CHAPTER II.
THE NIGHT CAME ON BEFORE ITS TIME.
The home of Hermit M'Vayne, which was Creggan's foster-father's real name, was indeed a strange one. Situated under the south-western side of a rock, partly leaning against it, in fact, stood the strong and sturdy hut. The sides, and even the roof, were of timber, the latter thatched with heather and grass; though only one gable was of stone, and here was the chimney that conducted the smoke from the low hearth upwards and outwards to the sky.
And night and day around this log-house moaned the wind, for even when almost calm on the mainland a breeze was blowing here, and ever and aye on the dark cliff-foot beneath broke and boomed the waves of the restless Minch. But when the storm-king rose in his wrath and went shrieking across the bleak island, the spray from the breakers was dashed high and white, far over the hut, and would have found its way down the chimney itself had this not been protected by a moving cowl.
But I really think that the higher the wind blew, and the louder it howled, while the waves sullenly boomed and thundered on the rocks below, the cosier and happier did the hermit and his foster-child feel within.
Although, strangely enough, the hermit had never as yet told Creggan the story of his own past life, nor his reasons for settling down on this sea-girdled little morsel of rock and moorland, still he never seemed to tire of telling the boy about his adventures on many lands and many seas, nor did the lad ever weary of listening to these. And the wilder they were the better he liked them.
It was on stormy nights, especially in winter, that Creggan's strange foster-father became most communicative. But on such nights, before even the frugal supper was placed upon the board, the hermit felt he had a duty to perform, and he never neglected it. For high on a rock on the centre of the island he had erected a little hollow tower of stone. It was in reality a kind of slow-combustion stove filled with peats and chunks of wood, and with pieces of sea-weed over all. It was lit from below, and when the wind blew through the chinks and crannies, it sent forth a glare that could be seen far and high over the storm-tossed ocean. Many a brave brig or barque staggering up the Minch, and many a fisherman's boat also, on dark and windy nights had to thank the hermit's beacon-light that warned them off the Whaleback rocks.
Having set fire to his storm-signal, the old man's work was done for the day. Supper finished, a chapter from the Book of Books was read, then a prayer was prayed—not read from a printed book,—and after this the inmates of this rude but cosy hut drew their stools more closely to the fire. No light was lit if not needed, and indeed it was seldom necessary, the blazing peats and the crackling logs gave forth a glare that, though fitful, was far more pleasant to talk by than any lamp could have been.
Now, Mr. Nugent and his wife had promised to visit Creggan some evening on his lonely island, and not only Matty but her brother also were to accompany them. They did not say when the visit would be made. Their lives were as unlike Creggan's as one could possibly imagine. They were spending the summer here in Skye, living in a rough sort of a shanty, which, however, they had furnished themselves and made exceedingly comfortable; and every day brought them some new pleasure: boating parties, long journeys over the mountains, painting, botanizing, or collecting specimens and even fossils, for on no island in all our possessions, does nature display her stores on a more liberal scale than in this same wildly romantic Skye.
The afternoon's outing for which they were indebted to young Creggan Ogg M'Vayne had been pronounced delightful beyond compare. It was indeed a strange land they had reached at last, pastoral and poetic as well. Bonnie green valleys, watered by many a rippling burn, and little waterfalls that came trickling down from the rocks, and studded over with lazy, well-fed cattle and a few sheep. There were but two huts here, near-by the banks of a little stream, that went singing onwards till its brown waters were swallowed up in a small lake, the surface of which was everywhere wrinkled by sportive trout, leaping high to catch gnats or midges even in the air.
The Nugents were surprised, but charmed to find that the tiny encampment was inhabited only by sturdy bare-footed, bare-headed lassies, who were here to tend the cows, and to make butter and cheese, which would afterwards be sold at the distant market town of Portree.
Creggan had to be interpreter, for never a word of English had these girls to bless themselves in.
And Mrs. Nugent stayed long enough to make several delightful sketches in water-colours, over which the lassies went into raptures. The clouds in the blue sky, the distant peeps of ocean, with here and there a little sail, the darkling rocks, the mountain peaks, and nearer still in the foreground, the foaming linns, the green braes, and the beautiful cows, with their attendants, all came out on the paper by the magic touch of the artist's brush.
Long before they had once more reached the cliffs by the sea that night, Matty and Creggan seemed to have established a friendship as frank and free as if they had known each other for many and many a year. Then good-byes had been said, and the promise given by Mr. Nugent to come out to the island some afternoon, or to take it in their way home from the far-off island of Harris. But a fortnight passed by and they had not yet appeared. Nor, although he thought about them, and especially about Matty, times without number, had Creggan seen them even at a distance.
One afternoon, the boy in his skiff returned home much sooner than usual.
It is not in winter only that wild storms sweep up or down or across the Minch, for even in summer, and suddenly too, gales arise, and while, as far as eye can see, the Atlantic is one wide chaos of broken and foaming water, the cliffs and hills seem shaken to their rude foundations by wind and wave. Yet speedily as such tempests come, there are generally indications beforehand that tell the fishermen abroad in their open boats that they must run quickly for the nearest shelter, if dear life itself is to be saved.
"Right glad to see you, lad," said the hermit, as he helped Creggan to secure his boat high and dry behind a rock, where, blow as it might, nothing could damage her.
