Crooken Sands
Mr Arthur Fernlee Markam, who took what was known as the Red Houseabove the Mains of Crooken, was a London merchant, and beingessentially a cockney, thought it necessary when he went for thesummer holidays to Scotland to provide an entire rig-out as a Highlandchieftain, as manifested in chromolithographs and on the music-hallstage. He had once seen in the Empire the Great Prince--'The BounderKing'--bring down the house by appearing as 'The MacSlogan of thatIlk,' and singing the celebrated Scotch song, 'There's naething likehaggis to mak a mon dry!' and he had ever since preserved in his minda faithful image of the picturesque and warlike appearance which hepresented. Indeed, if the true inwardness of Mr. Markam's mind on thesubject of his selection of Aberdeenshire as a summer resort wereknown, it would be found that in the foreground of the holidaylocality which his fancy painted stalked the many hued figure of theMacSlogan of that Ilk. However, be this as it may, a very kindfortune--certainly so far as external beauty was concerned--led him tothe choice of Crooken Bay. It is a lovely spot, between Aberdeen andPeterhead, just under the rock-bound headland whence the long,dangerous reefs known as The Spurs run out into the North Sea.Between this and the 'Mains of Crooken'--a village sheltered by thenorthern cliffs--lies the deep bay, backed with a multitude ofbent-grown dunes where the rabbits are to be found in thousands. Thusat either end of the bay is a rocky promontory, and when the dawn orthe sunset falls on the rocks of red syenite the effect is verylovely. The bay itself is floored with level sand and the tide runsfar out, leaving a smooth waste of hard sand on which are dotted hereand there the stake nets and bag nets of the salmon fishers. At oneend of the bay there is a little group or cluster of rocks whose headsare raised something above high water, except when in rough weatherthe waves come over them green. At low tide they are exposed down tosand level; and here is perhaps the only little bit of dangerous sandon this part of the eastern coast. Between the rocks, which are apartabout some fifty feet, is a small quicksand, which, like the Goodwins,is dangerous only with the incoming tide. It extends outwards till itis lost in the sea, and inwards till it fades away in the hard sand ofthe upper beach. On the slope of the hill which rises beyond thedunes, midway between the Spurs and the Port of Crooken, is the RedHouse. It rises from the midst of a clump of fir-trees which protectit on three sides, leaving the whole sea front open. A trimold-fashioned garden stretches down to the roadway, on crossing whicha grassy path, which can be used for light vehicles, threads a way tothe shore, winding amongst the sand hills.
When the Markam family arrived at the Red House after their thirty-sixhours of pitching on the Aberdeen steamer _Ban Righ_ from Blackwall,with the subsequent train to Yellon and drive of a dozen miles, theyall agreed that they had never seen a more delightful spot. Thegeneral satisfaction was more marked as at that very time none of thefamily were, for several reasons, inclined to find favourable anythingor any place over the Scottish border. Though the family was a largeone, the prosperity of the business allowed them all sorts of personalluxuries, amongst which was a wide latitude in the way of dress. Thefrequency of the Markam girls' new frocks was a source of envy totheir bosom friends and of joy to themselves.
Arthur Fernlee Markam had not taken his family into his confidenceregarding his new costume. He was not quite certain that he should befree from ridicule, or at least from sarcasm, and as he was sensitiveon the subject, he thought it better to be actually in the suitableenvironment before he allowed the full splendour to burst upon them.He had taken some pains, to insure the completeness of the Highlandcostume. For the purpose he had paid many visits to 'The ScotchAll-Wool Tartan Clothing Mart' which had been lately established inCopthall-court by the Messrs. MacCallum More and Roderick MacDhu. Hehad anxious consultations with the head of the firm--MacCallum as hecalled himself, resenting any such additions as 'Mr.' or 'Esquire.'The known stock of buckles, buttons, straps, brooches and ornaments ofall kinds were examined in critical detail; and at last an eagle'sfeather of sufficiently magnificent proportions was discovered, andthe equipment was complete. It was only when he saw the finishedcostume, with the vivid hues of the tartan seemingly modified intocomparative sobriety by the multitude of silver fittings, thecairngorm brooches, the philibeg, dirk and sporran that he was fullyand absolutely satisfied with his choice. At first he had thought ofthe Royal Stuart dress tartan, but abandoned it on the MacCallumpointing out that if he should happen to be in the neighbourhood ofBalmoral it might lead to complications. The MacCallum, who, by theway, spoke with a remarkable cockney accent, suggested other plaids inturn; but now that the other question of accuracy had been raised, Mr.Markam foresaw difficulties if he should by chance find himself in thelocality of the clan whose colours he had usurped. The MacCallum atlast undertook to have, at Markam's expense, a special pattern wovenwhich would not be exactly the same as any existing tartan, thoughpartaking of the characteristics of many. It was based on the RoyalStuart, but contained suggestions as to simplicity of pattern from theMacalister and Ogilvie clans, and as to neutrality of colour from theclans of Buchanan, Macbeth, Chief of Macintosh and Macleod. When thespecimen had been shown to Markam he had feared somewhat lest itshould strike the eye of his domestic circle as gaudy; but as RoderickMacDhu fell into perfect ecstasies over its beauty he did not make anyobjection to the completion of the piece. He thought, and wisely, thatif a genuine Scotchman like MacDhu liked it, it must beright--especially as the junior partner was a man very much of his ownbuild and appearance. When the MacCallum was receiving hischeque--which, by the way, was a pretty stiff one--he remarked:
'I've taken the liberty of having some more of the stuff woven in caseyou or any of your friends should want it.' Markam was gratified, andtold him that he should be only too happy if the beautiful stuff whichthey had originated between them should become a favourite, as he hadno doubt it would in time. He might make and sell as much as he would.
