Chapter 17
But the Nile cataract was bad enough, as Scotty realised, when he found himself among the first called to go down. Dan was his bowman and the stroke oar was a hardy old Scotch sergeant. Upon both of these he could rely with certainty. Nevertheless, as he steered out into the middle of the river, he realised that they had good need of all their courage and resource. On an overhanging rock above him stood the commander with some of his staff, anxiously watching the experiment. The shore was lined with soldiers, as though they had come to witness a boat-race. Scotty had a fleeting glimpse of them as he raced past, and then his boat was caught in the swift current and shot forward with lightning speed. The men bent to their oars with all the might of their brawny arms, to give their helmsman more power, Dan stood in the bow, alert and tense, his paddle ready, and Scotty held the tiller in an iron grip. The channel curved sharply to right and left; at the quickest turns great rocks stood in mid-stream over which the angry waters boiled and roared. At many points an instant's hesitation on his own part, Scotty well knew, or a second's relaxation of Dan's vigilance, would hurl boat and crew to destruction. They were in it now, dashing through a blinding rain of spray, leaping, turning, dodging, twisting, as though the boat were a living creature pursued.
Down they shot through the boiling zig-zag current, now avoiding great, jagged rocks by a hair's-breadth, now bounding like a deer over a smooth incline, now plunging into a seething white billow; and, when at last they swept round into the quiet bay at the foot of the cataract, Dan leaped up, and waving his paddle on high uttered a wild war-whoop learned long ago in the swamps of the Oro. There was an answering cheer from the group of men waiting at the landing. "Well done, Big Scalper!" cried the foreman.
A young naval officer who had just ridden down from the head of the rapid turned quickly at the words.
"What, Big Scalper, is that you?" he cried as the pilots stepped from the boat. "How is it you're not hanged yet?"
Scotty glanced up and encountered a laughing glance from the speaker's merry eyes. He recognised the young man whom Dan had vainly tried to befool, away back at the beginning of the voyage. He was prevented from replying by a word from the officer in command. As the voyageurs were few and the boats many they had to walk back to the head of the cataract as soon as one descent was accomplished and prepare for another. Their commander was bidding them make haste, and, when Scotty turned to leave the landing, the young man had disappeared. He was vaguely disappointed. There was something very attractive in his good-humoured familiarity, so different from the manner of the ordinary under officers.
When the long day's labour was over and the darkness prevented the descent of any more boats, the Canadians received orders to return to the upper camp to be in readiness for the morning's work. Dan had been required for steering early in the day, and had been separated from his friend, so Scotty found himself upon the rocky path leading to the head of the cataract quite alone.
Dan had promised to join him, but when Dan was in the company of the voyageurs there was generally sufficient cause for delay. Scotty walked on slowly, glad to be alone for a few moments after the tremendous toil of the day; the desert was quiet, and acted upon his spirits as did the deep, fragrant swamps at home.
The sun had set and the desert, which had glowed golden in the blistering sun all day, now lay grey and ghostly in the moonlight. Away ahead stood the ruins of an ancient temple overgrown with dusty mimosa bushes. The whispering Nile, brown and gleaming in the daytime, ran swiftly past, touched to silver by the moon that hung in the great empty space overhead. The breeze from the north was cool; the night was quiet and restful. He strolled along easily, looking back occasionally for signs of his comrades; a solitary figure in the barren desert.
The toil over rocks and rapids of the last few months, though it had hardened his physique and left him in superb health, had played havoc with his clothes; and he was so disreputable and tattered a figure, that he smiled to himself, as he pictured Granny's distress could she have seen him.
He reached a turn in the rocky path and stopped to listen for sounds of those who were to follow. The breeze from the north brought faintly the music of the old French Canadian song that had so often enlivened alike the toil of the shantymen on the Ottawa and the pilots on the Nile.
"En roulant, ma boule roulant, En roulant, ma boule."
The boys were coming, then; he seated himself upon a rock to await them. The sound died away for a moment, only the dry rustle of the mimosa bushes disturbed the silence.
