I picked up my tankard, which so surprised me by its weight that I almost dropped it, and repeated his toast. Then we drank. The ale tasted quite foul and I would have spat it on the floor had I been on my own. Archibald took a second long swallow and prodded me in the ribs with his elbow to do the same.
‘First rate to see you, old boy,’ he declared. ‘You’re quite the character, are you not?’
I was so delighted to be in the company of such a fine fellow as Archibald Ross that I raised my tankard to my lips and emptied half its contents into my gullet. I wondered what my father would think to see me in such a place, but by the time the ale reached my stomach, I no longer cared. Two burly men, standing to our left with their arms around each other’s shoulders were singing heartily:
When we were in the Coille Mhùiridh
It was not then Lowlanders who woke us,
But the lowing deer calves and roaring stags
And the cuckoo in spring making music.
Before long the entire company joined in the song. Archibald got to his feet and tunelessly bellowed out the words:
My country is the beautiful one,
The bright country hospitable and broad,
Deer found in the mouth of every pass,
The buck and doe, the grouse and salmon.
At this point the two swaying men to my left landed in my lap, spilling the remains of my ale. Archibald roughly shoved them off and called to the landlady for two more. The song petered out in a melee of tangled bodies and laughter. Two more tankards were duly delivered and Archibald resumed his seat looking greatly pleased with himself.
‘Well, Mr Macrae, here’s to us and them that like us!’
‘To them that like us!’ I repeated.
This second ale tasted a good deal better than the previous one and I concluded that the first must have been off. Archibald then explained to me how, at the end of last year’s season, the ghillie had offered to make him his apprentice and he was now living in quarters behind the Big House. He was making a shilling a day and more if he ran errands for Lord Middleton’s guests. These seemed great riches to me and I told him so.
‘I would enquire if there might be a position for you,’ he said, ‘but I fear you are not well remembered by the ghillie.’ He then flailed his arms and squawked noisily in imitation of my performance on the mountain, laughing uproariously. Archibald must have seen that I looked crestfallen, for he immediately stifled his guffaws and enquired about my plans for the future. I told him that I was labouring on the roads and on my father’s croft and was content to be doing so. Archibald adopted a serious expression and asked if this was the limit of my ambition. Not wishing to disappoint him I told him that this arrangement was merely for the short term, and once I had saved sufficient money I intended to seek my fortune in Glasgow. Archibald nodded approvingly at this untruth.
‘I hear there are great opportunities there for a man of ambition,’ he said.
I agreed, thankful that he did not question me further, and he shouted for more ale. We were now in high spirits and he told me a number of tales about the gentlemen who visited the estate, mimicking their habits and manner of speech to great effect. The ghillie, he told me, was not half so fearsome as he first appeared and often invited Archibald into his lodge of an evening where they would sit at the hearth smoking their pipes and recalling the day’s events. When there was no shooting party, the ghillie instructed Archibald in the art of stalking, so that he could now tell by inspecting blades of broken grass, or disturbances in the heather invisible to the untutored eye, whether deer were nearby and in which direction they were travelling. Archibald boasted that he now knew the hills and glens better than the inside of his own home and I confess I felt quite envious of his new station in life. He set to refilling his pipe and enquired why I did not have one of my own. I replied that I was saving all my money for my journey to Glasgow and did not wish to squander it on tobacco. Archibald opined that such habits would make me a wealthy man. For a moment I pictured myself as a rich merchant, seated by the hearth of a grand townhouse with Flora at her sewing by my side.
I do not know how long we remained at the inn or how many tankards of ale we drank, but at a certain point the rabble streamed out into the street. The time for the great event of the day, the shinty match between the parishes of Applecross and the Point, was approaching. Archibald settled our account, which was fortuitous as I had no money of my own. He waved away my thanks, insisting that having invited me to share a drink, he would be a blackguard if he allowed me to pay.
I found myself swaying from the effects of the ale, but felt no shame in my condition. I ambled along the street, buffeted by the crowd and drawing disdainful looks from passersby. Archibald draped his arm over my shoulders and together we doffed our caps at all and sundry and thought ourselves the most delightful fellows. Toward the end of the road we reached the spot where Jetta had set out her goods. She looked quite aghast at my state of inebriation.
‘I hope, for your sake, that Father does not hear of your condition,’ she said in a low voice.
I ignored her remark and, with a gesture towards my companion, said, ‘May I present my friend, Mr Archibald Ross.’
Archibald made an elaborate bow. ‘Delighted to make your acquaintance, Miss Macrae,’ he said. ‘There can be no fairer maiden in the parish.’ He then took hold of her hand, which she had not proffered, and kissed it. Jetta stared at him with astonishment, wondering, no doubt, how her brother could have come to make the acquaintance of such a charming fellow. Archibald stepped back to inspect Jetta’s wares. He assumed the air of a connoisseur, gently running items between his fingers and muttering appreciatively. Jetta seemed pleased by this attention and told us that not ten minutes before she had sold a shawl to a lady from the Big House for a shilling.
