Half way to the shore, he saw one of the birds swimming. He looked for the other on the nest but could not see it. He turned the boat to row down to the foot of the lake, and rowed, watching the island, and looking for the other bird. Presently he saw it, in the water, not far from the first. He must, after all, have made some noise when wriggling out from the rocks. He rowed on, watching, wishing the bird would go back, wishing he could let it know that now and ever after it would have the island to itself. He forgot what an unruly boat the folder was to row, and, delighted as he saw that once again there was a bird on the nest, he came to the shore most unexpectedly. There was a sudden scrunch as the keel touched bottom, followed by a surprising jerk.
Dick, startled, looked round to see a big grey-bearded man with a hand on the boat’s gunwale. There was another violent jerk as the man pulled the boat ashore.
“Out of that,” said the man.
“But I’ve got to take the boat to.…”
“Your wee boat will bide well enough till the laird kens what you are after.”
“But,” said Dick.
“Out of the boat and no blethering,” said the man.
Dick stepped out. He thought of nothing but the photographs in his camera. Somehow or other he had to get those photographs to the Sea Bear. Nobody was in sight. Dick made up his mind and bolted along the shore.
He had not gone three yards before a hairy hand was at his collar.
“That is the way you are,” said the man. “I am not a hard man, but any more of your tricks and you will be sorry.”
And Dick found himself walking fast up the hillside from the shore with a strong grip on the collar of his coat and hard knuckles against the back of his neck.
A HAND AT HIS COLLAR
CHAPTER XXIV
UNWANTED RESCUER
IT WAS ALREADY far on in the afternoon.
The red herrings, with Gaels before and behind them, were marching along the cart track, sedate as a girls’ school out for a walk, anxious only that nothing should happen to attract the attention of the egg-collector and his men. They did not think there was much danger of that because they were sure that, if the egg-collector had come ashore, Captain Flint, watching from the Sea Bear’s cross-trees, would at once have warned them by sounding the foghorn.
Dick, in the grip of the old dogmudgeon, was being rushed up the hillside to join them. Few prisoners can have had happier hearts. His first instinct had been to bolt for it, but though he had been captured and though the hard knuckles of the old man pressed into the back of his neck, he no longer minded that. He had caught a glimpse of the convoy of prisoners on the track high up the hillside. They had all been captured together, but they were prisoners of the Gaels, not of the egg-collector. He had seen no sign of Mr Jemmerling. He had done what he had had to do. His camera was safe in the knapsack on his back and in his camera were the photographs that would prove beyond all doubt and for ever that the Great Northern Diver had nested in the Outer Hebrides. Nancy and John would know what to say to the Gaels. They would come back in the dusk to fetch the folding boat and before morning the Sea Bear and her crew could be out at sea and sailing for the mainland.
Captain Flint, perched on the cross-trees of the Sea Bear, had spent an uncomfortable day. He had given a coat of gold paint to the truck at the very top of the mast. He had given a coat of varnish to the masthead blocks. He had smartened up with aluminium paint every bit of iron work he could reach. He had smoked nearly an ounce of tobacco. He was more than tired of looking, through the pocket telescope that Dick had lent him in exchange for the big binoculars, at the Pterodactyl just beyond the rocks, and at the egg-collector who, much more comfortable than himself, was lounging in a deck-chair and from time to time using field-glasses to look at the masthead of the Sea Bear. Twice Captain Flint had gone down for a moment or two, once to get rid of his paint and once to get hold of his sandwiches. Each time he was no sooner back on his perch than he had seen the egg-collector returning to his comfortable chair. It was clear that just as Captain Flint was watching Mr Jemmerling, so was Mr Jemmerling keeping an eye on Captain Flint. Captain Flint had stuck to his post, though he could not help wishing that he could have exchanged the cross-trees for a deck-chair. He began to think those wretched children had forgotten all about him. Dick had probably taken his photographs long ago, and grown interested in something else. All very well. Time was going on. They ought all of them to have been back at the ship by now. Captain Flint wished Dick had never seen his birds. He wished Great Northern Divers were as common as sparrows. Most of all he wished that everything had gone as he had planned it and that the Sea Bear was already across the Minch, and being handed over to her owner.
