CHAPTER THREE.
THE GUEST FROM LONDON.
It was well on in the afternoon when Scoodrach, who was lying upon hischest with his chin resting on the boat's gunwale, suddenly exclaimed,--
"There she is."
The sun was shining down hotly, there was not a breath of air, andKenneth, who seemed as languid as the drooping sails, slowly turned hishead round to look at a cloud of smoke which appeared to be coming rounda distant point of land.
Hours had passed since they sailed away from Dunroe, and for a time theyhad had a favourable wind; then it had drooped suddenly, leaving the sealike glass, and the boat rising and falling softly upon the swell.There had been nothing to shoot but gulls, which, knowing they weresafe, had come floating softly round, looking at them with inquiringeyes, and then glided away. They had gazed down through the water atthe waving tangle, and watched the shoals of glistening young fish.They had whistled for wind, but none had come, and then, as they lay inthe boat at the mercy of the swift tide, the hot hours of the noontidehad glided by, even as the current which bore them along the shore,helpless unless they had liked to row, and that they had not liked to doupon such a glowing day.
"I don't believe that's she," said Kenneth lazily. "That's the cargoboat. Grenadier must have gone by while you were asleep."
"While she wass what?" cried Scood sharply. "Haven't been to sleep."
"Yes, you have. You snored till the boat wobbled."
"She didn't. She never does snore. It wass you."
"All right. Dessay it was," said Kenneth, yawning. "Oh, I say, Scood,I'm getting so hungry, and we can't get back."
"Yes, we can. We shall have to row."
"I'm not going to row all those miles against tide, I can tell you."
"Very well. We shall have to wait."
"I can't wait. I want my dinner."
"It is the Grenadier!" cried Scood, after a long look. "I can see herred funnel."
"You can't at this distance."
"Yes, I can. The sun's shining on it; and there's the wind coming."
"How do you know?"
"Look at the smoke. We shall get home by six."
"But I'm hungry now. I shall have to shoot something to eat. I say,Scood, why shouldn't I shoot you?"
"Don't know," said Scoodrach, grinning.
"Wonder whether you'd be tough."
"Wait and eat him," said Scood, grinning.
"Eat whom?"
"The London laddie."
Kenneth, in his idle, drowsy fit, had almost forgotten the visitor, andhe roused up now, and gazed earnestly at the approaching cloud of smoke,for the steamer was quite invisible.
"It is the _Grenadier_," said Kenneth; "and she's bringing the wind withher."
"Shouldn't say _she_," muttered Scood.
"Yes, I should, stupid. Ships are shes."
"Said you'd kick me if I said `she,'" muttered Scood.
"So I will if you call me `she.' I'm not a ship. Hurrah! Here's thewind at last."
For the mainsail began to shiver slightly, and the glassy water to sendforth scintillations instead of one broad silvery gleam.
Kenneth seized the tiller, and the next minute they were gliding throughthe water, trying how near the duck-shaped boat would sail to the wind.
For the next half-hour they were tacking to and fro right in the courseof the coming steamer, till, judging their distance pretty well, sailwas lowered, oars put out, and they rowed till the faces which crowdedthe forward part of the swift boat were plain to see. Soon after, whilethe cloud of smoke seemed to have become ten times more black, and thecloud of gulls which accompanied the steamer by contrast more white, thepaddles ceased churning up the clear water and sending it astern infoam, a couple of men in blue jerseys stood ready to throw a rope, whichScood caught, and turned round the thwart forward, and Kenneth stood up,gazing eagerly at the little crowd by the paddle-box.
"How are you, captain?"
"How are you, squire?"
"Any one for us?"
"Yes. Young gent for Dunroe," said a man with a gold-braided cap.
"Where is he?"
"Here just now. Here's his luggage," said one of the men in bluejerseys. "There he is."
"Now then, sir! Look alive, please."
"But--"
"This way, sir."
"Must I--must I get down?--that small boat!"
Kenneth stared at the pallid-looking youth, who stood shrinking back,almost in wonder, as the visitor clung to the gangway rail, and gazed inhorror at the boat dancing in the foaming water.
"Ketch hold."
"All right."
There was the rapid passing down of luggage--portmanteau, hat-box, bag,gun-case, sheaf of fishing-rods, and bale of wrappers; and, as Scoodsecured these, Kenneth held out his hand.
"Come along," he said. "It's all right."
"But--"
"Look sharp, sir, please; we can't stop all day."
