Courage, True Hearts Part 26

Ropes were also to be taken, they might come in handy in many ways. The skipper was an old Alpine-club man, and well did he know his way about.

Provisions for a whole week, and just a little rum in case of illness or over-exertion, for in the bitter cold of upper regions like those they were about to visit, exhaustion may often come on soon and sudden.

The captain himself made choice of three brave st.u.r.dy fellows to accompany the expedition and carry the necessaries as well as instruments of observation.

"And now, youngsters," said Talbot one evening, "which two of the three of you are to be of the party."

"I think," he added, "you better toss for it. I daresay you are all burning to come."

Duncan and Conal smiled and nodded, but Frank shook his head.

"I expect," he said, "there will be precious little burning high up yonder unless you happen to take a header into the crater. I'm not going to get frozen, I can a.s.sure you. I want to stick to all my toes, so toss away if you like, sir. Perhaps an Irishman or two might suit you best."

"Why, Frank?" said Duncan.

"Why? Because they're all fond of a drop of the crater (crayture), don't you see?"

"How could you make so vile a pun, old Frank?"

Vike seemed to know that an expedition of some kind was being got up.

He put one great paw on Duncan's knee and looked appealingly up into his face.

"You might want my a.s.sistance," he seemed to say.

"No, doggie, no, not this journey," said Duncan, smoothing his bonnie head.

So Vike lay down before the fire, heaving a deep sigh as he did so.

Although all dogs sigh more or less--their intimate a.s.sociation with mankind being the usual cause--still sighing seems to be an especial characteristic of the n.o.ble breed we term Newfoundland.

Everything was ready and packed, including, of course, a long plank and a light but strong rope-ladder many fathoms in length.

It was a very bright and beautiful morning when the little expedition started; the crew manning the rigging and giving three times three of those ringing British cheers that are heard wherever our ensign--red, blue, or navy-white--flutters out on the breeze.

It was but little past sunrise. The oriel windows of the glorious S.E.

were still painted in colours rare and radiant, but hardly a breath of air blew across the untrodden fields of snow that now stretched out and away to the westward--a good ten miles, until bounded at last by the great rising hills.

Silence now as deep as death.

They were deserted even by the birds.

But in a great snow-clad wilderness like this, with unseen, unheard-of dangers, mayhap, ahead, what a comfort it is to know that He who made the universe is ever near to all those who call upon Him even in thought, if in spirit and in truth.

The s.h.i.+p was out of sight now, hidden by bluffy ice-covered rocks; and Talbot was acting as guide to the party, taking the direction which he believed would lead him to the side of the mountain which appeared to be most accessible.

For more than a mile the "road" was rugged indeed.

"There's many a slip twixt the cup and the lip," says the old adage.

But here was many a slip 'tween the toes and the lip and many a stumble also. Soon, however, they came to a wide and level plain of snow.

"Cheerily does it now, lads," cried the skipper. "Who is going to give us some music?"

A stirring old song was soon rising high on the morning air, and everyone joined in the chorus.

But when the last notes had died away, Duncan produced his great Highland bagpipes and began to get them into position across his broad right shoulder.

The skipper laughed.

"I declare," he said, "there is no end to the enthusiasm and patriotic feelings of you Scots. But tune up, lad."

Duncan strutted on in front and soon started the Gordon Highlanders'

march.

The bold and beautiful notes put life and spirit into every heart.

Then he played all kinds of airs, not forgetting either the pibroch or quick-step. But not the coronach. That wild wail is--

"A lilt o' dool (grief) and sorrow ",

and all must now be brave and cheerful

Twelve miles as the crow flies they marched. And now they were at the foot of the wondrous mountain, and a halt was called for breakfast.

Water was boiled with methylated spirits, and savoury coffee with bread and meat galore soon made all hands forget their fatigue.

Then the men and the skipper himself lit their pipes, and lay down to rest for half an hour on the top if the sunlit snow. They would need all their strength and courage now without a doubt.

"Now, my brave fellows"--it was Talbot's voice that broke the intensity of silence, and a cheery one it was--"now, my lads, our motto must be that of the youth who pa.s.sed in such a hurry through the Alpine village while shades of night were falling fast--_Excelsior_!"

"Onwards and upwards!"

"That's it, Duncan. As to the bold youth with his bold banner, I think he must have been somewhat foolish to start after sunset. Well, that was his lookout. Anyhow, we have a twenty hours' long day before us, so I must now give the word--March!"

And on they went.

On and on, and up and up.

No thoughts of singing now, however. The ascent was steep, and scarce had anyone breath enough to spend in talking.

But the brave young mountaineer Duncan, alpenstock in hand, was first, with Captain Talbot by his side, and a little farther down struggled Conal encouraging the men, and now and then helping to carry their loads.

These, however, were not very heavy. But the lightest burden seems a great weight when one is climbing a mountain.

It was one o'clock before they had succeeded in reaching an alt.i.tude of four thousand feet, and the worst was all before them.

Everyone was tired enough by this time. Tired and hungry too.