Courage True Hearts: Sailing in Search of Fortune

  Produced by Al Haines.

  Cover]

  WITH IT FELL CONAL! _Page_ 162]

  Courage, True Hearts

  Sailing in Search of Fortune

  BY

  GORDON STABLES

  Author of "The Naval Cadet" "For Life and Liberty" "To Greenland and the Pole" &c.

  "I've wandered east, I've wandered west, Through many a weary way; But never, never can forget The love of life's young day."

  BLACKIE & SON LIMITED

  LONDON AND GLASGOW

  The Peak Library

  _Books in this Series_

  Overdue. Harry Collingwood.The Dampier Boys. E. M. Green.The King's Knight. G. I. Whitham.Their London Cousins. Lady Middleton.The White Witch of Rosel. E. E. Cowper.Freda's Great Adventure. Alice Massie.Courage, True Hearts! Gordon Stables.Stephen goes to Sea. A. O. Cooke.Under the Chilian Flag. Harry Collingwood.The Islanders. Theodora Wilson Wilson.Margery finds Herself. Doris A. Pocock.Cousins in Camp. Theodora Wilson Wilson.Far the sake of his Chum. Walter C. Rhoades.An Ocean Outlaw. Hugh St. Leger.Boys of the Priory School. F. Coombe.Jane in Command. E. E. Cowper.Adventures of Two. May Wynne.The Secret of the Old House. E. Everett Green.

  _Printed in Great Britain by Blackie & Son, Ltd., Glasgow_

  CONTENTS.

  BOOK I.

  IN SCOTTISH WILDS AND LONDON STREETS.

  CHAP.

  I. Hope told a Flattering Tale II. Hurrah for "Merrie England"! III. The Boys' Life in London IV. Wild Sports on Moorland and Ice V. A Highland Blizzard--The Lost Sheep and Shepherd VI. "The breath of God was over all the land" VII. The Parting comes at last

  BOOK II.

  THE CRUISE OF THE _FLORA M'VAYNE_.

  I. The Terrors of the Ocean II. A Fearful Experience III. Bound for Southern Seas of Ice IV. On the Wings of the Wind V. Johnnie Shingles and Old Mr. Pen VI. "Back water all! For life, boys, for life!" VII. "Here's to the loved ones at home" VIII. Captain Talbot spins a Yarn IX. Tongues of Lurid Fire--Blue, Green, and Deepest Crimson X. So poor Conal must Perish! XI. Thus Hand in Hand the Brothers Sleep XII. Winter Life in an Antarctic Pack XIII. A Chaos of Rolling and Dashing Ice XIV. "Heave, and she goes! Hurrah!" XV. The Isles of Desolation

  BOOK III.

  IN THE LAND OF THE NUGGET AND DIAMOND.

  I. Shipwreck on a Lonely Isle II. A Weary Time III. Children of the Sky IV. Treasure-hunters. The Forest V. Fighting the Gorillas VI. An Invading Army--Victory! VII. The Mysterious Stone VIII. The Battle at the Ford IX. The very Identical Bird X. The Welcome Home

  BOOK I

  IN SCOTTISH WILDS AND LONDON STREETS

  CHAPTER I--HOPE TOLD A FLATTERING TALE

  Had you been in the beautiful and wild forest of Glenvoie on that brightand blue-skied September morning--on one of its hills, let us say--andheard the music of those two boys' voices swelling up towards you,nothing that I know of could have prevented you from joining in. Sojoyous, so full of hope were they withal, that the very tune itself, tosay nothing of the words, would have sent sorrow right straight awayfrom your heart, if there had been any to send.

  "Cheer, boys, cheer, no more of idle sorrow, Courage, true hearts, shall bear us on our way; Hope flies before, and points the bright to-morrow, Let us forget the dangers of to-day."

  There was a pause just here, and from your elevated situation on thatrocky pap, looking down, you would have rested your eyes on one of theprettiest rolling woodland scenes in all broad Scotland.

  It was a great waving ocean of foliage, and the sunset of autumn wasover it all, lying here and there in patches of crimson, brown, andyellow, which the solemn black of pine-trees, and the funereal green ofdark spruces only served to intensify.

  Flap-flap-flap! huge wood-pigeons arise in the air and go sailing overthe woods. They are frightened, as well they may be, for a momentafterwards two guns ring out almost simultaneously, and so still is theair that you can hear the dull thud of fallen game.