Markam tried the dress on in his office one evening after the clerkshad all gone home. He was pleased, though a little frightened, at theresult. The MacCallum had done his work thoroughly, and there wasnothing omitted that could add to the martial dignity of the wearer.
'I shall not, of course, take the claymore and the pistols with me onordinary occasions,' said Markam to himself as he began to undress. Hedetermined that he would wear the dress for the first time on landingin Scotland, and accordingly on the morning when the _Ban Righ_ washanging off the Girdle Ness lighthouse, waiting for the tide to enterthe port of Aberdeen, he emerged from his cabin in all the gaudysplendour of his new costume. The first comment he heard was from oneof his own sons, who did not recognise him at first.
'Here's a guy! Great Scott! It's the governor!' And the boy fledforthwith and tried to bury his laughter under a cushion in thesaloon. Markam was a good sailor and had not suffered from thepitching of the boat, so that his naturally rubicund face was evenmore rosy by the conscious blush which suffused his cheeks when he hadfound himself at once the cynosure of all eyes. He could have wishedthat he had not been so bold for he knew from the cold that there wasa big bare spot under one side of his jauntily worn Glengarry cap.However, he faced the group of strangers boldly. He was not,outwardly, upset even when some of the comments reached his ears.
'He's off his bloomin' chump,' said a cockney in a suit of exaggeratedplaid.
'There's flies on him,' said a tall thin Yankee, pale withsea-sickness, who was on his way to take up his residence for a timeas close as he could get to the gates of Balmoral.
'Happy thought! Let us fill our mulls; now's the chance!' said ayoung Oxford man on his way home to Inverness. But presently Mr.Markam heard the voice of his eldest daughter.
'Where is he? Where is he?' and she came tearing along the deck withher hat blowing behind her. Her face showed signs of agitation, forher mother had just been telling her of her father's condition; butwhen she saw him she instantly burst into laughter so violent that itended in a fit of hysterics. Something of the same kind happened toeach of the
other children. When they had all had their turn Mr.Markam went to his cabin and sent his wife's maid to tell each memberof the family that he wanted to see them at once. They all made theirappearance, suppressing their feelings as well as they could. He saidto them very quietly:
'My dears, don't I provide you all with ample allowances?'
'Yes, father!' they all answered gravely, 'no one could be moregenerous!'
'Don't I let you dress as you please?'
'Yes, father!'--this a little sheepishly.
'Then, my dears, don't you think it would be nicer and kinder of younot to try and make me feel uncomfortable, even if I do assume a dresswhich is ridiculous in your eyes, though quite common enough in thecountry where we are about to sojourn?' There was no answer exceptthat which appeared in their hanging heads. He was a good father andthey all knew it. He was quite satisfied and went on:
'There, now, run away and enjoy yourselves! We shan't have anotherword about it.' Then he went on deck again and stood bravely the fireof ridicule which he recognised around him, though nothing more wassaid within his hearing.
The astonishment and the amusement which his get-up occasioned on the_Ban Righ_ was, however, nothing to that which it created in Aberdeen.The boys and loafers, and women with babies, who waited at the landingshed, followed _en masse_ as the Markam party took their way to therailway station; even the porters with their old-fashioned knots andtheir new-fashioned barrows, who await the traveller at the foot ofthe gang-plank, followed in wondering delight. Fortunately thePeterhead train was just about to start, so that the martyrdom was notunnecessarily prolonged. In the carriage the glorious Highland costumewas unseen, and as there were but few persons at the station atYellon, all went well there. When, however, the carriage drew near theMains of Crooken and the fisher folk had run to their doors to see whoit was that was passing, the excitement exceeded all bounds. Thechildren with one impulse waved their bonnets and ran shouting behindthe carriage; the men forsook their nets and their baiting andfollowed; the women clutched their babies, and followed also. Thehorses were tired after their long journey to Yellon and back, and thehill was steep, so that there was ample time for the crowd to gatherand even to pass on ahead.
