Freaks on the Fells by Robert Michael Ballantyne (best books to read in your 20s .TXT) 📕

let down. He also kicked a little, but, being very tired, soon fell asleep again.

"You _must_ let me carry him now!" said Fred.

"I won't!"

Fred tried force, but George was too strong for him, so they went on as before, Lucy leaning somewhat heavily on her father's arm.

Presently they heard the sound of water. It filled them with mitigated joy and excitement, on the simple principle that _anything_ in the shape of variety was better than _nothing_. A clap of thunder would have raised in their depressed bosoms a gleam of hope. A flash of lightning would have been a positive blessing. Mr Sudberry at once suggested that it must be a stream, and that they could follow its course--wade down its bed, if necessary--till they should arrive at "something!" Foolish man! he had been long enough in the Highlands by that time to have known that to walk down the bed of a mountain-burn was about as possible as to walk down the shaft of a coal-mine. They came to the edge of its banks, however, and, looking over, tried to pierce its gloom. There was a pale gleam of white foam--a rumbling, rustling sound beneath, and a sensation of moisture in the atmosphere.

"It rains!" said Mr Sudberry.

"I rather think it's the spray of a fall!" observed George.

Had Mr Sudberry known the depth of the tremendous gulf into which he was peering, and the steep cliff on the edge of which he stood, he would have sprung back in alarm. But he did not know--he did not entertain the faintest idea of the truth so he boldly, though cautiously, began to clamber down, assisting Lucy to descend.

Man, (including woman), knows not what he can accomplish until he tries. Millions of glittering gold would not have induced any member of that party to descend such a place in the dark, had they known what it was-- yet they accomplished it in safety. Down, down they went!

"Dear me, when shall we reach the foot? We must be near it now."

No, they were not near it; still down they went, becoming more and more alarmed, yet always tempted on by the feeling that each step would bring them to the bottom.

"What a noise the stream makes! why, it must be a river!"

No, it was not a river--it was a mere burn; quite a little burn, but-- what then? Little men are always fussier and noisier than big men; little boys invariably howl more furiously than big boys. Nature is full of analogies; and little streams, especially mountain streams, always make more ado in finding their level than big rivers.

They got down at last, and then they found the stream rushing, bursting, crashing among rent and riven rocks and boulders as if it had gone furiously mad, and was resolved never more to flow and murmur, but always to leap and roar. It was impassable; to walk down its banks or bed was impossible, so the wanderers had to re-ascend the bank, and roam away over black space in search of another crossing. They soon lost the sound in the intricacies of cliffs and dells, and never again found that stream. But they found a narrow path, and Fred announced the discovery with a cheer. It was an extremely rugged path, and appeared to have been macadamised with stones the size of a man's head. This led them to suspect that it must be a ditch, not a path; but it turned out to be the dry bed of a mountain-torrent--dry, at least, as regards running water, though not dry in respect of numerous stagnant pools, into which at various times each member of the party stepped unintentionally. It mattered not--nothing could make them wetter or more miserable than they were--so they thought. They had yet to learn that the thoughts of men are forever misleading them, and that there is nothing more certain than the uncertainty of all human calculations.


STORY ONE, CHAPTER 11.


STILL LOST!

Meanwhile, Mrs Sudberry was thrown into a species of frenzied horror, which no words can describe, and which was not in any degree allayed by the grave shaking of the head, with which Mr McAllister accompanied his vain efforts to comfort and re-assure her. This excellent man quoted several passages from the works of Dugald Stewart and Locke, tending to show, in common parlance, that "necessity has no law," and that the rightly constituted human mind ought to rise superior to all circumstances--quotations which had the effect of making Mrs Sudberry more hysterical than ever, and which induced Mrs Brown to call him who offered such consolation a "brute!"

But McAllister did not confine his efforts solely to the region of mind. While he was earnestly administering doses of the wisdom of Stewart and Locke to the agitated lady in the parlour, Dan and Hugh, with several others, were, by his orders, arming themselves in the kitchen for a regular search.

"She's ready," said Dan, entering the parlour unceremoniously with a huge stable lantern.

"That's right, Dan--keep away up by the slate corrie, and come down by the red tarn. If they've taken the wrong turn to the right, you're sure to fall in wi' them thereaway. Send Hugh round by the burn; I'll go straight up the hill, and come down upon Loch Cognahoighliey. Give a shout now and then, as ye goo."

Dan was a man of action and few words: he vouchsafed no reply, but turned immediately and left the room, leaving a powerful odour of the byre behind him.