Suddenly, looking up between the Hump and Pict-house Hill to the high ridge that had been named the Northern Rockies, in the hope of seeing some of his crew, he saw people moving. Twisting on his perch, he lifted the little telescope and looked again. About a dozen men and lads were walking along the hillside with at least six of the children. He could not be sure of Susan, Dorothea or Titty, but surely that was John and there could be no mistaking Nancy’s and Peggy’s red caps. But, instead of coming down towards the cove, they were making up towards the gap at the top of the ridge. What on earth was happening? Then he saw another man joining the rest, bringing with him a boy who might be Dick. Were they all being marched away as prisoners? Captain Flint banged his fist on the cross-trees. Never, never again, would he take children with him for a cruise. He hurt his fist but hardly felt it. He had a sudden vision of indignant mothers. He took another glance at the Pterodactyl. The egg-collector seemed to be asleep. Asleep or not, there was only one thing to be done. In another minute Captain Flint was down on deck and hauling in the dinghy. A minute later, he was pulling for the shore. Two minutes after that he had landed, slipped on the rocks, torn a huge rent in his trousers, and was racing up the hill as fast as he could.
Aboard the Pterodactyl, the deck-chair was empty. Mr Jemmerling, watched no longer, was signalling. A man who had been lying in the heather with glasses to his eyes slipped down to the shore of the cove and rowed out in the dinghy to fetch his master. For some time now he had been looking carefully at the island on the loch.
“Here’s Dick!”
Just where the cart track swung round towards the gap in the top of the ridge, the Gaels had stopped and looked back. The dogmudgeon with his prisoner was close behind them. In another moment, Dick, breathless, moving his head stiffly from side to side and tenderly feeling his neck, was with the others and the convoy, the dogmudgeon now at the head of it, was on the march once more.
“Did he hurt you?” asked Dorothea.
“Did you get the pictures?” whispered Nancy.
“Five,” panted Dick with a grin and a final shake of his head. “At least two ought to be all right.”
“Did the Dactyl see you?” asked John.
“I don’t think so,” said Dick. “Anyway, I didn’t see anybody. And it’s all right. I saw the eggs. And one of the pictures ought to show them.”
“Why were you such an age?” said Nancy.
“Was I?” said Dick. “I couldn’t take the photographs any sooner. The sun was the wrong side. I say. Where are we going?”
“We’re prisoners,” said Titty.
“I know,” said Dick, feeling the back of his neck.
“We’re being taken to the castle,” said Dorothea.
“Listen!”
Once again they were hearing the noise of the bagpipes on the further side of the ridge.
“They’ve got all of us,” said Peggy.
“All except Roger,” said Susan.
“And Captain Flint,” said Titty.
“I say,” whispered John. “I can see the ship. There’s no one up the mast. Where is he?”
At that moment they heard him. A loud “Hey!” came from below them. Nobody but Captain Flint shouted just like that.
“Bother!” said Nancy.
“Roger’s brought him to the rescue,” said Titty.
“Who wants to be rescued?” said Nancy.
“Before we’ve even seen the dungeons,” said Dorothea.
“Don’t stop walking,” said Nancy.
“They wouldn’t let us stop if we tried to,” said Peggy.
They caught a glimpse of Captain Flint scrambling up from the shore. Then as the road dipped through the gap they could no longer look down into the valley they had left. The noise of the bagpipes was sounding close at hand. Before them were the low thatched cottages of the Gaels and the grey house with its turret that Dick, John, Nancy, Peggy and Susan were seeing for the first time.
“He’ll do the talking better than we can,” said Susan.
“We could do it all right ourselves,” said Nancy.
“Here he is,” said Titty, as another “Hey!” sounded from behind them.
Captain Flint was through the gap and running hard. The Gaels and their prisoners had reached the first of the cottages. The dogmudgeon was opening the door of a thatched building without windows, that looked as if it might be a storehouse.
