andRalph and Rory were roaring success to them from the "sulky" window. Anold turkey is usually a tough one, and do what he would the eagle couldonly disengage one talon from the back of his captive, if captive hecould now be called, and with this and his beak he had to do battle.
Now, that discretion is the better part of valour, even an eagle knows,so when at last he did manage to disengage his other talon, althoughseveral of his foes lay dead and dying around, the eagle had had quiteenough turkey, and prepared to soar.
But behold! quite an unexpected combatant makes his appearance, and goesto work at once on the eagle's breast, and this was none other thanAllan's pet Skye, a little dog of determination, for whenever he made uphis mind to lay hold of anything he did it, and stuck to it. With sucha weight attached to him in such a way, rapid flight was out of thequestion; the eagle had only strength enough left to flutter out of theyard, and fall on the ground on the other side, there to meet--pity me,reader, for how shall I name it? Were I not writing facts this bravebut discomfited eagle should have a nobler end--there to meet _old Janetwith a broom-handle_!
"Hold, Janet, hold?" cried our gallant English Ralph from the "sulky"window; "fair play, Janet, fair play."
Too late! The king of birds lies dead.
"Ten feet from tip to tip of his wings," said McBain, as he stood overhim about an hour after. Allan, and Ralph, and Rory were all there."Eagle, eagle," Rory was saying,--
"Thou hast bowed From thine empire o'er the cloud; Thou that hadst ethereal birth, Thou hast stooped too near the earth, And the hunter's shaft hath found thee; And the toils of Death have bound thee."
"Hunter's shaft, indeed," laughed Ralph; "old Janet's broom-handle; butcome, boys, I know you are both of you game enough for anything, so Ipropose we go and try to bag the disconsolate widow of this royal bird.We can capture the young ones and rear them."
"It would indeed be a pity to leave the widow to mourn," said Rory.
"It's a sad pity my sheep must mourn," said Allan. When at thebreakfast-table that morning, Allan said, in a seemingly unconcernedvoice,--
"Mother, we mean to have a day among the eagles; they have commenced it,you know." His mother knew well he was asking her consent, and she gaveit because she would not see him unhappy. But nevertheless, shewhispered to him as he left the room,--
"Oh, child! do take care of yourself, and take care of Rory. I hadstrange dreams about you last night."
Our three heroes, accompanied by men carrying the wooden well-windlasswith a plank or two, and plenty of length of rope, made their way overthe mountain to the top of the precipice before described. McBain withhis trusty rifle went down the glen, among the birch-trees at the otherside of the lake. He was not only eagle-slayer, but signalman to theexpedition. Keeping close to the loch, he walked onwards for fullythree-quarters of a mile, then he stopped and fired his rifle in theair. He stood now as still as a statue, and so remained for fullyhalf-an-hour, until his party had fixed the windlass to the brink of thecliff. Had this latter been flat at the top the danger would have beenbut small, but the ground _sloped towards the brink_, so that a falsestep or a slip meant something too awful to contemplate. Right downbeneath them is the eyrie, quite one hundred feet from the top.Circling high in air, far, far above them, is the she-eagle. She iswatching and wondering. If any one dares descend she will rend them inpieces. But see, something leaves the cliff-top, and goes downwards anddownwards nearer and nearer to her nest. With a scream of rage sherushes from her hover, passes our friends swift as a thunderbolt, and islost to view. She is expending her anger now, she is having revenge,and fragments of a torn garment flutter down towards the lake. McBainhas thrown himself on his face; he is no mean marksman, but he will needall his skill and steadiness now, and this he knows right well.
Seconds, long, long seconds of suspense--so at least they seem to thoseon the cliff. Then a puff of white smoke and at the very moment thatthe crack of the rifle falls on their ears, McBain is on his legs again,and waving his gun in joy aloft. The eagle is slain, and downwards withdrooping head and outstretched pinions is falling lakewards. Then thelure, rent in ribbons, is drawn back, and Rory, the lightest of thethree, prepares to descend. He laughs as he puts his limbs through thebight.
"Troth, I'll have the youngsters up in a brace of shakes," he says, "nowthe ould mother of them is slain. And there isn't a taste of danger inthe whole business. Lower away."
