Meanwhile, Mrs Sudberry was thrown into a species of frenzied horror,
which no words can describe, and which was not in any degree allayed by
the grave shaking of the head, with which Mr McAllister accompanied his
vain efforts to comfort and re-assure her. This excellent man quoted
several passages from the works of Dugald Stewart and Locke, tending to
show, in common parlance, that "necessity has no law," and that the
rightly constituted human mind ought to rise superior to all
circumstances--quotations which had the effect of making Mrs Sudberry
more hysterical than ever, and which induced Mrs Brown to call him who
offered such consolation a "brute!"
But McAllister did not confine his efforts solely to the region of mind.
While he was earnestly administering doses of the wisdom of Stewart and
Locke to the agitated lady in the parlour, Dan and Hugh, with several
others, were, by his orders, arming themselves in the kitchen for a
regular search.
"She's ready," said Dan, entering the parlour unceremoniously with a
huge stable lantern.
"That's right, Dan--keep away up by the slate corrie, and come down by
the red tarn. If they've taken the wrong turn to the right, you're sure
to fall in wi' them thereaway. Send Hugh round by the burn; I'll go
straight up the hill, and come down upon Loch Cognahoighliey. Give a
shout now and then, as ye goo."
Dan was a man of action and few words: he vouchsafed no reply, but
turned immediately and left the room, leaving a powerful odour of the
byre behind him.
Poor Mrs Sudberry and Tilly were unspeakably comforted by the grave
business-like way, in which the search was gone about. They recalled to
mind that a search of a somewhat similar nature, in point of manner and
time, was undertaken a week before for a stray sheep, and that it had
been successful; so they felt relieved, though they remained, of course,
dreadfully anxious. McAllister refrained from administering any more
moral philosophy. As he was not at all anxious about the lost party,
and was rather fond of a sly joke, it remains to this day a matter of
doubt whether he really expected that his nostrums would be of much use.
In a few minutes he was breasting the hill like a true mountaineer,
with a lantern in his hand, and with Hobbs by his side.
"Only think, ma'am," said Mrs Brown, who was not usually judicious in
her remarks, "only think if they've been an' fell hover a precipice."
"Shocking!" exclaimed poor Mrs Sudberry, with a little shriek, as she
clapped her hands on her eyes.
"Poor Jacky, ma'am, p'raps 'e's lyin' hall in a mangled 'eap at the foot
of a--"
"Leave me!" cried Mrs Sudberry, with an amount of sudden energy that
quite amazed Mrs Brown, who left the room feeling that she was an
injured woman.
"Darling mamma, they will come back!" said Tilly, throwing her arms
round her mother's neck, and bursting into tears on her bosom. "You
know that the sheep--the lost sheep--was found last week, and brought
home quite safe. Dan is _so_ kind, though he does not speak much, and
Hugh too. They will be sure to find them, darling mamma!"
The sweet voice and the hopeful heart of the child did what philosophy
had failed to accomplish--Mrs Sudberry was comforted. Thus we see, not
that philosophy is a vain thing, but that philosophy and feeling are
distinct, and that each is utterly powerless in the domain of the other.
When Peter was left alone by his master, as recorded in a former
chapter, he sat himself down in a cheerful frame of mind on the sunny
side of a large rock, and gave himself up to the enjoyment of thorough
repose, as well mental as physical. The poor lad was in that state of
extreme lassitude which renders absolute and motionless rest delightful.
Extended at full length on a springy couch of heath, with his eyes
peeping dreamily through the half-closed lids at the magnificent
prospect of mountains and glens that lay before him, and below him too,
so that he felt like a bird in mid-air, looking down upon the world,
with his right arm under his meek head, and both pillowed on the plaid,
with his countenance exposed to the full blaze of the sun, and with his
recent lunch commencing to operate on the system, so as to render
exhaustion no longer a pain, but a pleasure, Peter lay on that knoll,
high up the mountain-side, in close proximity to the clouds, dreaming
and thinking about nothing; that is to say, about everything or anything
in an imbecile sort of way: in other words, wandering in his mind
disjointedly over the varied regions of memory and imagination; too
tired to originate an idea; too indifferent to resist one when it arose;
too weak to follow it out; and utterly indifferent as to whether his
mind did follow it out, or cut it short off in the middle.
We speak of Peter's mind as a totally distinct and separate thing from
himself. It had taken the bit in its teeth and run away. He cared no
more for it than he did for the nose on his face, which was, at that
time, as red as a carrot, by reason of the sun shining full on its tip.
But why attempt to describe Peter's thoughts? Here they are--such as
they were--for the reader to make what he can out of them.
