Land Of The Leal. James Barke

boat had been successfully beached in Craigdaroch Bay. The news had been welcome. His practised weather-sense warned him of an imminent storm. With a storm in the offing he would be able to drive a fine bargain. The morning found him in a splendid humour for the task.

      He decided to take his grieve with him. The encounter promised possibilities too tempting to be wasted between himself and the ship’s master. Moreover he had to impress his grieve with his own special qualities. There were points concerning farm management of which he considered Tom Gibson unenlightened and inexperienced.

      There was a sough of rain in the wind as the farmer and his grieve set off across the fields to the bay. It was a late October morning and the ploughing on the stubble fields was well advanced. But already the fresh green lustre was off the pasture fields and a greyish tinge was creeping in.

      ‘There’s a bit of draining needing to be done, Tom.’

      ‘There is, Mr. MacWhirrie, gin we had the back of the barley field broken.’

      ‘Yes: you’ll see to it then?’

      ‘You can depend on me, Mr. MacWhirrie.’

      Craigdaroch knew well that he could: but it would never do to let his grieve know that.

      ‘There’s some coping on the dykes there, Tom—’

      ‘The moment I’ve a man to spare, Mr. MacWhirrie: it’s no’ a job you could lippen to anybody.’

      ‘Maybe you’d best see to it yourself, Tom?’

      ‘I was thinking that way.’

      ‘An hour as you can spare it, Tom: that’s how to get through a job like that.’

      Craigdaroch was in grand form, working himself up sally by sally. He never spoke harshly to his grieve. He bullied him by subtle flattery. Well he knew there wasn’t a farmer who wouldn’t give another couple of pounds a year and an extra bag of meal to have Tom Gibson. Craigdaroch sometimes marvelled that his grieve didn’t seem to realise this. But then the only quality that MacWhirrie really admired in a man was cunning. It was by cunning, by the use of the brain, that a man rose above his fellowmen and in the end dominated them. But Craigdaroch would never have tolerated a cunning grieve.

      And so they passed over Craigdaroch fields and down to Craigdaroch Bay where the lime boat with its cargo was beached. As they neared the bay they met the master of the ship who, anxious about the weather and the avoidance of unnecessay delay, was himself making for Craigdaroch.

      The skipper knew MacWhirrie of old and, though he did not relish the encounter, was most polite and deferential to him. And yet the salutations were barely over when his impatience got the upper hand of him.

      ‘You’ll be sending your carts down right away, Mr. MacWhirrie?’

      Craigdaroch’s eyes twinkled.

      ‘You’re fully fast, captain.’

      ‘But the tide, Mr. MacWhirrie—’

      ‘Time and tide wait for no man, captain.’

      ‘A true word; but—’

      ‘We’re no’ needing much in the way of lime the year, Tom?’

      The grieve was puzzled.

      ‘No … We’d need twa-three ton—’

      ‘Twa-three ton?’

      ‘Just that, skipper: we’re no’ desperate, you know. It was never my fashion to starve the land hereabouts – it could go a year without much odds.’

      ‘But your order, Mr MacWhirrie?’

      ‘What order are you speaking about, skipper?’

      ‘Mr. Symington said you would be taking a full cargo anyway—’

      ‘Did he now?’

      ‘That’s the words, Mr. MacWhirrie. Dammit, man I didn’t beach ninety tons on a mere speculation.’

      ‘Don’t get the bit atween your teeth, skipper. Craigdaroch’s well kenned as a man of his word. I’m afraid Mr. Symington’s been presuming here. I told him the position when he came round in June. I told him I hadn’t my mind made up as to my requirements and the bargain we struck then, captain, was that he would send down a load and I would please myself as to the quantity I took up. That was the bargain, skipper, and if Mr. Symington didn’t explain that to you it’s hardly my fault.’

      ‘But—’

      ‘Howsomenever, skipper, seeing you’re here. I’ll no’ see you stuck. We’ll take twenty tons off you at the bargain price.’

      ‘But— Twenty tons! But dammit, Mr. MacWhirrie – begging your pardon – I’ll never get off the beach with it if that’s all you’re for taking.’

      ‘Of course, skipper, I’m nae mariner. I’ve a big enough fight back and forward here without the necessity of solving your problems.’

      ‘Ah, but Mr. MacWhirrie, sir: twenty tons is clean out o’ the question. I’ve ninety tons in the hold if I’ve a ton. Look at the way she’s settled down. A neep tide wouldn’t float me off.’

      ‘N’aye … Well, had I the accommodation, captain, and, mair importantly, had I the money to lay out on such a stock, I wouldn’t see you waiting for a tide to float you off. But prices havena been what they should the year, skipper, and I just havena the money to spare.’

      ‘But lime’s an investment, Mr. MacWhirrie, and although I’ve my orders regarding the price, I think you’ll agree it’s a cheap price – it’ll never be cheaper.’

      ‘Maybe you’re right, captain – I wouldna say but maybe you are. But it’ll need to be a lot cheaper before I could afford to put it on my land. But we’re wasting time, captain. I’ll send the carts down for that twenty ton. You’ll manage after dinner, Tom?’

      ‘Just as you say, Mr. MacWhirrie.’

      ‘For Godsake, Mr. MacWhirrie! I’ll need to empty the hold before dark comes on. There might be a storm before night – we’re lost if that happens.’

      The master was desperate. He was holding his anger down by a mighty effort of self-control. He knew Craigdaroch. It mattered little to him whether The Dolphin had her ribs cracked in with a storm.

      The truth was Craigdaroch didn’t care. Indeed such a spectacle would have amused him greatly. Both the owner, Symington, and the skipper were at his mercy – and he wanted the lime for next to nothing.

      A sour distaste for the whole mean bargaining turned in the stomach of the grieve. He had no admiration for the part Craigdaroch was playing. He stood rigid and somewhat withdrawn and fixed his eyes on the grey heaving of the sea. There was a storm brewing – and the Lord help The Dolphin when it broke.

      Craigdaroch took a turn up the beach. He had as highly developed weather sense as the skipper or his grieve. There was just the chance that the storm would break before the cargo could be unloaded and he would lose his opportunity of buying well below the market price. At the same time it would never do to appear anxious or the skipper would hold to his price.

      Still, Craigdaroch was a man who had taken many a risk and his judicious and cautious gambling had never failed him before. He turned his step briskly towards the cart-track leading from the beach.

      ‘Mr. MacWhirrie?’

      Craigdaroch never halted his step and his grieve, making long strides, followed him.

      For a moment the skipper hesitated. His greatest desire was to choke the life out of the farmer. But for a wife and large family he would have satisfied it. He had tremendous responsibilities and he had shares in The Dolphin. He would lose his commission on the cargo. But better that than losing all.

      The