Martha Spreull/A Holiday in Arran

by Henry Johnston

CHAPTER XVI.

A HOLIDAY IN ARRAN.

O keep my promise, I write this frae the rocky shores o' Arran. For your information, I may say that Arran is an island surrounded by raging billows, and is, I am told, even at low tide, entirely cut aff frae the adjacent country. Look where ye like, ye can see the ocean, The hills are the highest and barest I have ever seen, and they are whiles sae black and angry-like I am feart to look up at them. But the hooses are sadly oot-o'-keepin' wi' the hills for size. They mind me o' the wee thacket biggin' at the Water Raw in Govan where I stayed, lang syne, wi' my auntie for a change o' air when I wis gettin' better o' the chincough. In fact, there is some o' them no near sae big, for Mrs. Warnock telt me this vera day that when she wis puttin' on her claes i' the morning, she had to lift the sky-licht and put her head oot o' the window to straicht her benches. Nevertheless, they tell me it's a favourite place; but if ye want to learn mair aboot it, consult the guide-books—in fact, ye 'll get mair information in them than by traickin' ower the island, and ye save yersel' a heap o' trouble. Willie Warstle and I went yester day to see a muckle stane that they mak’ a heap o’ here, and on oor tellin’ the guide that we feared it wis magnifeet, he assured us that it wis a much bigger stane than we supposed, as there wis a guid bit o’t under the grun’. The guide-books are unco impressive readin’ by themsels, but ye dinna hauf realise the cleverness o’ the men wha write these books till ye gang and look at the things they describe for yersel’. The play o’ fancy, and the force o’ imagination they bring to bear on their wark, is most beautifu’ to see, and wud mak’ their fortune if they took to writin’ romances.

We have had some wonnerfu’ experiences since we cam’ here, the which I must set doon in their order. The hooses are not only sma’ but scarce. The only place we could get oor heads into when we landed wis a bit room and kitchen in a lang, straggly raw o’ hooses at the fit o’ a great range o’ hills. It wis whitewashed ootside and papered inside, and seemed suitable enough for the bursar laddie and mysel’; so, efter makin’ the bargain, we went back to the rock where we had left oor kist, and brocht it hame. Willie has an unco craze for fishin’, so, efter dinner, naething wud dae but we must hae a boat and gang oot to fish. For weeks before, the callant had been preparing lines and hooks, and wis workin’ awa’ wi’ pieces o’ auld silver spoons, the which he worket into most curious shapes, and made sic an impression on my mind wi’ his talk aboot savin’ butcher-meat that I let him hire a boat; and as it wis a’ the ae expense, I thocht I wud invite Mrs. Wamock to accompany us for the sake o’ the sail and the sea-air. As neither Mrs. Warnock nor I kent onything aboot rowin’ a boat, we engaged a big raw callant at sae much an hour to manage the oars.

Considerin’ that the island is nearly oot o’ sicht o’ lan’, the sea wis unco calm; so Willie, wha wis sittin’ at the hin’-en’ o’

the boat, puts his hooks into the water, and efter lettin’ oot a lang piece o’ the line, he settled doon and lookit into the air sae eager-like that Mrs. Warnock nudged me wi her elbow and smiled, as much as to say, “ Just look at the earnest face o’ that callarit.'’

Weel, we sailed alang for a while lookin’ at the sea and the muckle hills, and the white hooses on the beach, when the boat gaed a jerk, and Willie Warstle jumpit to his feet.

“Sit doon,” says I, “or ye’ll coup the boat.” Mrs. Warnock laid hold o’ my airm, but the laddie never heeded us—he wis ower intent on pu’in’ in his line. He had a fish on as sure as life, for it jumpit divers times oot o’ the watter, and shook its head, as if it didna want into the boat.

Willie stuck by his prize, hooever, and in a few seconds brocht in as bonny a haddie as ye could see in ony shop window in Glasgow. I couldna help thinkin’ on the contrivance of the callant, as he sat there wi’ his sober face at the hin’-en’ o’ the vessel, bringing in fish efter fish till we had as mony as wud serve Mrs. Warnock and mysel’ for twa days; sae we were thinkin’ to turn, when the line plays ' whish ’ through the laddie’s fingers again, and the four-cornered reel danced i’ the bottom o’ the boat, but wis cleverly grippet just as it wis gaun ower the side.

