THE NIGHT CAME ON BEFORE ITS TIME.
The home of Hermit M'Vayne, which was Creggan's foster-father's real
name, was indeed a strange one. Situated under the south-western
side of a rock, partly leaning against it, in fact, stood the strong
and sturdy hut. The sides, and even the roof, were of timber, the
latter thatched with heather and grass; though only one gable was of
stone, and here was the chimney that conducted the smoke from the low
hearth upwards and outwards to the sky.
And night and day around this log-house moaned the wind, for even
when almost calm on the mainland a breeze was blowing here, and ever
and aye on the dark cliff-foot beneath broke and boomed the waves of
the restless Minch. But when the storm-king rose in his wrath and
went shrieking across the bleak island, the spray from the breakers
was dashed high and white, far over the hut, and would have found its
way down the chimney itself had this not been protected by a moving
cowl.
But I really think that the higher the wind blew, and the louder it
howled, while the waves sullenly boomed and thundered on the rocks
below, the cosier and happier did the hermit and his foster-child
feel within.
Although, strangely enough, the hermit had never as yet told Creggan
the story of his own past life, nor his reasons for settling down on
this sea-girdled little morsel of rock and moorland, still he never
seemed to tire of telling the boy about his adventures on many lands
and many seas, nor did the lad ever weary of listening to these. And
the wilder they were the better he liked them.
It was on stormy nights, especially in winter, that Creggan's strange
foster-father became most communicative. But on such nights, before
even the frugal supper was placed upon the board, the hermit felt he
had a duty to perform, and he never neglected it. For high on a rock
on the centre of the island he had erected a little hollow tower of
stone. It was in reality a kind of slow-combustion stove filled with
peats and chunks of wood, and with pieces of sea-weed over all. It
was lit from below, and when the wind blew through the chinks and
crannies, it sent forth a glare that could be seen far and high over
the storm-tossed ocean. Many a brave brig or barque staggering up
the Minch, and many a fisherman's boat also, on dark and windy nights
had to thank the hermit's beacon-light that warned them off the
Whaleback rocks.
Having set fire to his storm-signal, the old man's work was done for
the day. Supper finished, a chapter from the Book of Books was read,
then a prayer was prayed--not read from a printed book,--and after
this the inmates of this rude but cosy hut drew their stools more
closely to the fire. No light was lit if not needed, and indeed it
was seldom necessary, the blazing peats and the crackling logs gave
forth a glare that, though fitful, was far more pleasant to talk by
than any lamp could have been.
Now, Mr. Nugent and his wife had promised to visit Creggan some
evening on his lonely island, and not only Matty but her brother also
were to accompany them. They did not say when the visit would be
made. Their lives were as unlike Creggan's as one could possibly
imagine. They were spending the summer here in Skye, living in a
rough sort of a shanty, which, however, they had furnished themselves
and made exceedingly comfortable; and every day brought them some new
pleasure: boating parties, long journeys over the mountains,
painting, botanizing, or collecting specimens and even fossils, for
on no island in all our possessions, does nature display her stores
on a more liberal scale than in this same wildly romantic Skye.
The afternoon's outing for which they were indebted to young Creggan
Ogg M'Vayne had been pronounced delightful beyond compare. It was
indeed a strange land they had reached at last, pastoral and poetic
as well. Bonnie green valleys, watered by many a rippling burn, and
little waterfalls that came trickling down from the rocks, and
studded over with lazy, well-fed cattle and a few sheep. There were
but two huts here, near-by the banks of a little stream, that went
singing onwards till its brown waters were swallowed up in a small
lake, the surface of which was everywhere wrinkled by sportive trout,
leaping high to catch gnats or midges even in the air.
The Nugents were surprised, but charmed to find that the tiny
encampment was inhabited only by sturdy bare-footed, bare-headed
lassies, who were here to tend the cows, and to make butter and
cheese, which would afterwards be sold at the distant market town of
Portree.
Creggan had to be interpreter, for never a word of English had these
girls to bless themselves in.
And Mrs. Nugent stayed long enough to make several delightful
sketches in water-colours, over which the lassies went into raptures.
The clouds in the blue sky, the distant peeps of ocean, with here and
there a little sail, the darkling rocks, the mountain peaks, and
nearer still in the foreground, the foaming linns, the green braes,
and the beautiful cows, with their attendants, all came out on the
paper by the magic touch of the artist's brush.
Long before they had once more reached the cliffs by the sea that
night, Matty and Creggan seemed to have established a friendship as
frank and free as if they had known each other for many and many a
year. Then good-byes had been said, and the promise given by Mr.
Nugent to come out to the island some afternoon, or to take it in
their way home from the far-off island of Harris. But a fortnight
passed by and they had not yet appeared. Nor, although he thought
about them, and especially about Matty, times without number, had
Creggan seen them even at a distance.
One afternoon, the boy in his skiff returned home much sooner than
usual.
It is not in winter only that wild storms sweep up or down or across
the Minch, for even in summer, and suddenly too, gales arise, and
while, as far as eye can see, the Atlantic is one wide chaos of
broken and foaming water, the cliffs and hills seem shaken to their
rude foundations by wind and wave. Yet speedily as such tempests
come, there are generally indications beforehand that tell the
fishermen abroad in their open boats that they must run quickly for
the nearest shelter, if dear life itself is to be saved.
"Right glad to see you, lad," said the hermit, as he helped Creggan
to secure his boat high and dry behind a rock, where, blow as it
might, nothing could damage her.
