The Green Ray Read Online

At the entrance to the Frith could be seen a distinct sea-horizon.

However, it was but midday, and it would be some hours before the sun sank beneath the waves—some hours yet of impatient waiting for Miss Campbell! Besides, this was a south-western horizon, over which the sun only set in winter, so it was of no use to look for the phenomenon in that direction; it must be more towards the north-west, since it wanted now but six weeks to the autumnal equinox.

But no matter, it was the sea which now lay before Helena’s eyes. Through the straits of the isles of Cumbrae, beyond the island of Bute, softly outlined against the sky, beyond the crests of Ailsa Craig and the hills of Arran, a clear line between sea and sky was distinctly visible.

Miss Campbell was watching it intently, absorbed in thought. As she stood motionless on the foot-bridge, she seemed to be measuring the length of the arc, to the point where the radiant orb must dip beneath the waters of the Archipelago of the Hebrides.

A voice roused the young dreamer from her reverie.

“It is quite time,” Sib was saying.

“Time for what, uncle?”

“Time for luncheon,” said Sam.

“Let us go, then,” replied Helena.

CHAPTER V
CHANGE OF STEAMERS

AFTER partaking of an excellent luncheon, served in the saloon of the Columbia, Miss Campbell and her uncles again went on deck.

Helena could not repress an exclamation of disappointment when she once more resumed her post of observation.

“My horizon has gone!” said she.

It must be confessed her horizon was no longer visible; it had disappeared for some minutes, and the steamer, heading northwards, was at this moment entering the long straits of the Kyles of Bute.

“This is too bad, Uncle Sam,” said Miss Campbell, with a little reproachful grimace.

“But, my dear child—”

“I shall not forget it, Uncle Sib!”

The brothers knew not what to say; however, it was certainly not their fault if the Columbia, after changing her course, was then making towards the north-west.

In fact, there are two different ways of going by sea from Glasgow to Oban.

The one—that which the Columbia had not taken—is the longest. After calling at Eothsay, the chief town of the island of Bute, overlooked by its ancient castle and sheltered on its western side from gales by a high ridge of hills, the steamer can continue to descend the Frith of Clyde, then coast along the eastern shore of the island, pass in sight of the greater and lesser Cumbrae, and make for the southern point of Arran, which belongs almost entirely to the Duke of Hamilton, from the base of its rocks to the summit of the Goatfell, 2866 feet above the level of the sea.

The man at the helm turns the wheel, the compass is set due west, the island of Arran is doubled/the steamer turns the peninsula of Kintyre, and, ascending the western coast, enters the Gigha Pass, then through the Sound, between the islands of Islay and Jura, she arrives at the wide entrance of the Frith of Lorn, which narrows, until it is quite closed, a little above Oban.

Her uncles, as well as Miss Campbell, had cause to regret this change of route, for in coasting along the shores of Islay, they would have seen the ancient home of the MacDonalds, who, at the beginning of the seventeenth century, were conquered and driven out by the Campbells; the scene of this historical fact, which touched them so closely, would have set their hearts beating in unison.

This route would just have suited Miss Campbell, for from Arran to the Mull of Kintyre the sea has a southern aspect; then from the Mull of Kintyre to the farther point of Islay it is a western sea, that is to say, that immense plain of water bounded only by the coast of America.

But this route is long, sometimes troublesome, if not dangerous, and among the passengers might be some who would be alarmed at the thought of venturing on a passage often rendered dangerous by gales off the shores of the Hebrides.

Thus engineers—among others Lesseps—thought of converting the peninsula of Kintyre into an island, and, thanks to their endeavours, the Crinan Canal has been cut through its northern end; the journey is thus shortened by a considerable distance, and the passage takes but three or four hours.

This was the route which the Columbia was taking in her passage from Glasgow to Oban, between lochs and straits with no other view than that of sea-shore, mountains, and forests. Of all the passengers, Miss Campbell, undoubtedly, was the only one who really regretted the other route; but she was obliged to resign herself; besides, would not the sea-horizon be visible again when they were out of the Crinan Canal a few hours later, and even before sunset?

