I never have been able to learn with a sufficient degree of exactitude
whether it was the _Polar Star_ that first sighted the _Arrandoon_, or
whether the _Arrandoon_ was the first to catch a glimpse of the _Polar
Star_. And with such conflicting evidence before me, I do not see very
well how I could.
What evidence have I before me, do you ask? Why the logs of the two
ships, written by their two captains respectively. I give below a
portion of two extracts, both relating to the joyful event. Extract
first from the log of the good yacht _Polar Star_:--"June 21st, 18--.
At seven bells in the forenoon watch--ice heavy and wind about a
south-south-west--caught sight of the _Arrandoon's_ topmasts bearing
about a north and by east. Praise God for all His goodness." Extract
second, from the log of the _Arrandoon_:--"June 21st, 18--. Seven bells
in the forenoon watch--a hail from the crow's-nest, `A schooner among
the ice to the south'ard and west of us, can just raise her topmasts,
think she is bearing this way.' Heaven be praised, we are saved."
Yes, dear reader, the _Arrandoon_ was saved. The news that a vessel was
in sight spread through the ship like wildfire; those that were hale and
well rushed on deck, the sick tottered up, and all was bustle and
excitement, and the cheer that arose from stem to stern reminded McBain
of the good old times, a year ago, when every man Jack of his crew was
alive and well.
It had been a very narrow escape for them, for, although not far from
the open water where the _Polar Star_ lay with foreyard aback, they were
unable to reach it, being once more frozen in, and had not good Silas
appeared at the time he did, probably in a few weeks at most there would
not have been a single human being living on board the lordly
_Arrandoon_.
No sooner had Silas satisfied himself with his own eyes that it was the
_Arrandoon_ that lay ice-bound to the nor'ard of him, than he called
away the boats and gave orders to load them with the best of everything,
and to follow his whaler.
His whaler took the ice just as eight bells were struck on the _Polar
Star_, and next moment, guided by the fan in the crow's-nest of the
yacht, he was hastening over the rough ice towards the _Arrandoon_.
McBain and his boys, and the doctor as well, were all on deck, when who
should heave round the corner of an iceberg but Captain Silas Grig
himself, looking as rosy and ten times more happy than they had last
seen him.
He was still about fifty yards away, and for a moment or two he stood
undecided; it seemed, indeed, that he wished not to walk but to jump or
fly the remaining fifty intervening yards. Then he took off his cap,
and--Scotch fashion--tossed it as high into the air as he possibly
could.
"_Arrandoon_, ahoy!" he shouted. "_Arrandoon_, ahoy! Hurrah!"
There was not a soul on board that did not run aft to meet Silas as he
sprang up the side. Even Freezing Powders, with Cockie on his shoulder,
came wondering up, and Peter must needs get out his bagpipes and strike
into _The Campbells are coming_.
And when Silas found himself once more among his boys, and shaking hands
with them all round; when he noticed the pale faces of Allan and Rory,
and the pinched visage of the once strong and powerful McBain, and read
in their weak and tottering gait the tale of all their sufferings, then
it must be confessed that the bluff old mariner had to turn hastily
about and address himself to others in order to hide a tear.
"Indeed, gentlemen all," said Silas, many, many months after this, "when
I saw you all looking so peaky and pale, as I first jumped down on to
your quarter-deck, I never felt so near making an old ass o' myself in
all my born days!"
For three weeks longer the _Arrandoon_ lay among the ice before she got
fairly clear, and, consorted by the _Polar Star_, bore up for home.
Three weeks--but they were not badly spent--three weeks, and all that
time was needed to restore our invalids to robust health. And that only
shows how near to death's door they must have been, because to make them
well they had the best medicine this world can supply, and Silas Grig
was the physician.
"Silas Grig! Silas Grig!" cried Rory, one morning at breakfast, about a
fortnight after the reunion, "sure you're the best doctor that ever
stepped in shoe-leather! No wonder we are all getting fat and rosy
again! First you gave us a dose of hope--we got that before you jumped
on board; then you gave us joy--a shake of your own honest hand, the
sound of your own honest voice, and letters from home. What care I that
my tenantry--`the foinest pisintry in the world'--haven't paid up? I've
had letters from Arrandoon. What, Ray boy! more salmon and another egg?
Just look at the effects of your physic, Dr Silas Grig!"
Silas laughed. "But," he said, "there is one thing you haven't
mentioned."
"Tell us," said Rory: "troth, it's a treat to hear ye talking?"
"The drop o' green ginger," said Silas.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
Nor were these three weeks spent in idleness, for during that time the
whole ship, from stem to stern, was redecorated; and when at last she
was once more clear of the ice, once more out in the blue, she looked as
bran new and as span new as on the day when she steamed down the wide,
romantic Clyde.
I do not know any greater pleasure in life than that of being homeward
bound after a long, long cruise at sea,--
"Good news from home, good news for me,
Has come across the deep blue sea."
