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.