Just as the tourists, who had lingered in the saloon, again came on deck, the Columbia was at the entrance of Loch Riddan, off the little island of Elbangrieg, the last fortress where the heroic Duke of Argyll took refuge before he was crushed in his struggle for the political and religious freedom of Scotland. Then the steamer veered south, descended the straits of Bute, through a lovely panorama of wooded or barren isles, outlined against a background of light mist. At last, after having doubled Cape Ardlamont, she resumed her northerly course, across Loch Fyne, leaving to the left the village of East Tarbert, on the coast of Kintyre, rounded the Cape of Ardrishaig, and reached the village of Lochgilphead at the entrance of the Crinan Canal.

At this place the Columbia was obliged to be left, as she was too large for the navigation of the canal, through which only boats of light draught can pass.

A small steamer, called the Linnet, was waiting for the passengers of the Columbia, and the transhipment was effected in a few minutes. All took their places comfortably on the upper-deck of the steamer; then the Linnet sped rapidly between the banks of the canal, whilst a bagpiper in national costume gave the company the benefit of his monotonous and melancholy music.

It is a charming passage through this canal, sometimes running between high banks, sometimes skirting heather-clad hills; here passing through the open country, there hemmed in between the straight walls of the reaches. There is some little delay in the locks. Whilst the canal men are opening the gates for the boats to pass through, young girls come and politely offer the passengers new milk, speaking with that Gaelic idiom very often incomprehensible to Englishmen.

Six hours later—there had been a delay of two hours at a lock which was in bad working order—the hamlets and farms of this somewhat dreary district, and the extensive marshes of the Add, which stretch along the right side of the canal, had been passed. The Linnet stopped a few minutes later at Ballenach, and a second change of steamers took place.

The passengers of the Columbia now become passengers of the Glengary, leaving the Bay, of Crinan, doubled the point on which rose the ancient feudal castle of Duntroon.

Since they had rounded the Isle of Bute, the sea-horizon had not been again visible.

Miss Campbell’s impatience can be easily imagined. Upon these waters, bounded in every direction by land, she might as well have been in the middle of Scotland, in the lake district, and in the country of Rob Roy, for on all sides were picturesque isles, with their verdant banks, and plantations of firs and larches.

At last the Glengary passed the northern point of Jura, and the sea-line was visible between this point and the Isle of Scarba.

“There it is, my dear Helena,” said her Uncle Sam, pointing towards the west.

“It was not our fault,” added Sib, “if these tiresome islands, confound them! hid it from you for a time.”

“You are quite forgiven, uncles,” replied Miss Campbell; “but don’t let it happen again.”

CHAPTER VI
THE GULF OF CORYVRECHAN

It was then six o’clock in the evening, and it wanted two or three hours till sunset. Most certainly the Glengary would reach Oban before the sun sank beneath the waters of the Atlantic, and Miss Campbell had some grounds for thinking that her wishes would be fulfilled that same evening. In fact, the cloudless sky seemed made expressly for the observation of the phenomenon, and the sea-horizon must be visible between the isles of Oronsay, Colonsay, and Mull, during the latter part of the passage.

But a very unexpected accident was about to delay the steamer’s progress.

Miss Campbell, buried in her one absorbing thought, stood motionless at her post, never for a moment losing sight of the line between the two islands, and as she was undoubtedly the only person on board so intently watching that part of the horizon, she was the first to notice how rough the sea appeared to be between Jura and Scarba. At the same time she could faintly hear the far-off roar of billows, and yet there was scarcely a ripple on the placid surface of the sea through which the steamer was cutting her way.

“What is the cause of the sea being so rough out there?” asked Miss Campbell of her uncles.

They could not tell her, knowing no more than she did what was happening three miles off in the narrow pass.

Then addressing the captain, who was standing on the foot-bridge, she asked him the same question.

“It is a simple phenomenon caused by the tide,” replied he; “and the noise you hear comes from the Gulf of Coryvrechan.”

