CHAPTER V.
A TERRIBLE ADVENTURE.
Mr. Nugent sat down among the wild thyme, and beckoned to Creggan to follow his example.
Then he lit a huge meerschaum, and smoked in silence for a time, gazing thoughtfully far over the Minch at the mountains of Harris, that lay like clouds of blue on the horizon.
"Now boy," he said at last, "I'm a plain-spoken man. You were instrumental in saving my life, my wife's, and dear Matty's. How can I reward you? Not with money, I know. You couldn't have lived so long in Skye without being proud."
He smiled as he spoke, afraid apparently of offending the brave and spirited lad.
"Well, sir, I don't want any reward at all, I only did my duty, and the hermit has often told me that when I clearly saw my duty, I was to go straight for it, through thick and thin. But, sir—"
He paused, looking shy.
"Well, lad?"
"You may lend me a book to read."
Mr. Nugent took his pipe out of his mouth to laugh aloud.
"A book, my boy! A book for saving all our lives! Ha, ha, ha! This is really too amusing.
"But, tell me," he added, "what you would like to be?"
"Nothing at all. Just live on the island with Daddy."
"Nonsense, that will never do."
"Well, sir, I suppose I must leave Daddy and Oscar, but if I do, I shall go to sea, before the mast."
"That will never do either. Now, your hermit Daddy told me that he had gold, and that all was yours. I have not very much gold, but, lad, I have influence, much influence, and it is into the Royal Navy you must go as a brave cadet, and if you keep up your self-respect and never give way to temptations, I feel certain your career will be a brilliant one. What do you say?"
There was a big lump in Creggan's throat, and as he gazed across the Minch he could see his dear island home only through a mist of tears.
But he turned bravely round and said to Nugent:
"Thank you, sir; I will go into the navy and try to do my duty."
"Well, that is spoken right manfully. Leave all the rest to me. All you have got to do is to continue your studies; but take plenty of open air exercise as well, for in the service they like strong hardy boys."
Then he shook hands with Creggan and rose to go.
"We will be three weeks longer in this wild and romantic island, and during that time you'll be our guide, won't you?"
"That I will, sir," said Creggan, his eyes all in a sparkle now. "I'll show you everything, and Matty can always ride on the Shetland pony. Can't she?"
"You young rascal," replied Mr. Nugent laughing. "I believe you have fallen in love with my little Matty!"
Creggan blushed, but spoke out straightforwardly.
"I don't know about love, sir. I love Oscar and Daddy, but I like Matty so very, very much. To be sure she is a child; but she is pretty, and talks just like a linnet."
"Well, well, boy, the sea will soon drive all that out of your noddle."
So they parted, and soon Creggan's little skiff was dancing over the wavelets, her prow turned towards Kilmara.
* * * * * * * * * * *
Dear boy readers, I hope that many of you will one day visit the Island of Wings—Skye. I've travelled the world around, but I have never yet landed on a wilder or more romantic island. I have no idea of describing the grandeur of its scenery. Walter Scott himself were he alive could not do that; but if I now close my eyes just for a moment, it rises before me, its mountains towering far into the blue of the skies; its thousand-feet-high cliffs; its bonnie bosky glens; its long stretches of heath-clad moorland; its streams; its torrents; its castles, mostly ruins, that carry the thoughts back and away into the long forgotten feudal past; and, last but not least, its dark tarns or lochs, and the awful desolation of some of its cañons.
But independent of the wildness of its scenery, Skye is not only a man's paradise as regards sport, but a boy's as well, if he is fond of fishing. The dark lakes abound in trout, and all around the island the sea is alive with fish.
* * * * * * * * * * *
It was not only for three weeks, but four, that the Nugents remained on the island, and happy weeks indeed they were to Creggan, and I'm sure to Matty also. The bracing sea breezes that blew across the hills and braes had heightened her colour, and she now looked more like a fairy than ever. Only, as a rule fairies don't ride on Shetland ponies through the bonnie crimson heather.
Many a dark night at sea while keeping the middle watch, when hardly a sound was to be heard, except now and then the nap of a great sail overhead, or the dreary cry of some belated sea-bird, did Creggan's thoughts revert to those days he had spent in the Island of Wings with the Nugents.
And when the stars were shining overhead, so big, so clear, and so close that it seemed as if the main-truck could touch them, the sailor-boy used to hope, aye, and pray, that he might be spared to go back to Skye, to see old Daddy, and to meet the Nugents—especially Matty—once again.
His adventures with the child were principally among the heather or at sea in the skiff. He was so strong a boy, and so tall and brave that neither Nugent himself nor his wife were afraid to trust him with the child. So, on fine days he used to row her right away out to the hermit's isle itself, and spend hours listening to the old man's yarns, but above all to his music.
