NIGHT RIDE BY DAYLIGHT.
A little before eight o’clock that evening, the whole party proceeded
on foot from the hotel to the stage office. The porter of the hotel
went with them, taking the trunk and some smaller parcels. The coach
soon came out in front of the office, the trunk and the parcels were
put upon the roof. Mrs. Morelle and Florence took their places inside,
while Grimkie and John mounted to the top, and established themselves
upon a long cushioned seat, which extended from one side of the coach
to the other, directly behind the coachman.
Instead of a rack behind, as in American stage-coaches, there was a
sort of box, with a door opening into it, for the mail bags, and seats
above, over the back part of the coach. One of these seats is occupied
by the man who has care of the mails, and who is called the guard. The
other seats are for such passengers as choose to ride there. Grimkie
and John, however, chose to ride on the forward seat, so that they
could see before them as they rode along.
The coach drove first through the village and stopped at the
post-office to take the mails, where quite a little crowd of men and
boys assembled to witness the setting off. The horses were soon in
motion again, the coachman cracking his whip with a very smart air, as
the wheels ran rapidly over the pavement. From their elevated seat,
Grimkie and John could look down with great advantage upon every thing
around them. They soon came to the end of the pavement, and then the
horses trotted and cantered swiftly along over a hard and smooth road,
across the canal by a beautiful bridge, and then on among green fields,
through turnpike gates, and along the walls of gardens, and parks, and
pleasure-grounds, while pretty cottages, and porters’ lodges, and green
hedges, and milestones, and peasant girls, going or returning from
milking, and a thousand other such objects as mark the rural scenery of
Scotland in a summer evening, glided by them in rapid succession.
In the distance all around them lofty mountains were seen, the summits
of some of them covered with snow, and the sun still high in the sky
in the northwest, though half concealed by golden clouds, promised to
accompany and cheer them on their journey for a long time.
“It is after eight o’clock,” said Grimkie, “and see how high the sun
is!”
“Very high,” said John. “I don’t believe the sun will set before ten
o’clock.”
“Yes, the sun sets here a little after nine,” said Grimkie.
“How do you know?” asked John.
“I looked in a Glasgow almanac,” replied Grimkie. “The sun sets in
Glasgow one or two minutes after nine to night, and here it must be
some minutes later, for we are two or three degrees farther north.”
“I don’t see why that is any reason,” said John.
“Oh that is very plain,” rejoined Grimkie. “Don’t you see that we are
going round over the curvature of the earth toward the north?”
As he said this, Grimkie made a gesture with his hand, pushing it out
before him in a manner to denote a motion in advance over the curved
surface of a ball.
“Yes,” said John.
“And don’t you see that the sun is going down over the roundness of the
earth in the same direction?”
“Yes,” said John, “almost in the north—in the north_west_.”
“Then don’t you perceive,” added Grimkie, “that the farther we go, on
the same course that he is going, the longer we can see him?”
“Ah yes,” said John. “And that is the reason why we shall see the sun
longer here to-night than they will in Glasgow.”
“Exactly,” said Grimkie.
In the meantime the horses, having been now trotting and galloping for
about an hour over the hard and smooth road, were brought up by the
coachman somewhat suddenly at the door of an inn in a small village,
in order to be changed. The coachman descended from his seat, the
post-boys led out the fresh horses from the stable of the inn, and the
guard took the mail bags which were to be left at that place out of his
box, and threw them down into the road.
Grimkie availed himself of this opportunity to inquire after the
welfare of his aunt and cousin. He leaned over as far as he could on
one side, toward the coach window below, and called out:
“Auntie, are you getting along pretty well?”
Immediately Florence’s head appeared at the window.
“Grimkie,” said she, “where are we?”
“We have stopped to change horses,” said Grimkie.
“Already?” said Florence.
“Yes,” said Grimkie. “When the horses go so fast they have to be
changed very often. Have you got a good seat?”
“An excellent seat,” said Florence. “I have got a window all to myself.”
“And can you see the country?” asked Grimkie.
“Oh, yes!” said Florence, “I can see it beautifully, I have got one
window and mother has got the other.”
“And mother says,” she added, after turning her head a moment, “that
you and Johnnie must be careful not to fall off.”
“There is no danger, tell her,” replied Grimkie. “We have good safe
seats, with an iron railing at the two ends to keep us in.”
By this time the fresh horses were put in, and the coachman having
mounted to his place again, the coach was soon rolling on along the
road, faster even than before.