He seemed absolutely alone in the world, until from a break in the rocks to his right a camel emerged with its stately, undulating stride. It bore an officer presumably riding down to the foot of the cataract. The long, fantastic shadow moved across the grey sand. Scotty could hear the rider's voice urging the animal forward. As they came out into the open, the two figures were silhouetted against the pale sky; a splendid mark for a prowling Dervish, he reflected.
As if in answer to his thought there came the sudden crack of a rifle from the direction of the ruined temple. The figure of the rider lurched over, and, with a leap, the animal had thrown him and was off desertward. There was a fiendish yell from the mimosa bushes. Three or four dark forms rose like magic from their shadows, their spears glinting in the moonlight as they leaped forward. The wounded man lay between his assailants and Scotty, somewhat nearer the latter. As it was Scotty reached him first. The man was lying on the sand. He had his revolver in his hand and was striving desperately to raise himself into a position to shoot. Scotty dragged him into a sheltering nook between two ledges of rock, snatched the weapon from his hand, and crouching down sent a bullet spinning out to meet the advancing rush. The Dervishes halted; the revolver spoke again; there was a howl as a man fell. Scotty felt a moment's inner exultation in that steady aim he had never lost since the days he and Dan shot chipmunks behind the schoolhouse. But the yell had been answered by another farther from the river; three more glinting spearheads suddenly appeared from the dark expanse beyond, and came hurtling towards him. He poured the remaining chambers of his revolver into the mad charge; but, when the last was gone, the enemy were still leaping forward. He threw down the weapon and looked about swiftly. The wounded man had a sword at his side. Scotty grasped it and the same instant the yelling savages were upon him. There was no use trying to take cover now. He stood erect and struck out madly. He was dimly surprised when the first man went down before him. He swung his weapon fiercely, with no thought of aim; but he was as agile as even these wild sons of the desert and his arm had the strength of ten. It could not last long, he knew, and he fought with the energy of despair. There was a strange roaring in his cars, as though he were in the midst of the cataract again, something warm was streaming down his face and obscuring his vision; he struck out blindly, desperately.
But now another sound arose, even above the roaring in Scotty's head, the sound of a familiar voice; a shout from down the river. Scotty's heart leaped; he uttered a strange, weird yell--"Oro, Oro, woo-hoo!" It was the long, fierce battle-cry of Glenoro school. If Dan were in Egypt that would bring him, he knew!
"Oro! Oro!" came the answer; and like a sandstorm across the desert came the company of voyageurs, Dan at their head, uttering the blood-curdling war-whoop with which he had so often awakened the echoes of the Canadian swamps.
The fierce-eyed Soudanese who had raised his spear to hurl at his opponent hesitated. He must have thought that all General Brackenbury's army was upon him. He leaped back with a sharp word of command; one more yell from the advancing column, followed by the crack of a random shot decided him; the dark figures took to their heels, and in the magic way known only to the desert-born, had melted in a moment over the low hills.
Scotty's head was spinning wildly, and when Dan flung himself upon him he sank unsteadily upon the ground.
"Hello, Danny," he tried to say, with his usual calmness, "just on time."
Dan clutched him by the shoulders and shook him violently; his voice was unsteady. "Be jabers, didn't I hear ye bleatin' like a stray lamb, half-a-mile back. How did ye happen to have such luck, ye beggar? Aw, the black-hearted brutes has give ye a bang, Scotty, boy. Hold on to me now, old man, here, an' we'll fix ye up in no time."
"The other fellow needs it worse," said Scotty, making a motion towards the man at his feet. Someone struck a light; the voyageurs raised the wounded man gently. His eyes opened.
"Are you much hurt?" asked one of the rescuers, bending over him.
Scotty looked down at him and was conscious of a feeling of glad surprise. It was the young naval officer who had spoken to him that morning.
"Not much," he gasped pluckily. "It's under my arm here. You were just in the nick of time, Canadian."
