From Rupert Sent Leger, Vissarion, to Janet MacKelpie,
Croom.
February 3, 1907.
I am back in my own room again. Already it seems to me that to get
here again is like coming home. I have been going about for the last
few days amongst the mountaineers and trying to make their
acquaintance. It is a tough job; and I can see that there will be
nothing but to stick to it. They are in reality the most primitive
people I ever met--the most fixed to their own ideas, which belong to
centuries back. I can understand now what people were like in
England--not in Queen Elizabeth's time, for that was civilized time,
but in the time of Coeur-de-Lion, or even earlier--and all the time
with the most absolute mastery of weapons of precision. Every man
carries a rifle--and knows how to use it, too. I do believe they
would rather go without their clothes than their guns if they had to
choose between them. They also carry a handjar, which used to be
their national weapon. It is a sort of heavy, straight cutlass, and
they are so expert with it as well as so strong that it is as facile
in the hands of a Blue Mountaineer as is a foil in the hands of a
Persian maitre d'armes. They are so proud and reserved that they
make one feel quite small, and an "outsider" as well. I can see
quite well that they rather resent my being here at all. It is not
personal, for when alone with me they are genial, almost brotherly;
but the moment a few of them get together they are like a sort of
jury, with me as the criminal before them. It is an odd situation,
and quite new to me. I am pretty well accustomed to all sorts of
people, from cannibals to Mahatmas, but I'm blessed if I ever struck
such a type as this--so proud, so haughty, so reserved, so distant,
so absolutely fearless, so honourable, so hospitable. Uncle Roger's
head was level when he chose them out as a people to live amongst.
Do you know, Aunt Janet, I can't help feeling that they are very much
like your own Highlanders--only more so. I'm sure of one thing:
that in the end we shall get on capitally together. But it will be a
slow job, and will need a lot of patience. I have a feeling in my
bones that when they know me better they will be very loyal and very
true; and I am not a hair's-breadth afraid of them or anything they
shall or might do. That is, of course, if I live long enough for
them to have time to know me. Anything may happen with such an
indomitable, proud people to whom pride is more than victuals. After
all, it only needs one man out of a crowd to have a wrong idea or to
make a mistake as to one's motive--and there you are. But it will be
all right that way, I am sure. I am come here to stay, as Uncle
Roger wished. And stay I shall even if it has to be in a little bed
of my own beyond the garden--seven feet odd long, and not too narrow-
-or else a stone-box of equal proportions in the vaults of St. Sava's
Church across the Creek--the old burial-place of the Vissarions and
other noble people for a good many centuries back . . .
I have been reading over this letter, dear Aunt Janet, and I am
afraid the record is rather an alarming one. But don't you go
building up superstitious horrors or fears on it. Honestly, I am
only joking about death--a thing to which I have been rather prone
for a good many years back. Not in very good taste, I suppose, but
certainly very useful when the old man with the black wings goes
flying about you day and night in strange places, sometimes visible
and at others invisible. But you can always hear wings, especially
in the dark, when you cannot see them. YOU know that, Aunt Janet,
who come of a race of warriors, and who have special sight behind or
through the black curtain.
Honestly, I am in no whit afraid of the Blue Mountaineers, nor have I
a doubt of them. I love them already for their splendid qualities,
and I am prepared to love them for themselves. I feel, too, that
they will love me (and incidentally they are sure to love you). I
have a sort of undercurrent of thought that there is something in
their minds concerning me--something not painful, but disturbing;
something that has a base in the past; something that has hope in it
and possible pride, and not a little respect. As yet they can have
had no opportunity of forming such impression from seeing me or from
any thing I have done. Of course, it may be that, although they are
fine, tall, stalwart men, I am still a head and shoulders over the
tallest of them that I have yet seen. I catch their eyes looking up
at me as though they were measuring me, even when they are keeping
away from me, or, rather, keeping me from them at arm's length. I
suppose I shall understand what it all means some day. In the
meantime there is nothing to do but to go on my own way--which is
Uncle Roger's--and wait and be patient and just. I have learned the
value of that, any way, in my life amongst strange peoples. Good-
night.