And they do lower away slowly and steadily. Rory disappears, andAllan's heart sinks and seems to descend with his friend. A thousandtimes rather would he have gone down himself, but Rory had opposed thiswish with the greatest determination; _he_ was the lightest weight, andit was _his_ privilege.
They watch the signalman; he stands with one arm aloft, and they loweraway until that arm falls suddenly by his side. Then they stop, and the"pawl" holds the windlass fast. Rory has reached the eyrie, he graspsthe rock, and scrambles on to the projecting ledge.
"Shut your mouths now, and be quiet with you," he says to the woollyyoung eaglets; "there's neither bite nor sup shall go into the crops ofyou until you're safe in Arrandoon."
He placed the birds in the basket, tied it to the rope, signalled toMcBain, who signalled to the cliff by raising two arms, and up to thebrink went the precious burden. A few minutes afterwards and the ropeonce more dangled before Rory's eyes.
But why does poor Rory turn so pale, and why does he tremble so, andcrouch backward against the wet rock's side?
The rope dangles before his eyes, it is true, but it dangles _a goodlyfoot beyond his reach_. The top of the cliff projects farther than theeyrie itself; in his descent the rope had oscillated with his weight,and he had unknowingly been swung on to the ledge of rock. But who nowwill swing him the empty bight of rope?
Rory recovered himself in a few moments. "Action, action," he saidaloud, as if the sound of his own voice would help to steel his nerves."Action alone can save me, I _must_ leap."
As he spoke he cleared the ledge of rock of the rotting sticks and ofthe bones, for these might perchance impede his feet, and signalled toMcBain to lower the rope still farther. Then he stood erect and firm,leaning backwards, however, against the precipice, for nearly a minute.Rory is no coward, but see, he is kneeling down with his face to thecliff; he is seeking strength from One more powerful than he.
Reader, at five bells in the morning watch on board a man-o'-war, themidshipmen are roused from their hammocks, and many of them kneel besidetheir sea-chests for some minutes before they dress, and not one ofthese did I ever know who was not truly brave at heart, or who failed todo his duty in the hour of danger.
Now Rory is erect again, his elbows and back are squared, his hands halfopen, his face is set and determined, and now he--he springs.
Has he caught it? Yes; but he cannot hold it. It is slipping throughhis grasp, struggle as he may; but now, oh! joy, his foot gets in thebight, and he is saved!
He is soon to brink, and his comrades receive him with a joyful shoutRory says but little; but when they reach the head of the glen he runsforward at the top of his speed to meet McBain.
"McBain," he says, quickly, "not one word of what you saw, to eitherRalph or Allan."
"Give me your hand, dear boy," replied McBain, with a strange moisturein his eyes; "I appreciate your kindly motive as much as I admire thebrave heart that prompts it."
CHAPTER SIX.
CRUISING ROUND THE HEBRIDES--CAUGHT IN A "PUFF"--MAN OVERBOARD--DINNERON THE CLIFF--BRIGHT PROSPECTS.
Three months have passed away since the adventure at the eagle's nest.So swiftly, too, they have fled that it seems to our heroes butyesterday that the little cutter spread her white sails to the wind, andheaded down the loch for Fort Augustus. And all the time they have beencruising, with varied fortunes, up and down among the Western Isles.When I say that the time has passed swiftly, it is equivalent to tellingyou that the brave crew of the _Flower of Arrandoon_ have enjoyedthemselves, and this aga
in you will readily guess is equivalent tosaying that it had not been all plain sailing with them; had it been so,the very monotony of such a cruise, and the lack of adventure, wouldhave rendered it distasteful to them. In this bright, beautiful worldof ours you may find seas in which, during the months of summer, you cancruise in the most flimsy of yachts, among islands, too, as lovely asdreamland, where the wind is never higher than a gentle breeze, nor thewaves than a ripple, and where danger is hardly ever to be encountered;but such a _dolce far niente_ existence is not for youth; youth shouldbe no lotus-eater, and so McBain had done well in choosing for his youngpupils the cruising ground on which they now were sailing. They had hada taste of all kinds of Highland summer weather--true it had been mostlyfine--but many a stiff breeze they
The Cruise of the Snowbird: A Story of Arctic Adventure Page 10