Another match was lit to enable the men to see the rough bandages they were trying to adjust. The light flashed up into Scotty's face, and the wounded man's eyes brightened.
"Why, was it you, Big Scalper?" he asked, with a faint attempt at a smile. "The Devil's not so bad as he's painted----" He made an effort to hold out his hand, but before Scotty could take it the young man's head fell back and he had fainted in Dan's arms.
The buzzing in Scotty's head grew louder, other sounds became dim and far away. He was vaguely conscious that the boys were binding up his head, hurting him most unnecessarily in the process, and that they were leading him away, away, through the revolving darkness, over an interminable desert.
But the next morning saw him in the stern of his boat ready to take the cataract once more. His head was still bandaged and felt rather light, but he did his day's work as usual. And before the next evening he was at the head of the column, far down the Nile, without knowing even the name of the man whose life he had saved.
And that same day a young naval officer, lying in a hospital boat asked anxiously if he might not see the Canadian pilot, known as Big Scalper, and was informed that the Indian of that name had gone on at the front of the column, but that he would see him when they disbanded at Korti.
But when the voyageurs drew up before the flagstaff to receive the General's farewell, the young officer lay tossing in delirium; and when next he saw his preserver it was not in Egyptian bondage, but in the new land of promise.
XVI
RE-VOYAGE
"For dere's no place lak our own place, don't care de far you're goin', Dat's what the whole worl's sayin', w'enever dey come here, 'Cos we got de fines' contree, an' de beeges' reever flowin', An' le bon Dieu sen' de sunshine nearly twelve mont' ev'ry year." --WILLIAM HENRY DRUMMOND.
And surely the Israelites, on the borders of Canaan, felt no more joy than did the two voyageurs when they first sighted the green shores of Canada. As they steamed up the St. Lawrence Dan's delight reached the dangerous stage. He was dying for a fight, and a fight he must have, he declared. And for this purpose he danced about the deck, brandishing his fists, and beseeching everyone within hearing to speak up and say that Canady wasn't jist the flower garden of creation, barrin' ould Ireland. Before he succeeded in getting himself into serious trouble, Scotty wisely put the wild Irishman down upon the deck and sat on him until the first spasms of the home-coming ecstasy were over.
But when the boys reached the little railway station a few miles from Glenoro, and saw Hamish's kind, brown eyes and old Pat Murphy's red face beaming a double welcome, there were no noisy demonstrations. For as they drove up through the ever-changing panorama of hill and valley, with the flash of the river and the blue gleam of lakes peeping through the green, Scotty had a choking lump in his throat--and even Dan was silent. For they were home again, and Oro was vocal with the joy of returning spring.
The pink-tinted buds were everywhere bursting into green, the marsh marigolds lit the dark borders of the swamp with their little golden lamps, the hepaticas and trilliums spangled the dun-coloured carpet of the woods; just the same, Scotty thought, as in the happy days when he and Isabel scampered among them. The air was deliciously laden with the exhilarating scents of the young green earth, the bluebirds flashed from bough to bough of the elm trees, and the robins, how they sang! Dan declared the little spalpeens knew he was home, for what else would make them bust their foolish little throats wid shoutin'?
His quiet mood did not last long. The Canadian air was getting into his blood again. A sudden whirr and flash, where a host of red-winged blackbirds arose in a cloud from the road, proved too much for him. He leaped from the buggy, yelling like a madman, and for the rest of the journey was quite beyond the limits of reason. He sat in the vehicle only on rare occasions, and spent his time scrambling over fences, tearing into the woods and back again, chasing squirrels and whooping like an Indian, until his father privately questioned Scotty as to the effect of the Egyptian sun on the brain.
Scotty sat beside Hamish, laughing helplessly at poor old Dan's madness, and in his quieter way revelling just as much in all the dear familiar sights. He was feeling how good it was to be a son of the north land, to live in this garden of lake and river, forest and meadow, and see it come to life afresh each year, and as they climbed a hill, and he stood up in the old buggy to catch his first glimpse of Lake Oro he realised solemnly that, though he might be called English, Irish, Scotch, Indian, Egyptian, what not, he was altogether and entirely and overwhelmingly Canadian.
