THE "SNOWBIRD" AT ANCHOR--PREPARATIONS FOR DEPARTURE--FAREWELL TO THE
LAND OF THE ROCK AND THE WILD WOOD.
The _Snowbird_ lay at anchor in the lake, not far from the creek where
the cutter used to swing, and just beneath the birch-clad braes of
Arrandoon. A steady breeze was blowing from the west-sou'-west, a
breeze that made the landsman's heart glad. It was a balmy wind and a
drying wind--a wind that chased away the winter from the glens, that
breathed encouragement to the green and tender corn peeping shyly up
from the brown earth; a wind that went sighing through the woods, and
whispered to the trees that spring had come; ay, and a breeze that
rejoiced the heart of the sailor; a breeze he liked to stand against,
and feel, and wave his arms in, as he gazed skywards, and longed to be
"up anchor and away."
And the saucy _Snowbird_ never felt a bit more saucy than she did that
morning. She felt impatient, and she showed it, too, in many little
ways. She pulled and "titted," as Ap phrased it, at her anchor; she
bent forwards and she bent sternwards; then she would roll, perhaps once
to port and twice to starboard, or _vice versa_, as the thought struck
her; then she would positively stop steady for a few moments, as if
listening for an order.
"What can the captain be thinking about?" she seemed to say. "Why don't
they hoist the Blue Peter? Oh! shouldn't I like to spread my wings in
this beautiful wind and be off!"
But we must leave the _Snowbird_ to herself for a little while,
impatient though she be, and pay a visit to the castle, from the higher
windows of which the yacht could be seen, both masts and hull. Had we
come here about two weeks ago, we would have found a great deal of
bustle and stir going on, especially among the female portion of the
establishment, for Mrs McGregor and her gentle daughter Helen had, with
the help of their maids, undertaken the superintendence not only of the
upholstering and decoration of the cabins and staterooms of the
_Snowbird_, but of all the purely domestic arrangements therein. This
had cost them months of work, and entailed besides a great many
journeys, not only to Inverness, but to Glasgow itself. The duties they
had undertaken had been instigated by love, and they were not without
good results to the performers. They had kept them from thinking. An
only son and an only brother, Allan had never been very for away from
home as yet, and it is needless to say that he was very dearly loved
indeed. But now that he was to leave his home and leave his country,
and to journey far over the sea, to lands unknown, where dangers were to
be encountered, the nature of which could hardly be guessed at, or even
dreamt of, it is no wonder that his mother and sister felt sad and
sorrowful as the time drew near for parting.
Ah! these partings, reader! Surely one of the joys of heaven will be to
think we never again will have to breathe the painful word "Farewell."
And the _Snowbird_ was now ready for sea; all was done to her, inside
and out, that could be done. Even the crew were on board, and, as soon
as Ralph should return with his father from the south, they would weigh
anchor, and the cruise would be begun in earnest. If I were to analyse
the feelings uppermost in Mrs McGregor's mind at this time, I should
find sorrow without doubt, but no regrets at granting her boy permission
to roam over sea and land for a year or two. Why, she reasoned, should
not she suffer bereavement for a little while as well as many other
mothers, when it would be for Allan's advantage and good? So her
sadness never found vent in tears--at least nobody ever saw them. She
went about as cheerfully, to all appearance, as before, only--and this
Allan felt and knew--she tried now to have her boy near her as often as
she could. Helen was less brave. Helen was but a girl, little more
than a child, and if the truth must be told, she very often cried
herself to sleep of nights. Her mother used to find the pillow wet in
the morning, and well knew the cause.
But there was one thing they both could do--they could pray. And what a
comfort that was! Oh! what a weary, dreary wilderness this world of
ours would be if this power of praying were denied us, if we could not
appeal in times of grief or danger to our kind Friend, who is nigh us
everywhere, whether we are at peace and at home, or amidst the din and
strife of battle, or far away at sea, fighting for life 'mid billows and
tempest. I myself have travelled much and far, and I have oftentimes
had reason to thank Him who gave me a mother who taught me to pray.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
Rat, tat, tat! at the red parlour door, where the McGregor family and
Rory are enjoying quiet conversation. Rat, tat, tat! and enter Peter,
as Rory more than once lately remarked, not looking like the same Peter
at all, at all; in fact, he was now a blue Peter, for he was rigged out
from top to toe in a suit of bran new pilot, cut shipshape and sailor
fashion, and very gay and sprightly Peter looked.
"Well, Peter," said Allan, "what is it? You look as if you had seen a
ghost."
"And I'm not so sure I haven't; but pray, sir, come to the window in the
staircase, and look for yourself."
Rory and Allan both followed Peter.
"What call you that?" cried the latter, pointing to a white sail that
came skimming like a sea-bird across the dark bosom of the lake.
"Why, that is the cutter?" said Allan, in amazement.
"Or her ghost," said Peter, with a long face.
"Come on, Rory, to the creek," cried Allan, "and we'll meet her."
