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Three Boys; or, the Chiefs of the Clan Mackhai, a fiction by George Manville Fenn |
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Chapter 18. How Max Fetched Help |
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_ CHAPTER EIGHTEEN. HOW MAX FETCHED HELP Max Blande's confidence was on the ebb. Fortunately for him, the tide was on the ebb as well, and, though he was not aware of the fact, helping him on his journey. As the confidence failed, despair's black cloud grew heavy. The idea that the leak was growing bigger became stronger, and with it was the feeling that before long the water would come in with a rush, and down he would go. It was very horrible; and, as he asked himself what he must do, he clutched at the first idea suggesting escape which came, and that was, that, much as he regretted being unable to get help for his two companions in misfortune, he must save his own life, and the only way to do that was by running the boat ashore. Which side of the loch should he take--west or east? Dunroe was on the east side, but the west coast was nearer, and he steered for that; but, feeling that this was cowardly, since he might get ashore and manage to walk to Dunroe, he altered his course, after a struggle with self, and sat with beating heart, slowly sailing on, with the water rising and washing about his legs. That last tack seemed as if it would never end, and it was only by leaning sideways from time to time that he could catch sight of the coast he was approaching, the sail shutting off the greater part of his view. To his dismay, he could see nothing but rocks, rocks everywhere, grey, and black, and ruddy golden with the weeds. The sea, too, foamed and danced about them. No cove floored with silver sand, no smooth river into which he could glide; and he shivered as he felt, by anticipation, the crash of the boat running on to the rocks at speed, throwing him out, and the retiring waves bearing him away, and then? It was too horrible. But there were the rocks; he was getting nearer and nearer. He could hear the splashing of the water, and he must be ready to make a bold leap on to the nearest before the waves could catch him, and then he might escape. Nearer and nearer; and it seemed a desperate thing to do--to run that boat ashore, but it was his only chance, for she was sinking fast, he was sure. Nearer and nearer. A few more minutes, and he would be ashore, and-- He suddenly wrenched the tiller round, the boat ran up into the wind, careened over, and bore away on the other tack. From Max Blande's cowardice? No; the sail had sprung aside for a moment, as his doubting hand had given way a little, slightly altering his course; and, as he gazed wildly ahead, there, half covered by the swelling canvas, and not a quarter of a mile away, the old castle of Dunroe towered up on its bold base of storm-beaten rock. "Will the boat float long enough for me to get there?" Max asked himself. He decided to try, and now came the most difficult part of the steering he had encountered that day, and it was not until he had made three or four attempts that he lowered the sail, about fifty yards from the rocky natural pier from which they had started, and, to his great delight, saw Long Shon and Tavish watching him, and, after a consultation, run round to the little bay, out of which they came rowing in a dinghy. "Wha's ta young maister?" cried Tavish fiercely. "Wha's Scood?" cried Long Shon. Max hurriedly explained. "Ma cootness!" exclaimed Tavish; "she tought they was poth trooned." "Why, ta poat's full o' watter!" cried Long Shon. "Yes; she is leaking and sinking fast." "Ma cootness!" cried Tavish, getting in, to Max's horror. "Don't! you'll sink her. Let me get out." "Na, na. Why tidn't you bale ta watter oot?" "I did, but it was no use." Tavish gave a snort, opened the locker in the bows, and then began to toss out the water like a jerky cascade, Max watching him wildly, but, to his great relief, seeing the water begin gradually to sink. "She's knockit a creat hole in her pottom," said Long Shon. "Tit she hit on ta rocks?" "No, no; it came on all of a sudden." "Why, she's cot ta cork oot!" cried Tavish, drawing his sleeve up above his elbow, and thrusting his arm down to lift one of the bottom boards beneath the centre thwart, and feeling about for a few moments before turning reproachfully to Max. "She shouldna pull oot ta cork." "No," said Long Shon. "She pulls oot ta cork to let ta watter oot. She's pulled oot ta cork to let ta watter in." Tavish growled as he recommenced baling, and then smiled at Max. "I did not touch it. I did not know there was a cork," said the latter rather piteously. "Then she must ha' come out hersel'," said Tavish. "Ye'll know next time what to do." "And she sailed pack all py herself?" said Long Shon. "Yes. But do make haste. They will think me so long." "Let's ket the watter oot," said Tavish. "You, Shon, ket the rope oot o' the poat-hoose; or shall she leave ta poys till to-morrow?" "What! leave them all night?" cried Max in horror. The great forester chuckled as he looked up at Max, and kept on baling away, while Long Shon rowed ashore. "Na; she'll go ant fetch 'em. So ta crapnel line proke?" "Yes." "She must ha' peen ferry pad." "Yes, of course," said Max, who sat there contentedly enough, but vexed as he found how his ignorance of a boat had caused him a couple of hours' terror. Tavish toiled away with the baler till it would scoop up no