Come awa, now, come awa,' he cried, bustling about on the cart and flourishing a heavy yelloAV staff, with which he pointed to the articles on sale or held up a portion of them for observation ; ' come awa, gentlemen, there's a heap of work to be done the-day, and not over-much time to win through wi't ; so give me your bodes sharp, like decent folk.

Here's a fine set of cart harness — what do you say for them ? Come aAva, let's have a beginning:.' ' A note ' (a pound), cried a Aroice. 'A note! — havers; you could not get the marroAvs of them new for ten notes; and they are as good's new— better, in fact, for they have been tried, and ye ken Avhat they can do. But there's somebody going to give me a sensible bode — I see him.' ' Where — where do you see him ? ' queried a voice Avith an emphasis which provoked a laugh on account of the auc tioneer's squint. The reply was prompt — ' I see him where ye'll never stand, billie — in the shoon of an honest man.' That changed the object of the laugh ; and so the business proceeded briskly, amidst many homely jests and occasional keen competitions of the buyers. There was so much to do, and there was so much bustle, that few had time to reflect deeply on the cause of their gathering.

Not that they were hard of heart, but simply be cause their oavii interests for the hour ex cluded any thought of the ruined man and the wrecked home Avhich this roup repre sented. One by one the fragments of the wreck were disposed of; the odds and ends of the household which had been accumulat ing through years of industry and peace, and every one of which had some tender association for the owners, were scattered amongst the crowd for a few pence or a few shillings at most. The nick-nacks of a home possess little value in the eyes of a stranger, although they are very precious to those Avhose hearth they have brightened. That is one of the common places which are always linked to the bitterest sorrow. But whatever misery the ruined family might be enduring, there was no sign of it made to distress the day's proceedings except once, and then it was a trivial in terruption.

It occurred when the work of demolition was drawing to a close. The household effects were the last things to be sold, and as they were required they were carried out to the front of the building, where Bisset, the auc tioneer, was vigorously knocking them down to the highest bidder. A large book had just been placed in his hands, and he was about to expatiate on its excellent binding, when a woman suddenly appeared at the door. She was dressed in black, with widow's weeds. Her form was tall and strong enough to have been that of a man ; but her features Avere pinched and her eyes were sunken. A woman who had suffered much and was still suffering — that was evident ; and yet the expression of her eyes had something of defiance in it as she surveyed the crowd — that sort of defiance which a proud spirit displays when con scious of humiliation from which there is no escape.

At her appearance there was an instant cessation of that loud hum of voices which during the whole day had resounded about the place. In the strange stillness which ensued every eye was turned towards the woman in commiseration. Unconscious of the respect paid to her, or without seeming to heed it, she laid her hand in a quick nervous way on the arm of a man who stood near the door. With a glance she directed his attention to the book which the auctioneer held ready for sale, and she spoke in a low voice, that trembled in spite of her — ' It's just the auld Bible, Mr Forsyth — I would like to save that. My father gave it to us mair nor twenty year syne when we were married . . . and all our names . . the names of the bairns that are all gone but one . . . are written intil't — and I would like to save that for Angus.' There were not more than five persons who heard the words, but everybody seemed to guess their purport.

The repeated calls of the auctioneer were answered by only one voice — that of Mr Forsyth, the banker, who was there to note the progress of affairs in behoof of debtor and creditors. ' Sold,' said Bisset, in his brief decisive way, giAdng the book a slap as he handed it to the banker. ' God bless ye, sir,' whispered the wi dow as she received the relic of happy days. Mr Forsyth detained her a moment. ' No message from Balquherrie yet ? ' he asked. ' No ; ye ken that Angus got his own letter back yestreen.' ' Where is Angus now ? ' ' He couldna thole the sight of this,' she answered ; ' no like me, that clings to the biggin' and what's in't to the last minute, he quitted the house early this morning to be out o' the gate. He'll come hame at e'en to bare walls and a cold hearth.' Mr Forsyth had no words of consolation ready for the occasion, and the woman quietly shrunk back into the darkness of her home.

The roup was over now, and the folk dispersed, leaving darkness and silence behind them. It was desolation in contrast with the bustle and din of the day. Byres and stables were empty, and the wind swept moaning through the deserted build ings, swinging the doors to and fro and waking hollow echoes which fancy might have interpreted as the lamentations of troubled spirits. They were eerie sounds to be heard in a place which only a little while before had been so full of life. The clink of harness, the tramp of horses, the whistle of the ploughman as he sorted his team for the night, the song of the milkmaid milking the kye and dreaming of the lover she was to meet presently in the green loaning, the laugh of comrades, and the occasional groAvl of the foreman as he surprised his subordinates in some neglect of duty — all these sounds should have been heard at this hour, and there Avas none of them.