Evidently in an agony of dread and shame, the stranger stepped down intothe boat, staggered, clung to Kenneth, and, as he was forced down to aseat, clung to it with all his might. Scood cast off the rope; thecaptain on the bridge made his bell ting in the engine-room, a burst offoam came rushing from beneath the paddle-box, the little boat danced upand down, the great steamer glided rapidly on, and Kenneth and Scoodrachgazed in an amused way at the new occupant of the boat.
"We've been waiting for you--hours," said Kenneth at last. "How areyou?"
"I'm quite well, thank--I mean, I'm not at all well, thank you," saidthe visitor, shaking hands limply, and then turning to look at Scood, asif wondering whether he should shake hands there.
"That's only Scood, my gillie," said Kenneth hastily. "Did we get allyour luggage?"
"I--I don't know," said the visitor in a helpless way. "I hope so. Atleast, I don't mind. It has been such a rough passage!"
"Rough?" shouted Kenneth.
"Yes; terribly. The steamer went up and down so. I felt very ill."
"Been beautiful here. Now, Scood, don't sit staring there. Shove someof those things forward and some aft."
Scood jumped up, the boat gave a lurch, and the visitor uttered a gasp.
"Mind!" he cried.
"Oh, he's all right," said Kenneth bluffly. "When he has no shoes on hecan hold by his toes. Come and sit aft."
"No, thank you; I would rather not move. I did not know it would be sorough at sea, or I would have come by train."
"Train! You couldn't come to Dunroe by train."
"Couldn't I?"
"No."
"Oh!--Are you Mr Kenneth Mackhai?"
"I'm Kenneth Mackhai," said the lad rather stiffly. "My father asked meto come and meet you--and, er--we're very glad to see you."
"Thank you. It was very kind of you; but I am not used to the sea, andI should have preferred landing at the pier and coming on in a cab or afly."
"Pier! There's no pier near us."
"No pier? But never mind. You are very good. Would you mind settingme ashore now?"
"Ashore! What for?"
"To--to go on to the house. I would rather walk."
Kenneth laughed, and then checked himself.
"It's ten miles' sail from here home, and it would be twenty round bythe mountain-road. We always go by boat."
"By boat? In this boat?" faltered the visitor.
"Yes. She skims along like a bird."
"Then--I couldn't--walk?"
"Walk? No. We'll soon run you home. Sorry it was so rough. Butthere's a lovely wind now. Come aft here, and we'll hoist the sail.That's right, Scood. Now there's room to move."
"Could--could you call back the steamer?" said the stranger hoarsely.
"Call her back? No; she's a mile away nearly. Look!"
The visitor gave a despairing stare at the steamer, and the wake of foamshe had left behind.
"You will be all right directly," said Kenneth, suppressing his mirth."You're n
ot used to the sea?"
"No."
"We are. There, give me your hand. You sit there aft and hold thetiller, while I help Scood run up the sails."
"Thank you, I'm much obliged. But if you could set me ashore."
"It's three miles away," said Kenneth, glancing at the mainland.
"No, no; I mean there."
"There? That's only a rocky island with a few sheep on it. And there'ssuch a wild race there, it's dangerous at this time of the tide."
"Are they savages?"
"Savages?"
"Yes; the wild race."
"Poof!"
"Be quiet, Scood, or I'll chuck you overboard. What are you laughingat? I mean race of the tide. Look, you can see the whirlpools. It'sthe Atlantic rushing in among the rocks. Now then, come along."
The visitor would not rise to his feet, but crept over to the after partof the boat, where he crouched more than sat, starting violently as thelight craft swayed with the movements of its occupants, and began todance as well with the rising sea.
"I'm afraid you think I'm a terrible coward."
"That's just what I do think," said Kenneth to himself; but he turnedround with a look of good-humoured contempt. "Oh no," he said aloud;"you'll soon get used to it. Now, Scood, heave ahoy. Look here, wecan't help it. If you laugh out at him, I'll smash you."
"But look at him," whispered Scood.
"I daren't, Scood. Heave ahoy!"
"Take care! Mind!" cried the visitor in agony.
"What's the matter?"
"I--I thought--Pray don't do that!"
Kenneth could not refrain from joining in Scood's mirth, but he checkedhimself directly, and gave the lad a punch in the ribs, as he hauled atthe mainsail.
"You'll have the boat over!" cried the shivering guest, white now withagony, as the sail filled and the boat careened, and began to rushthrough the water.
