WELCOME BACK TO SKYE.
Creggan Ogg M'Vayne might well sing of
"A life on the ocean wave,
A home on the rolling deep".
Well, any man who is worth the noble name of sailor loves his ship,
and looks upon her as "home" in the real sense of the word. Nor does
he long for any other while the commission lasts. But oh! when the
order to return comes on board, then there is something within him
that, though it may have been slumbering for years, awakes at once,
and he is eager, even to excitement, to see once more the woods and
flowery fields of England, or the wild straths and glens of green
Caledonia.
When the boat discharged Willie and Creggan at Portree, the latter
felt that he was indeed at home.
"No, Willie, we won't walk. I'm too impatient far for that."
"I'll do whatever you do, old man."
So they hired a fast horse and dogcart; the driver a man who could
hold the ribbons well, the nag as sure-footed as a mule.
The day was bright and bracing, so that Creggan's spirits rose with
every milestone passed.
* * * * * * * * * * *
Perhaps in no country in all the wide world is the early autumn more
lovely than in our own dear Scottish Highlands. The fierce heat of
summer that erst was reflected from the lofty crags and mountain
brows to the straths below, is mitigated now. The grass is still
green in the bonnie bosky dells, through which streamlets meander
over their pebbly beds and go singing to the sea. Though the winds
are whispering now among the birchen foliage, and the tall needled
pine-trees, with a harsher voice than that of sweet spring-time, the
tall ferns in many a quiet and sylvan nook wave wild and bonnie,
their fronds of green and brown making a charming background to the
crimson nodding bells of the foxglove. And the hills above are
purple and crimson with heather and heath, with many a rugged crag or
gray rock peeping through, which only serve to enhance their beauty.
But here in the north of Skye are no trees, though the heather is a
sight to see, and so you hardly miss the dark waving pines.
"I'm just so happy," said Creggan, "that I believe I could sing."
"My dear boy," said Willie, "I already know enough about politics to
be able to assure you that no act of parliament has yet been passed
against singing. Heave round, as you sailors say, and give us a
ditty."
"Give us a bass then, Willie."
"That I will, and the horse himself will beat time to your melody."
"Well, I'll sing you a song our bo's'n used to troll at the fo'castle
head in starlight evenings, when our ship was far at sea. But I have
not his voice. It is called--
THE SAILOR'S RETURN.
Bleak was the morn when William left his Nancy,
The fleecy snow frown'd on the whitened shore,
Cold as the fears that chilled her dreary fancy,
While she her sailor from her bosom tore.
To his fill'd heart a little Nancy pressing,
While a young tar the ample trousers eyed,
In need of firmness, in this state distressing,
Will checked the rising sigh, and fondly cried:
'Ne'er fear the perils of the fickle ocean,
Sorrow's all a notion,
Grief all in vain;
Sweet love, take heart,
For we but part
In joy to meet again.'
Loud blew the wind, when, leaning on that willow
Where the dear name of William printed stood,
Poor Nancy saw, tossed by a faithless billow,
A ship dash'd 'gainst a rock that topped the flood.
Her tender heart, with frantic sorrow thrilling,
Wild as the storm that howl'd along the shore,
No longer could resist a stroke so killing:
''Tis he,' she cried, 'nor shall I see him more!
Why did he ever trust the fickle ocean?
Sorrow's my portion,
Misery and pain!
Break, my poor heart,
For now we part,
Never to meet again.'
Mild was the eye, all nature was smiling,
Four tedious years had Nancy passed in grief,
When, with her children, the sad hours beguiling,
She saw her William fly to her relief!
Sunk in his arms with bliss he quickly found her,
But soon return'd to life, to love, and joy;
While her grown young ones anxiously surround her,
And now Will clasps his girl, and now his boy.
'Did I not say, though 'tis a fickle ocean,
Sorrow's all a notion,
Grief all in vain?
My joy how sweet!
For now we meet,
Never to part again.'
As the horse went merrily trotting along the road, and the voices of
those happy boys raised in song was echoed from rock and brae, little
kilted lads and kirtled lassies ran out from cottage doors--for joy
is infectious--to shout and wave their bonnets as long as they could
see the trap.
And now, here is Uig once more. The landlady just as buxom and jolly
as before, though at first she did not know Creggan.
Here a good luncheon was made, and the horse fed. Then on again for
many a mile, till the gray ruins of the warlike old castle of Duntulm
hove in sight, the swift rolling Minch, and, far beyond, the blue
hills of Harris. And yonder, too, was the hermit's isle of Kilmara.
Some distance from the sea was Nugent's bungalow, but all were at the
door to meet Willie and Creggan, the sailor-boy.
Matty could talk better English now, though still a child, and just
as innocent as ever. While Creggan rested on a chair under the
pretty verandah, trying to answer about a hundred questions at the
same time, wee Matty climbed his knee, and with one soft arm around
his neck, claimed her sailor all to herself.
Then there was the visit to the manse. More welcomes there from
Rory, Maggie, and Mr. M'Ian.
Oh, it is really worth going to sea for a few years, if only to
receive a welcome home like this!
The sea to-day was blue and smooth, so Willie had his skiff taken
down from the manse, and with Matty in the stern-sheets---just in the
dear old way--he paddled out to visit his Daddy.
That was indeed a delightful meeting, but I cannot describe it. The
new dog came furious, barking at Creggan, but poor Oscar knew him at
a glance, and simply went wild with joy.
* * * * * * * * * * *
Let no one ever tell me that a dog forgets a kind master. When I
myself first went to sea--in the Royal Navy--I left my beautiful
collie with my mother. Not only did he know me when I returned after
several years, but on the day my arrival was announced mother said to
him: "Tyro, doggie, your master is coming to-day". He never left the
window after that. Never ceased to watch till, afar off, he could
see me. Then his impatience was unbounded till the door was opened,
and he came rushing down the road to meet me.