‘A shilling!’ said Archibald. ‘You are underselling your fine work, my dear.’
He then declared that he would buy the shawl he was holding for his mother and gave my sister two shillings for it. Jetta was greatly pleased and thanked him profusely. As Archibald was making his way from the stall, she gave me a shilling and whispered not to say a word to Father about her sales. I put the coin in my pocket and pursued Archibald into the crowd, pleased that I would later be able to invite him to the inn to drink more ale. We made our way beyond the village towards the Big House where the match was to take place.
‘Your sister is quite striking, but she dresses like an old crone,’ Archibald told me in an affable tone. ‘She will never find a husband attired in such unflattering garb. If a fellow sees a girl swathed in sackcloth, he has every right to assume there is good reason to conceal what lies underneath, ha ha.’
He made his familiar flourish with his pipe, which I now understood was intended to signify that whatever statement he had made was indisputable. I had to admit that there was some truth in his words and that if I looked upon Jetta with a dispassionate eye, she cut a less than appealing figure. As if to underline the point, there were in the vicinity any number of attractive girls bedecked in pretty dresses, their hair pleasingly pinned up, so that it was possible to see the smooth, pale skin of their necks.
Archibald then took the shawl he had bought, bundled it up and stuffed it into a bush. I was quite horrified and asked what he meant by such an act. Archibald shrugged and looked at me with a grin on his face.
‘Old chap, I would not give my dog such a rag to sleep upon. I only purchased it so that your sister might have a little money to buy herself some less dreary attire.’
I thought of the many hours that my sister had laboured to produce the shawl and felt quite wounded by my friend’s callousness. Thinking that Jetta might later see her work discarded in the bush, I ran back and retrieved it. It was snagged in thorns and I took some time to unpick it from the branches. The shawl was ruined but I folded it as carefully as I could and stuffe
d it inside my jacket. Archibald watched me with amusement.
‘What are you going to do with it now?’ he said when I caught up with him. ‘It’s quite destroyed.’
I was not inclined to answer. We continued in silence for some minutes. The shinty match, arranged at the behest of the laird, was to take place on a pitch that had been marked out in sawdust in front of the Big House. Spectators had begun to gather around the markings. After some minutes my ill feelings towards Archibald subsided. He must have sensed this as he set to talking again in a confidential tone.
‘I, myself, do not intend to seek a wife for some years. Why would young men like us restrict ourselves to one dish when there are so many to try?’ he said, glancing towards a group of girls. ‘If you sister spends her money wisely, I would consider taking her for a turn round the back of the inn. After the two shillings I gave her, she will no doubt feel somewhat obliged to me.’
He prodded me in the ribs with his elbow, and, having only the vaguest idea what he meant, I nodded in agreement. Lord Middleton’s guests sat on chairs which had been set out on the far side of the field. As this area was clearly for the gentry, the villagers spread themselves around the three remaining sides. A marquee had been erected and, as the game had not yet commenced, most of the men-folk loitered by its entrance. Archibald steered me into the tent, where he purchased two measures of whisky. We toasted and drank them down and by the time the spirit reached my stomach I had quite forgotten the incident with the shawl. The teams trotted onto the pitch and we took our place among the crowd, which had by now pressed itself so closely around the pitch that there was little need for the sawdust lines. There was a great deal of shouting from all sides.
Naturally, Lachlan Broad took the leading role in the team from the Point, roughly slapping his team-mates around the shoulders to rouse their passion. He cut an imposing figure as he marched towards the centre of the pitch, chest thrust out, his caman resting on his shoulder like an axe. The remainder of our team, Kenny Smoke excepted, was a sorry and bedraggled crew, most of whom looked as if they heartily wished to be elsewhere. Since I was a boy, I have greatly disliked all games and shinty strikes me as a particularly violent and farcical spectacle. At school I would loiter at the side of the pitch and run in the opposite direction if the leather came towards me. Despite the lack of able-bodied young men from our parish, such was my ineptitude that I had never been enlisted to take part in the match.
The game began in a clatter of sticks in the centre of the field. Two men immediately collapsed and were carried off, while the game thundered around them. Lachlan Broad got hold of the leather in the midfield and gave it a mighty whack towards the Applecross goal. He then strode across the turf to berate Dunkie Gregor, who was barely twelve years old, for not collecting his pass. In the meantime the leather was launched back upfield and, amid much cracking of sticks and bones, was fired through the goalposts. Lachlan Broad, to the laughter of the crowd, shoved Dunkie Gregor to the ground and ran back to chastise the rest of his team. The Applecross players celebrated their goal by swigging from a wooden quaich of whisky behind the goal. The longer the match went on the more it descended into violence, and the more vehemently the crowd exhorted their side to assault their opponents. The gentlemen seated on the far side of the field appeared to find the spectacle enormously amusing and cheered on the combatants with gusto. Archibald too applauded each new assault with increasing fervour. The crowd reached its peak of delight when an old woman took a caman hard on the side of her head and sank unconscious to the ground. In the end, the leather was quite forgotten and, with the crowd forming a close circle in the centre of the pitch, the teams took to battering each other around the head and legs with their sticks. And then, quite without warning, the battle subsided and the two teams were each acclaimed the winner by their supporters. The bloodied players were carried off at shoulder-height, passing vessels of whisky amongst them. Archibald and I followed in their wake, my friend enthusing about acts of particular brutality. A quaich was shoved into our hands and we drank deeply. The crowd now swirled around me and I proposed to Archibald that we return to the inn to take some more ale. He insisted that we stay awhile at the marquee as all the village girls were there and we might, he said, try our luck with them.
