in character,they were entirely different. Ralph was a great broad-shouldered,pleasant-faced young Saxon Rory was small as to stature, but lithe andwiry in the extreme; his face was always somewhat pale, but his eyes hadall the glitter and fire of a wild cat in them. Well, then, if you donot like the "wild cat," I shall say "poet"--the glitter and fire of apoet. And a poet he was, though he seldom wrote verses. Oh! it is notalways the verses one writes that prove him to be a poet. Very often itis just the reverse. I know a young man who has written more versesthan would stretch from Reading to Hyde Park, and there is just as muchpoetry in that young man's soul as there is in the flagstaff on my lawnyonder. But Rory's soul was filled with life and imagination, agladsome glowing life that could not be restrained, but that burstupwards like a fountain in the sunlight, giving joy to all around.Everything in nature was understood and loved by Rory, and everything innature seemed to love him in return; the birds and beasts made aconfidant of him, and the very trees and the tenderest flowerets ingarden or field seemed to whisper to him and tell him all their secrets.And just because he was so full of life he was also full of fun.
When silent and thinking, this young Irishman's face was placid, andeven somewhat melancholy in expression, but it lighted up when he spoke,and it was wonderfully quick in its changes from grave to gay, or gay tograve. It was like a rippling summer sea with cloud-shadows chasingeach other all over it. Like most of his countrymen, Rory was braveeven to a fault. Well, then, there you have his description in a fewwords, and if you will not let me call him poet, I really do not knowwhat else to call him.
Ralph Leigh I must dismiss with a word. But, in a word, he was in myopinion everything that a young English gentleman should be; he wasstraightforward, bold and manly, and though very far from being asclever as Rory, he loved Rory for possessing the qualities he himselfwas deficient in. Thoroughly guileless was honest Ralph, and indeed, ifthe truth must be told, he was not a little proud of his companion, andhe was never better pleased than when, along with Rory in the company ofothers, the Irishman was what Ralph called "in fine form."
At such times Ralph would not have interrupted the flow of Rory's witfor the world, but the quiet and happy glance he would give round theroom occasionally, to see if other people were listening to and fullyappreciating his adopted brother, spoke volumes.
McBain was right. The young blood in Rory's veins soon reasserteditself, and after half-an-hour's rest he seemed as well as ever. Hisfirst action on awaking was to put his hand to his brow, and his firstwords were,--
"What is it at all, and where am I? Have I been in any trouble?"
"Trouble, Rory?" said Allan, pressing his hand. "Well, you and Ralphwent tumbling over a cliff."
"Only fifty feet of a fall, Rory," said Ralph.
Rory sat bolt upright now, and opened his eyes in astonishment.
"Och! now I remember," he said, "that we had a bit of a fall--But fiftyfeet! do you tell me so? Indeed then it's a wonder there is one singlewhole bone between the two of us. But where is my sketch-book?"
"Here you are," said Allan.
"Oh!" said Rory, opening the book, "this is worse than all; theprettiest sketch ever I made in my life all spoiled with the snow."
"Now, boys," continued Rory, after a pause, "I grant you this is a veryromantic situation--everything is romantic bar the smoke; but what arewe waiting for? and is this your Castle of Arrandoon, my friend?"
"Not quite," replied Allan, laughing. "We are waiting for you torecover, and--"
"Well, sure enough," cried Rory, "I have recovered."
He jumped up as he spoke, kicked out his legs, and stretched out hisarms.
"No; never a broken bone," he said.
Now it had been arranged between Allan and McBain that Rory should ridein the cart, while they and Ralph should walk.
But Rory was aghast at such a proposal.
"What," he cried; "is it a procession you'd make of me? Would you putme on straw in the bottom of a cart, like an old wife coming from afair?"
"But," persisted Allan, "you must be weak from the loss of blood."
"Loss of blood," laughed Rory, "don't be chaffing a poor boy. If you'dseen the blood I lost at the last election, and all in the cause ofpeace and honour, too! No, indeed; I'll walk."