* * * * * * * * * * *
Creggan spent the night with Daddy, who had not altered a bit, but he
rowed Matty home first.
That evening a strange but true tale of the sea was related to
Creggan, and the mystery that surrounded his childhood was cleared up
once and for ever.
It was thought best by the minister, and by Nugent also, that the
hermit should break the news to the lad.
Know then, that not more than a month ago, a lady in black, still
beautiful, though she must have been verging on forty, was travelling
in a dog-cart through Skye, with her own maid and coachman.
Calling at the manse, M'Ian happened among other things to tell her
of the strange story of the finding of Creggan in the skiff on the
beach of Kilmara isle.
She seemed strangely agitated.
"Is the skiff still to the fore, and might I see it?"
"Certainly, my dear lady."
She had hardly looked at it before she almost fainted, and would have
fallen had not M'Ian's strong arms supported her.
"Oh, sir, that was our boat! Is the boy still alive?"
"Yes, and at sea. We expect him back in a month. He was brought up
by the hermit of Kilmara out yonder."
"Do row me over there, will you?"
"With pleasure, madam."
And the minister's own boat was launched and soon reached the island.
The hermit was mystified at first, but soon recovering, told her all
the reader already knows.
Then she told her sad story.
The _Sea-Swallow_--her husband's ship--was lying at Harris in a
little bay. He, her husband, had been, alas! drinking hard some
weeks before this, but seemed quite recovered, and one day she
received an invitation from the minister of the parish to go on a
picnic excursion with his children to see the beauties of the island.
She would be back before ten. It was autumn, and the nights were
long, with bright starlight and a little frost. Her husband would
not go on shore, but appeared delighted to be left in charge of the
child. The mother had not been gone over two hours, and night had
fallen, when he told the first to call away the skiff, a light kind
of dinghy. He told him he was going on shore to the manse, and would
take the child with him. He was in no way excited, but quiet and
calm, and singing low to the child as he went down the gangway ladder.
The mate watched him rowing himself towards the shore, then went
below.
The captain was never seen again.
His name was Mearns, and the _Sea-Swallow_ was as much a yacht as a
trader, though she did bring cargoes of fruit from Italy.
Mrs. Mearns was prostrated with grief, and for many a long week never
left her bed. The most Christian conclusion she could come to was
that the boat had been swamped and sunk, and both the husband and
child drowned.
But the _Sea-Swallow_ was sold, and ever since poor Mrs. Mearns had
lived alone with her grief, in her beautiful home down near to
Torquay.
* * * * * * * * * * *
"And this lady is--my--mother, Daddy?"
"Yes, my lad; and you will see her to-morrow."
And next day he was early on shore with Oscar, and went straight to
the manse.
The lady in black came slowly up the garden path about mid-day.
Something seemed to whisper to Creggan, telling him that this was
indeed his mother. He ran to meet her.
She held him at arm's-length for a few seconds, while she turned
white and red by turns.
"It is indeed my long-lost son!" she cried. "Oh, heaven be praised
for the dawn of this day!"
Then woman-like she relieved her feelings by weeping.
Mrs. Mearns took up her abode at the manse for two months, all the
time, in fact, that Creggan spent in Skye. But she seemed quite a
changed woman, and looked ten years younger at least.
She no longer wore mourning, but light-coloured, beautiful dresses.
She played and sang too, in a manner that quite fascinated the
minister, and she took part in all the rambles about this wild
romantic island.
* * * * * * * * * * *
Well, partings came again, and with them tears and blessings. Oh,
that sad word "Farewell"!
In a week after this Creggan and his mother were at Torquay. But a
delightful old-fashioned wooden paddle frigate was commissioned at
Plymouth. She was going on Special Service, to carry despatches
here, there, and everywhere. Creggan went on purpose to see her, and
though the carpenters, or wood-peckers as we used to call them, were
still on board, the lad--who, by the way, had been promoted to
sub-lieutenant, wore a stripe and carried a sword--liked her so much,
that he made an application to be appointed to her.
His appointment came in a few days.
Then Creggan once more took the bold step of calling on the captain,
and with him went Oscar.
Captain Leeward opened the door, and when the young sub-lieutenant
introduced himself--
"Oh, come in, my good fellow. No, no, don't shut the door in the
dear doggie's face."
So in went Creggan and in went Oscar.
"I say," said Captain Leeward, a most pleasant-faced man, "I must ask
you to bring this beautiful animal with you. I have a lovely black
Newfoundland, and they will be excellent companions."
Had anyone handed Creggan a cheque for £10,000, he could not have
been more delighted than he was at this moment.
Then in stalked the very dog the captain had mentioned. Creggan had
never seen so noble a fellow before.
He appeared a little surprised at seeing another dog in the room, but
as soon as Oscar went up and licked his ear--a dog's kiss--he took to
him at once, and before Creggan left they both lay asleep together
before the fire.
"I've heard all about you from Captain Flint himself--rather a tartar
sometimes, but possessed of a right good heart. You must stay to
supper, and we'll swap yarns, you know.
"By the way," he added, "do you know that your bold messmate, Dr.
Grant, has been appointed to this ship?"
"I didn't know, but I feel so pleased!"
A very delightful evening Creggan spent, till nine o'clock, then he
begged leave to go.
The last thing that Captain Leeward said as he shook Creggan's hand
was this:
"You saved your captain's life, lad. Your courage in presence of the
enemy was conspicuous, and although the Admiralty is slow--it won't
forget you!
"Good-night. Join your ship in a week's time."
"Good-night, sir. You have made me very happy."