“ Hold on, and I ’ll back-water,” cried the callant at the oars; “ ye hae got a richt ane this time.”

This wis a time o’ great peril, but I had the presence o’ min’ to lay hold o’ the bit laddie's legs, for he wis hauf-wye ower the hin’-en’ o’ the boat, and the thing wis like to tak’ him awa’ a’thegither. Mrs. Warnock began to greet, and begged he wud cut the string; but the callant, though nae match for the fish in strength, had his wits aboot him, and gied the line twa turns roon’ a pin on the side o’ the boat, and held on. I could see we were driftin' fa«t backward, and being afraid we might get carried oot to sea or landed on some desert shore, I appealed to Willie to let the line go. In this Mrs. Wamock warmly supported me. It wis maybe a whale, or a shark, or a sea serpent, she said, and she wisna prepared to dee.

But oor entreaties were in vain. The boatman telt us to gie him time. It wis, he said, a fine fish; there wis nae danger if we wud just let him hae his swing.

Meantime Willie held on like a true Briton. By and by the boat stopped gaun backward, and the line slackened. Mrs. Wamock thanked guidness the bruit wis awa’,and Willie wound up the line wi’ an expression o’ disappointment on his face. I wis sorry to look at him; but while this feelin’ wis passin’ through my mind, the face changed as if by an electric shock. The line tightened, and backwards we went again—but this time wi’ less force.

Weel, efter five minutes’ struggle the laddie wis able to wind up, and the fish cam’ dourly wi’ him. Hand ower hand the cratur wis brought to the side o’ the boat, and it wis frichtsome to see him lyin’ in the watter lookin’ up at us wi’ his wide black een. He made twa or three struggles to win awa’, and struck the side o’ the boat wi’ sic force that we had some fear the vessel micht spring a leak, and that we micht even yet find a watery grave within sicht o’ land. The danger, however, wis averted, for the laddie at the oars had a lang stick wi’ a cleek at the tae end o’t, which he stuck into the chaffs o’ the fish and dragged him into the boat. It wis an awfu’ struggle. The fish turned oot to be o’ the cod order, and, as we efterwards found, weighed twelve pounds. Weel, efter that we gaed hame, and as it was nearly dark, we had tea thegither. I saw Willie to bed, and went ower the shore to get the air and escort Mrs. Wamock to her ain door. But imagine my horror when, on cornin’ back, I discovered the callant amissing.

This fishing business, thinks I, has ta’en his head. I went oot into the road and gave the alarm.

“Ring the toon bell," quoth I; “ call oot the Milleshay, and wauken the sleepin’ inhabitants; wha kens but my puir callant has risen in his sleep and walket ower a precipice into the sea."

There were some licht-headed young men standing near wha laughed and said it wis a guid joke—the callant had been eaten up alive. I met an auld gentleman, wha wis real decent, and I tauld him the story.

“Ah,” says he, smiling, “I fear ye hae gotten into bad quarters—the place has the repute of not being over clean.”

" Clean or no’ clean,” quoth I, “ ye wud think his claes wud be left, but as it is there’s no’ a vestage o’ him to be seen.” By this time the neighbours had turned oot, and just as an explorin’ party wis settin’ oot wi’ sticks and lanthorns, the innkeeper, wha bides aboot a quarter o’ a mile ower the shore, cam’ alang to say that efter finding oot the nature o’ the place the callant had beat a hasty retreat to the inn, and wis noo fast asleep.

I needna tell ye that I wisna lang o’ shakin’ the dust o’ that hoose aff my feet and in removing my kist. Willie Warstle is sittin’ beside me as I write, and looks as if he wis sufferin’ frae a sair brash o’ the measles; but to tell ye the truth it’s a mercy there wis ony o’ ’im left ava. Ever since that memorable nicht we hae occupied apartments at the inn.

It seems I had gotten the only hoose in the place that wudna let. There were five papers on the wa’—a’ on the tap o’ ane anither.