CHAPTER VI.
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.