Wild Adventures round the Pole. Stables GordonЧитать онлайн книгу.
rooks that floated high in air seemed to glory in the wind, for they screamed with delight, baffled though at times they were – taken aback you might say, and hurled yards out of their course.
It was only a plain farmer’s autumn wind after all, but it made these youthful sailors think of something else than baffled, rooks and fields of ripening grain.
Now up through a dark oak copse, and they come all at once to one of the old park gates. Grey is it with very age, and so is the quaintly-gabled lodge; its stones are crumbling to pieces. And well suited for such a dwelling is the bent but kindly-faced old crone who totters out on her staff to open the ponderous gates. She nods and smiles a welcome, to which bows and smiles are returned, and the carriage rolls on. A great square old house; they come to it at last, so big and square that it did not even look tall at a distance. They drove up to what really appeared the back of this mansion, with its stairs and pillars and verandahs, the door opening from which led into the hall proper, which ran straight through the manor, and opened by other doors on to broad green terraces, with ribbon gardens and fountains, and then the braelike park, with its ancient trees, and so on, downwards to the beautiful lake, with the hills beyond.
Right respectfully and loyally was Ralph greeted by his servants and retainers. All this may be imagined better than I can describe it.
While Rory was marching through the long line of servants I believe he felt just a little awed; and if, as soon as they found themselves alone, Ralph had addressed himself to his guests in some such speech as follows, he would not have been very much astonished. If Ralph had said, “Welcome, Ronald Elphinston, and you, my lord of Arrandoon, to the ancient home of the Leighs!” Rory would have thought it quite in keeping with the poetry of the place.
Ralph did nothing of the kind, however; he pitched his hat and gloves rather unceremoniously on a chair, and said, all in one breath and one tone of voice, “Now, boys, here we are at last; I’m sure you’ll make yourselves at home. We’ll have fine times for a few weeks, anyhow. Would you like to wash your hands?”
Well, if it was not a very poetic welcome, it was a very hearty one nevertheless.
Chapter Four.
Life at Leigh Hall – The Launch of the “Arrandoon” – Trial Trips – A Row and a Fight – “Freezing Powders.”
As the owner of a large house, the head of a county family, and a landed proprietor, there were many duties devolved upon Ralph Leigh when at home, from which he never for a moment thought of shrinking. Though a great part of the day was spent in shooting, rowing, or fishing, the mornings were never his own, nor the evenings either. He had a knack of giving nice dinners, and young though he was, he also possessed the happy knack of making all his guests feel perfectly at home, so that when carriages drew round, and it was time to start for their various homes, everybody was astonished at the speed with which the evening had sped away; and that was proof positive it had passed most pleasantly.
They kept early hours at Leigh Hall, and so they did at every house all over the quiet, romantic country, and no doubt they were all the better for it, and all the more healthy.
But our heroes must be forgiven, if, after the last guest had gone, after the lights were out in the banqueting hall, and the doors closed for the night, they assembled in a cosy, fire-brightened room upstairs, all by their three selves, for a quiet confab and talk, a little exchange of ideas, a little conversation about the days o’ auld lang syne, and their hopes of adventures in the far north, whither they were so soon to sail.
About once a fortnight, McBain, whom we may as well call Captain McBain now – Captain McBain, of the steam yacht Arrandoon– used to run down to Leigh Hall to report progress; the “social hour,” as Rory called it, was then doubly dear to them all, and I’m not at all sure that they did not upon these occasions steal half an hour at least from midnight. You see they were very happy; they were happy with the happiness of anticipation. They never dreamt of failure in the expedition on which they were about to embark.
“In the lexicon of youth, which fate reserves
For a great manhood, there is no such word as – fail.”
True, but had they known the dangers they were to encounter, the trials they would have to come through, brave as they undoubtedly were, their hearts might have throbbed less joyfully. They had, however, the most perfect confidence in each other, just as brothers might have. The friendship, begun long ago between them, cemented, during the cruise of the Snowbird, in many an hour of difficulty and danger – for had they not come through fire and death together? – was strengthened during their residence at Leigh Hall. Indeed, it would not be too much to say that their affection for each other was brotherly to a degree. Dissimilar in character in many ways they were, but this same dissimilarity seemed but to increase their mutual regard and esteem. Faults each one of them had – who on this earth has not? – and each could see those of the other, if he did not always notice his own. Says Burns —
“O would some power the giftie gie us,
To see ourselves as others see us,
It would from mony a fautie free us.”
Probably, individually they did not forget these lines, and so the one was most careful in guarding against anything that might hurt the feelings of the others. Is not this true friendship?
But as to what is called “chaff,” they had all learned long ago to be proof against that – I’m not sure they did not even like it; Rory did, I know; he said so one day; and on Allan asking him his reason, “My reason is it?” says Rory; “sure enough, boys, chaffing metres with laughing; where you find the chaff you find the laugh, and laughing is better to a man than cod-liver oil. And that’s my reason!”
And Rory’s romantic sayings and doings were oftentimes the subject of a considerable deal of chaff and fun; so, too, was what the young Irishman was pleased to call Ralph’s English “stolidity” and Allan’s Scottish fire and intensity of patriotism; but never did the blood of one of our boys get hot, never did their lips tighten in anger or their cheeks pale with vexation.
Just on one occasion – which I now record lest I forget it – was boy Rory, as he was still affectionately called, very nearly losing his temper under a rattling fire of chaff from Allan and Ralph, who were in extra good spirits. It happened months after they had sailed in the Arrandoon. All at once that day Rory grew suddenly quiet, and the smile that still remained on his face was only round the lips, and didn’t ripple round the eyes. It was a sad kind of a smile; then he jumped up and ran away from the table.
“We’ve offended him,” said Allan, looking quite serious.
“I hope not,” said Ralph, growing serious in turn.
“I’ll go and look him up;” this from Allan.
“No, that you won’t!” put in McBain.
“Leave boy Rory alone; he’ll come to presently.”
Meanwhile, ridiculous as it may seem, Rory had sped away forward to the dispensary, where he found the doctor. “Doctor, dear,” cried Rory, “give me a blue pill at once – a couple of them, if you like, for sure it isn’t well I am!”
“Oh!” said the surgeon, “liver a bit out of order, eh?”
“Liver!” cried Rory; “I know by the nasty temper that’s on me that there isn’t a bit of liver left in me worth mentioning! There now, give me the pills.”
The doctor laughed, but Rory had his bolus; then he came aft again, smiling, confessing to his comrades what a ninny he had very nearly been making of himself. Just like Rory!
The bearing of our young heroes towards Captain McBain was invariably respectful and affectionate; they both loved and admired him, and, indeed, he was worthy of all their esteem. In wealth there is power, but in wisdom worth, and Ralph, Rory, and Allan felt this truth if they never expressed it. McBain had really raised himself to the position he now held; he was a living proof that —
“Whate’er a man dares he can do.”
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