CHAPTER IV.--WILD SPORTS ON MOORLAND AND ICE.
Pretty little Flora M'Vayne was half afraid of the London boy at first.The violin won her heart, however, and before retiring for the night,when shaking hands with Frank, she nodded seriously as she told him:
"I'm not sure I sha'n't love you soon; Viking likes you, so you must begood."
Well, Frank was an impressionable boy, and he was very much struck bythe child's innocent ways and beauty.
"I'm not sure," he said in reply, "that we won't be sweethearts before Ileave. How would you like that?"
She shook her head. "No, no," she said, "you are very nice, but you areonly an English boy. Good-night!"
"Good-night!"
I do not think that any two boys were ever more glad to find themselvesback once more, safely under the parental roof-tree, than Duncan andConal. They had made many friends in London, it is true, and spent manya happy evening therein, and these they could look back to with pleasureand with a sigh; but the city and town itself, with all its strangeways, the ignorance of its lower classes, its murdered twangy English,its filth and its festering iniquities--they positively shuddered whenthey thought of.
God seemed nowhere in London. Here in this wild and beautiful land Heappeared to be everywhere.
The pure and virgin snow that clad the moors and mountains was a carpeton which angels might tread; the tiny budlets already appearing on thetrees were scattered there by His own hand; yea, and the very wind thatsighed and moaned through the forest was the breath of heaven.
And when the sun had gone down behind the waves of the western ocean didnot
"The moon take up the wondrous tale And nightly to the listening earth Repeat the story of her birth, While all the stars that round her burn, And all the planets in their turn Confirm the story as they roll, And spread the truth from pole to pole".
Yes, in wild and silent lands, God seems very near. It was in a countrylike this that the immortal poet Lord Byron wrote much of his bestpoetry. And no bolder song did he ever pen than Loch-na-garr. Nearhere many of his ancestors--the Gordons--were laid to rest after thefatal field of Culloden. In one verse he says--
"Ill-starred, though brave, did no vision foreboding Tell you that fate had forsaken your cause? Ah! were ye then destined to die at Culloden, Though victory crown'd not your fall with applause. Still were ye happy in death's earthly slumbers, You rest with your clan in the caves of Braemar, The pibroch resounds to the piper's loud numbers Your deeds to the echoes of wild Loch-na-garr."
No wonder that, wandering amidst such soul-enthralling scenery, arrayedin the tartan of his clan, or thinking of the happy days of his boyhood,years and years afterwards he said as he sighed--
"England, thy beauties are tame and domestic To one who has roam'd on the mountains afar! Oh! for the crags that are wild and majestic, The steep frowning glories of dark Loch-na-garr."
But Frank Trelawney was a guest at Glenvoie, and, imbued with thatspirit of hospitality for which Highlanders are so famous, the boysM'Vayne would have bitten their tongue through and through rather thansay one disparaging word about England.
Nor was there any need, for tame and domestic though its scenery is, thewhole history of the country, even before the Union, teems with deeds ofderring-do, done by her brave sons, on many and many a blood-drenchedfield of battle.
As for Frank himself, he seemed not only to settle down to his life inthe wilds in less than a week, but to become quite enthusiastic over"Scotland's hills and Scotland's dells"; and he was not slow inreminding his 42nd cousins that he too had a drop of real Highland bloodin his veins.
"We'll soon make a man of you, dear boy," said the Laird one evening."Now, myself, and my lads, with Vike and a setter, are going after thewhite hares to-morrow, and if you think yourself strong enough, we shalltake you."
"Oh, I feel strong enough now for anything," replied Frank laughing.
"Mind it is terribly hard work; but there is a little snow on theground, and we'll be able to track the hares easily."
"I don't think that Frank should go, Ronald," put in Mrs. M'Vayne; "theboy is far indeed from hardy, and it may exhaust him quite. You'll stayat home with me, won't you, Frank?"
"Yes, aunt, if you bid me, but--" He hesitated.
"Oh!" cried Duncan, "that 'but' turns the scale, mother. Don't you askhim to stay, mother. All Englishmen have pluck if they haven't allstrength. So Frank is coming."
The morning was very bright and beautiful, with just a slight "scriffen"of snow on the ground, and the sun rose over the eastern hills in ablue-gray haze, like a ball of crimson fire, and intimated his intentionof shining all day long.
Duncan and Conal were up betimes, and had got everything in readinesslong before Frank came down.
A sturdy keeper would carry the bags and the luncheon they shouldpartake of on the hill.
But the young Englishman was full of life and go. After a heartybreakfast they started; Flora standing in the porch waving her hand tothem, but with tears of sorrow in her eyes because she too was notallowed to go.
Viking was daft with joy, feathering round and round in wide circles,and now and then turning Dash, the Gordon setter, over on his back inthe snow.
They passed the forest, now leafless and bare, and taking to the right,the ground soon began to rise.
The sheep under the charge of a plaided shepherd and his dog, were busyscratching away the snow to feed on grass and succulent mosses--a coldkind of breakfast, to say the least of it.
The ground rose and rose.
The dogs were kept well to heel, for indeed their services were butlittle needed.
Ha! here are hare-tracks!
"Take the front, Frank," said the laird; "you are the guest, and musthave the first blood."
Frank's heart beat high with excitement, and he carried the gun low witha finger on the trigger.
"Hurrah! there she tips!"
Bang! and a white hare that had essayed crossing from one broom-bush toanother, was tumbled; then off darted Viking and brought her in.
"Capital shot!" said Duncan. "Now we'll spread, and it will be everyone for himself, and Viking and Dash for us all."
They lay out in skirmishing order, and marched on and up.
