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."