“My father,” Ralph replied, “wouldn’t part with her; he has bought her.”
“Yes,” said the knight smiling; “she is far too good to part with. When you sail, I will accompany you a few miles on your voyage. And, please God, when you return, I will be the first to welcome you in that same boy’s yacht.”
Even my youngest readers know how quickly time flies when one wishes it to linger, and the few days that intervened betwixt Ralph’s return and the sailing of the Snowbird passed on eagle’s wings. Helen McGregor, with a tiny bottle of wine that might have been sent from Elfinland for the occasion, named the beautiful yacht. Then there was a dinner on board, at which every one tried to seem gay, but failed for all that.
Next day the wind was fair, and no time was lost in getting the anchor up and setting sail for Inverness. The ladies accompanied the expedition so far in the Snowbird, then farewells were said, blessings murmured, and once again the good yacht’s foresails were filled, and she bore bravely away up the Moray Firth, the little cutter keeping her company until right off Fort George, when waving them once more a fond adieu, the Flower of Arrandoon was put about, and very soon the point of land hid her from their view.
The cruise of the Snowbird had begun in earnest.
The breeze was light, but well aft, so all sail was clapped on her, and with her head north and by east, she glided slowly onwards as if loth to leave the land. We will take this opportunity of having a look over the goodly yacht, that is destined to be the home of our heroes for many a day to come.
The Snowbird then was a schooner-yacht of nearly two hundred tons, as well fitted and found for cruising in the northern seas as ingenuity could make her. Rising and falling, rocking and nodding on the waves, with her white canvas spread out to the breeze, she looked a very pretty craft indeed. She had just enough free-board and enough breadth of beam to make her safe and comfortable in a sea-way. Her hull was painted black, her ports only being picked out with vermilion; her masts were rakish, but not too much so; her jibboom had the graceful bend that sailors love to see, and every bit of her rigging, fore and aft, running and standing, was as taut and trim as hands could make it, or eyes wish to gaze upon.
Her deck was flush both fore and aft, with never a cabin or house thereon, for the seas they would probably ship, in the wild ocean they were about to traverse, would be little likely to brook obstruction. Her decks were as white as snow, her brass-work shone like burnished gold, her binnacle would have been an ornament even in a drawing-room, every rope-end was neatly coiled, and not a bar nor a marling-spike was out of its place.
Light and graceful though the Snowbird appeared, she was nevertheless well fortified and strong. Hers was a double skin, one that would be likely to resist the dread embrace of the ice king, while her bows were of triple strength, and shod with bars of steel. Her ballast was water in unshiftable iron tanks. Her boats were three in number, but of these I may speak again, merely saying here that they were unique of the kind.