And they were just in time to see Ralph and his father land.
"Glad to see you both at last," said Allan; "but tell us what is the
meaning of this? You went away to sell the _Flower_, and behold you
come back in her."
"My father," Ralph replied, "wouldn't part with her; he has bought her."
"Yes," said the knight smiling; "she is far too good to part with. When
you sail, I will accompany you a few miles on your voyage. And, please
God, when you return, I will be the first to welcome you in that same
boy's yacht."
Even my youngest readers know how quickly time flies when one wishes it
to linger, and the few days that intervened betwixt Ralph's return and
the sailing of the _Snowbird_ passed on eagle's wings. Helen McGregor,
with a tiny bottle of wine that might have been sent from Elfinland for
the occasion, named the beautiful yacht. Then there was a dinner on
board, at which every one tried to seem gay, but failed for all that.
Next day the wind was fair, and no time was lost in getting the anchor
up and setting sail for Inverness. The ladies accompanied the
expedition so far in the _Snowbird_, then farewells were said, blessings
murmured, and once again the good yacht's foresails were filled, and she
bore bravely away up the Moray Firth, the little cutter keeping her
company until right off Fort George, when waving them once more a fond
adieu, the _Flower of Arrandoon_ was put about, and very soon the point
of land hid her from their view.
The cruise of the _Snowbird_ had begun in earnest.
The breeze was light, but well aft, so all sail was clapped on her, and
with her head north and by east, she glided slowly onwards as if loth to
leave the land. We will take this opportunity of having a look over the
goodly yacht, that is destined to be the home of our heroes for many a
day to come.
The _Snowbird_ then was a schooner-yacht of nearly two hundred tons, as
well fitted and found for cruising in the northern seas as ingenuity
could make her. Rising and falling, rocking and nodding on the waves,
with her white canvas spread out to the breeze, she looked a very pretty
craft indeed. She had just enough free-board and enough breadth of beam
to make her safe and comfortable in a sea-way. Her hull was painted
black, her ports only being picked out with vermilion; her masts were
rakish, but not too much so; her jibboom had the graceful bend that
sailors love to see, and every bit of her rigging, fore and aft, running
and standing, was as taut and trim as hands could make it, or eyes wish
to gaze upon.
Her deck was flush both fore and aft, with never a cabin or house
thereon, for the seas they would probably ship, in the wild ocean they
were about to traverse, would be little likely to brook obstruction.
Her decks were as white as snow, her brass-work shone like burnished
gold, her binnacle would have been an ornament even in a drawing-room,
every rope-end was neatly coiled, and not a bar nor a marling-spike was
out of its place.
Light and graceful though the _Snowbird_ appeared, she was nevertheless
well fortified and strong. Hers was a double skin, one that would be
likely to resist the dread embrace of the ice king, while her bows were
of triple strength, and shod with bars of steel. Her ballast was water
in unshiftable iron tanks. Her boats were three in number, but of these
I may speak again, merely saying here that they were unique of the kind.
Let us go between decks and have a look at the living-rooms. Entering
by the after companion, then, we find ourselves in the passage that
leads to the dining-saloon. Here are the cabins of Ralph and Rory, and,
as the door of each stands invitingly open, we take a peep in. They are
large and roomy; the sofas are covered with crimson velvet, the curtains
on the berths are of the same colour, and the pillows and counterpanes
therein are white as the driven snow. There is a bookshelf in each,
filled with the owner's favourite authors, a little swing table, and a
silver spring-candlestick hung in gymbals, and the nattiest of marble
basin-stands; there is every comfort and luxury in these cabins, and the
bulkheads are adorned with pictures, and, wonderful to say, these cabins
do not even smell of varnish--no, but of sweet spring flowers, and I
need not tell you who placed the vases there. Passing forward we enter
the saloon (_see plan_). Here is a comfortable table, luxurious
ottoman, side-board, cushioned lockers, chairs, and stove, and
everywhere around us taste and luxury are displayed. It was the hand of
an artist that painted those panels, that devised and positioned the
mirrors, and that hung those polished circular swing-tables, radiant as
the rainbow with sparkling coloured glass--there are three of these in
all, and so cunningly are they devised that they look like bouquets of
beautiful flowers pendent from stems of sterling silver. The hanging
lamps, ay, and even the stoves and coal-vases in this saloon and in the
drawing-room, were works of art, but space warns me that I must enlarge
no more on the fittings of the rooms; in a word, then, comfort and
refinement reigned supreme in the between decks of the _Snowbird_.
The third mate and old Ap, with the second officer of the ship, had a
mess-place to themselves, and very snug it was. The men messed forward,
and here, in the forecastle, a few hammocks were hung at night, but the
bulk of the crew slept under, where was plenty of room for bunks, and
plenty of warmth, with no lack of ventilation. The cooking-range, or
galley-fire, was abaft the foremast, adjoining Ap's room and that of the
steward and third mate; and at sea, around this same galley-fire, both
men and second officers would find a snug retreat in many a long, long
winter's night in the stormy regions of the north; for here, when the
ship was snug, they would gather together and spin many a yarn about
their own adventurous lives, and their homes far away in Scotland.