Your loving
RUPERT.
From Rupert Sent Leger, Vissarion, to Janet MacKelpie,
Croom.
February 24, 1907.
MY DEAR AUNT JANET,
I am more than rejoiced to hear that you are coming here so soon.
This isolation is, I think, getting on my nerves. I thought for a
while last night that I was getting on, but the reaction came all too
soon. I was in my room in the east turret, the room on the
corbeille, and saw here and there men passing silently and swiftly
between the trees as though in secret. By-and-by I located their
meeting-place, which was in a hollow in the midst of the wood just
outside the "natural" garden, as the map or plan of the castle calls
it. I stalked that place for all I was worth, and suddenly walked
straight into the midst of them. There were perhaps two or three
hundred gathered, about the very finest lot of men I ever saw in my
life. It was in its way quite an experience, and one not likely to
be repeated, for, as I told you, in this country every man carries a
rifle, and knows how to use it. I do not think I have seen a single
man (or married man either) without his rifle since I came here. I
wonder if they take them with them to bed! Well, the instant after I
stood amongst them every rifle in the place was aimed straight at me.
Don't be alarmed, Aunt Janet; they did not fire at me. If they had I
should not be writing to you now. I should be in that little bit of
real estate or the stone box, and about as full of lead as I could
hold. Ordinarily, I take it, they would have fired on the instant;
that is the etiquette here. But this time they--all separately but
all together--made a new rule. No one said a word or, so far as I
could see, made a movement. Here came in my own experience. I had
been more than once in a tight place of something of the same kind,
so I simply behaved in the most natural way I could. I felt
conscious--it was all in a flash, remember--that if I showed fear or
cause for fear, or even acknowledged danger by so much as even
holding up my hands, I should have drawn all the fire. They all
remained stock-still, as though they had been turned into stone, for
several seconds. Then a queer kind of look flashed round them like
wind over corn--something like the surprise one shows unconsciously
on waking in a strange place. A second after they each dropped the
rifle to the hollow of his arm and stood ready for anything. It was
all as regular and quick and simultaneous as a salute at St. James's
Palace.
Happily I had no arms of any kind with me, so that there could be no
complication. I am rather a quick hand myself when there is any
shooting to be done. However, there was no trouble here, but the
contrary; the Blue Mountaineers--it sounds like a new sort of Bond
Street band, doesn't it?--treated me in quite a different way than
they did when I first met them. They were amazingly civil, almost
deferential. But, all time same, they were more distant than ever,
and all the time I was there I could get not a whit closer to them.
They seemed in a sort of way to be afraid or in awe of me. No doubt
that will soon pass away, and when we know one another better we
shall become close friends. They are too fine fellows not to be
worth a little waiting for. (That sentence, by the way, is a pretty
bad sentence! In old days you would have slippered me for it!) Your
journey is all arranged, and I hope you will be comfortable. Rooke
will meet you at Liverpool Street and look after everything.
I shan't write again, but when we meet at Fiume I shall begin to tell
you all the rest. Till then, good-bye. A good journey to you, and a
happy meeting to us both.
RUPERT.
Letter from Janet MacKelpie, Vissarion, to Sir Colin MacKelpie,
United Service Club, London.
DEAREST UNCLE, February 28, 1907.
I had a very comfortable journey all across Europe. Rupert wrote to
me some time ago to say that when I got to Vissarion I should be an
Empress, and he certainly took care that on the way here I should be
treated like one. Rooke, who seems a wonderful old man, was in the
next compartment to that reserved for me. At Harwich he had
everything arranged perfectly, and so right on to Fiume. Everywhere
there were attentive officials waiting. I had a carriage all to
myself, which I joined at Antwerp--a whole carriage with a suite of
rooms, dining-room, drawing-room, bedroom, even bath-room. There was
a cook with a kitchen of his own on board, a real chef like a French
nobleman in disguise. There were also a waiter and a servant-maid.
My own maid Maggie was quite awed at first. We were as far as
Cologne before she summoned up courage to order them about. Whenever
we stopped Rooke was on the platform with local officials, and kept
the door of my carriage like a sentry on duty.
