The Eagle Cliff. Robert Michael Ballantyne

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      A few yards beyond this the explorer came upon a sheep track, and a little farther on he found one of those primitive roads which are formed in wild out-of-the-way places by the passage of light country carts, with the aid of a few rounded stones where holes required to be filled up, or soft places strengthened. Following it a short distance to a spot where it ran between a precipice and the shore, he came suddenly in sight of a wilderness of fallen rocks, which were varied in size from mere pebbles to masses the size of an omnibus. These had all fallen from a steep spur of the mountains which projected towards the sea of that place. The whole of the level land at the base of the spur was strewn with them; some being old, moss-covered and weather-worn, others fresh and sharp in outline, as if they had fallen only the previous winter, as probably they had, for the places from which they had been dislodged could be seen still fresh and light-coloured, nearly a thousand feet up on the riven cliffs. It was a species of desolation that powerfully recalled some scenes in Dante’s “Inferno,” and had a depressing effect on the youth’s spirits, for nothing seemed more unlikely than the existence of a human habitation in such a place.

      A new view of the matter broke upon him, however, when he suddenly became aware that a spot in the confused scene which he had taken to be a clump of withered bracken was in reality a red cow! Looking a little more narrowly at objects he soon perceived a hut among the rocks. It was so small and rude and rugged as almost to escape detection. A furious barking soon told that he had been seen, and two collie dogs rushed towards him with demonstrations that threatened him with immolation on the spot. The uproar put life into a few more clumps of red bracken, and produced a lively display of sheep and cattle throughout the region.

      Barret walked straight up to the door of the hut, and the collies withdrew from the attack—as most noisy demonstrators do when treated with silent indifference.

      “Is there any one inside?” he asked of a bare-legged, shaggy-headed boy, who came out and gazed at him, apparently with his mouth as well as his eyes.

      “Na,” answered the boy.

      “Any other cottages or houses near this?”

      “Ay; yonder.”

      The boy pointed in the direction of the sea, where, in a stony nook between two jutting masses of rock, nestled about a dozen huts built of boulder stones gathered from the sea-shore. So small were these huts, and so stupendous the rocks around them, that they might easily have been overlooked by a careless eye. So might the half-dozen fishing-boats that lay in the little cove beside them.

      A stream or rivulet—better known in Scotland as a burn—ran past the hamlet, formed a pool just below it, and dropped into the cove close to the place where the boats lay.

      Rejoiced to find even the poorest kind of shelter in such a place, Barret hastened down to the cove, and, tapping at the door of the largest of the cottages, was bidden “come in” by a soft voice.

      Entering, he was surprised to find a neatly, though plainly, furnished room, which was evidently the kitchen of the house—indeed, the sole room, with the exception of an off-shoot closet. The large open fireplace contained a peat fire on the hearth, over which hung a bubbling pot. There were two box-beds opposite the fire, and in the wall which faced the door there was a very small window, containing four panes of glass, each of which had a knot in the middle of it. One of them also presented the phenomenon of a flattened nose, for the boy with the ragged head had rushed down and stationed himself there to observe the result of the unexpected and singular visit.

      Beside the window, in a homely arm-chair, sat an invalid girl with pale thin cheeks, bright blue eyes, and long flaxen hair. If not pretty, she was, at all events, extremely interesting, and possessed the great charm of a winning smile.

      Apologising for causing her alarm by his damp, dishevelled, and sudden appearance, Barret asked if there were any men about the place.

      No, there were none there at the moment; most of them being out after the sheep and cattle, and some gathering peat, or away in the boats.

      “But surely they have not left you all by yourself?” said Barret, struck not only by the appearance of the girl, but by the comparative refinement of her language.

      “Oh no!” she replied, with a slight smile; “they look well after me. Mrs Anderson has only gone to fetch some peats. But where have you come from, sir? Your clothes are all wet!”

      “You are right. I have just been saved from drowning, through God’s mercy, along with my companions.”

      Here Barret gave her a brief outline of the recent disaster, and then asked if Mrs Anderson was her mother.

      “No; she is my aunt, but she is very good to me; takes as much care of me as if I was her own daughter. I don’t belong to this place. They have sent me here for my health.”

      At this point they were interrupted by Mrs Anderson herself, who entered with a load of peat, which she flung down, shook her fist at the nose-flattener outside, and turned in astonishment to her visitor.

      Of course our shipwrecked friend had to retail his story to the woman, and then learned from her that the island was a very large one, with a name unpronounceable by English lips, that it was very thinly inhabited, that it consisted almost entirely of pasture land, and that “the laird” owned a large portion of it, including the little fishing village of “Cove.”

      While the woman was speaking an elderly man entered, whom she introduced as her husband Ian. To him Barret had to re-repeat his story, and then asked if he and his friends could obtain shelter in the village for the night.

      “Iss it shelter ye’ll be wantin’? Ye’ll hev that an’ welcome, though it will be of the poorest. But in the mornin’ ye’ll gang up to the hoose, for the laird wud be ill-pleased if we keepit ye here.”

      “Pray, who is this laird?” asked Barret; “your wife has already mentioned him.”

      “Maister Gordon is his name. He lives near the heed o’ Loch Lossie. It iss over eight mile from here,” said Ian; “an’ a coot shentleman he iss, too. Fery fond o’ company, though it iss not much company that comes this way, for the steam-poats don’t veesit the loch reg’lar or often. He’ll be fery glad to see you, sir, an’ to help ye to git home. But we’d petter be goin’ to tell your freen’s that we can putt them up for the nicht. I’ll go pack with ye, an we’ll take the poy to help an’ carry up their things.”

      “You forget that we have been wrecked,” returned Barret with a laugh, “and have no ‘things’ to carry, except our own damp carcases.”

      “That’s true, sir, but we’ll be none the worse o’ the poy, what-ë-ver. Come away, Tonal’,” said Ian, as they started back along the shore. “It iss under the Eagle Cliff where ye came to laund, I make no doot?”

      “Well, I suppose it was; at least, there is a range of cliffs close to the place where our raft struck.”

      “Oo ay—but it iss not the wee precipices, it iss the big hull behind them that we ca’ the Eagle Cliff.”

      “Oh, indeed! I saw that cliff in a peculiar manner as I came along,” said Barret giving a description of the scene.

      “Ay; it iss sometimes seen like that,” said Ian; “an’ we often see the eagle, but it’s no’ possible to git a shot at that crater. The laird is real keen to bring it doon, for it plays the mischief among the lambs, an’ him an’ his freen’s hes aften tried, but СКАЧАТЬ