The Green Ray Read Online

It was not hot enough now for the sky to be misty as in the burning heat of summer; the atmosphere was as dry at the level of the sea, as on the top of a mountain, some thousand feet high.

To say with what anxiety the changes in this day were watched would be impossible, or with what beating hearts they observed the least cloud in the sky, or even with what feverish care they followed the sun on its daily course.

Fortunately, the breeze, which was light, but continuous, was off the land; in passing over the eastern mountains, and sweeping the surface of great prairies, it could not be charged with those molecules of moisture, thrown off by any large expanse of water.

But how long this day was in passing! Miss Campbell could not keep still in one place; braving the scorching sun, she paced feverishly to and fro, whilst Oliver Sinclair climbed the heights of the island in order to get a more extensive view of the horizon. The two uncles emptied a whole snuff-box and a half, and Partridge, as though he were on duty, stood in the attitude of a sentinel keeping watch on the sky.

It had been arranged that day that they should dine at five o’clock, in order to be in good time at the place of observation; the sun would not set till forty-nine minutes past six o’clock, so they would have plenty of time to watch its course down to the horizon.

“I believe we shall catch him this time!” said Sam, rubbing his hands.

“I think so too,” replied Sib, going through the same performance.

However, about three o’clock, there was an alarm; a great fleecy cloud had risen in the east, and was being carried towards the sea by the breeze.

It was Helena who saw it first, and she could not repress an exclamation of disappointment.

“It is but one cloud, and we have nothing to fear,” said one of her uncles; “it will soon dissolve.”

“Or it may travel quicker than the sun,” said Oliver Sinclair, “and disappear below the horizon before he does.”

“But is not this cloud the forerunner of a bank of mist?” asked Miss Campbell.

“I must go and see.”

And Oliver Sinclair immediately ran off to the monastery ruins, where he could get a better view of the eastern sky over the hills of Mull, the outlines of which were as clearly defined as a jagged black line traced on perfectly white paper.

There was not another shred of cloud in the sky, and not a particle of mist hovered round Ben More, which rose clear and distinct about three thousand feet above the level of the sea.

Oliver Sinclair returned half an hour later with reassuring words. This cloud was but a foundling lost in space; it would not even find enough to feed upon in this dry atmosphere, and so must perish of inanition on its way.

Meanwhile the fleecy cloud was making towards the zenith, and to the vexation of all, followed the sun’s course, and was wafted nearer and nearer to it by the breeze. In sailing through the sky, its shape had been changed by an aerial current; from the form of a dog’s head, which it had at first, it had taken that of a fish in the shape of a gigantic skate; then it turned into a ball, dark in the centre, but brilliant round the edges, and so reached the sun’s disk.

A cry escaped Miss Campbell, who was standing eagerly watching its course.

The radiant orb, hidden behind this screen of mist, cast not a single ray over Iona, and the island lay in deep shadow.

But soon the shadow passed away, and the sun reappeared in all its glory; the cloud went on down to the horizon, but did not reach it, and half an hour later, it had vanished as though through a hole in the sky.

“At last it has gone,” exclaimed the young girl, “and I only hope it may not be followed by another!”

“No, reassure yourself, Miss Campbell,” replied Oliver; “as this cloud disappeared so quickly, and in such a manner, it is a proof that it met with no other vapours in the atmosphere, so that the whole sky, from east to west, must be perfectly clear.”

At six o’clock, the observers took up their position in the most open place they could find.

It was at the southern end of the island, on the highest point of the cathedral hill. From this position, all the highest part of Mull lying to the east could be seen. To the north the island of Staffa looked like an enormous calabash, stranded in the waters of the Hebrides, and, beyond, Ulva and Gometra stood out from the long coast-line of Mull; towards the west lay the immense plain of the sea.

The sun was sinking rapidly; the line of the horizon might have been traced with Indian ink. All the windows in Iona were ablaze, as though they had caught the reflection of golden flames of fire.

Miss Campbell and her friends stood silent and awestruck before the sublime spectacle, and watched with half-closed eye-lids the sun’s disk, which seemed to change and swell, till it looked like an immense crimson fire-balloon on the surface of the water. There was not a sign of mist visible.

“I think we shall catch him this time,” repeated Sam.

“I think so too,” said Sib.

“Silence, uncles!” exclaimed Helena.