Having pushed our way into the tent and purchased more ale, Archibald took to appraising the girls who stood around the perimeter of the heaving scrum of men, leaning close to each other to whisper in each others’ ears, faces aglow from the excitement of the spectacle. It was at this point that I spotted Flora Broad lingering at the edge of the shinty field. She was in the company of a tall girl I did not know and appeared deep in conversation with two young gentlemen. I noted with displeasure the way in which her face was eagerly thrust upwards towards these suitors. The fingers of her right hand continually toyed with a strand of her hair, which was prettily arranged for the occasion. As I was not anxious to renew our acquaintance, I attempted to draw Archibald further into the crowd, but he had set off towards a group of girls and, as they were in the opposite direction to Flora, I gladly followed at his heels. I had some difficulty placing one foot in front of the other and by the time I caught up, Archibald was presenting himself in charming fashion to the three young women, all of whom were adorned in embroidered white dresses. He then introduced me in most complimentary terms. I removed my cap and made a bow of sorts, managing only to make the girls snigger.
‘And why did you not take part in the match?’ the tallest of the girls asked.
Archibald waved his pipe. ‘We are the sort of chaps who prefer to best our opponents with wit rather than clubs,’ he declared.
He nudged me in the ribs, no doubt wishing me to confirm his statement by way of some clever remark, but I could muster no more than a stupid grin. Archibald was not discouraged, however, and took to informing the girls that I would soon be making a great fortune as a merchant in Glasgow.
‘But is this not the Black Macrae’s boy?’ the tall girl asked, pointing an accusing finger in my direction.
‘It is true, he is of the Black Macraes, but I would put it to you that we are none of us slaves to the reputations our forefathers have earned us,’ said Archibald grandly.
I felt the need to contribute something to the discourse, but only succeeded in waving my fingers in the air and swaying towards the girls, so that Archibald had to catch me by the elbow to prevent me falling among them.
He then asked the girls whether they might care to take a turn around the grounds of the estate with us, since, he said, it was difficult to converse among the great mass of inebriates. The girls demurred and with a brief bow, Archibald led me away by the arm. He did not seem in the least cowed by this rebuff, insisting instead that I only required some more ale to loosen my tongue and counter the effects of the whisky we had drunk. Back in the marquee and with tankards of ale to hand, I told Archibald that I had no interest in these girls as my heart was set on another. Archibald asked who this girl was and I told him something of what had occurred between myself and Flora Broad. When I had finished, Archibald sucked for some moments on his pipe as if giving serious thought to my situation. He then clutched my lapel and drew me close towards him.
‘If I might offer you some advice,’ he began, ‘would it not be better that when you depart for Glasgow, you do so unfettered by any attachments to this place? You will soon forget this girl when you are surrounded by the riches the city has to offer.’
I told him I could not forget her and nor did I wish to.
Archibald nodded slowly. Then as if coming to a sudden decision, he thrust his pipe in the air and declared, ‘In that case you must make your feelings known to her.’
I then told him of our exchange at the point in Aird-Dubh, omitting the most humiliating details.
‘If your feelings are as profound as you suggest,’ said Archibald, his arm now clasped around my shoulder, ‘you must make some
declaration to her. At least then you will properly know where you stand. In any case, you should not be so easily discouraged. It is quite customary for a girl to spurn a chap’s advances, but such refusals are not to be taken seriously. Indeed, it should be taken as a measure of her esteem for you that she did not submit at the first opportunity. She is merely testing your resolve. You have seen a cock in the henhouse, I’m sure. He must make a display of his tail feathers. A young woman is just like a chicken, she has to be wooed. You must strut a little for her, Roderick.’
He then imitated a cock, flapping his elbows like wings and throwing his head back to crow. Some of the men around us stopped drinking to stare at him. When he had concluded his display, he wagged a finger at me. ‘Do you wish to be a cock or a cuckold?’ he declared, evidently proud of his maxim.
I then explained that even if my feelings were reciprocated, a great deal of bad blood existed between our families and that her father would never consent to our being together.
‘It seems to me,’ said Archibald, ‘that you have erected so many obstacles in your mind that you have quite defeated yourself before you have even begun.’ He then prodded me roughly on the forehead and told me that I should make less use of what was between my ears and more of what was between my legs. At that precise moment, I saw over Archibald’s shoulder that Flora had abandoned her admirers and was walking arm in arm with her friend around the perimeter of the now deserted shinty field. I made no response to my companion’s advice and he must have noticed the momentary dwam that came over me.
His Bloody Project Page 13