So runs the song. Good news from home is certainly one of the rover's
joys, but how much more joyous it is to be "rolling home, rolling home"
to get that good news, eye to eye and lip to lip!
Once fairly under way, the weather seemed to get warmer every day. They
reached Jan Mayen in a week; they found the rude village deserted, and
Captain Cobb they would never be likely to meet again. So they left the
island, and on the wings of a favouring breeze bore away for Iceland.
Here Sandy McFlail, Doctor of Medicine of the University of Aberdeen,
and surgeon of the good ship _Arrandoon_, begged to be left. Ah! poor
Sandy was sadly in love with that blue-eyed, fair-haired Danish maiden.
He fairly confessed to Rory, who had previously promised not to laugh at
him, "that he had never seen a Scotch lassie to equal her, and that if
she weren't a `doctor's leddy' before six months were over it would not
be his, Sandy McFlail's, fault."
"You are quite right, Sandy," said Rory in reply--"quite right; and do
you know what it will be, Sandy?"
"What?" asked Sandy.
"A vera judeecious arrangement," cried Rory, running off before Sandy
had a chance of catching him by the ear and making him "whustle."
But right fervent were the wishes for the doctor's welfare when he bade
his friends adieu. And,--
"You'll be sure to send us a piece o' the bride-cake," said Ralph.
"I'm no vera sure," said Sandy, "if it will ever come the length o'
bride-cake. But," he added, bravely, "a body can only just try."
"Bravo!" cried Allan; "whatever a true man honestly dares he can do."
"And it's sure to come right in the end," said Rory.
So away went Sandy's boat, and away went the _Arrandoon_, firing the
farewell guns, and as gaily bedecked in flags as if it had been Sandy's
wedding morning.
The _Arrandoon_ sailed nearly all the way home, for a favouring breeze
was blowing, and with stunsails set, low and aloft, she looked like some
gigantic sea-bird; and bravely, too, the little _Polar Star_ kept her in
sight. As for Silas, he did not live on board his own ship at all, but
on board the _Arrandoon_. There was so much to be said and to say that
they could not spare him.
The inhabitants of Glentruim turned out _en masse_ to welcome the
wanderers home. It was a day long to be remembered in that part of the
Highlands of Scotland. The young chief, Allan McGregor, was not allowed
to walk across one inch of his own grounds towards his castle of
Arrandoon--no, nor to ride nor to drive; he must even be carried
shoulder high, while slogans rent the air, and blue bonnets darkened it,
and claymores were drawn and waved aloft, and the dogs all went daft,
and danced about, barking at everybody, plainly showing that they had
taken leave of their senses for one day, and weren't a bit ashamed of
having done so.
Behind the procession marched Freezing Powders, with Cockie on his
shoulder. The poor bird did not know what to make of all this Highland
din, all this wild rejoicing. But he evidently enjoyed it.
"Keep it up, keep it up, keep it up?" he cried; "here's a pretty,
pretty, pretty to-do! Go on, go on! Come on, come on--ha! ha! ha! ha!
Lal de dal de dal lei al!"
And off went Cockie into the maddest dance that ever legs of bird
performed. And Freezing Powders got frightened at last, and tried to
lecture the bird into a quieter state of mind.
"I 'ssure you, Cockie," said Freezing Powders, "you is overdoin' it.
Try to 'llay your feelin's, Cockie--try to 'llay your feelin's. As sure
as nuffin' at all, Cockie, you'll have a drefful headache in de
mornin'."
But Cockie only bowed and becked and danced and laughed the more, till
at last Freezing Powders, looking upon the case as one of desperation,
extracted from his pocket a red cotton handkerchief--the same he carried
Cockie in when Captain McBain first met him on the Broomielaw--and in
this he rolled Cockie as in the days of yore; but even then all the way
to the castle Cockie was constantly finding corners to pop his head
through, and let every one within hearing know that, though captured, he
was as far from being subdued as ever.
Poor old Janet was beside herself with joy. She had been preparing
pastry and getting ready puddings for days and days. She was fain to
wipe her eyes with very joy when she shook hands once more with Ralph
and Allan, and her old favourite, Rory. She was a little subdued when
she looked at old Seth; she was just a trifle afraid of him, I believe.
But she soon became herself again, and finished off by catching up
Freezing Powders, Cockie and all, and bearing them off in triumph to the
cosiest corner of the kitchen.
That same night fires were lit on every hill around Glentruim, and the
reflection of them was seen southwards over all the wilds of Badenoch,
and northward to the borders of Ross.
A few weeks after the return home Rory paid his promised visit to Silas
at his little cottage by the sea, his cottage on the cliff-tops.
Silas's flag fluttered right gaily in the wind that day, the summer
flowers were all in bloom in the garden, and the green paling looked
brighter, probably, than ever it had done, for the sun shone as it
seldom shines--shone as if it had been paid to shine for the occasion,
and the clouds lay low on the horizon, as if they had been paid to keep
out of the way for once. The flag fluttered gaily, and the two little
blue-jackets on the top of the pole ever and anon made such terrible
onslaughts upon each other, that the only wonder was there was a bit of
them left, that they did not demolish each other entirely, like the
traditional cats of Kilkenny.