"You think it is going to blow, Daddy?"
"Aye, sonny, that it is. Night will come on, too, long hours before
its time. Ah, boy, we'll have to pray for those at sea to-night! I
hope your friends will not think of leaving Lewis."
"You have seen them, father?"
"Aye, boy, aye. They passed the island almost within hail of me, in
a half-deck boat, which I think must have been hired at Portree."
"And was little Matty there?"
"Yes, lad, and her father and mother, and a boy older than
you--though not so brave-looking."
The old hermit put his hand fondly on young Creggan's curly head as
he spoke. No father could have been fonder of a son than was he of
this motherless bairn.
"But, dear boy, you haven't come empty-handed, I see."
"No; I never had a better forenoon among the trout. Look!"
From under a thwart of the boat forward, Creggan lugged forth and
held up for admiration, a string of crimson-spotted mountain trout
that would have caused many a Cockney sportsman to bite his lips with
envy.
The old man smiled, patted the boy once again, then hand in
hand--such was their habit--they took their way along the winding
path which led to the hut.
Oscar had been at home all day, but he now came bounding out with
many a joyous bark, to welcome his master back. More quietly, too,
though none the less sincerely did Gilbert, a huge, red tabby cat,
bid the boy welcome, rubbing his great head against Creggan's
stocking and purring loudly, while from the inner recesses of the hut
a voice could be heard shouting:
"_Come in, Creggan! Come in, come in!_"
It was the voice of no human being, however, but that of a beautiful
gray parrot, who had been the hermit's companion since ever he had
taken up his residence on this little isle of the ocean.
The afternoon wore away quickly enough, as afternoons always do when
one is busy. And Creggan had hooks to busk, and his foster-father
was busy mending nets.
But the sun set at last, in lurid fiery clouds, over the hills of
Harris, and soon after those very clouds, dark and threatening now,
began to bank up and roll forward over the sea, on the wings of a
moaning wind, shortening the twilight and obscuring the rising stars
that had already begun to twinkle in the east.
The beacon had not been lit for many weeks, but to-night the hermit
seemed to take extra pains with it, and as soon as the shadows of
night fell over the sea its red glimmer shone far over the darkling
waves, on which already white horses had begun to appear.
Bleak and cold blew the wind, too, for in these northern climes
summer is not always the synonym for warmth of weather.
But supper and prayers over, the two Crusoes, as we well might term
them, drew closer round the fire. Even Polly asserted her right to
join the circle.
"_Poor Polly!_" she cried; "_poor dear old, old Polly! Polly wants
to come!_"
Then Creggan carried her cage forward and placed it in a corner,
where the firelight might dance and flicker on it. Collie curled up
in front of the fire, and close beside him Gibbie the cat sat down.
And before seating himself near to his foster-father's big
easy-chair, the boy handed him his pipe, and not that alone, but a
fine old fiddle that he took from a green baize bag which hung upon
the wall.
"And now," said Creggan; "now, dear Daddy, I feel just very happy,
but I'm not quite sure yet what I shall make you do. You shall sing,
anyhow, over the fiddle, some fine old sea-song, father, that will
bring right up before me all the romance of your early days, just as
this little book of Ossian's poems makes me think I am living in the
olden times, and can hear the clang and crash of battle, or the sweet
notes of harps sounding low and sweet in halls by the stormy sea."
"Verily, boy, you are a poet yourself. Ah, lad, when you enter life
all will be stern reality!"
"I never want to enter life, Daddy dear; I want always, always to be
here with you on our own little island home. But listen, Daddy, was
that not a scream? There again?"
"Nay, boy, nay, it is but the cry of some storm-frightened night-bird
rising shrill and high over the wail of the wind and dash of the
waves. Yet may Heaven in its mercy protect any craft on a lee shore
to-night!"
But Creggan felt uneasy, and for quite a long time he sat in silence,
while the hermit, gazing quietly into the blazing fire as he smoked,
seemed to recall many a strange event in his former life.
Suddenly Creggan sprang up. He had keen ears. The dog ran towards
the door at the same time, barking aloud.
For adown the wind, twice repeated, had floated the sharp sound of a
rifle or gun.
"Oh, Daddy," cried Creggan, now pale with agitation, "some ship or
boat is on the Whaleback rocks out yonder! That was a signal of
distress."
"Then, boy, we must give all the assistance in our power, and if in
doing so we die, we shall die doing our duty. Light the great
hurricane-lamp. Keep calm, lad; while there is life there is hope."
Next minute both stood together on the edge of the cliff that pointed
nor'ard and west, while behind them on a pole was fixed the
hurricane-lamp.
What a wild turmoil of a sea was down below. As each white wave
dashed against the beetling rocks, high upwards almost to their feet
rose the singing seething water. But at present the sky was not
wholly overcast. There were rifts among the scudding, hurrying
clouds, and now and then the moon shone through.
"Look! look!" cried Creggan. "Can you see it, Daddy? High and dark
on Lorna's rock! The boat, the boat, with the waves sweeping past
and over it!"
The hermit passed his hand across his brow and eyes, and strained
forward to gaze into the darkness.
Just then the moon cast a pale glimmer across the waves, and every
line of the stranded boat stood darkling out against a background of
white and stormy water.
The old man shuddered.
"Heaven be near to help us, boy," he cried, "but yonder is the
Nugents' boat!"