more, and then, taking a great sponge from the locker, he sopped up and squeezed till the bottom of the boat was quite clear of water, and by this time, close down by the keel, Max had seen an ordinary wine-cork, with a piece of whipcord attached to it, stuck upright in the hole used for draining the boat when she was ashore. Then the bottom boards were replaced, and the forester passed an oar over the side, so as to paddle the boat up to the rock where Long Shon was waiting, with a ring of new-looking rope over his arm. "Wha's ta Chief?" said Long Shon, as they came alongside. "Gane over ta hill." "With his gun?" "Na; reading a pit latter." "Ta Mackhai gane walking with a pit latter!" said Long Shon. "What's coming to ta man?" Tavish shook his head, and looked serious. Then Long Shon stepped in, and the boat was thrust off. "She'll pe ferry ancry when she finds we're gane," said the forester slowly. "Put we must go and fetch ta young Chief." "Ant tit she ever sail a poat in the lochs in Lonton?" asked Long Shon, as the boat sped away rapidly, with the wind nearly dead astern. "There are no lochs in London," replied Max, smiling. "Nae lochs!" exclaimed the two Highlanders in a breath. "No." "Why, she thought Lonton wass a ferry fine place." "So it is; full of great streets and shops." "There's ferry coot shops i' Stirling," said Long Shon proudly, "and so there is in Oban. She'll pe pound there's no petter shops in Lonton than there is in Oban. Put no lochs?" "No." "I ton't think she shall think much coot o' Lonton, Tavish," said Long Shon rather scornfully. "Put she shall have sailed a poat pefore?" said Tavish, staring hard at Max. "No, never. I was never in a boat alone before." "She will never pe in a poat alone pefore!" said the forester. "Wonterful!" Long Shon looked as if he did not believe it. "Wonterful! It was wonterful!" said Tavish again. "She will come town here, and kill ta biggest fush; and she sails ta poat alone, and she shall kill a stag soon, and all ta hares and grouse." "Why wass she not town py ta blue hawk's nest wi' ta poys?" said Long Shon suddenly and fiercely. "I was holding the anchor," replied Max. "She wass holting ta anchor, Shon. She tolt her pefore." "Put she ought to have peen wi' ta poys!" cried Long Shon, giving the side of the boat a slap with his great hand. "She wass afraid." "Yes," said Max, flushing slightly, "I was afraid to go down. They did want me to go." "Put ta poy Scoodrach wass never afraid," cried Long Shon, looking hard at Max as if he had ill-used him. "Waugh!" ejaculated Tavish slowly, his voice sounding like the low, deep growl of some wild beast. "Ta Scoodrach wass never pe afraid," cried Long Shon defiantly. "Waugh!" growled Tavish more loudly and deeply than before. "Ta Scoodrach wass never pe afraid," cried Long Shon, striking the gunwale of the boat again, and his face flushed with anger. "Waugh!" roared Tavish; and the great forester's beard seemed to bristle as he burst out into an angry speech in Gaelic, to which Long Shon kept on edging in a word or two in the same tongue, but only with the effect of making Tavish roar more loudly, till Long Shon seemed to give in, completely mastered by his big companion. What was said was a mystery to Max, but it sounded to him as if the big forester was taking his part, and crushing down Long Shon till the latter gave in, when Tavish's face cleared, and his eyes smiled at Max, as he said,-- "She shall not do like Maister Ken and Scoodrach, or ta poat could not come and say they are on the crag." "No, of course not," said Max confusedly, for he could hardly follow the great fellow's meaning. Then, in comparative peace, the boat skimming rapidly over the smooth sea, they sped on, with Max wondering that the ride could be so different now that there was no danger, and he had the companionship of two strong men. But all the same he could not help feeling something like regret that he was no longer the crew and in full charge. He felt something like pride, too, in his exploit, and the day's adventure had done more than he knew towards planting him in the high road to manhood. The castles were passed in what seemed a wonderfully short time, and the great wall of cliff loomed up on their left, but they had a long way to sail before Max suddenly exclaimed,-- "I see them! Look! Kenneth is waving his cap." "Na; it shall pe ta Scoodrach wi' her ponnet." Tavish uttered another low, menacing growl of a very leonine nature, and his eyes were flashing, but they softened into a smile as they encountered those of Max. A little while after, with the two boys on high cheering them as they passed, the boat was run into the little nook and fastened, Tavish taking the ring of rope and leaping ashore, followed by Max and Long Shon, who got over the rough rocks and up the gully in a wonderful way, hopping on to stones and off again--stones which Tavish took in one of his great strides and with the greatest ease. It was almost marvellous to Max to see the way in which the great forester made his way up the gully, so that he would have been at the top in half the time if he had not kept stopping to reach down his hand to the lad, who was at various places compelled to climb on all-fours. "She'll do muckle petter soon," he said, smiling. "Ta legs sail ket harter. Hey, but it's a sair pity she does not wear ta kilt!" "She hasna got ta legs for ta kilt," grumbled Long Shon, who was behind; and Max partly caught his words, and felt a curious sensation of