Well, the two would sink baited lobster-traps in the deep water near the towering cliffs, on which stood the grand old castle of Duntulm. They used to go for those lobster creels next day, and always found plenty of shell-fish.
Or they would fish from the boat lent them by a fisherman, the saith leaping at times around them as thick as rain-drops in a thunderstorm.
But it was even more pleasant to sit on the rocks, and fish with a white fly for mullet or herring. The idea of angling for herring may seem a droll one to a South Briton, but it is done nevertheless, and many is the good haul I have made myself.
From the place where the children used to fish, to Nugent's little home was a good three miles' walk. They had to pass over a chain of boulders, where wild cats dwelt. One evening they had stayed longer fishing than usual, and it was quite gloaming ere they reached the stony chaos.
Matty was trembling with fear, so Creggan threw his plaid around her, placing her on his right hand, because that was nearest to the sea, and not to that cleft and precipitous mountain face where the danger lay. Matty crept as close to the boy as she could.
Now, Creggan usually carried a stout stick with a pointed iron-shod end. It was well, indeed, that he had it to-night. For they had hardly got half-way through the chaotic mass of boulders, when the boy saw something dark in the road ahead that made his heart beat quicker for Matty's sake.
The something dark sprang off the road as Creggan and Matty slowly advanced. Indeed the child had not seen it, for she had quite buried her head and face in the plaid. The boy was beginning to think that the danger was over, but he grasped his cudgel nevertheless. Lucky for him he did so, for they had advanced but fifty yards farther, when with an unearthly and eldritch yell that dark something sprang at Creggan's neck.
It was doubtless the scent of the fish that had excited the monster. But the lad's stout plaid saved him. Matty had disengaged herself and stood trembling by the roadside, while Creggan fought this miniature tiger.
Again and again it charged, its eyes gleaming like yellow diamonds. Again and again the lad drove it off.
Victory came at last, for with one well-aimed blow it was laid dead on the road.
"It's all right now, Matty," cried Creggan cheerfully. "Come on, a run will warm us."
So it did, and they soon got clear of the "Wild Cats Cairns", as the ugly place was called.
But they never permitted themselves to be belated again.
These wild cats are still common enough in Sutherlandshire, and the adventure I have just related is very similar to one a boy had in that county. The cat on this occasion sprang from a tree. The lad was severely wounded, and although he managed to beat the beast off he did not succeed in killing it.
In the soft and fleshy part of the middle finger of my left hand are still the marks of the bite of a wild cat, with whom I had a difference of opinion. The beast had the best of it, and I went about with my arm slung to my head for three weeks at least.
That ruined castle of Duntulm was a favourite resort with the children. The donjon-keep was still entire, and from a window, or the hole where a window had been, one could look down over the precipice into the deep but clear water; and Matty used to clap her hands with joy to witness the great medusæ or jellyfish swimming about. Very beautiful indeed they were; some as big as a small open parasol, and fringed with long soft legs that kicked about in the drollest fashion.
Creggan used to read Ossian in English to Matty, and she would listen with open eyes to the wild and wondrous stories, all so full of romance and war. He knew the history of the castle too. It was at one time, he told Matty, the head stronghold of one of the M'Donald clans, and here dwelt the warlike chief. But across the sea-loch was the M'Leod country, and in his strong castle of Dunvegan dwelt the head of the clan. This castle is still inhabitable. Between the M'Donalds and the M'Leods was a blood feud, and many a fearful fight was the result.
Once the M'Donalds surprised the M'Leods in church. They heaped up banks of peats and wood in front of doors and windows, and burned or smothered every man, woman, and child. But the M'Leods took a terrible revenge, and for a long time the M'Donalds were quiet. But a thirst for revenge still lay latent in the breast of the Highland chief, and one day, under the guise of friendship, he enticed M'Leod to Duntulm Castle. When M'Leod arrived with his followers the latter were immediately set upon and slain, and although M'Leod himself laid about him boldly with his broad claymore, he was eventually captured and thrust into the donjon-keep.
Here he was kept for nearly two days without food. Then a trencher of salt beef was handed into him, and a large flagon which M'Leod thought was sack—a kind of claret. He ate heartily, then turned to the flagon to allay his thirst.
Alas, it contained only sea-water!
So poor M'Leod perished miserably of thirst and delirium.
This is a strange story, reader, but I have every reason to believe it is a true one. It quite entranced little Matty, and when Creggan had finished she sighed, looked wistfully into his face with her bonnie blue eyes, and said:
"Do tell us some more!”