Part 27 (1/2)
”You'll be forgetting the Antrim glens, Shane Campbell.” Shane flushed.
The coin in his fingers burned him.
”How did I know you were fro' the Antrim glens?”
”You've seen me a few times, though you'd hardly know me. Simon Fraser of Ballycastle. You would no' recognize me, if you knew me, on account of my hair being white. I was lost on the coast of Borneo for four years. When I was lost my hair was black--maybe a wee sprinkle o'
gray--but what you might call black; and when I was picked up, and saw myself in a looking-gla.s.s, it was white. They did no' know me when I got back to Ballycastle.”
”Would you care for a drink, Simon?”
”I don't care much either way, Shane Campbell. And if I wanted a drink bad, I always have the silver for 't. I would no' have you think I stopped you for to cadge a drink. I'm no' that kind of man. But I was wi' your uncle Alan when he died. Or to be exact, I saw him just before he died. I was visiting in Cushendun. I have a half-brither there you might know, Tamas McNeil, Red Tam they ca' him. And whiles I was there, I saw Alan Donn go down.”
”My uncle Alan dead! Why, man, you're crazy--”
”Your uncle Alan's a dead man.”
”You're mistaken, man. It's some one else.”
”Your uncle Alan's a dead man. And what's more: I have a word from him for ye.”
”But I'd have heard.”
”I cam' out in steam. It went against the grain a bit, but I cam' out in steam. From Belfast.... With a new boat out of Queen's Island ... Alan Donn's a dead man. That's why I stopped you. For to tell you your uncle Alan's gone....”
”Come in, here,” Shane said dazedly. He pulled the man into a bar, and sat down in a snug. ”Tell me.”
”It was about nine in the morning, and an awful gray day it was, wi' a heavy sea running and a nor'easter, and this schooner was getting the timbers pounded out o' her. Her upper gear was gone entirely, and we could no' see how she was below, on account of the high seaway. She was a Frenchman, or a Portuguese. And she was gone. And we were all on sh.o.r.e, wondering why she had no' put into Greenock or Stranraer, or what kind of sailors they were at all, at all.
”Up comes your uncle Alan; and he says: 'Has anybody put out to give those poor b.a.s.t.a.r.ds a hand?' says he.
”'There's no chance, Alan Donn,' says we.
”And he says: 'How the h.e.l.l do you know?' says he.
”And we say: 'Can't you see for youself, Alan Donn, wi' the sea that's in it, and the wind that's in it, and the currents, there's no chance to help them?'
”'So you're not going,' says he.
”'Och, Alan Donn, have sense,' says we.
”'If you aren't, then by Jesus, I am.'
”He turns to one of the men there, a fisherman by the name of Rafferty, and he says: 'Hughie, get ready that wee boat o' yours, wi' the spitfire foresail, and the wee trisail.'
”Then we said: 'You're not going, Alan Donn.'
”'Who's to stop me?' says he. All this time we had to shout on account of the great wind was in it.
”'We think too much of you, Alan Donn, to let you go.'
”'If one o' you stinking badgers lays a finger on me to stop me, I'll break his G.o.d-d.a.m.ned neck.'