IN SEARCH OF ADVENTURE.
Willie Nugent was as far from being what we call a "snob" as anyone
could well wish. Looks are nothing, so long as one is pleasant and
affable, so long as the ready smile--not the artificial
one--beginning at the lips spreads upwards over the face like morning
sunrise, and so long as heart and soul speak through a pair of kindly
sympathetic eyes.
Well, Willie Nugent was not extremely good-looking. For my own part
I do not like to see what we called "pretty boys", because they are
usually goody-goody, namby-pamby, and affected, sometimes even
effeminate. But Willie was manly in appearance, and so kind-hearted
that I am certain he would not have trampled on a beetle crossing his
path.
Creggan Ogg[1] M'Vayne was at best, for the present at all events,
only a peasant boy, and had not Willie been a bold, frank Colonial
young gentleman he might have treated Creggan with some approach to
hauteur. In his face at times, had he been a snob, there might have
been a look that said plainly enough, "Not too near, please".
[1] Ogg is really a Gaelic word, and the "o" is pronounced long: thus
"Oag". It signifies "young".
Instead of this he noted at a glance all the good in Creggan'a
character, and, figuratively speaking, held out to him the right hand
of fellowship and _camaraderie_ from the first day they met.
Willie was like his little sister in many of his ways, and Creggan
loved him all the more for this.
I think that nothing cements friendship between two boys more than a
long tour on the road. Skye isn't much of a place for cycling, you
must know. If you attempted to cross country your bike would be just
as often on your back as beneath you, and there is a probability that
a dive over a precipice might end your earthly career. But there is
no grander country in which to travel that I know of, even if you do
not climb the mountains, many of which, however, are all but
inaccessible, even to members of Alpine clubs.
So one beautiful summer day, when a wavy transparency like molten
glass or the clearest of water seemed rising from the ground, when
the sky was ethereal-blue, with here and there just the ghost of a
cloud, and a gentle breeze blowing from far over the wide Atlantic,
Willie and Creggan, with their knapsacks on their backs and sticks in
their hands, started to explore the land. Of course Matty had a good
cry, and kissed both boys.
"Oh," she cried, in semi-Scriptural language, "don't let any naughty
evil beast devour you!"
Away the lads went, their hearts as light and joyous as that of the
laverock[2] yonder, who, hovering high in the brightness of the sky,
so high that he could hardly be seen, trilled his jubilant morning
song.
[2] Scottice="lark", but a much more musical word.
Creggan had on his very best Highland costume, the suit he wore every
Sunday to kirk, and Willie was neatly clad in strong Scotch tweed, so
neither were likely to suffer from the dews of night should they be
belated.
They bent their steps first to the bonnie wee village of Uig that
nestles close to the loch, an arm of the sea. And here they had an
excellent second breakfast, and much enjoyed the well-cooked mullet,
the delicious ham and eggs--the latter those of the seagulls,--and
the butter and white crisp cakes.
They had tea.
The landlady was good-hearted evidently.
"And is it," she said, "is it that you won't be taken just a
thistleful[3] of mountain-dew to make your meal digest?"
[3] A glass shaped like a thistle.
But the boys only laughed and shook their heads.
The sea out yonder was very blue and still to-day, but while Willie
was gazing away across it, somewhat pensively perhaps, suddenly first
one then another and a third great fountain of snow-white spray was
thrown about twenty feet into the air.
"Oh, look, look, Creggan! What can it be?"
"Only the blowing whales," our young hero replied. "They are always
about. And there are always plenty of seals about the low rocks, but
I never shoot them, because they are so beautiful, and have eyes that
look through and through you."
In their march across a long heathy moorland on their way to
Quiraing, for the first time in his life Willie Nugent had the
pleasure of seeing a real Scottish eagle. He was wheeling round and
round in circles, but ever upwards, as if he would seek to reach the
sun itself, and ever and anon his wild whistling scream made hills
and rocks resound.
"There now," cried Creggan, pointing skywards, "that isn't a lark
this time. And that isn't a lark's song."
"No," said Willie, gazing wonderingly up at the huge bird.