“Hey!” shouted Captain Flint again.
The dogmudgeon glanced round. He said nothing, but his lips moved. It was almost as if he smiled. His had been a successful day. He had caught the children who had been driving the deer and here, falling into his hands, was one of the rogues who had sent them to do it.
Captain Flint panted up to them just in time to be hustled through the door with the rest of the prisoners. The door slammed behind them. They were in darkness. The noise of the bagpipes was suddenly fainter. On the outer side of the door a heavy bolt crashed into its sockets. They were prisoners indeed.
For a moment of two, when the bright sunlight was shut out, the prisoners were groping blind, feeling for each other and afraid to move, not knowing what there might be to trip them on the floor. Then Captain Flint got breath enough to shout once more.
“Hey!” he shouted. “I want to talk to somebody.”
“There will be talk enough when the McGinty sees you,” came the answer from outside.
( NOTE. The name they heard was not McGinty. If the real name were to be printed here, it would tell everybody who read it exactly where the Great Northern Divers had their nest. It was necessary, therefore, to change it for another name for use in this book, and, at Dorothea’s suggestion, the name McGinty was chosen, borrowed from Mrs McGinty whom Dick and Dorothea had met at Horning on the Norfolk Broads.)
“Open this door,” shouted Captain Flint.
There was no answer in English, but the prisoners could hear the Gaels talking in their own language just outside.
A little light came through holes in the thatching of the roof and, as their eyes became accustomed to it, the prisoners were seeing each other’s faces, pale in the gloom where at first they had seen nothing but blackness.
“One of you go and fetch the laird at once,” said Captain Flint, in the voice of one giving an order but already not in the voice of one who knew that his order would be instantly obeyed.
There was a quiet laugh outside. The soft Gaelic talk went on but the voices sounded further away.
“They’re leaving us here,” said Captain Flint. “Well, Nancy, I hope you’re satisfied.”
“We jolly well are,” said Nancy. “The only thing that’s gone wrong is your coming to rescue us when there wasn’t any need. Everything’s gone beautifully.”
“Has it?” said Captain Flint. “And here we are all locked up like a lot of thieves, and heaven knows how long they’ll keep us.”
“They can’t hang us,” said Nancy. “And Dick’s got his pictures.”
“But what happened?”
With that, everybody was talking at once. “We got ourselves stalked just like last time …” “It worked beautifully …” “We led one of the Dactyl’s men miles up the wrong valley …” “We showed him loch after loch …” “Do look out, John, my nose isn’t as hard as your elbow …” “Don’t stoop …” “Five photographs … I saw the eggs …” “Ow, I’ve got cobwebs all over my face …” “Look out, you’ll be tumbling next …” “Well, keep still …” “We saw Peggy, signalling for help …” “The young chieftain came leaping down the hill….”
“Yes … yes … yes … yes … But what did you do to upset these people?”
“We did nothing at all, just harmless walking,” said Nancy.
“They said we were chasing their deer,” said Susan.
Captain Flint groaned.
“Deer!” he exclaimed. “You couldn’t have done worse. Galloping about on someone else’s land doesn’t matter much. But chasing deer’s serious.”
“But nobody chased deer,” said Nancy.
“They simply ran away,” said Titty, “we couldn’t stop them.”
“Heaven knows what we’re in for,” said Captain Flint. “I don’t know what the law is in these parts. The owner may be judge, jury, jailer and everything else.”
“We’ll manage him,” said Nancy. “At least I could, if only you hadn’t let yourself be caught.”
“Shut up,” said Captain Flint. “Listen!”
Again they heard voices near by.
“Here’s the laird,” said Dorothea.
“Sounds like more Gaelic,” said Captain Flint. He banged heavily on the door. “Hey!” he shouted and then, urgently, to the other prisoners. “What did they say his name was?”
“McGinty,” said Dorothea.
“Hey!” called Captain Flint again. “You, outside there. Go at once and tell Mr McGinty I want to speak to him.”
Low voices spoke together outside the door, but nobody answered Captain Flint and presently the voices moved away once more.
