The Shoes of Fortune. Munro Neil

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      CHAPTER VIII

      I RIDE BY NIGHT ACROSS SCOTLAND, AND MEET A MARINER WITH A GLEED EYE

      That night was like the day, with a full moon shining. The next afternoon I rode into Borrowstounness, my horse done out and myself sore from head to heel; and never in all my life have I seen a place with a more unwelcome aspect, for the streets were over the hoof in mud; the natives directed me in an accent like a tinker’s whine; the Firth of Forth was wrapped in a haar or fog that too closely put me in mind of my prospects. But I had no right to be too particular, and in the course of an hour I had sold the mare for five pounds to a man of much Christian profession, who would not give a farthing more on the plea that she was likely stolen.

      The five pounds and the clothes I stood in were my fortune: it did not seem very much, if it was to take me out of the reach of the long arm of the doomster; and thinking of the doomster I minded of the mole upon my brow, that was the most kenspeckle thing about me in the event of a description going about the country, so the first thing I bought with my fortune was a pair of scissors. Going into a pend close in one of the vennels beside the quay, I clipped off the hair upon the mole and felt a little safer. I was coming out of the close, pouching the scissors, when a man of sea-going aspect, with high boots and a tarpaulin hat, stumbled against me and damned my awkwardness.

      “You filthy hog,” said I, exasperated at such manners, for he was himself to blame for the encounter; “how dare you speak to me like that?” He was a man of the middle height, sturdy on his bowed legs in spite of the drink obvious in his face and speech, and he had a roving gleed black eye. I had never clapped gaze on him in all my life before.

      “Is that the way ye speak to Dan Risk, ye swab?” said he, ludicrously affecting a dignity that ill suited with his hiccough. “What’s the good of me being a skipper if every linen-draper out of Fife can cut into my quarter on my own deck?”

      “This is no’ your quarter-deck, man, if ye were sober enough to ken it,” said I; “and I’m no linen-draper from Fife or anywhere else.”

      And then the brute, with his hands thrust to the depth of his pockets, staggered me as if he had done it with a blow of his fist.

      “No,” said he, with a very cunning tone, “ye’re no linen-draper perhaps, but – ye’re maybe no sae decent a man, young Greig.”

      It was impossible for me to conceal even from this tipsy rogue my astonishment and alarm at this. It seemed to me the devil himself must be leagued against me in the cause of justice. A cold sweat came on my face and the palms of my hands. I opened my mouth and meant to give him the lie but I found I dare not do so in the presence of what seemed a miracle of heaven.

      “How do you ken my name’s Greig?” I asked at the last.

      “Fine that,” he made answer, with a grin; “and there’s mony an odd thing else I ken.”

      “Well, it’s no matter,” said I, preparing to quit him, but in great fear of what the upshot might be; “I’m for off, anyway.”

      By this time it was obvious that he was not so drunk as I thought him at first, and that in temper and tact he was my match even with the glass in him. “Do ye ken what I would be doing if I was you?” said he seemingly determined not to let me depart like that, for he took a step or two after me.

      I made no reply, but quickened my pace and after me he came, lurching and catching at my arm; and I mind to this day the roll of him gave me the impression of a crab.

      “If it’s money ye want-” I said at the end of my patience.

      “Curse your money!” he cried, pretending to spit the insult from his mouth. “Curse your money; but if I was you, and a weel-kent skipper like Dan Risk – like Dan Risk of the Seven Sisters– made up to me out of a redeeculous good nature and nothing else, I would gladly go and splice the rope with him in the nearest ken.”

      “Go and drink with yourself, man,” I cried; “there’s the money for a chappin of ate, and I’ll forego my share of it.”

      I could have done nothing better calculated to infuriate him. As I held out the coin on the palm of my hand he struck it up with an oath and it rolled into the syver. His face flamed till the neck of him seemed a round of seasoned beef.

      “By the Rock o’ Bass!” he roared, “I would clap ye in jyle for less than your lousy groat.”

      Ah, then, it was in vain I had put the breadth of Scotland between me and that corpse among the rushes: my heart struggled a moment, and sank as if it had been drowned in bilge. I turned on the man what must have been a gallows face, and he laughed, and, gaining his drunken good nature again he hooked me by the arm, and before my senses were my own again he was leading me down the street and to the harbour. I had never a word to say.

      The port, as I tell, was swathed in the haar of the east, out of which tall masts rose dim like phantom spears; the clumsy tarred bulwarks loomed like walls along the quay, and the neighbourhood was noisy with voices that seemed unnatural coming out of the haze. Mariners were hanging about the sheds, and a low tavern belched others out to keep them company. Risk made for the tavern, and at that I baulked.

      “Oh, come on!” said he. “If I’m no’ mistaken Dan Risk’s the very man ye’re in the need of. You’re wanting out of Scotland, are ye no’?”

      “More than that; I’m wanting out of myself,” said I, but that seemed beyond him.

      “Come in anyway, and we’ll talk it over.”

      That he might help me out of the country seemed possible if he was not, as I feared at first, some agent of the law and merely playing with me, so I entered the tavern with him.

      “Two gills to the coffin-room, Mrs. Clerihew,” he cried to the woman in the kitchen. “And slippy aboot it, if ye please, for my mate here’s been drinking buttermilk all his life, and ye can tell’t in his face.”

      “I would rather have some meat,” said I.

      “Humph!” quo’ he, looking at my breeches. “A lang ride!” He ordered the food at my mentioning, and made no fuss about drinking my share of the spirits as well as his own, while I ate with a hunger that was soon appeased, for my eye, as the saying goes, was iller to satisfy than my appetite.

      He sat on the other side of the table in the little room that doubtless fairly deserved the name it got of coffin, for many a man, I’m thinking, was buried there in his evil habits; and I wondered what was to be next.

      “To come to the bit,” said the at last, looking hard into the bottom of his tankard in a way that was a plain invitation to buy more for him. “To come to the bit, you’re wanting out of the country?”

      “It’s true,” said I; “but how do you know? And how do you know my name, for I never saw you to my knowledge in all my life before?”

      “So much the worse for you; I’m rale weel liked by them that kens me. What would ye give for a passage to Nova Scotia?”

      “It’s a long way,” said I, beginning to see a little clearer.

      “Ay,” said he, “but I’ve seen a gey lang rope too, and a man danglin’ at the end of it.”

      Again my face betrayed me. I made no answer.

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