Ranald Bannerman's Boyhood Part 24

"Well, my good woman, after a life like his, we are only too glad to remember what our Lord told us--not to judge. I do think he is ashamed and sorry for his past life. But it's not the wrong he has done in former time that stands half so much in his way as his present fondness for what he counts his own. It seems like to break his heart to leave all his little bits of property--particularly the money he has saved; and yet he has some hope that Jesus Christ will be kind enough to pardon him. I am afraid he will find himself very miserable though, when he has not one sc.r.a.p left to call his own--not a pocket-knife even."

"It's dreadful to think of him flying through the air on a night like this," said she.

"My good woman," returned my father, "we know nothing about where or how the departed spirit exists after it has left the body. But it seems to me just as dreadful to be without G.o.d in the world, as to be without him anywhere else. Let us pray for him that G.o.d may be with him wherever he is."

So saying, my father knelt down, and we beside him, and he prayed earnestly to G.o.d for the old man. Then we rose, mounted our horses, and rode away.

We were only about halfway home, when the clouds began to cover the moon, and the snow began to fall. Hitherto we had got on pretty well, for there was light enough to see the track, feeble as it was. Now, however, we had to keep a careful lookout. We pressed our horses, and they went bravely, but it was slow work at the best. It got darker and darker, for the clouds went on gathering, and the snow was coming down in huge dull flakes. Faster and thicker they came, until at length we could see nothing of the road before us, and were compelled to leave all to the wisdom of our horses. My father, having great confidence in his own little mare, which had carried him through many a doubtful and difficult place, rode first. I followed close behind. He kept on talking to me very cheerfully--I have thought since--to prevent me from getting frightened. But I had not a thought of fear. To be with my father was to me perfect safety. He was in the act of telling me how, on more occasions than one, Missy had got him through places where the road was impa.s.sable, by walking on the tops of the walls, when all at once both our horses plunged into a gulf of snow. The more my mare struggled, the deeper we sank in it. For a moment I thought it was closing over my head.

"Father! father!" I shouted.

"Don't be frightened, my boy," cried my father, his voice seeming to come from far away. "We are in G.o.d's hands. I can't help you now, but as soon as Missy has got quieter, I shall come to you. I think I know whereabouts we are. We've dropped right off the road. You're not hurt, are you?"

"Not in the least," I answered. "I was only frightened."

A few moments more, and my mare lay or rather stuck quiet, with her neck and head thrown back, and her body deep in the snow. I put up my hands to feel. It rose above my head farther than I could reach. I got clear of the stirrups and scrambled up, first on my knees, and then on my feet. Standing thus upon the saddle, again I stretched my hands above my head, but still the broken wall of snow ascended above my reach. I could see nothing of my father, but I heard him talking to Missy. My mare soon began floundering again, so that I tumbled about against the sides of the hole, and grew terrified lest I should bring the snow down. I therefore cowered upon the mare's back until she was quiet again. "Woa! Quiet, my la.s.s!" I heard my father saying, and it seemed his Missy was more frightened than mine.

My fear was now quite gone, and I felt much inclined to laugh at the fun of the misadventure. I had as yet no idea of how serious a thing it might be. Still I had sense enough to see that something must be done--but what? I saw no way of getting out of the hole except by trampling down the snow upon the back of my poor mare, and that I could not think of; while I doubted much whether my father even could tell in what direction to turn for help or shelter.

[Ill.u.s.tration]

Finding our way home, even if we got free, seemed out of the question.

Again my mare began plunging violently, and this time I found myself thrown against some hard substance. I thrust my hand through the snow, and felt what I thought the stones of one of the dry walls common to the country. I might clear away enough of the snow to climb upon that; but then what next--it was so dark?

"Ra.n.a.ld!" cried my father; "how do you get on?"

"Much the same, father," I answered.

"I'm out of the wreath," he returned. "We've come through on the other side. You are better where you are I suspect, however. The snow is warmer than the air. It is beginning to blow. Pull your feet out and get right upon the mare's back."

"That's just where I am, father--lying on her back, and pretty comfortable," I rejoined.

All this time the snow was falling thick. If it went on like this, I should be buried before morning, and the fact that the wind was rising added to the danger of it. We were at the wrong end of the night too.

"I'm in a kind of ditch, I think, father," I cried--the place we fell off on one side and a stone wall on the other."

"That can hardly be, or I shouldn't have got out," he returned. "But now I've got Missy quiet, I'll come to you. I must get you out, I see, or you will be snowed up. Woa, Missy! Good mare! Stand still."

The next moment he gave a joyous exclamation.

"What is it, father?" I cried.

"It's not a stone wall; it's a peat-stack. That _is_ good."

"I don't see what good it is. We can't light a fire."

"No, my boy; but where there's a peat-stack, there's probably a house."

He began uttering a series of shouts at the top of his voice, listening between for a response. This lasted a good while. I began to get very cold.

"I'm nearly frozen, father," I said, "and what's to become of the poor mare--she's got no clothes on?"

"I'll get you out, my boy; and then at least you will be able to move about a little."

I heard him shovelling at the snow with his hands and feet.

"I have got to the corner of the stack, and as well as I can judge you must be just round it," he said.

"Your voice is close to me," I answered.

"I've got a hold of one of the mare's ears," he said next. "I won't try to get her out until I get you off her."

I put out my hand, and felt along the mare's neck. What a joy it was to catch my father's hand through the darkness and the snow! He grasped mine and drew me towards him, then got me by the arm and began dragging me through the snow. The mare began plunging again, and by her struggles rather a.s.sisted my father. In a few moments he had me in his arms.

"Thank G.o.d!" he said, as he set me down against the peat-stack. "Stand there. A little farther. Keep well off for fear she hurt you. She must fight her way out now."

He went back to the mare, and went on clearing away the snow. Then I could hear him patting and encouraging her. Next I heard a great blowing and scrambling, and at last a snort and the thunder of hoofs.

"Woa! woa! Gently! gently!--She's off!" cried my father.

Her mother gave one snort, and away she went, thundering after her. But their sounds were soon quenched in the snow.

"There's a business!" said my father. "I'm afraid the poor things will only go farther to fare the worse. We are as well without them, however; and if they should find their way home, so much the better for us. They might have kept us a little warmer though. We must fight the cold as we best can for the rest of the night, for it would only be folly to leave the spot before it is light enough to see where we are going."

It came into my mind suddenly how I had burrowed in the straw to hide myself after running from Dame Shand's. But whether that or the thought of burrowing in the peat-stack came first, I cannot tell. I turned and felt whether I could draw out a peat. With a little loosening I succeeded.

"Father," I said, "couldn't we make a hole in the peat-stalk, and build ourselves in?"

"A capital idea, my boy!" he answered, with a gladness in his voice which I venture to attribute in part to his satisfaction at finding that I had some practical sense in me. "We'll try it at once."

"I've got two or three out already," I said, for I had gone on pulling, and it was easy enough after one had been started.

"We must take care we don't bring down the whole stack though," said my father.

"Even then," I returned, "we could build ourselves up in them, and that would be something."

"Right, Ra.n.a.ld! It would be only making houses to our own shape, instead of big enough to move about in--turning crustaceous animals, you know."

"It would be a peat-greatcoat at least," I remarked, pulling away.

"Here," he said, "I will put my stick in under the top row. That will be a sort of lintel to support those above."

He always carried his walking-stick whether he rode or walked.

We worked with a will, piling up the peats a little in front that we might with them build up the door of our cave after we were inside. We got quite merry over it.

"We shall be brought before the magistrates for destruction of property," said my father.