But, so far as our heroes were concerned, the snuggest corner of the
ship was the drawing-room right aft. Here was the library, and here the
piano, and a stove in the centre of the room, that all could sit around
and make themselves happy and generally jolly.
Captain McBain's room was next in size to the saloons, as befitted his
position.
The crew were twenty hands all told. Ap was boatswain and carpenter;
our friend Peter was steward. In addition to his duties as captain or
master of the yacht, McBain had been duly elected supercargo. He had
seen to the victualling department, and the catering for all hands, both
fore and aft. Rory got hold of his list one morning, and from the
extracts he read therefrom to his companions, it was evident that
Captain McBain had done his work right well.
"Why," said Rory, "I wouldn't mind a bit living forward among the crew,
for, in addition to preserved meats, and biscuits and butter, and
barley, and bacon and beans, they have pork and potatoes, and pepper,
and pickles, and peas, and raisins for pudding, and suet for dumplings,
and oatmeal and sugar, and coffee and tea. But oh! boys! aren't _we_
going to live like fighting-cocks! We have all the good things they've
got forward, and lots of cabin luxuries besides--potted milk and potted
meats, and potted fish of every name, and almonds and arrowroot, and
curries and capers, and all kinds of fruit, and jellies and jams galore.
But what is this? I can understand the dried herbs and celery seed,
but Birmingham wares! Old guns and beads!"
It was McBain's turn to laugh, as poor Rory, with a puzzled countenance,
looked beseechingly at him for an explanation.
"Indeed," was his reply, "it is those same old guns and those beads
we'll maybe have to eat when our stock of fresh provisions wears down."
"Oh! I see," said Rory, a light suddenly breaking in on him. "You mean
we'll barter them with the natives for food."
"Just so."
"Just so; and here is an item that proves how good an officer you are,
Captain McBain. You are like a king, indeed, who is mindful of the
welfare and necessities of even his meanest subjects. The item speaks
for itself: Dog biscuits, ten sacks."
Yes, reader, for independent of the crew all told there were on board
two passengers of the race canine--namely, honest Oscar, the Saint
Bernard, and Spunkie, the wildest and weirdest-looking Skye terrier that
ever barked in the kennels at Arrandoon. These two dogs lived in the
forecastle, and very useful they ultimately proved, as the sequel will
show.
Two days more and our heroes had gathered on the quarter-deck, to have
the last look they would have for a long time on their native land.
Most of them gazed in silence at the rugged and wild scene to windward.
Their hearts were rather full to speak; but Rory, leaning on the
taffrail--he were nothing unless he were romantic, so he must needs say,
or sigh, or sing, I do not know which it was,--
"`Farewell to the land of the rock and the wild wood,
The hill and the forest, and proud swelling wave,
To the land where bliss smiled on the days of our childhood,--
Farewell to dear Scotland, the land of the brave.'"
Then the breeze freshened, and the sails flapped as she leaned steadily
over to it.
"Keep her away," cried McBain, waving his hand to the helmsman.
And when they came on deck again, after dinner that evening, great seas
were rolling in from the Pentland Firth, from which came the glorious
wind. Nor was there any land visible in the west, where the sun was
dipping down into the waves like a great vermilion shield, his beams
making a bright red pathway betwixt them and the horizon. Long grey
clouds were floating in the sky above, clouds of a dark and bluish grey,
and yet every cloud was bound with a fringe of silver and gold.
Ere darkling some sails were taken in, and a couple of reefs in the
mainsail, but shortened even thus the good yacht seemed to fly over the
waves, bounding along like a thing of life, as if she positively loved
the sea and felt made for it, but in all her glee she behaved herself
well, and hardly shipped a drop of water.
Next morning there was a terrible noise and row on deck, and a dire
rattling of chains, and a shouting of words of command, and when Rory
ran up to see what was the matter he found that the anchor had just been
let go, and that they were lying in Bressay Sound, right abreast of the
strangely picturesque little town of Lerwick.
"As soon," said Captain McBain, "as we've had breakfast we'll go on
shore. You can make the best of your time, and enjoy yourselves all you
can. There is lots to see, and ponies to ride that I reckon will tax
all your equestrian powers, but mind you're off by three o'clock. There
is nothing to keep us here, and we'll weigh again this afternoon."
"But aren't you going to be with us?" asked Rory.
"Nay, boy, nay," replied McBain. "I go to pick up another passenger;
and one, too, whose presence on board is bound to affect for evil or for
good our voyage to the far north."
"Dear me!" said Rory, "a bit of mystery, is it? Well, that makes it all
the more romantic; but get ready, boys, get ready. I, for one, mean to
make a regular forenoon of it. I want to see the pony I can't ride,
that's all."