Soon after this the sun went down, but the clouds which he left behind
him in the western sky, were for a time almost as bright as he himself
had been, so that at half past nine there seemed to be no sensible
diminution of the light of day. The track of the sun too, in going
down, was so oblique to the horizon, that even at half-past ten his
distance below it was very small, and Grimkie and John could see the
country all about them, and the time by their watches, and the places
through which they were passing, just as well almost as ever.
From half-past ten to eleven there was still very little change. The
children were all playing in the streets of the villages that they
passed, and groups of men and boys had collected at the doors of the
inns where they stopped, as they would have done at half-past seven
or eight o’clock in a summer evening in America. Even the hens did
not seem to know that it was night, for they were rambling about, and
scratching at every unusual appearance on the grounds, as briskly as in
any part of the day.
“I don’t see how the children know when to go to bed,” said John.
“Or the hens either,” said Grimkie. “A Connecticut rooster I should
think would be greatly mystified here. He would not lead his hens off
to roost until he saw it growing dark,—and then if he began to crow
again as soon as he saw any light, he would not give them any time to
sleep at all.”
After eleven o’clock the boys found that at each succeeding village
or hamlet that they came to fewer and fewer people appeared, until
at length at twelve, and between twelve and one, the country seemed
deserted, and yet the light continued. It was a strange thing, the
boys thought, to drive into a village in broad day-light, and to find
the streets silent and solitary, and without a person being visible
at any door or window; and still more sometimes, when they stopped to
change horses, to see that the coachman was obliged to knock upon the
stable-door to wake the ostlers up, while by the aspect of the whole
scene around, there was nothing that betokened night.
It was not much after midnight when the coach arrived at the Mickle
Ferry. The Mickle Ferry means the _great_ ferry. It is so called to
distinguish it from another smaller one in the neighborhood called
the Little Ferry. The Mickle Ferry passes across a narrow part of the
Dornoch Firth, as may be seen by the map. The firth is a mile or two
wide, at the ferry, and is crossed in a large flat-bottomed sail-boat,
sufficient to convey the passengers and their luggage in perfect
safety,——but not large enough for the coach.
The coach was accordingly to be left on the hither side of the ferry,
another being provided on the farther side, to receive the passengers
at the landing and take them on.
[Illustration: CROSSING THE MICKLE FERRY.]
The company in the coach, accordingly, on arriving at the margin of
the water, descended from the coach and walked down the sloping pier to
the boat, and went on board. Mrs. Morelle had felt some apprehension
at the idea of crossing a wide ferry in an open boat at midnight,
but she found, on arriving at the spot, that there was no occasion
for alarm. The boat was very wide, and appeared very steady; and as
to midnight,—it might as well have been eight o’clock of a bright
summer evening at home. It is true that the sun was entirely below the
horizon, but the whole northern sky was brightly illuminated by his
beams, and so light was it upon the water, that Grimkie said that if he
had a newspaper, he would amuse them during the passage by reading the
news.
The boat was wafted very rapidly, but yet with a very smooth and gentle
motion, across the water. The passengers landed on the farther side,
and the luggage was taken out, and in a few minutes the new coach was
seen coming rapidly down the road toward the landing place in order to
receive the travellers and convey them onward.
Mrs. Morelle now proposed that the two boys should get inside, but they
were extremely desirous to continue upon the top, and as the coachman
assured Mrs. Morelle that the seat was perfectly safe for them, even
if they should fall asleep, she consented that they should remain.
Besides it was now after one o’clock, and it was growing lighter quite
fast. In a little more than an hour, as Grimkie calculated, it would be
nearly sunrise.
The country now became very picturesque and wild, the sea being brought
continually into full view as the horses trotted swiftly round the
curves of the road, following the undulations of the coast. At one
place it descended by a winding and zigzag way into an immense ravine a
mile or two across. The sides of the ravine were covered with forest,
and there was a river and a village at the bottom of it.
After traversing this ravine, the road followed the line of the
coast, passing by many great castles, and presenting here and there
magnificent views of the sea. Mrs. Morelle and Florence lost some of
these views, for they fell asleep; and even John, upon the top, nodded
several times, though he insisted, whenever Grimkie asked him about it,
that he was not in the least sleepy.
At length, toward noon of Friday, the coach arrived safely at Wick.
The passengers were all very glad to reach the termination of their
ride, for though it was a very delightful one, it was long, and the
fact that the night was not dark made it seem longer even than it
was. At least, so John thought. He said it seemed like two long days
together, without any night between.