“But the weather is splendid,” observed Miss Campbell; “and there is hardly a breath of wind to be felt.”

“It does not depend in the least upon the weather,” replied the captain. “It is the result of the high tide, which, coming out of the Sound of Jura, finds no outlet except between the islands of Jura and Scarba. Hence it happens that the water rushes through with terrific force, and it would be dangerous for any small craft to venture there.”

The Gulf of Coryvrechan, justly dreaded in these parts, is regarded as one of the most curious places in the western archipelago. A legend affirms that it owes its name to a Scandinavian prince who perished there in Celtic times. It is indeed a very dangerous pass, and many are the boats which have been drawn into the eddy and lost: for its bad reputation it may be compared with the treacherous whirlpool of Maelstrom on the coast of Norway.

Meanwhile, as Miss Campbell kept her eyes fixed on the seething mass of waters, her attention was particularly attracted to a point of the strait, where could be seen what might have been a rock, had it not moved up and down with the heaving billows.

“Look there! look there! captain,” exclaimed Helena. “If it is not a rock, what can it be?”

“It is most likely,” replied he, “a waif drawn into the currents, or rather—”

And looking through his glass,—

“A boat!” he exclaimed.

“A boat!” repeated Miss Campbell.

“Yes!—if I am not very much mistaken—a boat in peril on the Coryvrechan!”

At these words the passengers crowded on to the bridge, and looked in the direction of the gulf. There could no longer be any doubt that a boat had been drawn into the pass, and, carried along by the high tide on the whirling eddies, was now rushing on to certain destruction.

All eyes were fixed on the point of the gulf, about four or five miles distant from the Glengary.

“Most likely it is only a boat adrift,” observed one of the passengers.

“Not so, for I can see a man in it,” replied another.

“A man—two men!” cried Partridge, who was standing beside Miss Campbell.

There were certainly two men there, who had evidently lost all control over their craft. The slight breeze off the land was not enough to fill their sail, and draw them out of the eddies, and oars were powerless in such a sea, to prevent their being carried into the Coryvrechan.

“Captain!” cried Miss Campbell, “we cannot leave those poor creatures to perish. They will be lost if they are left to themselves. We must go to their help. We must.”

All on board thought the same, and eagerly awaited the captain’s answer.

“The Glengary could not venture into the Coryvrechan; but perhaps we may be able to get within reach of the boat,” he replied.

And turning towards the passengers, he seemed to wait for their approbation.

Miss Campbell went up to him.

“We must, captain, we must,” she exclaimed in a tone of entreaty. “My fellow-passengers, I am sure, wish it as much as I do! It is a matter of life or death for two of our fellow-creatures, whom you may perhaps be able to save. Oh, captain, I beseech you!”

“Yes—yes,” cried several of the passengers, moved by this young girl’s generous intervention.

The captain again looked through his glass, carefully observed the direction of the currents, then calling to the man at the wheel,—

“Hard a starboard!” said he.

The Glengary gradually veered round to the west. The engineer received the order to put on steam, and the isle of Jura was soon left some distance behind.

Nobody spoke on board, and all eyes were anxiously fixed upon the boat, which gradually became more visible.

It was only a small fishing-smack, the mast of which had been lowered, in order to give her more chance of resisting the violence of the waves.

One of the two men in the boat was lying full length in the stern, the other, rowing with all his might, made strenuous efforts to extricate her from the whirling tide. If he should not succeed, they were lost.

In half an hour’s time the Glengary had reached the verge of the Coryvrechan, and began to pitch violently; but not one on board uttered a protest, although the rolling of the vessel might well have alarmed simple tourists.

At this part of the strait the sea was perfectly white, and nothing could be seen but a vast sheet of foam, upheaved in great masses by the fury of the waters.

The boat was but half a mile off, the man at the oars was making a last effort to extricate her from the eddies. He well understood that the Glengary was coming to his assistance, but he also saw that she could not venture much nearer, and that he must do his utmost to reach her.