He added:
"I think I should like to be an eagle. Is it true they take babies
to their nests?"
"They build," said Creggan, "on shelves of rock, that in some parts
here rise sheer up from the sea a thousand feet or more. Their nests
are huge bundles of sticks, built as a wild pigeon arranges her nest,
and in the centre is often moss, hay, and feathers. These are called
eeries. Men or big boys have sometimes been let down by ropes to rob
these of their yellow, fluffy, red-throated gaping fledglings; but Mr
M'Ian says it is very cruel, and highly dangerous. Once, when a man
went down like this and stood on the eerie, where whole skeletons of
lambs lay bleaching in the sun, and many other strange bones as well,
the she-eagle with a deafening scream dashed at him. He managed to
beat her off, and the fight for a time was fearful. He signalled
soon to be hauled up, but hardly was he in the air before the eagle
swooped down again. This time she tore at the rope, and--oh! wasn't
it awful, Willie?--it snapped, and the man was hurled down, down
eight hundred feet into the sea."
"Terrible!"
"Yes. But though his body was found it was a headless trunk, for in
his descent, you know, and when about half-way down, a piece of sharp
rock cut the head clean off; and they do say that when well out to
sea you can see the bleached skull, if you have a good glass,
grinning on that shelf of rock."[4]
[4] The same kind of accident occurred to a shepherd in Skye, who had
fallen over a precipice while trying to save a lamb.
They went on now.
Not only was the moorland covered with moss and green heather, but
many charming wild flowers were scattered about, with here and there
patches of sweetly-scented bog-myrtle and white downy toad's-tail,
and the whole place was musical with the song of tit-larks and
linnets.
They climbed that day high up into the crater of the extinct volcano
Quiraing. Right in the centre is a round raised green plot, big
enough to drill a company of soldiers on. At one side the wall of
rock is black, wet, and solid, but at the other it is split up into
needles, higher far than Cleopatra's on the Thames embankment, and
between these, to-day, the boy-adventurers could catch glimpses of a
sea of Italian blue, dotted here and there with many a sail,
snow-white or brown.
To gaze on such a scene as this, in a silence so dread that you could
hear the water dropping from the rocks, is very impressive; but like
everything solemn and beautiful in nature, I think it brings one into
closer union with God.
Having slid down about five hundred feet through a chaos of shingle,
the boys completed the descent on firm ground, and then bent their
footsteps back to Uig. They were tired enough to sleep soundly after
a capital supper, and next day they crossed the loch to visit the
land of the M'Leods, and the grand old feudal castle of Dunvegan.
And so, on and on and on for many days, by moor and mount and fell,
and by many a brown and lonesome tarn, the boys wandered. They cared
not either to fish or to collect specimens. Amidst such scenery and
surroundings, in the glad sunshine and bracing air, to live was
sufficient happiness.
I cannot say they had any wild adventures worth the name. They saw
many huge heather snakes curled up in the sunshine asleep, but passed
them by.
Once when on a moorland, they felt very hungry and there was no house
near. But after walking a mile or two farther, a shepherd's hut hove
in sight There was no one inside except the comely wife of the
shepherd, who was away on the hills with his flocks.
But this woman was as kindly as comely, and regaled the lads with
pea-meal bannocks and creamy milk. Willie averred it was the best
meal ever he sat down to. Nor would the good lady accept even
sixpence for her hospitality.
They bade her good-bye.
"The nearest road," she said in Gaelic, "is across that grassy moor.
It would save three miles, but it is swarming with adders. I advise
you to go round."
But the saving of those three miles tempted the lads, and they took
to the grassy moor. The patch altogether was barely two hundred
yards across. The grass was longish, withered and dry, and they soon
found to their dismay that it literally swarmed with vipers. It was
the home of the viper, and the viper was at home. They heard them in
their hundreds rustling about, and they saw them too. But the lads
would not show the white feather. To walk across, however, would
have increased the danger. So they took to their heels and ran, as
barefooted boys do when passing across a field of low white clover,
with bees in thousands on it. The bees haven't time to sting, and in
this case the vipers hadn't time to bite even if trampled on.
