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CHAPTER VIII: VOYAGE TO LONDON
For a few minutes Malcolm stood alone in the dim starlight of
winter, looking out on the dusky sea, dark as his own future, into
which the wind now blowing behind him would soon begin to carry
him. He anticipated its difficulties, but never thought of perils:
it was seldom anything oppressed him but the doubt of what he ought
to do. This was ever the cold mist that swallowed the airy castles
he built and peopled with all the friends and acquaintances of his
youth. But the very first step towards action is the death warrant
of doubt, and the tide of Malcolm's being ran higher that night, as
he stood thus alone under the stars, than he had ever yet known it
run. With all his common sense, and the abundance of his philosophy,
which the much leisure belonging to certain phases of his life had
combined with the slow strength of his intellect to render somewhat
long winded in utterance, there was yet room in Malcolm's bonnet
for a bee above the ordinary size, and if it buzzed a little
too romantically for the taste of the nineteenth century, about
disguises and surprises and bounty and plots and rescues and such
like, something must be pardoned to one whose experience had already
been so greatly out of the common, and whose nature was far too
childlike and poetic, and developed in far too simple a surrounding of
labour and success, difficulty and conquest, danger and deliverance,
not to have more than the usual amount of what is called the romantic
in its composition.
The buzzing of his bee was for the present interrupted by the return
of Blue Peter with his wife. She threw her arms round Malcolm's
neck, and burst into tears.
"Hoots, my woman!" said her husband, "what are ye greitin' at?"
"Eh, Peter!" she answered, "I canna help it. It's jist like a deith.
He's gauin' to lea' us a', an' gang hame till 's ain, an' I canna
bide 'at he sud grow strange-like to hiz 'at ha'e kenned him sae
lang."
"It'll be an ill day," returned Malcolm, "whan I grow strange to
ony freen'. I'll ha'e to gang far down the laich (low) ro'd afore
that be poassible. I mayna aye be able to du jist what ye wad like;
but lippen ye to me: I s' be fair to ye. An' noo I want Blue Peter
to gang wi' me, an' help me to what I ha'e to du--gien ye ha'e
nae objection to lat him."
"Na, nane ha'e I. I wad gang mysel' gien I cud be ony use," answered
Mrs Mair; "but women are i' the gait whiles."
"Weel, I'll no even say thank ye; I'll be awin' ye that as weel's
the lave. But gien I dinna du weel, it winna be the fau't o' ane
or the ither o' you twa freen's. Noo, Peter, we maun be aff."
"No the nicht, surely?" said Mrs Mair, a little taken by surprise.
"The suner the better, lass," replied her husband. "An' we cudna
ha'e a better win'. Jist rin ye hame, an' get some vicktooals
thegither, an' come efter hiz to Portlossie."
"But hoo 'ill ye get the boat to the watter ohn mair han's? I'll
need to come mysel' an' fess Jean."
"Na, na; let Jean sit. There's plenty i' the Seaton to help. We're
gauin' to tak' the markis's cutter. She's a heap easier to lainch,
an' she'll sail a heap fester."
"But what'll Maister Crathie say?"
"We maun tak' oor chance o' that," answered her husband, with a
smile of confidence; and thereupon he and Malcolm set out for the
Seaton, while Mrs Mair went home to get ready some provisions for
the voyage, consisting chiefly of oatcakes.
The prejudice against Malcolm from his imagined behaviour to Lizzy
Findlay, had by this time, partly through the assurances of Peter,
partly through the power of the youth's innocent presence, almost
died out, and when the two men reached the Seaton, they found plenty
of hands ready to help them to reach the little sloop. Malcolm said
he was going to take her to Peterhead, and they asked no questions
but such as he contrived to answer with truth, or to leave unanswered.
Once afloat, there was very little to be done to her, for she had
been laid up in perfect condition, and as soon as Mrs Mair appeared
with her basket, and they had put that, a keg of water, some
fishing lines, and a pan of mussels for bait, on board, they were
ready to sail, and wished their friends a light goodbye, leaving
them to imagine they were gone but for a day or two, probably on
some business of Mr Crathie's.
With the wind from the northwest, they soon reached Duff Harbour,
where Malcolm went on shore and saw Mr Soutar. He, with a landsman's
prejudice, made strenuous objections to such a mad prank as sailing
to London at that time of the year, but in vain. Malcolm saw nothing
mad in it, and the lawyer had to admit he ought to know best. He
brought on board with him a lad of Peter's acquaintance, and now
fully manned, they set sail again, and by the time the sun appeared
were not far from Peterhead.
Malcolm's spirits kept rising as they bowled along over the bright
cold waters. He never felt so capable as when at sea. His energies
had been first called out in combat with the elements, and hence
he always felt strongest, most at home, and surest of himself on
the water. Young as he was, however, such had been his training
under Mr Graham, that a large part of this elevation of spirit was
owing to an unreasoned sense of being there more immediately in the
hands of God. Later in life, he interpreted the mental condition
thus--that of course he was always and in every place equally in
God's hands, but that at sea he felt the truth more keenly. Where
a man has nothing firm under him, where his life depends on winds
invisible and waters unstable, where a single movement may be death,
he learns to feel what is at the same time just as true every night
he spends asleep in the bed in which generations have slept before
him, or any sunny hour he spends walking over ancestral acres.
They put in at Peterhead, purchased a few provisions, and again
set sail.
And now it seemed to Malcolm that he must soon come to a conclusion
as to the steps he must take when he reached London. But think as
he would, he could plan nothing beyond finding out where his sister
lived, going to look at the house, and getting into it if he might.
Nor could his companion help him with any suggestions, and indeed
he could not talk much with him because of the presence of Davy,
a rough, round eyed, red haired young Scot, of the dull invaluable
class that can only do what they are told, but do that to the extent
of their faculty.
They knew all the coast as far as the Frith of Forth; after that
they had to be more careful. They had no charts on board, nor could
have made much use of any. But the wind continued favourable, and
the weather cold, bright, and full of life. They spoke many coasters
on their way, and received many directions.
Off the Nore they had rough weather, and had to stand off and on
for a day and a night till it moderated. Then they spoke a fishing
boat, took a pilot on board, and were soon in smooth water. More
and more they wondered as the channel narrowed, and ended their
voyage at length below London Bridge, in a very jungle of masts.
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