There was only that eerie Avind sough ing through the trees, whilst, as the night deepened, the shadows of the melancholy hills seemed to drop over the house of Drumslieve in sombre accord with its mis fortunes.

Chapter II. By The Fireside

A man with slow heavy steps came down the road from the direction of the hills, passed the steading of Drumslieve, and advanced to the house. There Avere no lights glinting through any of the windows, although it Avas not yet bed-time, even according to the early hours of the farm. The man needed no guide, however ; he knew every step of the path blindfold. It was the dark interval of the gloaming and the moonrise ; but he saw the outline of the house lying black against the horizon. His nature was keenly sensitive to the mystic influences of the darkness and the voices of the wind ; but, with his head bowed and his arms 2 VOL. I. folded tightly behind him, he strove to shut them all out from his mind. He approached the door ; paused an instant as if half inclined to walk aAvay again, and then, wdth a jerk of the body, mastering his weakness and compelling himself to that from Avhich he shrunk, turned the handle.

The door opened with that hollow sound which is always heard on entering an empty house, and he stepped into a little square passage. There, a hand grasped his arm and a woman's voice — hard, but modulated to tenderness by affection — addressed him : ' Angus, you have come back at last. I have been waiting for you and wearying my lane. I heard your foot on the walk, and I was glad. Come ben ; there's a fire in the Avce room your father liked sae wreel.' He shook off her hand rudely. ' As if there was not enough to mind us of our beggary, you must stick yourself in that den where he died,' muttered the man bitterly ; and, instantly relenting his harsh ness, added with childish meekness, 'I'll go in, mother.' Her hand took his arm again, with no touch of resentment for his petulance. She understood the anguish he experienced, and had no thought of upbraiding him for the weakness which vented itself in apparent gruffness to her.

It was no more than a groan of his pain, Avhich he could not suppress, and she knew that it was wrung from him by no unkindly thought or feeling toAvards her. She led him through a dark room to an inner one, where a peat fire was burn ing cheerfully. It Avas a small apartment, which the fire sufficed to illume. It contained a box bed — that is, one formed in a recess, and pertaining to the house, having a door like a cupboard. There was a mattress on the bed and blankets. In the centre of the floor stood a large old oak chest, and on it were placed two cups and saucers, wheaten bread and ban nocks, with sundry lumps of cheese — remnants of the provisions for the roup. Be side these lay, open as if it had been recently in use, the family Bible which Mr Forsyth had saved at the request of the widow.

At one side of the fire stood an old fashioned roomy and Avell-stuffed easy chair ; at the other side a common wooden arm-chair of the half-moon shape, generally used at the time in parlour and kitchen of ordinary farm households. A water stoup, filled ; a two-gallon jar standing in the farthest corner; a teapot on the hearth, and a kettle humming on the fire — these comprised the entire furniture of the place. The man halted on the threshold and surveyed these arrangements with a frown, as if in the bilious chagrin of his position he were disposed to be angry at finding so much comfort left to one whose worldly affairs were utterly ruined. He was a tall broad-shouldered fellow, of muscular build ; fair hair, sandyish beard, sanguine complexion, and soft blue eyes. A handsome fellow, of something over five-and-twenty years.

His was a frank generous countenance; but at this moment it was as gloomy as an ogre's, and therefore appeared under disadvant age. ■s When in repose, his visage displayed a decided resemblance to that of his mother, but when agitated in any Avay there was a nervous twitching at the corner of his mouth and a strange darkening under the eyes, which seemed to alter the whole cast of the features, and betoken a nature subject to the fiercest and most uncon trollable passions. There was, however, in the eyes, ahvays a certain softness which indicated, even in his most passionate moods, that his impulses were more in clined to kindliness than to cruelty. But there was that suggestion of the mouth of a weakness which rendered the impulse uncontrollable, and its direction wholly a question of circumstances.

Checking some exclamation of dis content, and gasping, as if with the effort, he sat down on the wooden chair in spite of the mother's effort to force him to take the more comfortable one. He leaned back, passing his hands over his brow and through his hair, the while his eyes became fixed wander ingly on the fire, as if seeking there the explanation of some problem that was too subtle for his comprehension. In that position he remained a long time, uttering no word, apparently oblivious of his mother's presence, and never lifting his eyes from the blazing peat, the filmy embers of which assumed as many fantastic forms to his imagination as a kaleidoscope could have presented. The mother watched him closely and anxiously; but she did not seek to disturb his meditations, hoping that he might rouse from them in calmer mood and stronger spirit.