"That's a sweater!" said Willie, when they landed safe on bare ground.
"I'll go round by the road next time," said Creggan laughing.
However, all is well that ends well, so they went on their way
rejoicing.
It wasn't the first time that Creggan, young though he was, had made
a walking tour in Skye, so he made an excellent guide for his friend.
Near to the wildest scenery of Scavaig, Coruisk, and the Cuchullin
mountains, they lived for a day or two at a hotel that was palatial.
Almost too much so, indeed, for simple Creggan's taste. He was not
accustomed to carpeted rooms and silver forks, so he told Willie. He
was at home in a moorland, he said, but not among lords and ladies
dressed in silk and satin.
But Willie only laughed, and did all he could to put him to rights,
and to teach him the manners and customs of polite society, both at
table and in the drawing-room.
However, Creggan sighed like a steam-engine--a sigh of relief,
however,--when he found himself once more in the cosy parlour of an
old-fashioned glen inn.
"This is true pleasure, Willie," he said.
"Well," answered Willie, "I'm not shy, you know. I am as much at
home in an old farmer's house as in a nobleman's drawing-room.
Always keep cool, Creggan. Don't imagine people are staring at you
in particular, and if ladies in society say pretty things to you or
praise you up, don't get hysterical, for they never mean it."
Creggan laughed.
"Sometimes," continued Willie, "I am asked to sing or recite. By
people who don't know me, I mean. They say, 'Now, Master Nugent, I'm
sure you can favour us with a song, or a recitation'. 'Most
certainly', I reply, and do both; but as I sing like a crow and
recite like a hen that has just dropped an egg, they never ask me
twice."
* * * * * * * * * * *
There were just one or two little things that marred the pleasure of
this wild and delightful tour. They were indeed little, but very
wicked. First there were the midges. Among the bushes or in a
garden in the glens, there is no going out of doors of an evening
without muslin over one's face. If one neglects this, the face will
be bitten all over, till it resembles badly pickled cabbage.
Then the gnats or mosquitoes are very venomous. Centipeds abound in
some parts, great healthy greenish-brown brutes, and if they bite you
in a tender part, it is nearly as bad as a snap from an adder. In
the dark you may see these fellows hurrying through the short grass
like miniature railway-trains, all aglow with a phosphorescence that
streams out from both sides of them. Centipeds are nasty persons and
have more legs than they know what to do with.
Away up on the moorlands, however, you don't find these things; only
daddy-long-legs in millions in August. They are so tame that they
are troublesome. Their favourite seat is a-straddle of one's nose.
"Give us a ride old chap," they seem to say. "I'm going the same way
as you."
I believe myself that the best plan is to leave the duddy on your
nose, though I confess it looks funny; but, as certain as sunrise, if
you knock one off another gets on. So what are you to do?
Well, at long last the two young tourists, somewhat dusty and tired,
and sadly in need of clean collars, bore round to Portree.
Here they rested one night.
Portree is a nice little town, and the people are kind and obliging.
But there is a herring there, and you can scent him, either in boats
or reclining in a frying-pan, wherever you go.
I forget how many miles it is from Portree round the northern portion
of the island to Duntulm Castle. Perhaps thirty. The boys hired a
boat to take them round, and a more delightful row or grander
rock-and-mountain scenery it would indeed be difficult to conceive.
Willie wondered to see the tartan rocks, but he wondered still more
to see a waterfall shoot right over a cliff many hundreds of feet in
height, so that you could have sailed a boat between the rock and the
linn, and hardly get wet even with the spray.
There are no such sunsets anywhere in Britain as there are in Skye.
This evening the sun went down in a glory of crimson, gray, and
orange, which it is impossible to describe.
* * * * * * * * * * *
Matty could not have been more rejoiced to see Creggan had he been
away for a year.
"Oh, I is glad you've comed!" she cried, jumping on his knee with
childish abandon.
Then in the starlight, Creggan launched his skiff and rowed swiftly
away across a heaving waveless sea, to where the beacon burned afar
on his own little island home of Kilmara.