"Take more than that to send her over," cried Kenneth merrily, as hetook the tiller. "Plenty of wind now, Scood."
Scoodrach laughed, and their passenger clung more tightly to his seat.
For the wind was rising to a good stiff breeze, the waves were beginningto show little caps of foam, and to the new-comer it seemed uttermadness to be seated in such a frail cockle-shell, which kept on lyingover from the pressure on the sail, and riding across the waves whichhissed and rushed along the sides, and now and then sent a few dropsflying over the sail.
"You'll soon get used to it," cried Kenneth, who felt disposed at firstto be commiserating and ready to pity his guest; but the abject state ofdread displayed roused the spirit of mischief latent in the lad, and,after a glance or two at Scoodrach, he felt compelled to enjoy hiscompanion's misery.
"Is--is there any danger?" faltered the poor fellow at last, as the boatseemed to fly through the water.
"No, not much. Unless she goes down, eh, Scood?"
"Oh, she shall not go down chust direckly," said Scoodrach seriously."She's a prave poat to sail."
"What's the matter?" cried Kenneth, as his passenger looked wildlyround.
"Have you--a basin on board?" he faltered.
This was too much for the others. Scoodrach burst into a roar oflaughter, in which Kenneth joined for a minute, and then, checkinghimself, he apologised.
"Nonsense!" he said; "you keep a stout heart. You'll like it directly.Got a line, Scood?"
"Yes; twa."
"Bait 'em and throw 'em out; we may get a mackerel or two."
"They've got spinners on them," said the lad sententiously, as he openeda locker in the bows, and took out a couple of reels.
"Don't--go quite so fast," said the visitor imploringly.
"Why not? It's safer like this--eh, Scood?"
"Oh yes; she's much safer going fast."
"But the waves! They'll be in the boat directly."
"Won't give 'em time to get in--will we, Scood? Haul in that sheet alittle tighter."
This was done, and the boat literally rushed through the water.
"There, you're better already, aren't you?"
"I--I don't know."
"Oh, but I do. You'll want to have plenty of sails like this."
"In the young master's poat," said Scoodrach, watching the stranger witheyes which sparkled with mischief. "Wouldn't the young chentleman liketo see the Grey Mare's Tail?"
"Ah, to be sure!" cried Kenneth; "you'd like to see that."
"Is--is the grey mare ashore?" faltered the visitor.
"Yes, just round that point--a mile ahead."
"Yes, please--I should like to see that," said the guest, with a sigh ofrelief, for he seemed to see safety in being nearer the shore.
"All right! We'll run for it," cried Kenneth; and he slightly alteredthe boat's course, so as to draw a little nearer to the land. "Wind'sgetting up beautifully."
"Getting up?"
"Yes. Blow quite a little gale to-night, I'll be bound."
"Is--is there any danger?"
"Oh, I don't know. We get a wreck sometimes--don't we, Scood?"
"Oh ay, very fine wrecks sometimes, and plenty of people trowned!"
"You mean wrecks of ships?"
"Yes; and boats too, like this--eh, Scood?"
"Oh yes; poats like this are often wrecked, and go to the pottom," saidScood maliciously.
There was a dead silence in the boat, during which Kenneth and Scoodexchanged glances, and their tired companion clutched the seat moretightly.
"I say, your name's Blande, isn't it?" said Kenneth suddenly.
"Yes; Maximilian--I mean Max Blande."
"And you are going to stay with us?"
"I suppose so."
The lad gave his tormentor a wistful look, but it had no effect.
"Long?"
"I don't know. My father said I was to come down here. Is it muchfarther on?"
"Oh yes, miles and miles yet. We shall soon show you the Grey Mare'sTail now."
"Couldn't we walk the rest of the way, then?"
"Walk! No. Could we, Scood?"
"No, we couldn't walk," said the lad addressed; "and who'd want to walkwhen we've got such a peautiful poat?"
There was another silence, during which the boat rushed on, with Kennethtrickily steering so as to make their way as rough as possible, bothboys finding intense enjoyment in seeing the pallid, frightened looks oftheir guest, and noting the spasmodic starts he gave whenever a littlewave came with a slap against the bows and sprinkled them.
"I say, who's your father?" said Kenneth suddenly.
"Mr Blande of Lincoln's Inn. You are Mr Mackhai's son, are you not?"
"I am The Mackhai's son," cried Kenneth, drawing himself up stiffly.
"Yes; there's no Mr Mackhai here," cried Scoodrach fiercely. "She'sthe Chief."