"Heigh ho! comfortable now--jolly--what a place! How I hate mountains--
climbing them--dreadful!--Like 'em to lie on, though--sun, I like your
jolly red-hot face--Sunday! wonder if's got to do with sun--p'raps--
twinkle, twinkle, little sun, how I wonder--oh, what fun!--won't I have
sich wonderful tales--tales--tails--stories are tails--stick 'em on the
end of puppy-dogs, and see how they'd look--two or three two-legged
puppies in the office--what a difference now!--no ink-bottles, no
smashings, no quills, plenty of geese, though, and grouse and hares--
what was I thinking about? Oh, yes--the office--no scribbles--no
stools, no desks, No-vember--dear me, that's funny! No-vember--what's a
vember? Cut him in two can't join him again--no--no--snore!"
At this point Peter's thoughts went out altogether in sleep, leaving the
happy youth in peaceful oblivion. He started suddenly after an hour's
nap, under the impression that he was tumbling over a precipice.
To give a little scream and clutch wildly at the heather was natural.
He looked round. The sun was still hot and high. Scratching his head,
as if to recall his faculties, Peter stared vacantly at the sandwiches
which lay beside him on a piece of old newspaper. Gradually his hand
wandered towards them, and a gleam of intelligence, accompanied by a
smile, overspread his countenance as he conveyed one to his lips.
Eating seemed fatiguing, however. He soon laid the remnant down, drew
the plaid over him, nestled among the heather, and dropped into a heavy
sleep with a sigh of ineffable comfort.
When Peter again woke up, the sun was down, and just enough of light
remained to show that it was going to be an intensely dark night. Can
anyone describe, can anyone imagine, the state of Peter's feelings?
Certainly not! Peter, besides being youthful, was, as we have said, an
extremely timid boy. He was constitutionally afraid of the dark, even
when surrounded by friends. What, then, were his sensations when he
found himself on the mountain alone--_lost_! The thought was horror!
Peter gasped; he leaped up with a wild shout, gazed madly round, and
sank down with a deep groan. Up he sprang again, and ran forward a few
paces. Precipices occurred to him--he turned and ran as many paces
backward. Bogs occurred to him--he came to a full stop, fell on his
knees, and howled. Up he leaped again, clapped both hands to his mouth,
and shouted until his eyes threatened to come out, and his face became
purple, "Master! Master! George! hi! hallo-o! Jacky! ho-o-o!" The
"O!" was prolonged into a wild roar, and down he went again quite flat.
Up he jumped once more; the darkness was deepening. He rushed to the
right--left--all round--tore his hair, and gazed into the black depths
below--yelled and glared into the dark vault above!
Poor Peter! Thus violently did his gentle spirit seek relief during the
first few minutes of its overwhelming consternation.
But he calmed down in the course of time into a species of mild despair.
A bursting sob broke from him occasionally, as with his face buried in
his hands, his head deep in the heather, and his eyes tight shut, he
strove in vain to blind himself to the true nature of his dreadful
position. At last he became recklessly desperate, and, rising hastily,
he fled. He sought, poor lad, to fly from himself. Of course the
effort was fruitless. Instead of distancing himself--an impossibility
at all times--doubly so in a rugged country--he tumbled himself over a
cliff, (fortunately not a high one), and found himself in a peat-bog,
(fortunately not a deep one). This cooled and somewhat improved his
understanding, so that he returned to the knoll a wiser, a wetter, and a
sadder boy. Who shall describe the agonies, the hopes, the fears, the
wanderings, the faggings, and the final despair of the succeeding hours?
It is impossible to say who will describe all this, for _we_ have not
the slightest intention of attempting it.
Towards midnight Dan reached a very dark and lonely part of the
mountains, and was suddenly arrested by a low wail. The sturdy Celt
raised his lantern on high. Just at that moment Peter's despair
happened to culminate, and he lifted his head out of the heather to give
free vent to the hideous groan, with which he meant, if possible, to
terminate his existence. The groan became a shriek, first of terror,
then of hope, after that of anxiety, as Dan came dancing towards him
like a Jack-o'-lantern.
"Fat is she shriekin' at?" said Dan.
"Oh! I'm _so_ glad--I'm so-o-ow-hoo!"
Poor Peter seized Dan round the legs, for, being on his knees, he could
not reach higher, and embraced him.
"Fat's got the maister?"
Peter could not tell.
"Can she waalk?"
Peter couldn't walk--his limbs refused their office.
"Here, speel up on her back."
Peter could do that. He did it, and hugged Dan round the neck with the
tenacity of a shipwrecked mariner clinging to his last plank. The
sturdy Celt went down the mountain as lightly as if Peter were a fly,
and as if the vice-like grip of his arms round his throat were the
embrace of a worsted comforter.
"Here they are, ma'am!" screamed Mrs Brown.
She was wrong. Mrs Brown was usually wrong. Peter alone was deposited
before the eager gaze of Mrs Sudberry, who fainted away with
disappointment. Mrs Brown said "be off" to Peter, and applied
scent-bottles to her mistress. The poor boy's grateful heart wanted to
embrace somebody; so he went slowly and sadly upstairs, where he found
the cat, and embraced _it_. Hours passed away, and the Sudberry Family
still wandered lost, and almost hopeless, among the mountains.