the shore, and made wise laws against onybody helping vessels that were like to gang on the breakers.1 — And the mariners, I have heard Bryce Jagger say, lose their right frae the time keel touches sand; and, moreover, they are dead and gane, poor souls — dead and gane, and care little about warld’s wealth now — Nay, nae mair than the great Jarls and Sea-kings, in the Norse days, did about the treasures that they buried in the tombs and sepulchres auld langsyne. Did I ever tell you the sang, Maister Mordaunt, how Olaf Tryguarson garr’d hide five gold crouns in the same grave with him?”
1 This was literally true.
“No, Swertha,” said Mordaunt, who took pleasure in tormenting the cunning old plunderer — ”you never told me that; but I tell you, that the stranger whom Norna has taken down to the town will be well enough tomorrow, to ask where you have hidden the goods that you have stolen from the wreck.”
“But wha will tell him a word about it, hinnie?” said Swertha, looking slyly up in her young master’s face — ” The mair by token, since I maun tell ye, that I have a bonnie remnant of silk amang the lave, that will make a dainty waistcoat to yoursell, the first merrymaking ye gang to.”
Mordaunt could no longer forbear laughing at the cunning with which the old dame proposed to bribe off his evidence by imparting a portion of her plunder; and, desiring her to get ready what provision she had made for dinner, he returned to his father, whom he found still sitting in the same place, and nearly in the same posture, in which he had left him.
When their hasty and frugal meal was finished, Mordaunt announced to his father his purpose of going down to the town, or hamlet, to look after the shipwrecked sailor.
The elder Mertoun assented with a nod.
“He must be ill accommodated there, sir,” added his son, — a hint which only produced another nod of assent. “ He seemed, from his appearance,” pursued Mordaunt, “ to be of very good rank — and admitting these poor people do their • best to receive him, in his present weak state, yet”
“I know what you would say,” said his father, interrupting him; “we, you think, ought to do something towards assisting him. Go to him, then — if he lacks money, let him name the sum, and he shall have it; but, for lodging the stranger here, and holding intercourse with him, I-neither can, nor will do so. I have retired to this farthest extremity of the British Isles, to avoid new friends, and new faces, and none such shall intrude on me either their happiness or their misery. When you have known the world half-a-score of years longer, your early friends will have given you reason to remember them, and to avoid new ones for the rest of your life. Go then — why do you stop? — rid the country of the man — let me see no one about me but those vulgar countenances, the extent and character of whose petty knavery I know, and can submit to, as to an evil too trifling to cause irritation.” He then threw his purse to his son, and signed to him to depart with all speed.
Mordaunt was not long before he reached the village. In the dark abode of Neil Ronaldson, the Ranzelman, he found the stranger seated by the peat-fire, upon the very chest which had excited the cupidity of the devout Bryce Snailsfoot, the pedlar. The Ranzelman himself was absent, dividing, with all due impartiality, the spoils of the wrecked vessel amongst the natives of the community; listening to and redressing their complaints of inequality; and (if the matter in hand had not been, from beginning to end, utterly unjust and indefensible) discharging the part of a wise and prudent magistrate, in all the details. For at this time, and probably until a much later period, the lower orders of the islanders entertained an opinion, common to barbarians also in the same situation, that whatever was cast on their shores, became their indisputable property.
Margery Bimbister, the worthy spouse of the Ranzelman, was in the charge of the house, and introduced Mordaunt to her guest, saying, with no great ceremony, “ This is the young tacksman — You will maybe tell him your name, though you will not tell it to us. If it had not been for his four quarters, it’s but little you would have said to ony body, sae lang as life lasted.”
The stranger arose, and shook Mordaunt by the hand; observing, he understood that he had been the means of saving his life and his chest. “The rest of the property,” he said, “ is, I see, walking the plank; for they are as busy as the devil in a gale of wind.”
“And what was the use of your seamanship, then,” said Margery, “that you couldna keep, off the Sumburgh Head? It would have been lang ere Sumburgh Head had come to you.”
“Leave us for a moment, good Margery Bimbister,” said Mordaunt; “ I wish to have some private conversation with this gentleman.”
“Gentleman!” said Margery, with an emphasis; “not but the man is well enough to look at,” she added, again surveying him; “ but I doubt if there is muckle of the gentleman about him.”
Mordaunt looked at the stranger, and was of a different opinion. He was rather above the middle size, and formed handsomely as well as strongly. Mordaunt’s intercourse with society was not extensive; but he thought his new acquaintance, to a bold sunburnt handsome countenance, which seemed to have faced various climates, added the frank and open manners of a sailor. He answered cheerfully the inquiries which Mordaunt made after his health; and maintained that one night’s rest would relieve him from all the effects of the disaster he had sustained. But he spoke with bitterness of the avarice and curiosity of the Ranzelman and his spouse.
“That chattering old woman,” said the stranger, “has persecuted me the whole day for the name of the ship. I think she might be contented with the share she has had of it. I was the principal owner of the vessel that was lost yonder, and they have left me nothing but my wearing apparel. Is there no magistrate, or justice of the peace, in this wild country, that would lend a hand to help one when he is among the breakers?”
Mordaunt mentioned Magnus Troil, the principal proprietor, as well as the Fowd, or provincial judge, of the district, as the person from whom he was most likely to obtain redress; and regretted that his own youth, and his father’s situation as a retired stranger, should put it out of their power to afford him the protection he required.
“Nay, for your part, you have done enough,” said the sailor; “ but if I had five out of the forty brave fellows that are fishes’ food by this time, the devil a man would I ask to do me the right that I could do for myself!”
“Forty hands!” said Mordaunt; “ you were well manned for the size of the ship.”
“Not so well as we needed to be. We mounted ten guns, besides chasers; but our cruise on the main has thinned us of men, and lumbered us up with goods. Six of our guns were in ballast — Hands! if I had had enough of hands, we would never have miscarried so infernally. The people were knocked up with working the pumps, and so took to their boats, and left me with the vessel, to sink or swim. But the dogs had their pay, and I can afford to pardon them — The boat swamped in the current — all were lost — and here am I.”
“You had come north about then, from the West Indies? “ said Mordaunt.
“Ay, ay; the vessel was the Good Hope of Bristol, a letter of marque. She had fine luck down on the Spanish main, both with commerce and privateering, but the luck’s ended with her now. My name is Clement Cleveland, captain, and part owner, as I said before — I am a Bristol man born — my father was well known on the Tollsell — old Clem Cleveland of the College Green.”
Mordaunt had no right to inquire farther, and yet it seemed to him as if his own mind was but half satisfied. There was an affectation of bluntness, a sort of defiance, in the manner of the stranger, for which circumstances afforded no occasion. Captain Cleveland had suffered injustice from the islanders, but from Mordaunt he had only received kindness and protection; yet he seemed as if he involved all the neighbourhood in the wrongs he complained of. Mordaunt looked down and was silent, doubting whether it would be better to take his leave, or to proceed farther in his offers of assistance. Cleveland seemed to guess at his thoughts for he immediately added, in a conciliating manner, — ” I am a plain man, Master Mertoun, for that I understand is your name; and I am a ruined man to boot, and that does not mend one’s good manners. But you have done a kind and