A Princess of Thule. Black William
where a wave was hissing over. There was not much of a sea on, but the heavy wash of the water around the rocks and sandy bays could be distinctly heard in the silence of the morning.
And what was this moving object down there by the shore where the Maighdean-mhara lay at anchor? Both the young men at once recognized the glimmer of the small white feather and the tightly-fitting blue dress of the sea-princess.
“Why, there is Sheila!” cried Ingram. “What in all the world is she about at such an hour?”
At this moment Duncan came out with a book of flies in his hand, and he said in rather a petulant way, “And it iss no wonder Miss Sheila will be out. And it was Miss Sheila herself will tell me to see if you will go to ta White Water and try for a salmon.”
“And she is bringing up something from the boat; I must go and carry it for her,” said Lavender, making down the path to the shore with the speed of a deer.
When Sheila and he came up the hill, there was a fine color in the girl’s face from her morning’s exertions, but she was not disposed to go in-doors to rest. On the contrary, she was soon engaged in helping Mairi to bring in some coffee to the parlor, while Duncan cut slices of ham and cold beef big enough to have provisioned a fishing-boat bound for Caithness. Sheila had had her breakfast; so she devoted all her time to waiting upon her guests, until Lavender could scarcely eat through the embarrassment produced by her noble servitude. Ingram was not so sensitive, and made a very good meal indeed.
“Where’s your father, Sheila?” said Ingram, when the last of their preparations had been made and they were about to start for the river. “Isn’t he up yet?”
“My father?” said the girl, with the least possible elevation of her eyebrows – “he will be down at Borvapost an hour ago. And I hope that John the Piper will not see him this morning. But we must make haste, Mr. Ingram, for the wind will fall when the sun gets stronger, and then your friend will have no more of the fishing.”
So they set out, and Ingram put Sheila’s hand on his arm, and took her along with him in that fashion, while the tall gillie walked behind with Lavender, who was or was not pleased with the arrangement. The young man, indeed, was a trifle silent, but Duncan was in an amiable and communicative mood, and passed the time in telling him stories of the salmon he had caught, and of the people who had tried to catch them and failed. Sheila and Ingram certainly went a good pace up the hill and around the summit of it, and down again into the valley of the White Water. The light step of the girl seemed to be as full of spring as the heather on which she trod; and as for her feet getting wet, the dew must have soaked them long ago. She was in the brightest of spirits. Lavender could hear her laughing in a low, pleased fashion, and then presently her head would be turned up toward her companion, and all the light of some humorous anecdote would appear in her face and in her eloquent eyes, and it would be Ingram’s turn to break out into one of those short, abrupt laughs that had something sardonic in them.
But hark! From the other side of the valley comes another sound, the faint and distant skirl of the pipes, and yonder is the white-haired hunchback, a mere speck in a waste of brown and green morass. What is he playing to himself now?
“He is a foolish fellow, that John,” said the tall keeper, “for if he comes down to Borvapost this morning, it iss Mr. Mackenzie will fling his pipes in ta sea, and he will haf to go away and work in ta steamboat. He iss a very foolish fellow; and it wass him tat wass goin’ in ta steamboat before, and he went to a tailor in Styornoway, and he said to him, ‘I want a pair o’ troosers.’ And the tailor said to him, ‘What sort o’ troosers iss it you will want?’ And he said to him, ‘I want a pair o’ troosers for a steamboat.’ A pair o’ troosers for a steamboat! – he is a teffle of a foolish fellow. And it wass him that went in ta steamboat with a lot o’ freens o’ his, that wass a goin’ to Skye to a big weddin’ there; and it wass a very bad passage, and when tey got into Portree, the captain said to him, ‘John, where iss all your freens that tey do not come ashore?’ And he said to him, ‘I hef peen down below, sir, and four-thirds o’ ta whole o’ them are a’ half-troonded and sick and tead.’ Four-thirds o’ ta whole o’ them! And he iss just the ferry man to laugh at every other pody when it iss a mistake you will make in ta English.”
“I suppose,” said Lavender, “you found it rather difficult to learn good English?”
“Well, sir, I hefna got ta good English yet. But Miss Sheila she has put away all the Gaelic from the schools, and the young ones they will learn more of ta good English after that.”
“I wish I knew as much Gaelic as you know English,” said the young man.
“Oh, you will soon learn. It iss ferry easy if you will only stay in ta island.”
“It would take me several months to pick it up, I suppose?”
“Oh, yes – nine or six – that will do,” said Duncan. “You will begin to learn ta names o’ ta Islands and ta places. There now, as far as you can see is ta Seann Bheinn; and it means ta old hill. And there is a rock there; it is Stac-nan-Balg – ”
Here Duncan looked rather perplexed.
“Yes,” said Lavender; “what does that mean?”
“It means – it means,” said Duncan, in still greater perplexity, and getting a little impatient, “it means —stac, tat iss a steep rock; Stac-nan-Balg – it means – well, sir, it is ower deep for ta English.”
The tone of mortification in which Duncan uttered these words warned Lavender that his philological studies might as well cease; and indeed Sheila and Ingram had by this time reached the banks of the White Water, and were waiting Duncan and his majestic rod.
It was much too bright and pleasant a morning for good fishing, but there was a fair ripple on the pools of the stream where ever and anon a salmon fresh run from the sea would leap into the air, showing a gleaming curve of silver to the sunlight. The splash of the big fish seemed an invitation, and Duncan was all anxiety to teach the stranger, who, as he fancied, knew nothing about throwing a fly. Ingram lay down on a rock some little distance back from the banks, and put his hands beneath his head and watched the operations going forward. But was it really Duncan who was to teach the stranger? It was Sheila who picked out flies for him. It was Sheila who held the rod while he put them on the line. It was Sheila who told where the bigger salmon usually lay – under the opposite bank of the broad and almost lake-like pool into which the small but rapid White Water came tumbling and foaming down its narrow channel of rocks and stones.
Then Sheila waited to see her pupil begin. He had evidently a little difficulty about the big double-handed rod, a somewhat more formidable engine of destruction than the supple little thing with which he had whipped the streams of Devonshire and Cornwall.
The first cast sent both flies and a lump of line tumbling on to the pool, and would have driven the boldest of salmon out of its wits. The second pretty nearly took a piece out of Ingram’s ear, and made him shift his quarters with rapidity. Duncan gave him up in despair. The third cast dropped both flies with the lightness of a feather in the running waters of the other side of the pool; and the next second there was a slight wave along the surface, a dexterous jerk with the butt, and presently the line was whirled out into the middle of the pool, running rapidly off the reel from the straining rod.
“Plenty o’ line, sir, plenty o’ line!” shouted Duncan, in a wild fever of anxiety, for the fish had plunged suddenly.
Ingram had come running down to the bank. Sheila was all excitement and interest as she stood and watched every slackening or tightening of the line as the fish went up the pool and down the pool, and crossed the current in his efforts to escape. The only self-possessed person, indeed, was Lavender himself, who presently said, “Miss Mackenzie, won’t you take the rod now and have the honor of landing him? I don’t think he will show much more fight.”
At this moment, however, the line slackened suddenly, and the fish threw himself clean out of the water, turning a complete somersault. It was a dangerous moment, but the captive was well hooked, and in his next plunge Lavender was admonished by Duncan to keep a good strain on him.
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