Harry Milvaine; Or, The Wanderings of a Wayward Boy

by Gordon Stables

never can yield.

  "The moon has arisen, it shines on that path, Now trod by the gallant and true-- High, high are their hopes, for their chieftain has said, That whatever men dare they can do. I hear the pibroch, sounding, sounding, Deep o'er the mountains and glens, While light-springing footsteps are trampling the heath-- 'Tis the march of the Cameron men."

  Poor brave, but rather wayward, boy! the gallant ship is even now lyingin Lerwick Bay that soon shall bear him far o'er Arctic seas.

  Book 2--CHAPTER ONE.

  A LIFE ON THE OCEAN WAVE.

  HARRY IN A QUEER POSITION.

  Very picturesque and beautiful does the Greenland fleet of the sealersand whalers appear from any of the neighbouring hills which enclosedLerwick Sound in their midst, giving it the appearance of some greatHighland lake. The dark blue rippling water is to-day--as Harry gazeson it--studded with threescore gallant ships, many of them steamers, buteach and all having tall and tapering masts. Then the bare, treeless,rugged mountains; the romantic little town with its time-worn fort; theboats flitting hither and thither like birds on the water, and lofty BenBrassa--capped in snow--looking down upon all, form a scene ofimpressive beauty and quiet grandeur that once beheld is not easilyforgotten.

  The town, however, like many others in this world, looks immenselybetter at a distance than it does upon close inspection. The streets,or rather lanes, are close and confined. Indeed, there is but oneprincipal street, which is transversed by a multitude of lanes, which onone side lead down to the sea, and on the other scramble up a steephill. And in the rainy season these lanes are converted into brawlingstreams which pour their roaring floods down into the tide-way.

  The houses in the street are built in the Danish or Scandinavian style,and are mostly built with their gables to the front, while at every tenor twelve yards' distance, one of these buildings stands threateninglyforth across the path in a thus-far-shalt-thou-go sort of fashion,giving to the street a very awkward appearance, and on dark nightsseriously endangering the noses of the pedestrians.

  Harry had come by steamboat from Aberdeen, to which fair granite city hehad trudged all the way on foot. He had to harbour his funds, rich andall though he thought himself, and I believe that during all that long,weary walk to the city, he subsisted almost entirely on bread and cheesewashed down with milk. But he was young and strong and hardy.

  He had taken steerage fare to Lerwick, and no sooner had he ensconcedhimself on the locker than he fell sound asleep, and never lifted hishead for twelve whole hours.

  In most books of travel by sea the author says nothing aboutseasickness. This is something very real and very dreadfulnevertheless. There is no cure for it, nor ever will be, till the worldis at an end. Only its effects can be mitigated by fresh air andexercise on deck. One must fight the fearful malady, and, as you fightit, it will flee from you. Intending sailor-boys would do well toremember this.

  The passage to Lerwick had been a stormy one; unable to remain below,owing to the heat and the unsavoury nature of the atmosphere, Harry hadgone on deck. It was night, but there was never a star to be seen, onlythe blackness of darkness overhead, pierced by the white light thatstreamed from the funnel, only the wild waves on every side, their whitecrests flashing and shimmering here and there as if they were livingmonsters. Sometimes one would hit the ship with a dull, dreary thud,and the spray would dash on board, and anon the steamer would duck herhead and ship a great green sea that came tumbling aft, carryingeverything movable before it, and drenching every one to the skin whomit met in its passage.

  Poor Harry was too sick and ill to care much what became of him.

  He had crawled in under a tarpaulin, and there, with his head on a coilof ropes, fallen soundly asleep once more.

  It was a painful first experience of the sea, and to tell you the truth,even at the expense of my young hero's reputation, more than once he_almost_ wished he had not left his Highland home. Almost, but notquite.

  And now here he was standing looking down from a hill-top, and wishinghimself safe and sound on board one of these stately Greenland ships.But how to get there?

  That was the difficulty.

  There was no great hurry for a week. He had secured cheap lodgings in aquiet private house, so he must keep still and think fortune mightfavour him.