"You think it is going to blow, Daddy?"
"Aye, sonny, that it is. Night will come on, too, long hours before its time. Ah, boy, we'll have to pray for those at sea to-night! I hope your friends will not think of leaving Lewis."
"You have seen them, father?"
"Aye, boy, aye. They passed the island almost within hail of me, in a half-deck boat, which I think must have been hired at Portree."
"And was little Matty there?"
"Yes, lad, and her father and mother, and a boy older than you—though not so brave-looking."
The old hermit put his hand fondly on young Creggan's curly head as he spoke. No father could have been fonder of a son than was he of this motherless bairn.
"But, dear boy, you haven't come empty-handed, I see."
"No; I never had a better forenoon among the trout. Look!"
From under a thwart of the boat forward, Creggan lugged forth and held up for admiration, a string of crimson-spotted mountain trout that would have caused many a Cockney sportsman to bite his lips with envy.
The old man smiled, patted the boy once again, then hand in hand—such was their habit—they took their way along the winding path which led to the hut.
Oscar had been at home all day, but he now came bounding out with many a joyous bark, to welcome his master back. More quietly, too, though none the less sincerely did Gilbert, a huge, red tabby cat, bid the boy welcome, rubbing his great head against Creggan's stocking and purring loudly, while from the inner recesses of the hut a voice could be heard shouting:
"Come in, Creggan! Come in, come in!"
It was the voice of no human being, however, but that of a beautiful gray parrot, who had been the hermit's companion since ever he had taken up his residence on this little isle of the ocean.
The afternoon wore away quickly enough, as afternoons always do when one is busy. And Creggan had hooks to busk, and his foster-father was busy mending nets.
But the sun set at last, in lurid fiery clouds, over the hills of Harris, and soon after those very clouds, dark and threatening now, began to bank up and roll forward over the sea, on the wings of a moaning wind, shortening the twilight and obscuring the rising stars that had already begun to twinkle in the east.
The beacon had not been lit for many weeks, but to-night the hermit seemed to take extra pains with it, and as soon as the shadows of night fell over the sea its red glimmer shone far over the darkling waves, on which already white horses had begun to appear.
Bleak and cold blew the wind, too, for in these northern climes summer is not always the synonym for warmth of weather.
But supper and prayers over, the two Crusoes, as we well might term them, drew closer round the fire. Even Polly asserted her right to join the circle.
"Poor Polly!" she cried; "poor dear old, old Polly! Polly wants to come!"
Then Creggan carried her cage forward and placed it in a corner, where the firelight might dance and flicker on it. Collie curled up in front of the fire, and close beside him Gibbie the cat sat down. And before seating himself near to his foster-father's big easy-chair, the boy handed him his pipe, and not that alone, but a fine old fiddle that he took from a green baize bag which hung upon the wall.
"And now," said Creggan; "now, dear Daddy, I feel just very happy, but I'm not quite sure yet what I shall make you do. You shall sing, anyhow, over the fiddle, some fine old sea-song, father, that will bring right up before me all the romance of your early days, just as this little book of Ossian's poems makes me think I am living in the olden times, and can hear the clang and crash of battle, or the sweet notes of harps sounding low and sweet in halls by the stormy sea."
"Verily, boy, you are a poet yourself. Ah, lad, when you enter life all will be stern reality!"
"I never want to enter life, Daddy dear; I want always, always to be here with you on our own little island home. But listen, Daddy, was that not a scream? There again?"
"Nay, boy, nay, it is but the cry of some storm-frightened night-bird rising shrill and high over the wail of the wind and dash of the waves. Yet may Heaven in its mercy protect any craft on a lee shore to-night!"
But Creggan felt uneasy, and for quite a long time he sat in silence, while the hermit, gazing quietly into the blazing fire as he smoked, seemed to recall many a strange event in his former life.
Suddenly Creggan sprang up. He had keen ears. The dog ran towards the door at the same time, barking aloud.
For adown the wind, twice repeated, had floated the sharp sound of a rifle or gun.
"Oh, Daddy," cried Creggan, now pale with agitation, "some ship or boat is on the Whaleback rocks out yonder! That was a signal of distress."
"Then, boy, we must give all the assistance in our power, and if in doing so we die, we shall die doing our duty. Light the great hurricane-lamp. Keep calm, lad; while there is life there is hope."
Next minute both stood together on the edge of the cliff that pointed nor'ard and west, while behind them on a pole was fixed the hurricane-lamp.
What a wild turmoil of a sea was down below. As each white wave dashed against the beetling rocks, high upwards almost to their feet rose the singing seething water. But at present the sky was not wholly overcast. There were rifts among the scudding, hurrying clouds, and now and then the moon shone through.
"Look! look!" cried Creggan. "Can you see it, Daddy? High and dark on Lorna's rock! The boat, the boat, with the waves sweeping past and over it!"
The hermit passed his hand across his brow and eyes, and strained forward to gaze into the darkness.
Just then the moon cast a pale glimmer across the waves, and every line of the stranded boat stood darkling out against a background of white and stormy water.
The old man shuddered.
"Heaven be near to help us, boy," he cried, "but yonder is the Nugents' boat!”