At Fiume, when the train slowed down, I saw Rupert waiting on the
platform. He looked magnificent, towering over everybody there like
a giant. He is in perfect health, and seemed glad to see me. He
took me off at once on an automobile to a quay where an electric
launch was waiting. This took us on board a beautiful big steam-
yacht, which was waiting with full steam up and--how he got there I
don't know--Rooke waiting at the gangway.
I had another suite all to myself. Rupert and I had dinner together-
-I think the finest dinner I ever sat down to. This was very nice of
Rupert, for it was all for me. He himself only ate a piece of steak
and drank a glass of water. I went to bed early, for, despite the
luxury of the journey, I was very tired.
I awoke in the grey of the morning, and came on deck. We were close
to the coast. Rupert was on the bridge with the Captain, and Rooke
was acting as pilot. When Rupert saw me, he ran down the ladder and
took me up on the bridge. He left me there while he ran down again
and brought me up a lovely fur cloak which I had never seen. He put
it on me and kissed me. He is the tenderest-hearted boy in the
world, as well as the best and bravest! He made me take his arm
whilst he pointed out Vissarion, towards which we were steering. It
is the most lovely place I ever saw. I won't stop to describe it
now, for it will be better that you see it for yourself and enjoy it
all fresh as I did.
The Castle is an immense place. You had better ship off, as soon as
all is ready here and you can arrange it, the servants whom I
engaged; and I am not sure that we shall not want as many more.
There has hardly been a mop or broom on the place for centuries, and
I doubt if it ever had a thorough good cleaning all over since it was
built. And, do you know, Uncle, that it might be well to double that
little army of yours that you are arranging for Rupert? Indeed, the
boy told me himself that he was going to write to you about it. I
think old Lachlan and his wife, Sandy's Mary, had better be in charge
of the maids when they come over. A lot of lassies like yon will be
iller to keep together than a flock of sheep. So it will be wise to
have authority over them, especially as none of them speaks a word of
foreign tongues. Rooke--you saw him at the station at Liverpool
Street--will, if he be available, go over to bring the whole body
here. He has offered to do it if I should wish. And, by the way, I
think it will be well, when the time comes for their departure, if
not only the lassies, but Lachlan and Sandy's Mary, too, will call
him MISTER Rooke. He is a very important person indeed here. He is,
in fact, a sort of Master of the Castle, and though he is very self-
suppressing, is a man of rarely fine qualities. Also it will be well
to keep authority. When your clansmen come over, he will have charge
of them, too. Dear me! I find I have written such a long letter, I
must stop and get to work. I shall write again.
Your very affectionate
JANET.
From the Same to the Same.
March 3, 1907.
DEAREST UNCLE,
All goes well here, and as there is no news, I only write because you
are a dear, and I want to thank you for all the trouble you have
taken for me--and for Rupert. I think we had better wait awhile
before bringing out the servants. Rooke is away on some business for
Rupert, and will not be back for some time; Rupert thinks it may be a
couple of months. There is no one else that he could send to take
charge of the party from home, and I don't like the idea of all those
lassies coming out without an escort. Even Lachlan and Sandy's Mary
are ignorant of foreign languages and foreign ways. But as soon as
Rooke returns we can have them all out. I dare say you will have
some of your clansmen ready by then, and I think the poor girls, who
may feel a bit strange in a new country like this, where the ways are
so different from ours, will feel easier when they know that there
are some of their own mankind near them. Perhaps it might be well
that those of them who are engaged to each other--I know there are
some--should marry before they come out here. It will be more
convenient in many ways, and will save lodgment, and, besides, these
Blue Mountaineers are very handsome men. Good-night.
JANET.
Sir Colin MacKelpie, Croom, to Janet MacKelpie,
Vissarion.
March 9, 1907.
MY DEAR JANET,
I have duly received both your letters, and am delighted to find you
are so well pleased with your new home. It must certainly be a very
lovely and unique place, and I am myself longing to see it. I came
up here three days ago, and am, as usual, feeling all the better for
a breath of my native air. Time goes on, my dear, and I am beginning
to feel not so young as I was. Tell Rupert that the men are all fit,
and longing to get out to him. They are certainly a fine lot of men.
