Chapter 4. Welcome To Dunroe

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_ CHAPTER FOUR. WELCOME TO DUNROE

A cry of horror rose to Max Blande's lips, but there it seemed to be frozen, and he knelt, with starting eyes, crouched together, and gazing up at the falling water. Stunned by the roar, too helpless to lend the slightest aid to the rowers, he felt that in another moment they would be right beneath, when the boat suddenly careened over, struck by the sharp puff of wind which seemed to come tearing down the ravine from which the torrent issued, and in a few moments they were fifty feet away, and running rapidly toward the mouth of the bay.

The first thing Max Blande realised was that he had been knocked over into the bottom of the boat by Kenneth, who had sprung to the rudder, and the next that he had been trampled on by Scood, who had seized the sheet, and held on to trim the sail.

Max got up slowly, and shivered as he glanced at the great fall and then at his companions, who, now that the danger was past, made light of it, and burst into a hearty laugh at his expense.

"Are we out of danger?" he faltered.

"Out of danger! Yes, of course; wasn't any," replied Kenneth. "Had the boat full; that's all. You said you could swim, didn't you?"

Max shook his head.

"Ah, well, it don't matter now! Scood and I can soon teach you that."

"If she couldn't swim she'd ha' been trowned," said Scood oracularly, "for we should have had enough to do to get ashore."

"Hold your tongue, Scood; and will you leave off calling people she?"

"Where would the boat have come up?" continued Scood.

"Bother! never mind that. There's plenty of wind now, and we'll soon race home."

"But we were in great danger, weren't we?"

"N-n-no," said Kenneth cavalierly. "It would have been awkward if the boat had filled, but it didn't fill. If you come to that, we're in danger now."

"Danger now!" cried Max, clutching the side again.

"Yes, of course. If the boat was to sink, I daresay it's two hundred feet deep here."

"Oh!"

"But that's nothing. We'll take you up Loch Doy. It's seven hundred and fifty feet up there, and the water looks quite black. Ha, ha, ha!" laughed Kenneth; "and the thought of it makes you look quite white."

"It seems so horrible."

"Not a bit. Why should it?" cried Kenneth. "It's just as dangerous to sail in seven feet of water as in seven hundred."

"Mind tat rock," said Scoodrach.

"Well, I am minding it," said Kenneth carelessly, as, with the wind coming now in a good steady breeze, consequent upon their being out of the shelter of the point, he steered so that they ran within a few feet of where the waves creamed over a detached mass of rock.

Max was gazing back at the cascade, whose aspect from where they were well warranted the familiar name by which it was known. He could, however, see no beauty in the wild leap taken by the stream, and he drew a sigh of relief as they glided by the next point, and the fall passed from his view, while the thunderous roar died away.

"There!" cried Kenneth; "that will be something for you to talk about when you go back. You don't have falls like that in town."

"She'd petter not talk about it," said Scood. "If the Chief knows we took the poat so near, she'll never let us go out in her again."

"Oh, I don't know," said Kenneth. "It was pretty near, though. I say, don't say anything to my father. Scood's afraid he'd be horsewhipped."

"Nay, it's the young master is afraid," retorted Scood.

"You say I'm afraid, Scood, and I'll knock you in the water!"

Scood grinned, and began to slacken the sheet, for the wind kept coming in sharper puffs, and at every blast the boat heeled over to such an extent that Max felt certain that they must fill.

"You haul in that sheet, Scood, and let's get all we can out of her."

"Nay, nay, laddie, she won't bear any more. We ought to shorten ta sail."

"No," cried Kenneth; "I want to see how soon we can get home. Why, it's ever so much past six now. We shan't be back till late. Don't want to see the Black Cavern, do you, to-night?"

"Oh no!" cried Max eagerly.

"We could row right in ever so far with the tide like this."

Max shuddered. It was bad enough in the open sea; the idea of rowing into a black cavern after what he had gone through horrified him.

"All right, then. Make that sheet fast, Scood, and trim the boat. I'll make her skim this time."

"No," said Scood decisively. "Too much wind. She'll hold ta sheet."

"You do as I tell you, or I'll pitch you overboard."

Scood looked vicious, but said nothing, only seated himself to windward, so as to counterbalance the pressure, and held on by the sheet.

"Did you hear what I said?"

Scood nodded.

"Then make that sheet fast."

Scood shook his head.

"Will you make that sheet fast?"

"Too much wind."