And at the brow of the hill came the Murphy homestead, with all the Murphys far and near assembled to greet the returned wanderer. Scotty and Hamish had intended to leave Dan at his home and hurry away, but when the hero of the house of Murphy was dropped into the arms of the excited crowd, they found leave-taking a difficult enterprise. Irish hospitality, especially when transplanted to the land of Canadian plenty, is a compelling force.
At first Scotty's impatience to get home resisted all invitations, and old Pat was about to reluctantly allow them to depart, when Mrs. Murphy, who until now had been weeping loudly on Dan's broad shoulder, oblivious to everything but his return, suddenly awoke to the shameful fact that someone was about to leave her doors without stopping to eat. She issued no further invitation, but with her apron still to her eyes and still exclaiming over and over in muffled sobs, that "the darlin' had come back to his mother," she darted into the road; and snatching the horses' bridle, dragged her guests through the gate and up to the door, amid the applause of the assembled Flats.
And so they had supper in the Murphy home perforce, and all the great deeds of their expedition had to be recounted. Scotty told how Dan had disobeyed orders and run away at the battle of Kirbekan; only, like a true Irishman, he had run to, not from the fight. But when his friend returned the compliment and launched into an account of the midnight skirmish at the ruined temple, the hero of that event arose hastily, and declared they must be going.
There was much for Hamish both to tell and hear on the road, so the afternoon was fading into evening when at last they reached the Scotch Line. They had taken a detour round the Glen, for Scotty did not want to be delayed by more friends. They passed the Weaver's clearing, and Hamish declared how Jimmie and Kirsty were such an agreeable pair as never was, for indeed the two lived in such a state of connubial felicity as was a wonder to all the neighbours. Scotty caught a glimpse of the little path through the cedars, the path where he and Isabel had walked so often in those magic days succeeding Kirsty's wedding. And there was the boiling spring by the roadside where they had so often played, and the pools where they had gathered musk, and yonder in the fence-corner they had built their first house.
And then there came a turn in the road and there it was! His old home! It was just the same: the old garden in front with the rose bushes turning green, and the Silver Maple putting forth its pink buds above the roof! And there was Granny at the door, shading her eyes with her hand; and beside her Mary Sandy, Rory's sister-in-law, who was now her help; and Grandaddy, who had been pretending to cut wood all afternoon, still holding the axe in his hand; yes, and even Old Farquhar, bobbing about as excited as any!
With the instinct of long custom, Scotty jumped from the vehicle to open the gate, but his trembling fingers refused to pull out the pin, and the next moment he had cleared the bars in one mighty spring, leaving Hamish, helpless with laughter, to shift for himself. Before the gate was open he had charged up the hill like a whirlwind and caught Granny off her feet.
And then such a time as there was with talking and hand-shaking and laughter and tears, for even Mary Sandy took to crying out of sympathy with her mistress, and Scotty himself had some work to keep his eyes dry.
And no one could hear a word anyone else said, for as the long-absent one crossed the threshold, Old Farquhar burst into loud and joyous song. And what could do justice to the great occasion but "The Grave of Highland Mary"? The old man's voice was strong with excitement, and he drowned both the noise of joyful greeting and the din of the barking dogs as he shouted triumphantly,--
"Then bring me the sigh of a fond lover's bosom And bring me the tear of a fond lover's e'e, And I'll pour them a' doon on thy grave, Highland May-ay-re, For the sake o' thy Bur-urns who sae dearly loved thee!"
When the excitement had slightly subsided they had to sit down and partake of such a supper as had never before been set out in that house; for Granny would not listen to such foolish nonsense as that they had eaten at Murphy's. She sat beside her boy, never touching her own food, but heaping his plate, clapping him upon the back and showering upon him all the endearing epithets she knew in a language that is famous for them.