And they were silent and held their breath, as though they were afraid it might condense, and form a light vapour to obscure the sun.

The lower edge of the sun’s disk had touched the horizon, and grew larger and larger as though it were being filled out with some luminous fluid. They all seemed to drink in its last rays, like Tel Arago in the deserts of Palma on the coast of Spain, watching the signal-shot, from the island of Ivica, which would allow him to close the last triangle of his meridian line!

At last a tiny edge of the sun’s upper rim was all that remained; in less than fifteen seconds the last ray would be shot into space, and would give the eyes so anxiously awaiting it that impression of heavenly green—

Suddenly two gun-shots echoed among the rocks below the hill; a thick line of smoke followed, and then a whole cloud of sea-birds flew out, sea-gulls, wagels, and petrels, startled by the untimely reports.

The cloud of birds flew straight up, then forming a screen between the horizon and the island, it passed just in front of the sinking orb, at the very moment when its last line of light shot upwards from the surface of the water.

At that same moment, they saw the inevitable Aristobulus, gun in hand, standing on a point of the cliff, watching the flight of birds.

“We have had quite enough of this!” exclaimed Sib.

“A great deal too much,” cried Sam.

“I should have done well to have left him hanging from the rock,” said Oliver to himself; “at any rate he would have been there still.”

Helena with compressed lips and fixed gaze said not a word.

Once again she had missed seeing the Green Ray, and all through Aristobulus Ursiclos.

CHAPTER XVII
ON BOARD THE “CLORINDA.”

THE next day, at six o’clock in the morning, the Clorinda, a charming yawl of from forty-five to fifty tons burden, left the little harbour of Iona, and, under a light north-easterly breeze, tacking to starboard, gained the open sea.

The Clorinda carried on board Miss Campbell, her uncles, Oliver Sinclair, Dame Bess and Partridge; it is hardly necessary to say that the unlucky Aristobulus was not with them.

This arrangement had been made, and immediately put in execution, after the adventure of the previous evening.

On leaving the cathedral hill to return to the inn, Miss Campbell had said very abruptly,—

“Uncles, since Mr. Ursiclos intends to remain at Iona we will let him have the island to himself. Once at Oban and again here, it has been entirely his fault that we have not been able to make our observation; we will not stay a day longer where this tiresome man can annoy us with his clumsy pranks!”

To this proposal so frankly made, the brothers had nothing to object; besides, they also shared the general discontent, and anathematized Aristobulus Ursiclos. Decidedly the situation of the suitor of their choice was for ever compromised. Nothing could bring him again into Miss Campbell’s good graces, so, from now and henceforth, they were obliged to relinquish a plan which could never be realized.

“After all,” as Sam observed aside to his brother, “promises imprudently made are not iron manacles!”

Which, in other words, means that one can never be bound by a rash oath, and Sib had given his complete approbation to this Scotch axiom.

Just as they were saying “good night” in the long room of the Duncan Arms, Miss Campbell said,—

“We shall start to-morrow; I will not stay here a day longer!”

“That is understood, my dear Helena,” said her uncle Sam; “but where shall we go?”

“Any place where we shall be certain of not meeting that Mr. Ursiclos! So no one must know that we are going to leave Iona nor where we are going.”

“Just so, my dear child,” replied Sib; “but how shall we get away, and where shall we go?”

“What!” exclaimed Miss Campbell, “is there no means of leaving this island at dawn? Is there not one inhabited or even uninhabited place along the Scotch coast, where we might make our observation in peace?”

Her uncles certainly could not have answered these two questions, asked in a tone which admitted of no misunderstanding or prevarication.

Fortunately Oliver Sinclair was at hand.

“Miss Campbell,” said he, “this is how everything can be arranged: there is an island or rather an islet near here which will be quite suitable for the observation, and at the same time we shall not risk being interfered with by any one.”

“Which is it?”

“It is Staffa, which you can see two miles to the north of this island.”

“Is there any place to lodge at, and any possibility of getting there?” asked Miss Campbell.

“Yes,” replied Oliver, “and very easily. I have seen a yacht lying in the harbour, which can be hired at any time, to go to the English Channel, the North Sea, or the Irish Channel. What is there to prevent us from chartering this yacht, and stocking it with provisions for a fortnight, since Staffa can offer nothing in that way, and starting to-morrow at break of day?”