  "Hurrah, Conal! Why, that was a splendid shot! I saw you take aim."

  "No, Duncan, no; the bird is yours. You fired first."

  "Only at random, brother. But come, let us look at him. What asplendid creature! Do you know, Conal, I could almost cry for havingkilled him."

  "Oh! so could I, Duncan, for that matter, but the capercailzie[1] isgame, mind, and won't father be pleased. Why do they call it a wildturkey?"

  [1] The letter "z" not pronounced in Scotch.

  "Because it isn't a turkey. That is quite sufficient reason for agamekeeper. The capercailzie is the biggest grouse there is, you know,and sometimes weighs very many pounds."

  "And didn't we find the nest of one in a spruce tree last spring."

  "Ay, and six eggs that we didn't touch; and I've never put any faithagain in that ignoramus of a book, that would have us believe the birdsalways build on the bare ground."

  "Written by an Englishman, no doubt, Duncan, who had never placed a footon our native heath. But now let us get back to breakfast. I wonderwhere our little sister Flora is."

  "I heard her gun about ten minutes ago; she can't be far off. BesidesViking is with her, so she is safe enough. Give the curlew's scream andshe'll soon appear."

  "Like the wild scream of the curlew, From crag to crag the signal flew."

  Duncan threw down his gun beside the dead game, and, placing his fingersin his mouth, gave a perfect imitation of this strange bird's cry:

  "Who-o-o-eet, who-o-o-eet (these in long-drawn notes, then quicker andquicker), who-eet, who-eet, wheet, wheet, wheet, wheet, who-ee!"

  The boys did not have long to wait for an answer. For Duncan, the elder,who was about sixteen, with a stalwart well-knit frame, and even abudding moustachelet, had hardly finished, when far down in a darkspruce thicket sounded the barking of a dog, which could only belong toone of a very large breed.

  He entered the glade in which the brothers stood not many seconds after.He entered with a joyous bound and bark, his great shaggy coat, black asthe raven's wing, afloat on his shoulders and back; his white teethflashing; and a yard or two, more or less, of a red ribbon of a tonguehanging out of his mouth.

  Need I say he was a noble Newfoundland.

  He stopped short and looked at the 'cailzie, then snuffed at it, andimmediately after licked his master's cheek. To do so he had to put apaw on each of Duncan's shoulders, and his weight nearly bore him to theground.

  But see, here comes little Flora herself--she is only twelve; herbrothers are both dressed in the kilt of hill tartan, and Flora's frockis but a short one, showing to advantage a pair of batten legs encasedin galligaskins; fair hair, streaming like a shower of gold over hershoulders; blue eyes, and a lively very pretty face. But across thatindependent wee nose of hers is quite a bridge of freckles, whichextends half-way across her cheeks.

  Now a child of her tender years would, in many parts of England, betreated quite as a child. It was quite the reverse at Glenvoie. Florawas in reality a little model of wisdom, and many a bit of good
adviceshe gave her brothers--not that they bothered taking it, though bothloved her dearly.

  Flora carried a little gun--a present from her father, who was veryproud of her exploits and worldly wisdom, and across her shoulders wasslung a bag, which appeared to be well filled.

  "Hillo, Siss!" cried Duncan. "Any cheer?"

  "Oh, yes, three wild pigeons! But what a lovely great wild turkey! I'msure, Duncan, it was a pity to kill him!"

  "Sport, Sissie, sport!" said Duncan.

  Yet as he looked at the splendidly plumaged bird which his gun had laidlow in death, he smothered a sigh. He half repented now having killedthe 'cailzie.

  Homeward next, for all were hungry, and in the old-fashioned hall of thehouse of Glenvoie breakfast would be waiting for them. Through theforest dark and deep, across a wide and clear brown stream bystepping-stones, a stream that in England would be called a river, thenon to a broad heathy moorland, with here and there a cottage and littlecroft.

  Poor enough these were in all conscience, but they afforded meal andmilk to the owners and their children. Chubby-cheeked hardy little chapsthese were. They ran to gate or doorway to greet our young heroes withcheers shrill and many, and Flora smiled her sweetest on them. Neitherstockings nor shoes nor caps had they, winter or summer, and when theygrew up many of them would join the army, and be first in every bayonetcharge where tartans would wave and bonnets nod.