"She isn't, Scood. Oh, what an old dummy you are!"
"Well, so she is the chief."
"So she is! Ah, you! Look here, you, Max Blande: my father's the Chiefof the Clan Mackhai."
"Is he? Is it much further, to the grey mare's stable?" faltered thepassenger.
The two boys roared with laughter, Max gazing from one to the otherrather pitifully.
"Did I say something very stupid?" he asked mildly.
"Yes, you said stable," cried Kenneth, wiping his eyes. "I say, Scood,wait till he sees the Grey Mare."
"Yes; wait till she sees the Grey Mare," cried Scood, bending doublewith mirth.
Max drew in a long breath, and gazed straight before him at the sea, andthen to right and left of the fiord through which they were rapidlysailing. He saw the shore some three miles away on their left, and acouple to their right, a distance which they were reducing, as the boat,with the wind well astern, rushed on.
"It's too bad to laugh at you," said Kenneth, smoothing the wrinkles outof his face.
"I don't know what I said to make you laugh," replied Max, with apiteous look.
"Then wait till you see the Grey Mare's Tail, and you will."
"Didn't I tell you that you couldn't walk home? Besides, every one goesto see the Grey Mare's Tail--eh, Scood?"
There was a nod and a mirthful look which troubled the visitor, who satwith his face contracted, and a spasm seeming to run through him everytime the boat made a leap and dive over some wave.
They were running rapidly now toward a huge mass of rock, which rangloomy looking and forbidding into the sea, evidently forming one of thepoints of a bay beyond. The mountains came here very close to the sea,and it was as if by some convulsion of nature the great buttress hadbeen broken short off, leaving a perpendicular face of rock, along whosenarrow ledges grey and black birds were sitting in scores.
"See the birds?" cried Kenneth, as they sped on rapidly, Max gaining alittle confidence as he found that the boat did not go right over fromthe pressure of the wind on the sail.
"Are those birds?" he said.
"Yes; gulls and cormorants and puffins. Did you feed Macbrayne'spigeons as you came along?"
"No," said Max quietly; "I did not see them."
"Oh, come, I know better than that. Didn't you come up Loch Fyne in theColumba?"
"The great steamer? Yes."
"Well, didn't you see a large flock of grey gulls flying with you allthe way?"
"Oh yes, and some people threw biscuits to them. They were like a greatgrey and white cloud."
"Well, I call them Macbrayne's pigeons."
"Are we going ashore here?" said Max eagerly, as they neared the point,about which the swift tide foamed and leaped furiously, the wavescausing a deep, low roar to rise as they fretted among the tumbled chaosof rocks.
"I hope not. Eh, Scood?"
"Hope not! Why?"
"Because the sea would knock the boat to pieces. That's all."
"Hah!"
Max drew his breath with a low hiss, and gazed sharply from Kenneth tothe foaming water they were approaching so swiftly, and now, with thelittle knowledge he had gained, the lowering mass of rock began to lookterribly forbidding, and the birds which flew shrieking away seemed tobe uttering cries of warning.
"Hadn't you better pull the left rein--I mean steer away, if it's sodangerous?"
"No; I'm going in between those two rocks, close in. Plenty of waternow, isn't there, Scood?"
"Not plenty; enough to clear the rock," was the reply.
"Sit fast, and you'll see what a rush through we shall go. Hold tight."
Max set his teeth, and his eyes showed a complete circle of white aboutthe iris as the boat careened over, and, feeling now the current whichraced foaming around the point, he had a strange catching of the breath,while his hands clung spasmodically to the thwart and side.
The huge mass of frowning rock seemed to be coming to meet them; thegrey-winged birds flew hither and thither; the water, that had been darkblue flecked with white, suddenly became one wild race of foam, such ashe had seen behind the paddle-boxes of the steamers during his run upfrom Glasgow. There was the perpendicular wall on his right, and acluster of black crags on his left, and toward these the boat wasrushing at what seemed to him a terrific rate. It was like runningwildly to their death; but Kenneth was seated calmly holding the tiller,and Scood half lay back, letting one hand hang over and splash amongstthe foam.
Hiss, roar, rush, and a spray of spattering drops of the beaten wavessplashed over them as they raced on, passing through the opening at arate which made Max Blande feel dizzy. Then, just as the boat careenedover till the bellying sail almost touched the low crags on their left,it made quite a leap, rose upright, the pressure on the sail ceased, therush of wind seemed to be suddenly cut off, and they were glidingrapidly along in an almost waveless bay, with a deep, loud, thunderousroar booming into their ears.
