CHAPTER IV.
DOWN THE CLYDE.
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Very early the following day, the 2nd of August, Miss Campbell, accompanied by her uncles, and attended by Partridge and Dame Bess, took the train from Helensburgh. They were obliged to go to Glasgow to take the steamer, as it did not call anywhere along this part of the coast on its way to Oban.
At seven o'clock they reached Glasgow, where a carriage was waiting to take them to Broomielaw Bridge.
There the steamer Columbia lay, waiting for her passengers; a dense smoke pouring from her two funnels, and mingling with the thick fog hanging over the Clyde; but those mists were soon dispersed as the sun forced its way through the leaden-coloured clouds, and gave every promise of a fine day.
When their luggage had been put on board, Miss Campbell and her companions immediately embarked.
At this moment the bell summoning all tardy passengers rang out for the third and last time; the engines began to work, the paddle-wheels lashed the yellow water into foam, a shrill whistle sounded, the moorings were loosened, and the Columbia sped rapidly away with the tide.
Tourists in the United Kingdom have no cause for complaint, the companies everywhere place magnificent boats at their disposal. There is hardly a piece of water so inconsiderable, a lake so small, or a gulf so unimportant, but what is every day ploughed by fine steam-packets. It is not to be wondered at that the Clyde should be one of the most favoured in this respect. Thus, the whole length of Broomielaw Street, alongside the wharfs of the steamboat quay were numbers of packets, with their paddle-boxes painted the brightest colours, from gold to vermilion, with steam up, ready to set off in all directions.
The Columbia was no exception to this rule; she was a fast boat, with long tapering bows, and provided with very powerful engines. In the saloons there was every possible comfort; the upper-deck, sheltered by awnings, under which were placed benches and luxurious seats, formed a delightful terrace, from whence the passengers could obtain a good view and plenty of fresh air.
There was no lack of tourists; tbey came from all parts, as many from Scotland as England. August is, par excellence, the month for excursions, and those up the Clyde and to the Hebrides are especial favourites. There were entire families, lively maidens, and children already used to the wonders of travelling; always, a plentiful number of clergymen, with high silk hats, long black overcoats, and stand-up collars, with white ties showing above their high waistcoats; then several farmers in Scotch caps, by their somewhat grave demeanour reminding one of the old “Bonnet-lairds” of sixty years ago; and, finally, half-a-dozen foreigners, Germans who lose none of their stolidity even out of Germany, and Frenchmen who still retain their genial amiability even out of France.
If Miss Campbell had been like the greater part of her fellow-countrymen, who religiously kept to the corners they had taken when first coming on board, and never moved from them the whole of the trip, she would have seen no more of the banks of the Clyde than actually passed before her eyes without turning her head. But she preferred to walk up and down from stem to stern of the steamer, looking at the towns, hamlets, and villages thickly scattered along its banks. Thus it was that the two brothers, who followed her, replying to, approving her observations, and confirming her remarks, were not allowed to take a moment's rest between Glasgow and Oban; as for that matter, however, they never dreamt of complaining, it was part of their duties of guardianship, which they followed instinctively, exchanging, meanwhile, pinches of snuff which kept them in good humour.
Dame Bess and Partridge, sitting forward, were chatting pleasantly of bygone times, of customs now extinct, and of the old disorganized clans. Ah! those good old times, where were they now? In those days the clear horizon of the Clyde was not hidden by dense volumes of smoke from factory chimneys; its banks did not resound with the dull noise of hammering, and its calm waters were never lashed into foam by some hundreds of steamers.
“That time will return, and perhaps sooner than we think for!” said Dame Bess, with an air of conviction.
“I hope so,” gravely replied Partridge, “and with it we shall see the old customs of our ancestors!”
Meanwhile, the banks of the Clyde were passing rapidly from stem to stern of the Columbia like a moving panorama. To the right was seen the village of Partick, on the mouth of the Kelvin, and the immense docks, destined for the construction of iron ships, facing those of Govan, situated on the opposite shore. What noises of hammering, and what volumes of smoke and steam distressed the ears and eyes of Partridge and his companion!
But gradually all this busy din and smoky fog grew less and less. In the place of timber-yards, covered wharfs, tall factory chimneys, gigantic iron scaffoldings, which looked like the cages of a menagerie, now appeared coquettish houses, cottages buried among the trees, and villas of Anglo-Saxon design, scattered over the green hills. Between one town and another there was an uninterrupted succession of houses and country seats. After passing the royal borough of Renfrew, situated on the left bank of the river, were seen the wooded hills of Kilpatrick rising above the village of that name, which no Irishman can pass without betraying himself; for there was born St. Patrick, the patron saint of Ireland.
From a river the Clyde had now become an arm of the sea. Dame Bess and Partridge hailed the ruins of Douglas Castle, which recalls some old memories of Scottish history; but they averted their eyes when they passed the monument raised in honour of Harry Bell, the inventor of the first steamboat whose wheels had disturbed these peaceful waters.
A few miles further on, the tourists, Murray in hand, beheld the Castle of Dumbarton, standing on a basaltic rock which rises to the height of 500 feet, and the highest point of which still bears the name of Wallace's seat.
At this moment a gentleman standing on the footbridge, without being asked, but also without objection from any one, thought it his duty to give a little historical lecture for the benefit of his fellow-travellers. In half an hour's time, no one on board the Columbia, unless indeed he were deaf, need be ignorant of the fact that very probably the Romans had fortified Dumbarton; that this historical rock was transformed into a royal fortress at the beginning of the thirteenth century; that by the Act of Union it was privileged as one of the four places in Scotland to remain undismantled; that from this port in 1548, Mary Stuart, whose marriage with Francis II. was about to make her “Queen of a day,” left for France; finally, that Napoleon was to have been confined there in 1815, before Castlereagh had resolved to imprison him in St. Helena.
“Very instructive indeed,” said Sam.
“Instructive and interesting,” replied Sib; “this gentleman deserves our thanks.”
In fact, the two brothers had not lost a single word of the lecture, and accordingly thanked the self-improvised professor.
Miss Campbell, absorbed in her own thoughts, had heard nothing of this historical lesson. It had no power, just now, at least, to interest her. She did not even look at the ruins of Cardross Castle, where Robert Bruce died. A sea-horizon was what she vainly sought; but there was no chance of getting one till the Columbia had passed this succession of banks, promontories, and hill-sides, which bound the Frith of Clyde. Besides, the steamer was then passing the town of Helensburgh, Port Glasgow, the ruins of Newark Castle, and the peninsula of Roseneath, which she could see any day from her own home. And she began to wonder whether the steamer was going up the stream, winding through the park.
And, as they went farther on, why should she trouble herself to wonder at the hundreds of vessels crowding the docks of Greenock at the mouth of the river? What mattered it to her that the immortal Watt was born in this town? Why, three miles beyond this, need she look at the villages of Gourock on the left, and Dunoon on the right; at the indenting and winding fiords which encroach upon the shore of Argyle, and make it like a Norwegian coast?
No, Miss Campbell was watching impatiently for the ruined tower of Leven. Did she expect to see some hobgoblin there? Not in the least, she simply wished to be the first to signal Cloch light-house at the entrance of the Frith of Clyde.
At last, round a bend of the shore, the light-house appeared like a gigantic lamp.
“Cloch, Uncle Sam,” said she. “There is Cloch!”
“Yes, there is Cloch,” said he, re-echoing her words.
“There is the sea, Uncle Sib!”
“The sea, it is indeed,” replied Sib.
“How beautiful it is!” repeated the two uncles, as though they beheld it now for the first time!
There was no mistake about it. 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.