Silas had gone to the station to meet Rory. Silas was dressed, as he
thought, like a landsman. Silas really thought that nobody could tell
he was a sailor, because he wore a blue frock-coat and a tall beaver
hat.
And Silas's little wife was all bustle and nervousness; but Rory had not
been in the house half an hour ere all this was gone, and she was
quietly happy, with a kind of feeling at her heart that she had known
Rory all his life, and had even nursed him when he was quite a little
mite.
Day and dinner and all passed off right cheerily, and of course with
dessert Silas nodded to his little wife, and his little wife opened a
bottle of fresh green ginger, and produced the bun--the wonderful bun,
which was a pudding one day and a cake the next.
Silas kept smirking and nodding so long at Rory over his first drop of
green ginger, that Rory knew he was going to say something, and so, by
way of encouragement,--
"Out with it, Silas," says Rory.
"Only this," says Silas: "Success to the wooing."
Well, who else in all the wide world could Rory have taken advice from
except from Silas, in one little matter that deeply concerned his future
welfare?
"Go in and win," had been Silas's advice. "Go in and win, like the man
you are. Faint heart never gained fair lady."
It is pleasant for me to be able to state that Rory took his old
friend's advice to the letter. Now we know that the course of true love
never did run smooth, and the course of Rory's wooing proved no
exception to the proverb, but everything came right in the end, as Rory
himself was fond of observing, and all is well that ends well. Just one
year after this visit to Silas, Rory led Helen Edith McGregor to the
altar. What a beautiful bride she made--more modest and bonnie than the
rose just newly blown, or gowans tipped with dew!
Rory and Allan were not greater friends after the wedding than they had
been before--that were impossible; but they were now brothers, and Allan
made a vow that Rory should make his home in Glentruim.
There is a mansion there now as well as a castle, and in it dwell Rory
and his wife.
Years have passed since the days of which I have been writing; they have
not made very much change in our Irish hero. He is still the painter,
still the poet, only there is not one only, but two little listeners
now, that gaze up round-eyed and wonderingly at their father, whenever
he takes up his magical instrument, the violin! Old Ap teaches these
little ones to cut boats out of scraps of wood, and to rig small yachts
in the summer evenings. The glen and castle both are wonderfully
improved. There is some good after all in ambition, if it is an honest
one, and some truth, too, in the motto of the Camerons, "Whatever a man
dares he can do."
Every year Ralph, brave English Ralph, comes to the castle on _the_
twelfth, and always spends a month; and every year Allan and Rory go
southwards to Leigh Hall to return the visit. And they never go without
taking Silas and McBain with them, so you may be sure these are very
happy, very pleasant seasons.
What about Seth? Oh, merely this, Ralph offered to take him back to his
own country, and to re-instal him as an Arctic Crusoe in his far
northern home.
"Gentlemen," said Seth, "I'm right sensible of all your kindness, but I
guess I'm getting old, and if my young friend here wouldn't mind, I'd
prefer leaving my bones in the glen here. Civilisation has kind o'
spoiled the old trapper, and he'd feel sort o' lonely now in his old
farm. There ain't many b'ars in the glen, I reckon; but never mind, old
Seth can still draw a bead on a rabbit."
"And so you shall," said Allan. "I'll make you my warren-master, and
head of all my keepers."
So Seth has settled down to end his days in peace. He dwells in one of
the prettiest little Highland cottages that ever you saw. It gets
snowed over in winter sometimes, it is true, and that might be looked
upon as a drawback; but oh, to see it in summer, when the feathery
birches nod green around it and the heather is all in bloom!
Peter played a little trick on poor old Seth, which I cannot help
recording.
"It will never do, you know," Peter told him, "for a Highland keeper on
the estate of Glentruim not to wear the kilt."
"Guess you're a kind o' right," said Seth, "but, bless you, Peter, my
legs ain't o' no consequence, they ain't a bit thicker than old Bran the
deerhound's, and I reckon they're just about the same shape."
"Well," replied Peter, "I grant you that is a kind of an objection, but
then custom is everything, you know."
So, lo and behold! one fine summer morning, who should stalk into the
castle yard but old trapper Seth arrayed in full Highland costume. No
wonder the dogs barked and ran away! no wonder Allan and Rory laughed
till their sides ached and they could hardly hold their guns! no wonder
old Janet shouted and screamed with merriment, and Cockie whistled
shrill, and Freezing Powders nearly went into a fit! No, Seth's legs
were but little thicker than Bran's. Seth arrayed in skins from head to
heel was passable, but Seth in a kilt!!!
Poor Seth! it was somewhat unkind of Peter. However, the trapper never
wore a kilt again.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
The End.