The Eagle Cliff Part 25

"Impossible! I never read a chapter since I was born--in public, I mean, of course. But why not do it yourself, man?"

"So I would, sir, but my throat'll not stand it."

"Is there no other elder who could do it?"

"Not wan, sir. I'm afraid we will hev to dismiss the congregation."

At this point, to the laird's relief and no little surprise, Jackman leaned forward, and said in a low voice, "If you have no objection, I will undertake to conduct the service."

The elder gave the laird a look which, if it had been translated into words, would probably have conveyed the idea--"Is he orthodox?"

"By all means, Mr Jackman," said the laird; "you will be doing us a great favour."

Accordingly Jackman went quietly to the precentor's desk and mounted it, much to the surprise of its proper occupant, a man with a voice like a bra.s.s trumpet, who thereupon took his seat on a chair below the desk.

Profound was the interest of the congregation when they saw this bronzed, broad-shouldered, big-bearded young man pull a small Bible out of his pocket and begin to turn over the leaves. And it was noted with additional interest by several of the people that the Bible seemed to be a well-worn one. Looking up from it after a few minutes, during which it was observed that his eyes had been closed, Jackman said, in an easy, conversational tone, that quite took the people by surprise--

"Friends, it has been my lot in life to wander for some years in wild and distant lands, where ministers of the Gospel were few and far between, and where Christians were obliged to conduct the wors.h.i.+p of G.o.d as best they could. Your minister being unable to attend, owing to an accident, which I trust may not turn out to be serious, I shall attempt, with the permission of your elder, to lead your thoughts G.o.dward, in dependence on the Holy Spirit. Let us pray."

The jealous ears of the rigorously orthodox heard him thus far without being able to detect absolute heresy, though they were sensitively alive to the unusual style and very unclerical tone of the speaker's voice.

The same ears listened reverently to the prayer which followed, for it was, after the pattern of the Lord's Prayer, almost startlingly short; still it was very earnest, extremely simple, and, all things considered, undeniably orthodox.

Relieved in their minds, therefore, the people prepared themselves for more, and the precentor, with the brazen but tuneful voice, sang the first line of the psalm which the young preacher gave out--"I to the hills will lift mine eyes"--with rasping energy. At the second line the congregation joined in, and sang praise with reverent good-will, so that, when a chapter of the Word had been read and another psalm sung, they were brought to a state of hopeful expectancy. The text still further pleased them, when, in a quiet voice, while turning over the leaves of the well-used Bible, Jackman said, "In all thy ways acknowledge Him, and He shall direct thy paths."

Laying down his little Bible, and looking at the people earnestly and in silence for a few moments, the preacher said--

"I have travelled in Italy, France, Germany, Switzerland, and other places, and I never yet went in these countries without a guide-book.

More than that, never in all my experience have I seen men or women travelling in these countries without a guide-book. The travellers always carried their guide-books in their hands, or in their pockets, and consulted them as they went along. In the evenings, round the tables or on the sofas of the salons, they would sometimes sit poring over the pages of their guide-books, considering distances and the best routes, and the cost of travelling and board. Any man who would have travelled without a guide-book, or who, having one, neglected to use it, would have been considered weak-minded at the least. Still further, I have noted that such travellers _believed_ in their guide-books, and usually acted on the advice and directions therein given.

"But one journey I can tell of in which all this seems to be reversed-- the journey from earth towards heaven. And here is our guide-book for that journey," said the preacher, holding up the little Bible. "How do we treat it? I do not ask scoffers, who profess not to believe in the Bible. I ask those who _call themselves_ Christians, and who would be highly offended if we ventured to doubt their Christianity. Is it not true that many of us consult our Guide-book very much as a matter of form and habit, without much real belief that it will serve us in all the minute details of life? We all wish to get on in life. The most obstinate and contradictory man on earth admits that. Even if he denies it with his lips, all his actions prove that he admits it. Well, what says our Guide-book in regard to what is called `getting on'? `In all thy ways acknowledge Him, and He will direct thy paths.' Now, what could be simpler--we might even say, what could be easier--than this?

Him whom we have to acknowledge is defined in the previous verse as `the Lord'--that is, Jesus, Immanuel, or G.o.d with us."

From this point the sunburnt preacher diverged into ill.u.s.tration, leaning over the desk in a free-and-easy, confidential way, and thrilling his audience with incidents in his own adventurous career, which bore directly on the great truth that, as regards the Great End of life, success and blessedness result from acknowledging the Lord, and that failure and disaster inevitably await those who ignore Him.

While Jackman proceeded with his discourse, the sky had become overcast, dark thunderclouds had been gathering in the nor'-east, rain had also begun to descend; yet so intently were the people listening to this unusual style of preacher, that few of them observed the change until a distant thunder-clap awoke them to it.

Quietly, but promptly, Jackman drew his discourse to a close, and stepped out of the desk, remarking, in the very same voice with which he had preached, that he feared he had kept them too long, and that he hoped none of the congregation had far to go.

"We hev that, sir," said the old elder, shaking him warmly by the hand; "but we don't heed that, an' we are fery glad that we came, what-e-ver."

As the wind had also risen, and it seemed as if the weather was not likely to improve, the laird hurried his party down to the boat.

Waterproofs were put on, umbrellas were put up, the sails were hoisted, and the boat put off.