Big Malcolm sat close to him on the other side, his old warlike spirit aroused, as his boy told his story. Scotty softened the hardships for his grandmother's ears and said nothing of his own encounter in the desert. He was graphically describing the manoeuvres of the Highlanders at Kirbekan, much to his grandfather's delectation; when, as if to give point to his narrative, there suddenly arose from the direction of the road a splendid roar of pipes; and behold here came Rory driving up the lane in a wagon, his whole family aboard; and he himself, forgetful of his dignity as the father of the family, standing up in the wagon and blowing up a tremendous pibroch on Fiddlin' Archie's Sandy's bagpipes!
Scotty flung out of doors to meet him and had scarcely time for a greeting when they sighted Weaver Jimmie and Kirsty hurrying up the path from the bush. Then a shout from the hill behind the barn attracted everyone's attention, and Long Lauchie's whole household appeared trooping down the slope; Long Lauchie himself plodding joyfully at the tail of the procession, full of bewildering prophecies and analogies, in which there was something about Lake Simcoe's being the Red Sea, and the Oa, Mount Pisgah.
It was well that Mary Sandy merited her mistress's oft-repeated declaration that she was "jist the smartest, tidiest girl in the Oa, indeed." The multitude had to be fed, in accordance with the laws of Canadian hospitality, which alter not, no matter what the circumstances may be, and without Kirsty's and Mary Lauchie's help even Mrs. MacDonald's paragon might have found herself inadequate.
Big Malcolm and his wife were quite helpless with excess of happiness. The latter moved about in a happy daze, making ineffectual efforts to assist her friends, picking up articles and putting them down again in a haphazard fashion.
At last Kirsty declared that they must all clear out and let her do some work. Yes, and Mrs. Malcolm was to go too, for how could she be of any use with a big gomeril like Scotty clattering after her every step, as if he was a bairn, and mostly with Big Malcolm and Rory's wee Callum trailing behind. It was enough to put a body fair daft.
Thus banished, Scotty laughingly followed his grandmother out of doors. He was well pleased, for he was longing to get a word with her alone. He knew that her tender eyes had long ago read his heart's secret, and if she had any news for him she would surely give it without asking.
There was a new stone milk-house a few yards from the door, built since his departure; and he must needs see it, Granny said. So she took him with her when she went for a jug of buttermilk for the guests. And when he had admired the place and the buttermilk had been procured, they stood in the cool, sweet dampness, and Granny told him how all the friends had asked for him so often. The minister, indeed, came up several times just to inquire if they had had a letter, and Store Thompson's wife had said that whenever the Captain himself came to the Glen he always asked for him. Then she went to the farther end of the little chamber and commenced a diligent search for something that was not there, and, with her back turned to him, remarked with elaborate carelessness that the Captain's family were expected at the Grange any day now. The Captain had been away nearly all the time since he lost the election, he had been that disappointed, poor body. They had spent the last winter in Toronto. The wee Isabel hadn't been jist very well all winter, Kirsty had said, and the aunt had wanted to take her to the seashore, but she had said that nothing but the Oro air would do her any good, and Kirsty was expecting her some of these days.
Scotty drew a deep breath. She was coming back then! She would be at the Grange, she might even come to Kirsty's! And then Kirsty herself darted in and snatched the pitcher of buttermilk from Granny's hands and disappeared as quickly. Neither of them noticed her, for Scotty was in a rosy but hopeless dream, and Granny was patting him lovingly upon the arm in expression of the sympathy she dared not speak. There was silence for a moment, the old woman still caressing him tenderly.
"Eh, it would be the Lord would be bringing you back to me, _m' eudail bheg_," she said at last. "He would be good to Malcolm and me in our old age, for you would jist be our Benjamin, whatever. And has it been well with Granny's boy all this weary time?" she added in a whisper.
Scotty put his hands upon her shoulders and looked long into her loving eyes.
"Granny," he whispered, "do you remember the first day I went to school, and how I came through the swamp alone on the way home."
"Eh, the wee man it was! And how would I be forgetting, indeed, for it would be the first time you would be leaving me!"