I don't think I ever saw a finer. I have had them drilled and
trained as soldiers, and, in addition, have had them taught a lot of
trades just as they selected themselves. So he shall have nigh him
men who can turn their hands to anything--not, of course, that they
all know every trade, but amongst them there is someone who can do
whatever may be required. There are blacksmiths, carpenters,
farriers, saddle-makers, gardeners, plumbers, cutlers, gunsmiths, so,
as they all are farmers by origin and sportsmen by practice, they
will make a rare household body of men. They are nearly all first-
class shots, and I am having them practise with revolvers. They are
being taught fencing and broadsword and ju-jitsu; I have organized
them in military form, with their own sergeants and corporals. This
morning I had an inspection, and I assure you, my dear, they could
give points to the Household troop in matters of drill. I tell you I
am proud of my clansmen!
I think you are quite wise about waiting to bring out the lassies,
and wiser still about the marrying. I dare say there will be more
marrying when they all get settled in a foreign country. I shall be
glad of it, for as Rupert is going to settle there, it will be good
for him to have round him a little colony of his own people. And it
will be good for them, too, for I know he will be good to them--as
you will, my dear. The hills are barren here, and life is hard, and
each year there is more and more demand for crofts, and sooner or
later our people must thin out. And mayhap our little settlement of
MacKelpie clan away beyond the frontiers of the Empire may be some
service to the nation and the King. But this is a dream! I see that
here I am beginning to realise in myself one part of Isaiah's
prophecy:
"Your young men shall see visions, and your old men shall dream
dreams."
By the way, my dear, talking about dreams, I am sending you out some
boxes of books which were in your rooms. They are nearly all on odd
subjects that WE understand--Second Sight, Ghosts, Dreams (that was
what brought the matter to my mind just now), superstitions,
Vampires, Wehr-Wolves, and all such uncanny folk and things. I
looked over some of these books, and found your marks and underlining
and comments, so I fancy you will miss them in your new home. You
will, I am sure, feel more at ease with such old friends close to
you. I have taken the names and sent the list to London, so that
when you pay me a visit again you will be at home in all ways. If
you come to me altogether, you will be more welcome still--if
possible. But I am sure that Rupert, who I know loves you very much,
will try to make you so happy that you will not want to leave him.
So I will have to come out often to see you both, even at the cost of
leaving Croom for so long. Strange, is it not? that now, when,
through Roger Melton's more than kind remembrance of me, I am able to
go where I will and do what I will, I want more and more to remain at
home by my own ingle. I don't think that anyone but you or Rupert
could get me away from it. I am working very hard at my little
regiment, as I call it. They are simply fine, and will, I am sure,
do us credit. The uniforms are all made, and well made, too. There
is not a man of them that does not look like an officer. I tell you,
Janet, that when we turn out the Vissarion Guard we shall feel proud
of them. I dare say that a couple of months will do all that can be
done here. I shall come out with them myself. Rupert writes me that
he thinks it will be more comfortable to come out direct in a ship of
our own. So when I go up to London in a few weeks' time I shall see
about chartering a suitable vessel. It will certainly save a lot of
trouble to us and anxiety to our people. Would it not be well when I
am getting the ship, if I charter one big enough to take out all your
lassies, too? It is not as if they were strangers. After all, my
dear, soldiers are soldiers and lassies are lassies. But these are
all kinsfolk, as well as clansmen and clanswomen, and I, their Chief,
shall be there. Let me know your views and wishes in this respect.
Mr. Trent, whom I saw before leaving London, asked me to "convey to
you his most respectful remembrances"--these were his very words, and
here they are. Trent is a nice fellow, and I like him. He has
promised to pay me a visit here before the month is up, and I look
forward to our both enjoying ourselves.
Good-bye, my dear, and the Lord watch over you and our dear boy.
Your affectionate Uncle,
COLIN ALEXANDER MACKELPIE.
