Whisky Galore
Extract from "Whisky Galore" by Compton Mackenzie
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'Welcome to Tigh nam Bàrd, Sarchant,' he said as he lighted the lamp and pointed to an armchair in the little room off the kitchen. 'I'll soon have the fire in good order, and we'd better have a dram before we take ourselves to bed.'
'A very small one for me,' said the Sergeant-major.
'This is one I don't think you've tried yet. Bard's Bounty. And you're going to drink it in Tigh nam Bàrd - the House of the Bard. The word has gone round that every bottle of Minnie with that name on it rolls right along here. It's not often that a bard gets his due in these days, but by Jingo, he is going to get it from the good ship Cabinet Minister.'
Duncan Bàn poured out a hefty dram for his guest and a hefty one for himself.
'Here, you've given me too much,' the Sergeant.major protested.
'Not at all. Not at all. Free and easy, my boy. That's the way when there's whisky galore. Ah well, slàinte mhath, slàinte mḥr.'
He raised his glass.
'Slahnjervah, slahnjervaw,' said the Sergeant-major, raising his. 'Ay, it was a grand evening right enough,' said Duncan.
'I've never enjoyed myself better. And the Great Todday contingent enjoyed themselves fine.'
'I wish you'd do something for me, Lieutenant Macroon,' Sergeant-major Odd began.
'I'll give you such a terrible bang on the head with this bottle if you call me that, you won't know which island you're on. My name is Duncan, and Duncan is what you'll call me or the end of the evening won't be as enjoyable as the beginning, and that's a fair warning. A man toils hard to write a song for your reiteach and you call him Lieutenant Macroon for his trouble.
'It was about that song I wanted you to do something for me, Duncan.'
'That's more like it.'
'I want you to translate it into English for me,' said the Sergeant-major earnestly.
'Och, it sounds like nothing at all in English,' the author protested.
'Never mind, I'll get the general sense of it.'
'Ceart gu leoir. I'll do my best for you when I've had another dram. And you'd better have another yourself.'
'No, no, I won't really. I'm full up.'
'You may be full up, but you're not overflowing, and when Almighty God sends His bounty to the bard. He expects his gratitude to be overflowing. So you'll just drink up another, or not a word will I be translating for you.'
'But look here - isn't it tomorrow now?'
'And if it is just tomorrow now, what does it matter? Och, I don't think very much at all of Father Maclntyre at Drumsticket if he's wafer instructing you that you can't drink a dram in Lent. We deny ourselves voluntarily. Voluntarily. And that's a pretty long word for me to be saying in English by now. I'm not going to Communion tomorrow. We'll go along quietly to the ten o'clock Mass and we'll get a cross of ashes on our foreheads. "Dust thou art," the priest will be saying, "and to dust thou shalt return." And, man, it's myself that will be feeling I really am dust, with the mouth on me I'll have by tomorrow morning, because I have a date with a fairy woman on the Tràigh when you'll be in your bed and she and I will be drinking Bard's Bounty together till the hens of Todaidh Ṃr are dark against the dawn. Now come along, fill up your glass and I'll try to give you an idea of my song, though it'll be a pretty poor idea.'
The Sergeant-major, seeing that he would get nothing out of the bard unless he accepted his bounty, allowed his glass to be replenished.
Duncan found the piece of paper on which the Gaelic version was written out and began:
'From over the sea a warrior came to our green and sunny island as long ago there came a son of Donald who was banished ...' he broke off. 'Och, that's just all about an old tale of this MacDonald who came here and found the seal-woman and she put love upon him and they had quite a family. It goes on for two or three verses, but it all happened a long time ago, and I'm sure you won't want to be hearing all that ringmarole tonight. And then I sing about a girl with lips like the rowan and a neck like a swan and eyes as blue as the sea and then I say how she's like a seal-woman....'
'That's Peggy, of course?' said the Sergeant-major, who was wondering if it was being compared to a seal-woman which had made Peggy exclaim at Duncan's cheekiness.
'Yes, yes, that's Peigi. And then I say that she must have seven sons like the seal-woman because seven is an odd number. Och, there's a whole lot more, but you want to hear it in the Gaelic.'
'I wonder you never married yourself, Duncan,' said the Sergeant-major, who was so happy that he wanted the rest of the world to be as happy as himself.
'Ah, well, the cailin I wanted to marry married some body else,' said Duncan. 'And that was that.'
'Don't you ever feel lonelified?'
'Ay, I was feeling pretty lonely when Minnie came along in the nick of time to cheer me up. But, my word, she's a good companion. And now you ought to be going to your bed, Sarchant.'
'What's Fred done, Lieutenant Macroon?'
Duncan laughed.
'That's one to you, a Fhred.'
'A red?' the Sergeant-major exclaimed.
'I'm giving it to you in the Gaelic. You always aspirate in the vocative, and the F becomes mute; but if you want to speak to Peggy, you'd say "a Pheigi".' 'That's what it is, is it? I thought Fecky was some sort of a nickname she had. I really must get down to it after I've mugged up this catechism and learn a lot of Gaelic even if I sprain my jore in doing it. Are you coming up to bed yourself?'
'No, I'm going to take Minnie for a walk on the Tràigh.'
'You are? Hadn't you better come to bed? Don't forget we arranged we'd have a parade tomorrow and a bit shooting practice.'
'Don't you be worrying about me, boy. I will be quite all right tomorrow.'
'Well, I suppose you know best what you can do,' said the Sergeant-major, 'but I'd have said bed was what y wanted.'
However, he realized it would be useless to argue with Duncan Bàn, who after seeing that his guest had all he wanted vanished into the starshine with the bottle Bard's Bounty.
Duncan arrived at Mass next morning in a state of such confused piety that when he knelt to receive the ashen cross upon his brow he put out his tongue under the impression that he was going to be given the Host.
'Dust thou art and to dust thou shalt return,' said the parish priest in Latin. Duncan, his eyes dosed, kept hi. tongue out.
'And when I put some ashes on his tongue to bring him round to his senses,' said Father Macalister afterwards, 'I don't believe Duncan was aware of it at all, his mouth was so much like the inside of an ash bin itself.
Nevertheless, when it came to shooting that afternoon Duncan Ban Macroon scored more bull's-eyes than any man in the Little Todday platoon..
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