But soon they had to force their way through heather that came up evento the laird's and the tall keeper's waists, and all but buried littleFrank.
He held his gun aloft, however, and struggled bravely on.
In about a quarter of an hour they had emerged, and the boys wereshaking the snow from their kilts.
On and up. Why, it was always on and up.
They marched all that forenoon, sometimes around rocky spurs and paps ofthe mountains, sometimes along bare and barren glens, sometimes alongthe edges of fearful precipices, where a single slip or false step wouldhave meant a terrible accident.
By the time they had reached the cliffy shelter of a very high hill,they had bagged eight white hares in all.
And now it was noon, and though the frost was fairly hard, the exercisehad warmed their life-blood, and they felt no cold.
Hunger, though? Ah! yes, but that could speedily be appeased.
Plaids were spread on the ground, and down they all sat, the dogs notfar off, and I'm sure that the keeper, sturdy chiel though he was, feltglad to be lightened of his load.
What a jolly meal that was to be sure! With her own lady fingers thelaird's wife had made that splendid pie. Pie for five and almost enoughfor fifty. But then, of course, there were the honest dogs to beconsidered, and they easily disposed of all that was left.
Bread--that is, real oatcakes--cheese, and butter followed.
The boys washed all down with a flagon of milk, but in the interests oftruth, I must add that the laird and his keeper had a modest glass ortwo of Highland whisky.
And now, after yarning for about half an hour, sport was resumed.
F
arther up the hillsides they still went, and so on and on for two wholehours.
It had been a grand day, but as the sun was now declining towards theblue blue ocean, the laird called a halt.
"I think, boys," he said, "we've done enough, and as we are nearly tenmiles from home we had better be retracing our steps. Donald has asmany hares as he can carry. Haven't you, Donald?"
"Och! well, it's nothing," was the reply. "And it's all down-hill nowyou'll mind, sir."
"Yes. Well, lead the way, Donald."
Donald did.
For one of the party, and that was Frank, the journey was a terribleone. On the upward march there was all the excitement of the sport tokeep him up. But now he had no such stimulant to stir his English blood.
When still three miles from Glenvoie mansion-house, Duncan observed thathe was very pale and limped most painfully. In fact the poor boy'sankles were swollen, and his toes felt like whitlows; but although sotired that he could hardly carry his gun, that indomitable Englishcourage of his kept him from complaining.
He confessed, however, feeling just a little tired, so the laird poureda small quantity of whisky into a measure, mixed it with snow, and madehim swallow it.
After this he felt better.
When they arrived at the top of the very lower-most and lost hill, thehouse being but half a mile distant, they sat down for a short time torest and gaze across the sea.
The sun's lower limb had just touched the wester-most wave, and red andfiery gleamed his beams 'twixt horizon and shore. It was a beautifulsight.
Many flocks of rooks were winging their way northwards to the shelter ofthe great forest, and now and then a string of wild ducks were seen infull flight towards the tall reeds that bordered an ice-bound lake.
Slowly sank the sun, the waves seemed to wash up across its blood-redsurface, and gradually, so gradually, engulfed the whole.
"And the sun's last rosy rays did fade Into twilight soft and dim."
----
Frank Trelawney was indeed glad when he found himself once more in hisown room. The man brought water, and with Highland courtesy insisted onbathing his feet.
He next hurried away for a cup of delicious coffee, after swallowingwhich Frank felt like a giant refreshed, and soon went down into thedrawing-room.
He was still pale, however, for the terrible fatigue had temporarilyaffected the heart.
Little Flora was not slow to note this.
"Oh, cousin," she said, "how white and tired-looking you are! Youshouldn't have gone. You're only a poor little English boy, you know."
Frank liked the child's sympathy, but he certainly did not feelflattered by the last sentence.
"That's all," he mustered courage to say. "I'm only a poor Cockney lad,and I think, Flora, I've had enough white-hare shooting to last me for avery long time. When next your father and brothers go after game of thissort, I'll stay at home and make love to you."
Frank, however, was as well as could be next day, and after a cold bathwent hungrily down to breakfast.
The day was as still and bright as ever, and it was to be spent upon theloch.
Curling--which might be called a kind of gigantic game of billiards onthe ice--was to be engaged in. A party was coming from a neighbouringparish, and a strong club was to meet them.
At this most splendid "roaring" game there is no class distinction; lordand laird, parson and peasant, all play side by side, all are equal, andall feed together, ay, and partake of Highland usquebaugh together also.
Well, the laird's party were victorious, and all were invited up toGlenvoie house, to partake of an excellent dinner, laid out in the barn.
But the barn was beautifully clean, and along its wall, amongevergreens, was placed many a bright cluster of candles.
The silver and crystal sparkled on the snow-white table-cloth, and thathuge joint of hot corn-beef and carrots--the curlers' dinner _parexcellence_--was partaken of with great gusto.
Bread and cheese and whisky followed this, then the minister returnedthanks, and this was followed by more whisky, with song after song.
"Roof and rafters a' did dirl."
It was not till near to the "wee short 'oor ayont the twal" that theparty broke up, and all departed for their distant homes, on horsebackor in traps.
Did I say "all departed"? What an awkward thing it is to be possessedof a conscience! I have one which, whenever I deviate in the slightestdegree from the straight lines of truth, brings me up with a round turn.
Well, _all_ did not depart, for the corn-beef--let us say--had flown tothe legs and to the heads of half a dozen jolly fellows at least, andthey determined that they wouldn't go home till morning.
So they had some more toddy, sang "Auld Lang Syne", and then retreatingto the rear of the barn, curled up amongst the straw and were soon fastasleep.
So ended the great curling match of Glenvoie.