Kenneth left the tiller and literally leaped on to Scood, and, to the horror of Max, there was a desperate wrestle, during which he was in momentary expectation of seeing both pitch over into the sea. The boat rocked, the sail flapped, and a wave came with a slap against the side, and splashed the luggage in the bottom, before Scood yielded, and sat down on the forward thwart.

"I don't care," he said. "I can swim as long as I like."

"I'll make you swim if you don't mind," said Kenneth, seizing the rope and making it fast.

"She'll go over, and you'll trown the chentleman!" cried Scood.

"He won't mind!" cried Kenneth, settling himself in the stern and seizing the tiller; when Max gave vent to a gasp, for the boat seemed to be going over, so great was the pressure on the bellying sails, but she rose again, and made quite a leap as she skimmed through the waves.

"That's the way to make her move," cried Kenneth triumphantly. "Think I don't know how to manage a boat, you red-headed old tyke?"

"Ah, chust wait till a squall comes out of one of the glens, Master Ken, and you'll see."

"Tchah! Don't you take any notice of him. He's an old grey corbie. Croak, croak, croak! Afraid of getting a ducking. You sit still and hold tight, and I'll run you up to Dunroe in no time."

Max said nothing, but sat there in speechless terror, as, out of sheer obstinacy, and partly out of a desire to scare his new companion, Kenneth kept the sheet fast--the most reprehensible act of which a boatman can be guilty in a mountain loch--and the boat under far more pressure of sail than she ought to have borne.

The result was that they literally raced through the gleaming water, which was now being lit up by the setting sun, that turned the sides of the hills into so much transparent glory of orange, purple, and gold, while the sea gleamed and flashed and danced as if covered with leaping tongues of fire.

It was a wondrous evening, but Max Blande, as he clung there, could only see a boat caught by a sudden gust, and sinking, while it left them struggling in the restless sea.

Over and over again, as they rushed on, the bows were within an ace of diving into some wave, and the keel must often have shown, but by a dexterous turn of the tiller Kenneth avoided the danger just at the nick of time, and nothing worse happened than the leaping in of some spray, Scood silently sopping the gathering water with a large sponge, which he kept on wringing over the side.

"There's a puff coming," cried Scood, suddenly looking west.

"Let it come. We don't mind, do we?"

Max's lips moved, but he said nothing.

"I don't care, then," said Scood, pushing off his shoes, and then setting to work to rid himself of his coarse grey socks, as if he were skinning his lower extremities, after which he grumpily began to load his shoes as if they were mortars, by ramming a rolled-up-ball-like sock in each.

"Nobody wants you to care, Rufus," cried Kenneth.

"My fathers were once chiefs like yours," continued Scood, amusing himself by sopping up the water and squeezing the sponge with his toes.

"Get out! Old Coolin Cumstie never had a castle. He only lived in a bothy."

"And she can tie like a mans. It's a coot death to trown."

Scood was getting excited, and when in that state his dialect became broader.

"Only you'll get precious wet, Scoodie," cried Kenneth mockingly. "Never mind; I shall swim home, and I'll look out for you when you're washed ashore, and well hang you up to dry."

"Nay, I shall hae to hang you oop," cried Scood. "D'ye mind! Look at the watter coming in!"

"Then sop the watter up," cried Kenneth mockingly, as a few gallons began to swirl about in the boat.

"Is--is it much farther?"

"No, not much. Can you see the North Pole yet, Scood?"

Max looked bewildered.

"No, she can't see no North Poles," muttered Scood, as he diligently dried the boat.

"Never mind; I can steer home without," laughed Kenneth. "There we are. You can see Dunroe now."

They were just rounding a great grey bluff of rock, and he pointed to the old castle, as it stood up, ruddy and warm, lit by the western glow.

"I--I can't see it. Is it amongst those trees?"

"No, no. That's Dunroe--the castle."

"Oh!" said Max; and he sat there in silence, gazing at the old ruin, as they rapidly drew nearer, Kenneth, after giving Scood a laughing look, steering so as to keep the boat direct for the ancient stronghold, with its open windows, crumbling battlements and yawning gateway, which acted as a screen to the comfortable modern residence behind.

The visitor's heart sank at the forbidding aspect of the place. He was faint for want of food, weary and low-spirited from the frights he had had, and, in place of finding his destination some handsome mansion where there would be a warm welcome, it seemed to him that he had come to a savage dungeon-like place, on the very extreme of the earth, where all looked desolate and forlorn among the ruins, and the sea was beating at the foot of the rocks on which they stood.

