Chapter 9: The Man with the Belt of Gold

More than a week passed, and the ill-luck that had plagued the Covenant on this voyage grew even more pronounced. Some days, the ship made little progress, and other times, it was driven backward. Eventually, we were forced south, with Cape Wrath and the wild, rocky coast appearing on either side. A council of officers was held, and though I didn't fully understand their conversation, the result was clear: the wind had shifted in our favor, and we were heading south.

By the tenth afternoon, a thick fog enveloped the ship, and the seas were calm. All afternoon, when I went on deck, I saw the officers listening intently for "breakers." Though I didn't fully understand the term, I could sense danger in the air, and I felt an excitement I couldn't explain.

Around ten at night, while I was serving Captain Brightwood and Mr. Drayton at their supper, the ship struck something with a tremendous sound, followed by voices shouting. The captain and Mr. Drayton jumped to their feet.

"She's struck!" said Mr. Drayton.

"No, sir," replied Captain Brightwood. "We've run down a boat."

They hurried out to investigate.

As it turned out, the captain was right. We had struck a boat in the fog. It split in two, sinking with all of its crew except for one man. This survivor, as I later learned, had been seated at the stern while the others rowed. When the collision occurred, the stern was lifted into the air, and he, despite his bulky overcoat, managed to leap to the brig's bowsprit and pull himself to safety. He showed remarkable agility and strength to survive such a violent encounter. When the captain brought him into the round-house, I saw him for the first time. He appeared as calm as I did.

He was a small man, well-built and as nimble as a goat. His face was open and friendly but weathered by the sun, darkened by freckles and the scars of smallpox. His eyes, a pale color, had a wild, almost frantic gleam that was both engaging and unsettling. When he removed his greatcoat, I saw two finely crafted silver-mounted pistols laid on the table, and he was wearing a large sword at his side. Despite his rugged appearance, his manners were polished, and he toasted the captain with grace. At first glance, I thought to myself that this was a man I would rather have as a friend than an enemy.

Captain Brightwood, however, was studying the man's attire more closely than his demeanor. As soon as the man shed his coat, his clothes stood out: a feathered hat, a red waistcoat, black plush breeches, and a blue coat adorned with silver buttons and lace. Despite the fog and his travel-worn appearance, his clothes were clearly expensive.

"I'm vexed about the boat," said Captain Brightwood.

"Some fine men have gone to the bottom," said the stranger, "and I'd rather see them alive than half a dozen boats."

"Friends of yours?" asked the captain.

"You wouldn't know such men in your country," the stranger replied. "They would have died for me like dogs."

"Well, sir," said Captain Brightwood, eyeing him, "there are more men than boats."

"And that's true," the stranger agreed, "and you seem to be a man of keen insight."

"I've been to France, sir," said Captain Brightwood, implying more than just a casual trip.

"Well, sir," the stranger retorted, "so has many a fine gentleman, for that matter."

"No doubt," the captain said, "and fine clothes too."

"Aha!" the stranger exclaimed, his hand swiftly reaching for his pistols. "Is that how the wind blows?"

"Don't be hasty," said the captain. "No need to start trouble before it's necessary. You wear a French soldier's coat and speak with a Scottish accent, but many a decent fellow does the same these days, and no harm in it."

"Indeed?" the stranger said, eyeing him closely. "Are you with the honest party?" (He was inquiring whether the captain was a Jacobite, as both sides during the civil conflict had taken to calling themselves 'the honest party.')

"Why, sir," replied Captain Brightwood, "I'm a true-blue Protestant, and I thank God for it." (It was the first mention of religion I had heard from him, though I later learned he was a devout churchgoer when ashore.) "But for all that," he added, "I can still pity a man with his back to the wall."

"Can you now?" asked the stranger. "Well then, to be plain with you, I am one of those 'honest gentlemen' who got into trouble in '45 and '46. And if the red-coated soldiers catch me, I'll be in serious trouble. I was headed to France, but a French ship passed us by in the fog—as I wish you had done too! What I ask of you is this: if you'll set me ashore where I need to go, I have money that will reward you handsomely."

"In France?" Captain Brightwood asked. "No, sir, I can't help you there. But where you're from—we might talk about that."

At this point, the captain noticed I was standing in the corner, and ordered me back to the galley to prepare supper for the stranger. I wasted no time, and when I returned to the round-house, I found the stranger had taken a money-belt from around his waist, spilling a few guineas onto the table. Captain Brightwood was eyeing the money, then glancing at the belt, then at the stranger's face. He looked eager.

"Half of it," Captain Brightwood said eagerly, "and I'm your man!"

The stranger swept the guineas back into the belt and fastened it again beneath his waistcoat. "I've told you, sir," he said, "that none of this money belongs to me. It belongs to my chieftain." He tipped his hat. "While I'd be a fool not to pass on some of it to ensure its safe delivery, I would be a fool indeed if I sold my life too cheaply. Thirty guineas for the seaside, or sixty if you set me down at the Linnhe Loch. Take it or leave it."

"Ah," said Captain Brightwood, "but if I hand you over to the soldiers?"

"You'd be making a foolish deal," said the stranger. "My chief, let me remind you, is a man outlawed, like any true Scotsman. His estate is now in the hands of King George's men. His officers collect the rents, but the people still remember their loyalty to him. This money is a portion of that rent, money King George would never see. But for the honor of Scotland, I'm bringing it to him."

Captain Brightwood stroked his chin. "I see," he said. "You would make a valuable friend, if you don't misplace that loyalty."

"And if you cross me," the stranger said with a dark glint in his eye, "you'll wish you hadn't."

"Well then," Captain Brightwood said, "let's make a deal. Sixty guineas, and I'm your man." He offered his hand.

"And here's mine," the stranger said, shaking the captain's hand.

With that, Captain Brightwood hurried out, leaving me alone with the man.

As a young lad, I had heard of many such men returning from exile after the '45 Rebellion, risking everything to visit family or gather what they could of their lost fortunes. The Highland chiefs who had been stripped of their lands and titles were often the subject of gossip. Their tenants still sent them money, braving the dangers of soldiers and ships, to deliver it to their exiled lords. Here was one such man before me, a fugitive and smuggler, carrying a belt of gold.

And so, as I watched the man who now went by the name of Sir William Fenton, I could not help but feel a mix of curiosity and dread.