“I don’t believe they understood a word I said,” muttered Captain Flint. “If only these chaps were Malays … Gaelic simply isn’t fair.”
“It’s all right,” said Nancy. “Roger’s dogmudgeon talks English, and so does that boy and he said his father would be talking to us. Bound to talk English too. We’ve only got to wait.”
“What happened to Mr Jemmerling?” Dick asked.
“Had a comfortable day,” said Captain Flint. “Never stirred … sitting in a deck-chair while I was perched on the cross-trees … sharp edges those cross-trees have….”
“Was he sitting there when you came away?” asked Nancy.
“Yes,” said Captain Flint. “He’s had an easy day of it.”
“We’ve done him anyhow,” said Nancy. “And now there’s no hurry about anything.”
“Isn’t there? We ought to be sailing tonight.”
“If we can’t, we can’t,” said Nancy. “We’ve just got to wait.”
“I’m going to sit down,” said Peggy.
“Not on the floor,” said Susan. “Better sit on our knapsacks.”
“We ought to be carving farewell messages on the walls,” said Titty.
“Yes,” said Dorothea. “French Revolution. Waiting our turns and thinking of the guillotine.”
“Hang those bagpipes,” said Captain Flint.
“But they’re just right,” said Dorothea. “Better than the French Revolution. Prisoners in the dungeon while the McGinty of McGinty is sitting in the hall of his castle and the piper of his clan is playing the tunes of his ancestors.”
“Well, I wish he’d shut up,” said Captain Flint. “We ought to be off. There’s only one good thing about it all and that is that when they do let us out we’ll be able to start at once. We’re all here together and there’ll be no hunting round for stragglers.”
“When did Roger get back to the Sea Bear?” asked Susan.
“Roger?” said Captain Flint peering round in the dim light of their prison. “Why? Isn’t he here?”
“No,” said Susan.
“Didn’t he bring you to the rescue?” asked Titty.
“Never set eyes on him since you started,” said Captain Flint. “Didn’t they rope him in wi
th the rest of you?”
“He wasn’t with us,” said Susan, “We don’t know where he is.”
“Well, he’s missed being put in a dungeon,” said Nancy. “He’ll be pretty sick about that.”
“But where is he?” said Susan. “What’ll he do when he goes back to the beach and finds nobody there? Where did you leave the dinghy?”
“Pulled well up,” said Captain Flint. “He won’t be able to get afloat and he can’t come to much harm ashore. He’ll just have to wait.”
“He’ll be hungry,” said Susan.
“Serve him right,” said Nancy.
“If he gets really hungry,” said Susan, “he’ll try to swim off to the ship.”
“He isn’t a perfect idiot,” said Captain Flint.
“He’s a bit keen on swimming this year,” said Titty.
“I ought to have gone back for him at the very beginning,” said Susan.
“Great gaping Guillemots!” exclaimed Nancy. “Do cheer up, Susan. It doesn’t matter a bit about Roger. He’ll be all right. The thing that does matter is that everything’s been a howling success.”
“I’ve got the photographs,” said Dick.
“Yes,” said Susan, “but.…”
“Shut up, all of you,” said Captain Flint. “Listen!”
Waiting, silent, in the dusk of their prison, they heard a very gentle tapping at the bottom of the door.
CHAPTER XXV
ROGER’S DULL DAY
ROGER HAD WAKED that day with only one idea in his head: somehow or other to get even with the enemy who had gloated over the sleeping sentinel and made him look so foolish. How he was to do it he did not know but the moment he saw the heather stuffed into the entrance to the old Pict-house he took it as a challenge. His enemy had put that heather there so that he should know if anybody had used that entrance again. It was like stopping a fox’s earth, to prevent the hunted fox from going to ground. Roger, the fox, instantly determined that the trick should fail. He was sure too that the enemy would come to see if the heather had been moved. It was at the Pict-house that the enemy had gloated over Roger. Very good. It was at the Pict-house that Roger would gloat over the discomfited enemy.
Great Northern? Page 26