Poor Mrs Sudberry and Tilly were unspeakably comforted by the grave business-like way, in which the search was gone about. They recalled to mind that a search of a somewhat similar nature, in point of manner and time, was undertaken a week before for a stray sheep, and that it had been successful; so they felt relieved, though they remained, of course, dreadfully anxious. McAllister refrained from administering any more moral philosophy. As he was not at all anxious about the lost party, and was rather fond of a sly joke, it remains to this day a matter of doubt whether he really expected that his nostrums would be of much use. In a few minutes he was breasting the hill like a true mountaineer, with a lantern in his hand, and with Hobbs by his side.

"Only think, ma'am," said Mrs Brown, who was not usually judicious in her remarks, "only think if they've been an' fell hover a precipice."

"Shocking!" exclaimed poor Mrs Sudberry, with a little shriek, as she clapped her hands on her eyes.

"Poor Jacky, ma'am, p'raps 'e's lyin' hall in a mangled 'eap at the foot of a--"

"Leave me!" cried Mrs Sudberry, with an amount of sudden energy that quite amazed Mrs Brown, who left the room feeling that she was an injured woman.

"Darling mamma, they will come back!" said Tilly, throwing her arms round her mother's neck, and bursting into tears on her bosom. "You know that the sheep--the lost sheep--was found last week, and brought home quite safe. Dan is _so_ kind, though he does not speak much, and Hugh too. They will be sure to find them, darling mamma!"

The sweet voice and the hopeful heart of the child did what philosophy had failed to accomplish--Mrs Sudberry was comforted. Thus we see, not that philosophy is a vain thing, but that philosophy and feeling are distinct, and that each is utterly powerless in the domain of the other.

When Peter was left alone by his master, as recorded in a former chapter, he sat himself down in a cheerful frame of mind on the sunny side of a large rock, and gave himself up to the enjoyment of thorough repose, as well mental as physical. The poor lad was in that state of extreme lassitude which renders absolute and motionless rest delightful. Extended at full length on a springy couch of heath, with his eyes peeping dreamily through the half-closed lids at the magnificent prospect of mountains and glens that lay before him, and below him too, so that he felt like a bird in mid-air, looking down upon the world, with his right arm under his meek head, and both pillowed on the plaid, with his countenance exposed to the full blaze of the sun, and with his recent lunch commencing to operate on the system, so as to render exhaustion no longer a pain, but a pleasure, Peter lay on that knoll, high up the mountain-side, in close proximity to the clouds, dreaming and thinking about nothing; that is to say, about everything or anything in an imbecile sort of way: in other words, wandering in his mind disjointedly over the varied regions of memory and imagination; too tired to originate an idea; too indifferent to resist one when it arose; too weak to follow it out; and utterly indifferent as to whether his mind did follow it out, or cut it short off in the middle.

We speak of Peter's mind as a totally distinct and separate thing from himself. It had taken the bit in its teeth and run away. He cared no more for it than he did for the nose on his face, which was, at that time, as red as a carrot, by reason of the sun shining full on its tip. But why attempt to describe Peter's thoughts? Here they are--such as they were--for the reader to make what he can out of them.

"Heigh ho! comfortable now--jolly--what a place! How I hate mountains-- climbing them--dreadful!--Like 'em to lie on, though--sun, I like your jolly red-hot face--Sunday! wonder if's got to do with sun--p'raps-- twinkle, twinkle, little sun, how I wonder--oh, what fun!--won't I have sich wonderful tales--tales--tails--stories are tails--stick 'em on the end of puppy-dogs, and see how they'd look--two or three two-legged puppies in the office--what a difference now!--no ink-bottles, no smashings, no quills, plenty of geese, though, and grouse and hares-- what was I thinking about? Oh, yes--the office--no scribbles--no stools, no desks, No-vember--dear me, that's funny! No-vember--what's a vember? Cut him in two can't join him again--no--no--snore!"

At this point Peter's thoughts went out altogether in sleep, leaving the happy youth in peaceful oblivion. He started suddenly after an hour's nap, under the impression that he was tumbling over a precipice.

To give a little scream and clutch wildly at the heather was natural. He looked round. The sun was still hot and high. Scratching his head, as if to recall his faculties, Peter stared vacantly at the sandwiches which lay beside him on a piece of old newspaper. Gradually his hand wandered towards them, and a gleam of intelligence, accompanied by a smile, overspread his countenance as he conveyed one to his lips. Eating seemed fatiguing, however. He soon laid the remnant down, drew the plaid over him, nestled among the heather, and dropped into a heavy sleep with a sigh of ineffable comfort.

When Peter again woke up, the sun was down, and just enough of light remained to show that it was going to be an intensely dark night. Can anyone describe, can anyone imagine, the state of Peter's feelings? Certainly not! Peter, besides being youthful, was, as we have said, an extremely timid boy. He was constitutionally afraid of the dark, even when surrounded by friends. What, then, were his sensations