Courage, True Hearts Part 10

Thither, therefore, the party now wended their way, but so completely covered up did they find it, that another long hour of hard work was spent in reaching the doorway.

Like the last which they had explored, it was cold, dark, and deserted.

No one had any hope now of finding Sandie alive, but after a hurried luncheon they spread themselves out across the hill and moor somewhat after the fas.h.i.+on of skirmishers, and the ground was thoroughly searched.

But all in vain.

No frozen corpse was found.

They were about to return now sorrowfully homewards, when high up the hill and at the foot of a semi-lunar patch of rocks--an upheaval that had taken place probably millions of years ago--Vike was noticed, and his movements attracted the attention of all.

He was yap-yapping as if in great grief, tearing up the snow at the foot of a mighty drift and casting it behind him and over him.

A pure white dog was the Newfoundland at present, so laden was his coat with the powdery drift.

"Come on, men, come on," cried Glenvoie, "there yet is hope! The good dog scents something in spite or the snow. It may only be sheep, and yet poor dead frozen Sandie may be amongst them."

It took them but a few minutes to reach the cliff and the huge snowdrift that covered its western side. It was then that Duncan remembered something about these rocks.

"Why, father," he said, "now that I think of it, this is Prince Charlie's cave."

"You are right, lad, and my hopes are certainly in the ascendant."

"Conal and I have often been inside, and there is room enough inside to shelter a flock of sheep, or a regiment of soldiers."

"Now then, lads," cried the laird, "work away with a will. I'll take care you don't lose by it."

He handed them his flask as he spoke, and thus refreshed by the wine of their native land, they did work, and with a will too.

But hard work it was, from the fact that the snow was loose and powdery.

But at long, long last they reached the mouth of the cave.

And now a curious spectacle was witnessed, for to the number of at least a hundred, and headed by a huge curly-horned ram, with a chorus of baa-a-ing, out rushed the imprisoned sheep, kicking and leaping with joy to see once more the light of day.

Behind them came the shepherd's bawsont-faced collie Korran. But after licking Vike's ear he rushed back once more into the cave, and the rescuers quickly lighting a fire with some withered gra.s.s, found the body of the shepherd with Korran standing over it. Was he dead?

That had yet to be seen. They carried him out, and placing him on plaids, began to rub his face with snow and chafe his cold, hard hands.

In less than ten minutes Sandie opened his wondering eyes.

He could swallow now, and a restorative was administered.

I need scarcely say that this restorative was Highland whisky.

After about half an hour Sandie was able not only to eat and talk but to walk.

His story was a very brief one. He had, with the a.s.sistance of Korran, driven the sheep into the cave, and never dreaming that he would be snowed up, and remained with them for a time. Alas! it was a long time for the poor fellow and his faithful dog!

Two days and two nights without food and only snow to keep body and soul together. And the cold--oh, so intense!

"How did you feel?" asked Frank.

The shepherd hadn't "a much English", as he phrased it, but he answered as best he could.

"Och, and och! then, my laddie, she was glad the koorich (sheep) was safe, and she didna thinkit a much aboot hersel. But she prayed and she prayed, and then she joost fell asleep, and the Lord of Hosts tookit a care of her."

Well, this honest shepherd was certainly imbued with the sincere and beautiful faith of the early Covenanters, but, after all, who shall dare to say that there is no efficacy in real prayer. Not in the prayers that are said, but in the prayers that are prayed.

Well, spring returned at last. Soft blew the winds from off the western sea; all the hills were clad in green; the woods burst into bud and leaf; in their darkest thickets the wild doves' croodle was heard, droning a kind of ba.s.s to the mad, merry lilt of the chaffie, the daft song of the mavis, or low sweet fluting of the mellow-voiced blackbird.

But abroad on the moors the orange-scented th.o.r.n.y whins, resplendent, hugged the ground, and here the rose-linnets built and sang, while high above, fluttering against some fleecy cloudlet, laverocks (larks) innumerable could be heard and dimly seen.

Oh it was a beautiful time, and the breath of G.o.d seemed over all the land.

Frank Trelawney had adopted, not only all the methods of life of his Scots 42nd cousins, but even their diet.

Almost from the date of his arrival he had taken a shower-bath or sponge-bath before breakfast, and this breakfast was for the most part good oatmeal porridge, with the sweetest of b.u.t.ter and freshest of milk.

Now that spring had really come, he went every morning with Duncan and Conal to a big brown pool in the woodland stream. So deep was it that they could take headers without the slightest danger of knocking a hole in the gravel bottom of the "pot". Having towelled down and dressed rapidly, they ran all the way home.

This new and healthful plan of living soon told for good on the const.i.tution of the London lad. His muscles grew harder and stronger, roses came on his cheeks, and he was as happy and gay as Viking himself, and that is saying a deal.

Many a long ramble did he and little Flora now take together through the woods and wilds, for he did not care to go boating or sea-fis.h.i.+ng with the others every day.

Vike always accompanied the two. This certainly was not because he disliked the sea. On the contrary, he loved it. Whenever the boat came within a quarter of a mile of the beach he always sprang overboard and swam the rest of the way.

Arrived on sh.o.r.e he shook gallons of water out of his coat. If you had been standing between the dog and the sun, you would have seen him enveloped in bright little rainbows, which were very pretty; but if anywhere alongside of him, then you would have required to go straight home and change your clothing, for Viking would have drenched you to the skin if not quite through it.

But I suppose that this grand and wise Newfoundland thought the London boy and little Flo had more need of his protection.

Ah! many and many a day and night after this, when far away at sea or wandering in wild lands, did Frank think of these delightful rambles with his little companion. Think of them, ay, and dream of them too.

Often they were protracted till--

... "The moonbeams were bright O'er river and forest, o'er mountain and lea".

Some poet of olden times--I forget his name--tells us that "pity is akin to love". Well, Flora began by pitying this "poor little London boy", as she always called him, even to his face, but quite sympathizingly, and she ended, ere yet the summer was in its prime, by liking him very much indeed. To say that she loved him would, of course, be a phrase misapplied, for Flora was only a child.

With June, and all its floral and sylvan joys, came shoals of herring from the far north, and busy indeed were the boatmen catching them.

Glenvoie lay some distance back from a great sweep of a bay, at each end of which was a bold and rocky headland.