The storm was at its very worst when they once more emerged from thepine-wood, but every now and then they could see the light glimmeringfrom one of the castle turrets, to guide them through the darkness.They sent the dogs on before to give notice of their approach; thenPeter tuned up, and high above the roaring of the snow rose the screamof the great Highland bagpipe.
A few hours afterwards, the three friends had all but forgotten theirperilous adventure among the snow, or remembered it only to make merryover it. It is needless to say that Allan's mother and sister welcomedhis friends, or that Ralph and Rory were charmed with the reception theyreceived.
"Well," said Rory, after the ladies had retired for the night, "I fullyunderstand now what your poet Burns meant when he said--
"`In heaven itself I'll ask nae mair Than just a Highland welcome.'"
And now they gathered round the cosy hearth, on which great logs wereblazing. McBain was relegated to an armchair in a corner, being theoldest Rory, who still felt the effects of his fall, reclined on a couchin front, with Ralph seated on one side and Allan on the other. Bran,the deer-hound, thought this too good a chance to be thrown away, so hegot upon the sofa and lay with his great, honest head on Rory's knees,while Kooran curled himself up on the hearthrug, and Oscar watched thedoor.
"Well," said Ralph, "I call this delightful; and the idea of doing theHighlands in mid-winter is decidedly a new one, and that is saying agreat deal."
"Yes," said Rory, laughing; "and a beautiful taste we've had of it tobegin with. I fall over a cliff in the snow and Ralph comes tumblingafter, just like Jack and Jill, and then we go to sleep like lambs, andwaken with a taste of spirits in our mouths. Indeed yes, boys, it isromantic entirely."
"Everything now-a-days," said Ralph, with half a yawn, "is so hackneyed,as it were. You go up the Rhine--that is hackneyed. You go down theMediterranean--that is hackneyed. You go here, there, and everywhere,and you find here, there, and everywhere hackneyed. And if you go intoa drawing-room and begin to speak of where you've been and what you'vedone, you soon find that every other fellow has been to the same places,and done precisely the same things."
"Sure, you're right, Ralph," said Rory; "and I do believe if you were togo to the moon and come back, some fellow would meet you on your returnand lisp out, `Oh, been to the moon, have you! awfly funny old place themoon. Did you call on the Looneys when you were there? Jolly familythe Looneys.'"
"There is a kind of metaphorical truth in what you say, Rory," Ralphreplied; "but I say, Allan, wouldn't it be nice to go somewhere where noone--no white man--had ever been before, or do something never beforeaccomplished?"
"It would indeed," said Allan; "and I for one always looked uponLivingstone, and Stanley, and Gordon Cumming, and Cameron, and men likethem, as the luckiest fellows in the world."
"Now," said Ralph, "I'm just nineteen. I've only two years more of whatI call roving life, and if I don't ride across some continent before I'mtwenty-one, or embark at one end of some unknown river and come out intothe sea at the other, I'll never have a chance again."
"Why, how is that?" said McBain.
"Well," replied Ralph, "Sir Walter Leigh, my father, told me straightthat we were as poor as Church mice, and that in order to retrieve ourfortunes, as soon as I came of age I must marry my grandmother."
"Marry your grandmother!" exclaimed McBain, half rising in his chair.
"Well, my cousin, then," said Ralph, smiling; "she is five-and-forty, soit is all the same. But she has oceans of money, and my old father,bless him! is very, very good and kind. He doesn't limit me in moneynow; though, of course, I don't take advantage of all his generosity.`Go and travel, my boy,' he said, `and enjoy
yourself till you come ofage. Just see all you can and thus have your fling. I know I can trustyou.'"
"Have your fling?" cried Rory; "troth now that is exactly what my Irishtenants told me to do. `The sorra a morsel av rint have we got to giveyou,' says they, `so go and have your fling, but 'deed and indeed, if wesee you here again until times are mended, we'll shoot ye as dead as aBallyshannon rabbit.'"
"Well, young gentlemen," said McBain, after a pause in the conversation,during which nothing was heard except
The Cruise of the Snowbird: A Story of Arctic Adventure Page 4