“Mr. Sinclair,” replied Miss Campbell, “if we can secretly leave this island to-morrow, you may be sure I shall owe you a great debt of gratitude!”

“To-morrow before midday, provided we get a good breeze in the morning, we shall be at Staffa,” replied Oliver, “and except for visitors who stop for scarcely an hour twice a week, we shall have the island to ourselves.”

As usual the brothers at once summoned Dame Bess, who immediately appeared.

“We are going to leave here to-morrow!” said Sam.

“To-morrow at daybreak!” added Sib.

And thereupon, without further parley, Dame Bess and Partridge at once set to work to make their preparations for departure.

Meanwhile Oliver had gone down to the harbour, and was there making arrangements with John Olduck.

John Olduck was the skipper of the Clorinda, a true seaman, with his gold-laced cap and brass buttons on his blue suit. Directly the terms were arranged, he with his six men, at once set to work to get everything in sailing order; his crew were composed of some of those picked men who, by trade, are fishermen in the winter, and take service on board yachts in the summer; they make the best sailors in the world.

At six o’clock in the morning the new passengers went on board the Clorinda.

They had carried off all the provisions they could get, including fresh and preserved meat; besides the steward would always be able to take in a fresh stock from the steamers which run regularly between Oban and Staffa.

Thus, at daybreak, Miss Campbell had taken possession of a charming little boudoir at the stern of the yacht; her uncles had the comfortable berth in the “main cabin” beyond the saloon. Oliver Sinclair had a cabin near the companion-steps leading to the saloon, and Dame Bess and Partridge disposed of themselves, the one on the left, the other on the right of the captain’s cabin. Towards the bows was the kitchen, and beyond that again the crew’s quarters, provided with six hammocks. Nothing was wanting in this charming yawl, built by Ratsey of Cowes; with a fair sea and stiff breeze, she would have taken an honourable place in “The Royal Thames Yacht Club Regatta.”

Every one was delighted when the Clorinda at last left her moorings, and got under sail. She dipped gracefully to the breeze, without her white deck of Canadian pine being soiled by a particle of spray from the waves through which her slender bows were cutting.

The distance between Iona and Staffa is very short; with a favourable wind it can easily be done in twenty-five minutes by a yacht making her eight miles an hour. But just now the wind was dead ahead, though but a light breeze; besides this the tide was going down, so that they were obliged to tack several times before they could reach Staffa.

This mattered very little to Miss Campbell; the Clorinda had started, and that was the main thing.

An hour later Iona was lost to view in the morning haze, and with it the detested image of that bête-noir, whose very name Helena would have liked to forget, as she frankly confessed to her uncles.

“Have I not some reason for it, Uncle Sam?”

“Every reason, my dear Helena.”

“And does Uncle Sib also approve?”

“Entirely.”

“Then,” added she, kissing them both, “you must confess it was a very foolish idea of yours to think of marrying me to such a man!”

And they both agreed that it was.

Altogether this was a charming trip, its only fault being that it was too short. And yet what was there to hinder them from prolonging it, and why not let the yawl carry them over the open Atlantic in search of the Green Ray? But no; it had been agreed that they should go to Staffa, and the skipper had made his arrangements to reach that celebrated isle directly the tide was favourable.

About eight o’clock, an early breakfast, composed of tea and sandwiches, was served in the saloon. The guests, in high good-humour, took their places at the table, without one regret for the good things of the Duncan Arms. Ungrateful creatures!

When Miss Campbell again came on deck, the yacht had tacked and changed her bearings. She was now making towards the fine lighthouse, built upon the rock of Skerryvore, which rises a hundred and fifty feet above the level of the sea. The breeze, having freshened, the Clorinda, with her great white sails spread, was struggling against the ebb-tide, but made very little progress towards Staffa.

Miss Campbell was reclining in the stern upon one of the thick canvas cushions used on board pleasure-boats. She thoroughly enjoyed the rapid motion of the yacht, so different from the jolting of a railway journey; it was like the speed of a skater, carried along on the surface of a frozen lake. Nothing could have been more graceful than the Clorinda as she lightly dipped her head in the sparkling waves, sometimes seeming to float in the air like an immense bird upheld by its powerful wings.

This sea, covered to the north and south by the Hebrides, and sheltered by the coast on the east, is like an inland basin or lake.

The yacht made an oblique run for Staffa, a great, solitary rock lying off Mull, only a hundred feet above the level of the sea.