In an ordinary way Kenneth would have run the skiff past the castle and round behind into the little land-locked bay, where his visitor could have stepped ashore in still water. But, as he afterwards told Scood, there would have been no fun in that. So he steered in among the rocks where the castle front faced the sea, and, after the sail had been lowered, he manipulated the boat till they were rising and falling in the uneasy tide, close alongside of a bundled-together heap of huge granite rocks, where he leapt ashore.

"Now then!" he cried; "give me your hand." It was a simple thing to do, that leaping on to the rock. All that was necessary was to jump out as the wave receded and left a great flat stone bare; but Max Blande look the wrong time, and stepped, as the wave returned, knee-deep among the slippery golden fucus, and, but for Kenneth's hand, he would have slipped and gone headlong into the deep water at the side.

There was a drag, a scramble, and, with his arm feeling as if it had been jerked out of the socket, Max stood dripping on the dry rocks beneath the castle, and Kenneth shouted to Scood,--

"Get your father to help you bring in those things, and make her fast, Scood."

"Ou ay," was the reply; and Kenneth led the way toward the yawning old gateway.

"Come along," he said. "It's only salt water, and will not give you cold. This is where the fellows used to come to attack the castle, and get knocked on the head. Nice old place, isn't it?"

"Yes, very," said Max breathlessly, as he clambered the difficult ascent his companion had chosen.

"See that owl fly out? Look! there goes a heron across there--there over the sea. Oh, you haven't got your seaside eyes yet."

"No; I couldn't see it. But do you live here?"

"To be sure we do, along with the jackdaws and ghosts."

"Ghosts?"

"Oh yes, we've three ghosts here. One lives in the old turret chamber; one in the south dungeon; and one in the guardroom over the south gate. This is the north gateway."

Max shivered from cold and excitement, and then shrank close to his companion, for the dogs suddenly charged into the place, the hollow walls of the gloomy quadrangle echoing their baying, as all three, according to their means of speed, made at the stranger.

"Down, Bruce! Dirk, be off! You, Sneeshing, I'll pitch you out of that window! It's all right, Mr Blande; they won't hurt you."

Max did not seem reassured, even though the barking dwindled into low growls, and then into a series of snufflings, as the dogs followed behind, sniffing at the visitor's heels.

"Do you really live here?" said Max, glancing up at the roofless buildings.

"Live here? of course," replied Kenneth; "but we don't eat and sleep in this part. We do that sort of thing out here."

As he spoke, he led his companion through the farther gateway, along the groined crypt-like connecting passage, and at once into the handsome hall of the modern part, where a feeling of warmth and comfort seemed to strike upon Max Blande, as his eyes caught the trophies of arms and the chase, ranged between the stained glass windows, and his wet feet pressed the rugs and skins laid about the polished floor.

Kenneth noted the change, and, feeling as if it were time to do something to make his guest welcome, he said,--

"We won't go in yet. Your wet feet won't hurt, and the dinner-gong won't go for an hour yet. I'll take you round the place, and up in the old tower. Can you climb?"

"Climb? Oh no. Not trees."

"I meant the old staircase. 'Tisn't very dangerous. But never mind now. We'll go to-morrow. Come along."

Max thought it was to his room. But nothing was farther from Kenneth's thoughts, as he started off at a sharp walk about the precincts of the old place, talking rapidly the while.

"Why, the sea's all round us!" exclaimed Max, after they had been walking, or rather climbing and descending the rocky paths of the promontory on which the castle was built.

"To be sure it is, now. When the tide's down you can hop across the rocks there to the mainland. You don't live in a place like this?"

"We live in Russell Square, my father and I."

"That's in London, isn't it? I've never been to town, and I don't want to go."

"But isn't this very inconvenient? You are so far from the rail."

"Yes, thank goodness!"

Max stared.

"But you can't get a cab."

"Oh yes, you can--in Edinburgh and Glasgow."

"Then you keep a carriage?"

"Yes; you came in it--the boat," said Kenneth, laughing. "We used to have a large yacht, but father gave it up last year. He said he couldn't afford it now on account of the confounded lawyers."

Max winced a little, and then said, with quiet dignity,--

"My father is a lawyer."

"Is he? Beg pardon, then. But your father isn't one of the confounded lawyers, or else you wouldn't be here."

Kenneth laughed, and Max seemed more thoughtful.