  Laird M'Vayne himself came to the porch to meet his children. Thesewere all he had, and their mother was an invalid.

  An excellent specimen of the Highland laird was this Chief M'Vayne. Assturdy and strong in limb as a Hercules, broad in shoulder, and thoughsixty years and over, as straight as an arrow. His was a fearless face,but handsome withal, and he never looked better than when he smiled.Smiling was natural to him, and came straight from the heart, lightingup his whole face as morning sunshine lights the sea.

  "Better late than never, boys. What ho! a capercailzie!"

  Then he placed his hand so kindly on Duncan's shoulder.

  "It was a good shot, I can see," he said, "and now we won't kill anymore of these splendid birds. I want the woods to swarm with them."

  "No, father," said Duncan, "this is the last, and I shall send toGlasgow for eyes, and stuff and set him up myself."

  Then the Laird hoisted Flora, gun, game-bag and all, right on top of hisbroad left shoulder and carried her inside, while Viking, enjoying thefun, made house and "hallan" ring with his gladsome barking.

  Ever see or partake of a real Highland breakfast, reader? A pleasureyou have before you, I trust. And had you been at Glenvoie House on thisparticular morning, the very sight of that meal would have given you anappetite, while partaking of it would have made you feel a man.

  That was real porridge to begin with, a little lake of butter in thecentre of each plate and creamy milk to flank it. Different indeed fromthe clammy, saltless saucers of poultice Englishmen shiver over of amorning at hotels, making themselves believe they are partaking ofScotia's own _own_ dish.

  All did justice to the porridge, and Viking had a double allowance.There was beautiful mountain trout to follow, cold game, and freshherrings with potatoes. Marmalade and honey with real oat-cakesfinished the banquet.

  About this time, gazing across the lawn from the great window, Duncancould see the runner bringing the post-bag. Runner he might well becalled. He had come twenty miles that morning with the mails, trottingall the way.

  Duncan threw open the window, and with a smile and order for postie togo round to the kitchen for a "piece" and a "drink", he received thebag.

  The arrival of the runner was always one of the chief events of the day,for the Laird "let" his shootings every season, and had friends in everypart of the kingdom.

  So had the boys.

  "Ah!" said their father, opening a letter which he had reserved to thelast. "Here is one from our distant relative, Colonel Trelawney."

  "Oh! do read it out," cried Flora impulsively.

  Her father obeyed, as all dutiful fathers do when they receive a commandfrom juvenile daughters.

  "_Maida Vale, London._

  "_My dear 42nd cousin,--I think that is about our relationship. Well, Iwas never good at counting kin, so we must let it stand at that.Heigho! That is my 42nd sigh since breakfast time, and it isn't theluncheon hour yet. But I couldn't quite tell you what I am sighing for;I think it must be for the Highland moors around you, on which I enjoyedso glorious a time in August. Heigho! (43rd). Your hills must stillbe clad in the crimson and purple glory of heath and heather whencescattered coveys or whirring wings spring skywards (Poetry!)._

  "_Well now, I've got something to propose. Since his poor mother died,my boy Frank--fifteen next birthday, you know--has not seemed to thrivewell. He is a capital scholar, and is of a very inventive turn of mind.He delights in the country, and when he and I bike away down into thegreenery of fields and woods he always looks better and happier. But athome he has nothing to look at that is natural--a few misshapen treesonly, a shaven lawn, evergreens, and twittering sparrows._

  "_He is lively enough, and plays the fiddle charmingly. He is only aLondon lad after all, and his pale face bears witness to the fact._

  "_Well, cousin, fair exchange is no robbery. Send me your two boys uphere to spend the winter, and then I'll send the whole three down to youto put in the spring and summer. Expected results? Is that what youask, cousin mine? Well, they are these. A little insight into Londonlife will assist in toning down the fiery Highland exuberance of yourbrave lads, and will help to make them young men of the world. While aspell among your Highland hills shall put more life-blood into my boy,and make him stronger, braver, and heartier._"

  "Ha! ha! ha!" laughed Duncan. "He is going to civilize us, is he, daddydear? We'll have to wear frock-coats, long hats and long faces, andcarry umbrellas. What do you think of that, Conal?"