"What do you think of that?" cried Kenneth, laughing in his guest'sastonished face.
"I--I don't know. Is anything broken?"
"Broken? No. We're under the shelter of the great point."
"Oh, I see. But what's that noise? Thunder?"
"Thunder? No. That's the Grey Mare wagging her tail."
"Poof!"
Scood exploded again.
"You are laughing at me," said Max quietly. "I can't help being soignorant."
"Never mind, we'll show you. I say, Scood, there's wind enough to carryus by if we go close in."
"No, there isn't; keep out."
"Shan't. Get out the oars and help!"
"Best keep out," grumbled Scood.
"You get out the oars--do you hear?"
Scood frowned, and slowly laid out the oars, as he took his place on theforward thwart, after a glance at the sail, which barely filled now.
"She aren't safe to go near," he said sulkily.
"Does she kick?" said Max eagerly.
Kenneth burst into a fresh roar of laughter.
"Oh yes, sometimes," he said, "right into the boat."
Scood sat with the oars balanced, and a grim smile upon his countenance,while Max looked sharply from one to the other, and, seeing that therewas something he did not grasp, he sat watchful and silent, while theboat, in the full current which swept round the bay, glided rapidly outtoward the farther point, from behind which the thunderous roar seemedto come.
In another minute they were close to the point, round which the tideflowed still and deep, and directly after Max held his breath, as theboat glided on, with the sail flapping, towards where in one wild leap atorrent of white water came clear out from a hundred feet above, toplunge sullenly into the sea.
"That's the Grey Mare's Tail," cried Kenneth, raising his voice so as tobe heard above the heavy roar; and the fall bore no slight resemblanceto the long white sweeping appendage of some gigantic beast, reachingfrom the face of the precipice to the sea.
Max felt awe-stricken, for, saving on canvas, he had never seen anythingof the kind before. It was grand, beautiful, and thrilling to see thewhite water coming foaming down, and seeming to make the sea boil; butthe perspiration came out on the lad's brow as he realised the meaningof what had passed, and understood Scood's remonstrances, for it wasevident that the boat was drawing rapidly toward the fall, and that inthe shelter of the tremendous cliff there was not sufficient wind tocounteract the set of the current.
Scood gave one glance over his shoulder, and began to row hard, whilefor a moment Kenneth laughed; but directly after he realised that therewas danger, and, leaving the tiller, he stepped forward, sat downhastily, and caught the oar Scood passed to him.
A minute of intense anxiety passed, during which the two lads rowed withall their might. But, in spite of their efforts, the boat glided nearerand nearer to the falling water, and it seemed but a matter of momentsbefore they would be drawn right up to where the cataract camethundering down.
"Pull, Scood!" shouted Kenneth. "Pull!"
Scoodrach did not reply, but dragged at his oar, and for a few momentsthey made way; then surely and steadily the boat glided toward the fall,having to deal with the tide and the natural set of the surface towardthe spot where the torrent poured in.
Max Blande grasped all now, and, ignorant of such matters as he was, hecould still realise that from foolhardiness his companion had run theboat into a terrible danger beyond his strength to counteract.
There it was, plain enough: if they could not battle with the steady,insidious current which was slowly bearing them along, in another minutethe torrent would fill the boat and plunge them down into the chaos offoaming water, from which escape would be impossible.
"Quick! here!" cried Kenneth in a shrill voice, heard above the deephumming roar of the fall. "Push--push!"
For a few moments Max could not grasp his meaning, but, when he did, heplaced his hands against the oar, and thrust at each stroke with all hismight.
For a few moments the extra strength seemed to tell, but Max's help wasweak, and not enough to counteract the failing efforts of th
e two lads,who in their excitement rowed short, and without the steady strainwanted in such a time of peril.
"It's no good," cried Scood hoarsely. "She'll go town, and we mustswim."
His voice rang out shrilly in the din of the torrent, but he did notcease pulling, for Kenneth shouted back,--
"Pull--pull! Will you pull?" He bent to his oar as he spoke, and oncemore they seemed to make a little way, but only for a few moments; and,as Max Blande looked up over his shoulder, it seemed to him that thegreat white curve was right above him, and even as he looked quite ashower of foam came spattering down into the boat.
Three Boys; Or, The Chiefs of the Clan Mackhai Page 3