"I fear the sea is very rough," remarked Milly Moss, drawing close to Aggy Anderson, so as to shelter her somewhat from the driving rain.

"Oo, ay; it iss a wee rough," a.s.sented Ian, who now took the helm; "but we wull soon rin ower. Haud you the main sheet, Mr Mabberly, an' pe ready to let co when I tell ye. It iss a wee thing squally."

It was indeed a little more than a "wee thing squally," for just then a vivid flash of lightning was seen to glitter among the distant crags of the Eagle Cliff. This was followed by a loud clap of thunder, which, leaping from cliff to crag, reverberated among the mountains with a succession of crashes that died away in ominous mutterings. At the same time a blue line towards the nor'-east indicated an approaching squall.

"Had we not better take in a reef, Ian?" asked the laird anxiously.

"We had petter weather the pint first," said the boatman; "efter that the wund wul pe in oor favour, an'--but, ye're richt. Tak in a reef, Roderick an' Tonal'. Mind the sheet, Mr Mabberly, an' sit low in the poat, poys."

These orders were promptly obeyed, for the squall was rus.h.i.+ng down the loch very rapidly. When it burst on them the boat leaned over till her lee gunwale almost ran under water, but Ian was a skilful boatman, and managed to weather the point in safety.

After that, as he had said, the wind was more favourable, enabling them to run before it. Still, they were not out of danger, for a wide stretch of foaming sea lay between them and the sh.o.r.es of Kinlossie, while a gathering storm was darkening the sky behind them.

CHAPTER TWELVE.

STIRRING EVENTS OF MORE KINDS THAN ONE.

The squall which blew the Kinlossie boat round the Eagle Point was but the precursor of a succession of heavy squalls which quickly changed into a furious gale, compelling Ian Anderson to close reef his sails.

Even when this was done, the boat rushed through the foaming water with tremendous velocity, and exhibited that tendency to drinking, to which reference has already been made; for every time she plunged into the trough of the sea, a little water came over the bow.

Of course, going as they were at such a rate, the traversing of six or eight miles of water occupied but little time, and they were soon close to the bay, at the head of which Kinlossie House nestled among its trees.

"Come aft, poys," shouted Ian, whose voice, strong though it was, could scarcely be heard in the bow owing to the roaring of the gale; "she's trinkin' too much; come aft, an' look sherp!"

The three boys obeyed with alacrity, being well accustomed to boats, and aware of the necessity of prompt obedience in circ.u.mstances of danger.

Thus lightened, the boat ceased drinking at the bow, but, being rather overweighted at the stern, she now and then took in a little water there.

Unfortunately the point of rocks which formed the southern end of Kinlossie Bay obliged Ian to change his course a little in order to weather them. This was a critical operation. Even the girls had some sort of idea of that, as their looks bore witness. John Barret felt a strong inclination to slip his arm round Milly's waist and whisper, "Don't be afraid, beloved, _I'll_ take care of you!" but want of courage--to say nothing of a sense of propriety--kept his lips silent and his arm still.

"Noo, keep stiddy, all of ye," said Ian, as he s.h.i.+fted the helm a little.

An irrepressible shriek burst from Aggy Anderson, for the boat lay over so much that the hissing water rippled almost into her, and seemed about to swallow them up.

"Tak anither haul o' the sheet, Maister Mabberly," cried Ian.

a.s.sisted by Jackman, Mabberly obeyed, and the boat went, as Quin said, "snorin'" past the rocks, which were now close under her lee, with the waves bursting wildly over them. Another minute and the outermost rock was under their port bow. To the eyes of the girls it seemed as if destruction were inevitable. To make matters worse, at that moment a vivid flash was succeeded by a loud thunder-clap, which, mingling with the gale, seemed to intensify its fury, while a deluge of rain came down. But Ian knew what he was about. With a firm hand on the tiller he steered past the point, yet so closely that it seemed as if an active man might have leaped upon the outermost rock, which rose, black and solid, amid the surging foam.

Another moment and the boat swept safely round into the bay, and was again put before the wind.

"We're a' richt noo, what-e-ver," said Ian with a grunt of satisfaction.

Never before did a self-sufficient boatman have his words more effectually or promptly falsified than on that occasion. The distance between boat and sh.o.r.e at that moment was only a few hundred yards; but the water all the way was deep, and the waves, in consequence, were large and wild. There were great possibilities within the brief s.p.a.ce of distance and time that lay before them!

"Tak an oar, Maister Quin, an' help Rodereek to fend off," cried the boatman. "Hold ticht to the sheet, sir, an' pe ready to let co the moment I tell ye. Are ye ready wi' the halyards, Muster Airchie?"

"All right, Ian," replied the boy, who stood ready to lower the sail.

They could see that several men were standing on the beach, ready to render a.s.sistance, among them Duncan, the butler, and Ivor, the gamekeeper. The latter, who had evidently recovered himself, was standing waist-deep in the foam, as if anxious to grasp the boat when it grounded.

"Ivor is unusually keen to help us to-day," remarked the laird, with a peculiar look; but no one was sufficiently disengaged to listen to or answer him.

At that critical moment Junkie took it into his unaccountable head to scramble to the fore part of the boat, in order, as he said, to lend a hand with a rope. On reaching the bow he stumbled; the boat plunged heavily, as if to accommodate him, and he went overboard with a suddenly checked yell, that rose high and sharp above the roaring gale!