annoyance at the disparaging remark. Five minutes later they were on the top, when Tavish went straight to the spot where the little anchor was forced in between the rocks, picked up the broken rope, and threw it down again, before stepping to the edge of the cliff and bending over. "She shouldna troost to a pit o' line like that." "How did I know it was going to break?" shouted Kenneth. "It bore me right enough. It was old Scoody here who was so heavy." "Ta rope wasna fit to bear a dog," grumbled Scoodrach. "Hech! she shall break ta rope wi' Sneeshing." The dog, which had been ready to jump up and greet the new-comers, ran at this, and looked down, and barked at the speaker, as if disputing his remark. "You are going to fasten the line to the anchor, aren't you?" said Max. "Na," growled Tavish. "She sail come up wi'out ta grapnel." He threw the coil of rope on the grass, took the end, and made a loop thereon before lowering it down. "But you cannot bear him alone?" "The two," said Tavish coolly, as he threw the coil back now out of his way. "Retty?" he cried. "Yes, all right!" shouted Kenneth; and, standing there at the very brink of the terrible precipice, Tavish bent down, and drew up the rope hand over hand till Scoodrach's head appeared, and then the lad reached out, caught at Tavish's arm, and swung easily on to the top of the cliff, when the rope was lowered again, and directly after drawn up till Kenneth's head appeared, and he too swung himself on to the top, and stood laughing at Max, whose hands were uncomfortably damp. "Here we are!" he cried. "Thank ye, Tavvy. Why, where are the hawks, Scood?" "She prought 'em up herself." "No, I didn't. I left them for you to bring." "She never told her to bring ta birds," grumbled Scoodrach, in an ill-used tone. "I believe you went to sleep. I've a jolly good mind to pitch you overboard." "She's always saying she'll pitch her overpoard." "There, come along down," said Long Shon. "No, I'm not going without my birds, Shonny," cried Kenneth. "Here, Scood, go down and fetch 'em. No; if I send you down, you'll go to sleep again, and forget them. Here, Tavvy, give us hold of the rope." "She isna going town gain," remonstrated the great Highlander. "Oh yes, she is." "No, no, pray don't venture again!" whispered Max. "What! and leave those two poor birds to starve? Not I. Here, Tav, hold tight." The great forester stood by while Kenneth threw over some fifty feet of the rope, and then stood smiling grimly, while, in defiance of all advice, and trusting utterly to the strength of the gillie's arms, Kenneth seized the rope, and let himself glide over the edge of the rock, dropping out of sight directly, while Max held his breath, as he saw the quivering of the forester's arms as Kenneth slipped down. Then the movement ceased, and Max exclaimed excitedly,-- "Is he down safely?" "Ou ay! she's all right," replied Tavish, as he gazed calmly down. "Come and look." Max shook his head. He had had shocks enough to his nerves that day, and could bear no more. Long Shon, however, went to the edge, and stood looking down with a grim smile. Sneeshing did the same, and barked; while Scoodrach threw himself down, and lay on the edge of the cliff looking over. "Haul away!" came from below, and Tavish drew up a pair of coarse worsted stockings knotted together and tied to the rope. These were set at liberty, and, as they were placed upon a rock, there was a good deal of shuffling and movement inside, the occupants of the stockings trying first to ascend the legs, and then travelling back toward the toes, and remaining quiescent till there was the shadow cast by a bird, as it darted overhead, and a shrill cry, which seemed to set the young birds in a state of great excitement. "Oh, if I'd been up there!" shouted Kenneth from below. "What a chance for a shot!" "Retty, Maister Ken?" "Yes; haul away." "Now, Scood, hang on, and heave her up," cried Tavish. "She could choost pull her up wi' ane han'," said Long Shon scornfully. "Ay, but she's a wunnerfu' man," said the forester coolly, and he half closed his eyes, and then passed the rope through his hands as Scood took hold and walked inward, as if he had harnessed himself, Sneeshing walking by his side, and seeming to take the deepest interest in all that was going on. A minute more, and Tavish had swung Kenneth on to the cliff, the birds were given to Scoodrach to carry, and the party descended the gully, laughing heartily at the adventure, which was talked over from all sides, and Max questioned and criticised about his sailing the boat, till they had reached within a tack of Dunroe, when Tavish said, in his broad dialect, and with one of his pleasant looks,-- "She mustn't mind what ta young Chief says. She sailed ta poat peautifully, only ta next tune she mustna pull oot ta cork." "Eh, pull out the cork!" cried Kenneth sharply. "Why, you haven't been at the whisky, Max? No; there was none on board." "Na, na," cried Tavish, "ta cork plug. She sailt in wi' ta watter nearly up to her knees." "Ay," said Long Shon, gazing down at Max's still wet trouser legs; "an' aw'm thinking it shows ta creat ignorance o' ta Southron folk, to baggie up her legs like tat, when a man might wear a kilt and niver get her legs wet at all." "All right, Shonny. Mr Max is going to have one, with a plaid that'll make your eyes ache. Now, Scoody, jump out, and take care of those hawks. Hooray, Max! just in time. There goes the gong." _ |
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