  The object of the captains of these Greenland whalers in lying for atime at Lerwick is to ship additional hands, for here they can beobtained at a cheaper rate than in Scotland.

  All day the streets were crowded to excess with seamen, and at night theplace was like a bedlam newly let loose. It was not a pleasant scene tolook upon.

  Now Harry Milvaine had read so much, that he knew quite a deal about themanners and customs of seafarers, and also of the laws that governships, their masters, and their crews.

  "If I go straight to the captain of some ship," he said to himself, "andask him to take me, then, instead of taking me, he will hand me over tothe authorities, and they will send me home. That would not do."

  For a moment, but only a moment, it crossed his mind to become astowaway.

  But there was something most abhorrent in the idea. A mean, sneakingstowaway! Never.

  "I'll do things in a gentlemanly kind of way, whatever happens," he saidto himself.

  Well, anyhow, he would go and buy some addition to his outfit. He hadread books about Greenland, and he knew what to purchase. Everythingmust be rough and warm.

  When he had made his purchases he found he had only thirty shillingsremaining of all his savings.

  As he was bargaining for a pair of thick mitts a gentleman entered theshop and bade the young woman who had been serving Harry a kindly goodmorning.

  "What can I do for you to-day, Captain Hardy?" asked the woman, with asmile.

  "Ah! well," returned the captain, "I really didn't want anything, youknow. Just looked in to have a peep at your pretty face, that's all."

  "Oh, Captain Hardy, you're not a bit changed since you were here lastseason."

  "No, Miss Mitford, no; the seasons may change, but Captain Hardy--never.Well, I'll have a couple of pairs of worsted gloves; no fingers inthem, only a thumb."

  "Anything else?"

  "Come, now to think of it, May-day will come before many months, and--"

  "Oh, sly Captain Hardy," said Miss Mitford, with a bit of a blush, "youwant some ribbons to hang on the garland [Note 1]. Now I daresay youhave quite a pocketful, the gifts of other young ladies."

  "'Pon honour, Miss Mitford, I--"

  "No more, Captain Hardy. There?" she added, handing him a littlepacket, "they are of all the new colours, too."

  "Well, well, well, I daresay they are delightfully pretty, but I'm sureI sha'n't remember the names of one-half of them."

  "And when do you sail?"

  "Oh, I was going to tell you. The _Inuita_ is going first this year.Will be first among the seals, Miss Mitford, and first home."

  "And I trust with a full ship."

  "God bless you for saying that, my birdie. Well, we're off the dayafter to-morrow at four o'clock. Good-bye; come and see you againbefore I sail."

  And off dashed Captain Hardy of the good ship _Inuita_.

  A great kindly-eyed man he was, with an enormous brown beard, which Idaresay he oiled, for it glittered in the winter sunshine like the backof a boatman beetle.

  "One of the best-hearted men that ever lived," said Miss Mitford toHarry, as soon as he was gone; "strict in discipline, though; but hisofficers and men all love him, and he has the same first mate everyyear. May Providence protect the dear man, for he has a wild and stormysea to cross!"

  Harry soon after left the shop.

  "The _Inuita_," he said to himself--"the _Inuita_, Captain Hardy, sailsthe day after to-morrow at four o'clock. Well, I'll try, and if I fail,then--I must fail, that's all."

  This was on a Thursday, next day was Friday. On this day it is supposedto be unlucky to sail. At all
events, Captain Hardy did not mean to.Not that he was superstitious, but his men might be, and sure enough, ifthey afterwards came to grief in any way, they would lose heart and makesuch remarks as the following:

  "Nothing more than we could have expected."

  "What luck _could_ happen to us, when we sailed on a Friday?"

  Captain Hardy was a man who always kept a promise and an appointment.He had told his mate that he would sail on Saturday at two in theafternoon, and his mate got all ready long before that time.

  The captain was dining with friends on shore.

  About half-past one a boat with two lazy-looking Shetland men pulled offto the ship.

  "Well," cried Mr Menzies, the mate, "bright young men you are! Whyweren't you here at twelve o'clock, eh? There, don't answer; for'ardwith you. Don't dare