"S'pose you think we're rather rough down here; but this is the Highlands. You'll soon get used to us. There's no carriage, but we can give you a mount on a capital pony. Walter Scott would do for you."

"Is Walter Scott alive? I've read all his stories."

"No, no; I mean our shaggy pony. He's half Scotch, half Shetland, and the rummest little beggar you ever saw. He can climb and slide, and jump like a grasshopper. All you've got to do is to stick your knees into him and hold on by the mane when he's going up so steep a place that you begin to slip over his tail, and you're all right, only you have to kick at his nose when he tries to bite."

Max looked aghast.

"Can you fish?"

"No."

"But you brought a lot of rods."

"Oh yes. Father said I was to learn to fish and shoot while I was down here, as some day I should be a Highland landlord."

"We can teach you all that sort of thing."

"Can you fish and shoot?"

"Can I? I say, are you chaffing me?"

"No; I mean it."

"Well, just a little. Let's see, I'm seventeen nearly, and I was only six when my father made me fire off a gun first. I've got a little one in the gun-room that I used to use."

"And were you very young when you began to learn to fish?"

"I caught a little salmon when I was eight. Father said the fish nearly drowned me instead of me drowning the salmon. But I caught him all the same."

"How was that?"

"Oh, I tumbled in, I suppose, and rolled over in the stream. Shon pulled me out."

"Did he?"

"Yes; Scood's father. He's one of our gillies. Lives down there."

"By that pig-sty?"

"Pig-sty? That isn't a pig-sty. That's a bothy."

"Oh!" said Max, as he stared at a rough, whitewashed hovel, thatched, and covered with hazel rods tied down to keep the thatch from blowing off.

"There won't be time to-night after dinner, but I'll take you down to Shon to-morrow. We always call him Long Shon because he's so little, and we pretend he's so fond of whisky. Scood's a head taller than his father."

"It will be all most interesting, I'm sure," said Max, whose feet felt very wet and uncomfortable.

"I'll take you to see Tavish too," continued Kenneth, with a half-laugh at his companion's didactic form of speech. "Tavish is our forester."

"Forester?"

"Yes; and then I must introduce you to Donald Dhu."

"Is he a Scottish chief?"

"Well," said Kenneth, with a half laugh, "I daresay he thinks so. Like pipes?"

"Pipes? No, I never tried them. I once had a cigarette, but I didn't like it."

"Oh, I say, you are comic!" said Kenneth, laughing heartily, and then restraining himself. "I meant the bagpipes. Donald is our piper."

"Your piper! How--"

Max was going to say horrible, as he recalled one of his pet abominations, a dirty, kilted and plaided Scotchman, who made night hideous about the Bloomsbury squares with his chanter and drone.

But he restrained himself, and, as Kenneth led the way here and there about the little rocky knoll, he kept on talking.

"Donald has a place up in one of the towers--that one at the far corner. He took to it to play in. He composes dirges and things up there."

"But do you like having a piper?"

"Like it? I don't know. He has always been here. He belongs to us. There always was a piper to the Clan Mackhai. There, you can see right up the loch here, and that's where our salmon river empties itself over those falls. See that hill?"

"Yes."

"That's Ben Doy. You'll like to climb up that. It isn't one of the highest, but it's four thousand, and jolly steep. There's a loch right up in it full of little trout."

Boom--boom--boom--boom.

"What's that?"

"That? why, the dinner-gong, of course. Just time to have a wash first. We don't dress down here. That's what father always says to visitors who bring bobtails and chokers. Bring a bobtail with you?"

"I brought my dress suit."

"Then, if I were you, I would make it up into a parcel, and send it back to London. What's your name, did you say?"

"Maxi--Max Blande."

"To be sure! Max Blande, Esquire, Russell Square, per Macbrayne and Caledonian Railway; and we'll catch a salmon, or you shall, and send to your father same time. Come on; run. Hi, dogs, then! Bruce, boy! Chevy, Dirk! Come along, Sneeshing! Oh, man, you can't half run!"

"No," said Max, panting heavily, and nearly falling over a projecting piece of rock.

"I say, mind! Why, if you fell there, you'd go right down into the sea, and it would be salt water instead of soup."

Kenneth laughed heartily at his own remark as they ran on, to pause at the steep slope up to the castle, where the dogs stopped short, as if well drilled as to the boundaries they were to pass, while the two lads once more crossed the gloomy ruined quadrangle and entered the house. _

Read next: Chapter 5. The Effects Of The Sail

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