She feared the dark humour which was upon him, and the occurrence of Avhich had been so frequent of late. She remained silent ; and her features Avere almost rigid, so that one might have thought her indifferent to his distress, had it not been for the wistful gleam in her grey eyes, expressing the yearning of the mother's heart to take him in her arms and fondle him as she had done the bairn long ago — to hush him into sleep and forgetful ness. But he was a big stern man now, and that made such a weary difference to her. She suffered, but it was in silence ; she Avould not add to his trouble by making .any sign of her suffering. It Avas her habit, hoAvever, to keep all emotion well under control ; when most pleased, a faint smile was the only token of her satisfaction ; and when saddest, her expression only became a little sterner than usual.

Under ordinary circumstances, her exterior bearing was always cold, her remarks always dry and brief, displaying little sympathy for others and seeking none for herself. The neighbours never regarded her as a sociable body, and, on the rare occasions on wdiich she did take part in a gathering of acquaintances, her presence was often felt to exercise somewhat of a chill ing influence. Not that she was of a morose disposition ; on the contrary, she Avas brisk in movement and in speech : but there was no apparent geniality of nature. ' She's a pridefu' taed,' many said, and attributed to that circumstance her disagreeable manner; others attributed it to selfishness : probably it was due to a com bination of both qualities. But everybody owned that she was a capital manager ; and that she was always the first to render practical aid to those in distress, although she never made any moans over them.

In her own hour of trial kindly folk had come to condole with her, but she had answered them very drily — ' I'm obliged to you ; but there's nae fash a body winna owercome, if they live lang enough. I'm as weel as can be ex pected, thank you.' And so dismissed them. It was not easy to maintain a friendship with one who persistently refused to reciprocate it, and her behaviour on this occasion deep ened the impression of her pride. When her husband had died — about twelve months before the roup — she had attended to the arrangements for the funeral with dry eyes, and with a quiet precision which seemed unnatural to most of the people about her. Perhaps that Avas because there were depths in the Avoman's nature Avhich none had sounded. Even to her son she was not in the habit of displaying affection ; but every thing was done for him with a promptitude wdiich only the most observant affection could have accomplished.

Just now she would have liked to soothe him with the tender caresses of a woman — of a mother ; but, instead of attempting that, she watched for an opportunity to offer him food. The man started from his reverie as if something had stung him. Dropping his elbows on his knees he bowed his face on his hands, groaning — 1 0 Lord, Lord, this is too much for one poor wretch to bear.' Mrs Lamb filled a cup with tea, and placed bread and cheese beside it. ' Take this, Angus ; you have not eaten anything to-day. Take this, and you'll be stronger,' she said. He lifted his head, giving vent to a short bitter laugh. O ' Ay, eat and drink — how the vulgar needs of a man's life teach him the petti ness of everything about him. Eat and drink —the wame must be satisfied, let tho heart ache and the brain throb as they may.

Give a hungry man a lump of bread and he is happy. What cursed fools we are to fash ourselves about anything more.' ' We are no aye hungry,' said the mother quietly, ' and betAveen whiles we find there are other things wre need to make us happy.' ' As, for instance, two or three bits of furniture, and may be a suit of Sabbath clothes, with tooth brush and a fine comb,' he said in the same bitter tone ; ' but these are needs our grand civilisation has taught us to count essential to happiness. Adam managed Avell enough Avithout them in his time ; the people we call savages get on without them noAV.' This was little short of blasphemy to Mrs Lamb ; and in her ears it sounded horrible from his lips. She scanned his gloomy visage narrowly, alarmed by the fancy that his intellect might have become deranged.

To an outsider it would haAre appeared as no more than a laughable out burst of spleen. He Avent on, still staring at the fire, and his lips puckered scornfully. ' Home means happiness, does it not ? it ought to, any Avay. And this would be a bonnie home to bring a blooming young bride to — and Mill o' Comrie's daughter forbye ! She would have room enough and time enough to caper and sing her songs — bare walls and an empty girnel are lightsome to keep. That's a blessing to be proud of, and very proud I am.' The short forced laugh, and the cruel smile which accompanied this frenzied utterance, made more havoc in the list ener's breast than the Avords themselves. She spoke, however, with anger, rather than terror. ' Angus, are ye gane wud ? ' A pause ; and then, with a big sob and covering his eyes with a hand as if to con ceal tears, he answered — ' Ay, mother — Heaven help me — I am mad, not for the loss of our gear, nor for the shame of it, but because Annie is lost, too, with the rest.' ' If she's worth having misfortune winna change her.' ' She will not change, but her folk will be glad of the chance to break off the match altogether.' ' You're a puir-hearted creature to seek to force yourself in among folk that dinna Avant you.' ' What do I care for her folk ? ' he cried passionately ; ' it's Annie I care for, and losing her I lose everything.' Mrs Lamb frowned, and, Avith a jealous pang— ' Then your mother is not worth think ing about ? ' That shot Avent home ; it pulled him up with a disagreeable jerk ; and he was like a somnambulist avIio has been roughly aAvakened in a position of peril.