  "Why," said Conal disdainfully, "umbrellas are only for old wives andSassenachs. The plaid for me."

  "And me!"

  "Well, but listen," said the Laird laughing.

  "_Your boys,_" says the colonel, "_must come to us dressed in theirhill-tartan kilts, and have dress tartans to wear at evening parties.The English are fond of chaffing the Scot, but, mind you, they love himall the same, and can quite appreciate all the deeds of derring-do heaccomplishes on the field of battle, as well as hislong-business-headedness on the Stock Exchange. Heigho! (sigh the44th), had I been a Scot I'd have been a richer man to-day instead ofhaving to maintain a constant fight to keep the wolf from the door. Butyou, dear cousin, must be fairly wealthy._"

  It was Laird M'Vayne's turn to sigh now, for alas! he was far indeedfrom rich, and, young as they were, both his boys knew it. And betweenyou and me and the binnacle, reader, the lads used to pray every night,that Heaven might enable them when they came to man's estate, or evenbefore, to do something for the parents who had been so good to them.

  "_Well,_" the letter ran on, "_I sha'n't say any more, only you will letthe laddies (that is Scotch, isn't it?) come, won't you, cousin? and ifwe can only find out the time of the boat's arrival, Frank and I shallbe at the dock waiting for them._"

  "Hurrah!" cried Duncan,

  "Hurrah!" cried Conal.

  "And you won't be sorry to leave me and the old home, will you?" saidM'Vayne.

  "Oh, indeed, indeed we will, daddy," cried Duncan, "and we'll thinkabout you all and pray for you too, every day and night. Won't we,Conal?"

  "Of course we will."

  Then the younger lad went and threw his arms round his father's neck,leaned his cheek against his breast, in truly Celtic fashion, and therewere tears in his eyes.

  "Besides," said Duncan, "the change will do us such a heap of good, andby all we read London must be the grandest place in the whole wideworld."

  "Streets paved with gold, eh? Houses tiled with sheets of solid silverthat glitter daily in the noonday sun. No poverty, no vice, no crime inLondon. I
s that your notion of London, my son?"

  "Well," replied Duncan laughing, "it may not be quite so bright as allthat, daddy, but I am sure of one thing."

  "Yes?"

  "If the streets are not paved with gold, nor the houses tiled withsilver, there is money to be made in the city by any honest businessScot who cares to work and wants to win."

  "Bravo, Duncan!

  "In the lexicon of youth which fate reserves For a bright manhood, there is no such word as Fail."

  ----

  For the next two or three weeks, although the boys with their pluckylittle sister went every day either to the hill or woods to shoot, or tothe burn to fish, there was very little talked about except the comingexcursion to the great city of London.

  Mrs. M'Vayne was at present confined to her room, and, being nervous,the thought of losing her boys even for a short four or five months madeher heart feel sad indeed, and it took them all their time to reassureher.

  "No, no, lads," she would cry almost petulantly; "I cannot be happyuntil I see you in the glen once more, safe and sound!"

  Two weeks passed--oh, ever so quickly--away, and the last week was to bedevoted wholly and solely to the packing of trunks, a very pleasurableand hopeful employment indeed.

  Duncan was _facile princeps_ at this work, and he kept a note-bookalways near, so that whenever he thought about anything he might need,he wrote it down--just as if it had not been possible to get everyarticle he might require in great London, from a needle to an anchor.

  Only, as he told his brother Conal, "It is far better to be sure thansorry."

  Well, the last day--the last sad day--came round at last and farewellshad to be said on both sides.

  Mrs. M'Vayne kept up as well as she could, and so did the boys._Noblesse oblige_, you know, for although their father was but aHighland laird, and poor at that, he was connected by blood with thechiefs of the best clans in Scotland.

  Poor honest Viking had watched the packing with the very greatest ofinterest, and so sad did he appear that Duncan and Conal made up theirminds to take him with them. And when they told him so, there reallywas not a much happier dog in all the British islands. For Viking waswise beyond compare, and there was very little, indeed, that he did notunderstand.

  But Florie's grief at the loss of her brothers was beyond control, andshe made no attempt to hide her tears.

  Yes, the laird himself journeyed with his boys as far as Leith, and sawthem safe on board.

  When the good ship steamed away at last, he waved them a silent adieu,then turned and walked quickly away.