Graeme Burnet - His Bloody Project

The road between the shore and the row of cottages which constituted the village of Applecross was crammed with trestle tables displaying cheeses, wood carvings, pipes, gimcracks and items of clothing. Jetta found a place towards the end of the village and arranged her wares on the cart, before taking a seat on the low shore wall. The twins played at her feet. I loitered awhile before wandering back along the village. The entire parish seemed to have packed into the narrow road. The womenfolk were dressed in their finest clothes. The girls’ hair was arranged prettily and adorned with flowers. I wondered if I might see Flora Broad, but was sure she would take no interest in me. Crofting folk mingled with guests from the Big House, who conversed in loud voices and pointed rudely at the goods on display.

I fell in behind two well-dressed gentlemen and eavesdropped on their conversation. The first declared in a loud voice, ‘It is easy to forget that such primitives still exist in our country.’ His companion nodded solemnly and wondered aloud whether more might be done for us. The first gentleman then expressed the view that it was difficult to assist people who were so incapable of doing anything for themselves. They then paused to drink from a flask and watch a knot of girls pass by. I did not wait to hear what remarks they passed and continued along the street.

I spotted Archibald Ross leaning at the threshold of the inn. He was dressed in a fine tweed outfit with brown brogues and breeches tucked into his stockings. I stood and stared at him for a few moments. He looked every inch the young gentlemen from a shooting party. Although I was standing only a few yards from him, he did not appear to recognise me. I recalled that almost a year had passed since we had met and took a step or two closer to him. He had a pipe in his right hand, which I saw was now filled and alight. I thought perhaps that following my exploit on the hillside he would not wish to associate with me, but a look of recognition crossed his face and he thrust out his hand and exclaimed, ‘Roddy, old chap!’ We shook hands warmly. I was gratified that he seemed to bear no ill feelings towards me.

‘I thought you might be in Canada by now,’ I said.

‘Canada?’ he said.

‘With your cousin.’

He made a flamboyant gesture with his pipe. ‘There’s nothing for us in Canada these days. Things are worse there than they are here. Besides, I’m now with the ghillie.’

I nodded and told him that he looked very well in his outfit. He waved his pipe ostentatiously to dismiss my comment, before returning it to his mouth and puffing heartily on it. I dearly wished at that moment to have a pipe of my own. Then he took me by the arm and steered me inside the inn. I glanced over my shoulder, fearful that one of our neighbours might see me. I had never before set foot in the inn. My father considered it a den of iniquity and regularly declared that those who frequented it were on the path to the eternal bonfire. Inside a great deal of men in their shirtsleeves were crammed together, bellowing cheerfully in one another’s faces. Archibald manoeuvred us through the throng to a tiny table in the corner, upon which two stone tankards of ale were presently set by a sturdy woman in a checked dress. Archibald grabbed one of the vessels and, clanking it noisily against the second, declared, ‘Here’s to the health of them that like us.’

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 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.