Mrs. Markam and the elder girls would have liked to make some protestor to do something to relieve their feelings of chagrin at theridicule which they saw on all faces, but there was a look of fixeddetermination on the face of the seeming Highlander which awed them alittle, and they were silent. It might have been that the eagle'sfeather, even when arising above the bald head, the cairngorm broocheven on the fat shoulder, and the claymore, dirk and pistols, evenwhen belted round the extensive paunch and protruding from thestocking on the sturdy calf, fulfilled their existence as symbols ofmartial and terrifying import! When the party arrived at the gate ofthe Red House there awaited them a crowd of Crooken inhabitants,hatless and respectfully silent; the remainder of the population waspainfully toiling up the hill. The silence was broken by only onesound, that of a man with a deep voice.
'Man! but he's forgotten the pipes!'
The servants had arrived some days before, and all things were inreadiness. In the glow consequent on a good lunch after a hard journeyall the disagreeables of travel and all the chagrin consequent on theadoption of the obnoxious costume were forgotten.
That afternoon Markam, still clad in full array, walked through theMains of Crooken. He was all alone, for, strange to say, his wife andboth daughters had sick headaches, and were, as he was told, lyingdown to rest after the fatigue of the journey. His eldest son, whoclaimed to be a young man, had gone out by himself to explore thesurroundings of the place, and one of the boys could not be found. Theother boy, on being told that his father had sent for him to come fora walk, had managed--by accident, of course--to fall into the waterbutt, and had to be dried and rigged out afresh. His clothes nothaving been as yet unpacked this was of course impossible withoutdelay.
Mr. Markam was not quite satisfied with his walk. He could not meetany of his neighbours. It was not that there were not enough peopleabout, for every house and cottage seemed to be full; but the peoplewhen in the open were either in their doorways some distance behindhim, or on the roadway a long distance in front. As he passed hecould see the tops of heads and the whites of eyes in the windows orround the corners of doors. The only interview which he had wasanything but a pleasant one. This was with an odd sort of old man whowas hardly ever heard to speak except to join in the 'Amens' in themeeting-house. His sole occupation seemed to be to wait at the windowof the post-office from eight o'clock in the morning till the arrivalof the mail at one, when he carried the letter-bag to a neighbouringbaronial castle. The remainder of his day was spent on a seat in adraughty part of the port, where the offal of the fish, the refuse ofthe bait, and the house rubbish was thrown, and where the ducks wereaccustomed to hold high revel.
When Saft Tammie beheld him coming he raised his eyes, which weregenerally fixed on the nothing which lay on the roadway opposite hisseat, and, seeming dazzled as if by a burst of sunshine, rubbed themand shaded them with his hand. Then he started up and raised his handaloft in a denunciatory manner as he spoke:--
'"Vanity of vanities, saith the preacher. All is vanity." Mon, bewarned in time! "Behold the lilies of the field, they toil not,neither do they spin, yet Solomon in all his glory was not arrayedlike one of these." Mon! Mon! Thy vanity is as the quicksand whichswallows up all which comes within its spell. Beware vanity! Bewarethe quicksand, which yawneth for thee, and which will swallow thee up!See thyself! Learn thine own vanity! Meet thyself face to face, andthen in that moment thou shalt learn the fatal force of thy vanity.Learn it, know it, and repent ere the quicksand swallow thee!' Thenwithout another word he went back to his seat and sat there immovableand expressionless as before.
Markam could not but feel a little upset by this tirade. Only that itwas spoken by a seeming madman, he would have put it down to someeccentric exhibition of Scottish humour or impudence; but the gravityof the message--for it seemed nothing else--made such a readingimpossible. He was, however, determined not to give in to ridicule,and although he had not yet seen anything in Scotland to remind himeven of a kilt, he determined to wear his Highland dress. When hereturned home, in less than half-an-hour, he found that every memberof the family was, despite the headaches, out taking a walk. He tookthe opportunity afforded by their absence of locking himself in hisdressing-room, took off the Highland dress, and, putting on a suit offlannels, lit a cigar and had a snooze. He was awakened by the noiseof the family coming in, and at once donning his dress made hisappearance in the drawing-room for tea.
He did not go out again that afternoon; but after dinner he put on hisdress again--he had, of course dressed for dinner as usual--and wentby himself for a walk on the sea-shore. He had by this time come tothe conclusion that he would get by degrees accustomed to the Highlanddress before making it his ordinary wear. The moon was up and heeasily followed the path through the sand-hills, and shortly struckthe shore. The tide was out and the beach firm as a rock, so hestrolled southwards to nearly the end of the bay. Here he wasattracted by two isolated rocks some little way out from the edge ofthe dunes, so he strolled towards them. When he reached the nearestone he climbed it, and, sitting there elevated some fifteen or twentyfeet over the waste of sand, enjoyed the lovely, peaceful prospect.The moon was rising behind the headland of Pennyfold, and its lightwas just touching the top of the furthermost rock of the Spurs somethree-quarters of a mile out; the rest of the rocks were in darkshadow. As the moon rose over the headland, the rocks of the Spurs andthen the beach by degrees became flooded with light.
For a good while Mr. Markam sat and looked at the rising moon and thegrowing area of light which followed its rise. Then he turned andfaced eastwards and sat with his chin in his hand looking seawards,and revelling in the peace and beauty and freedom of the scene. Theroar of London--the darkness and the strife and weariness of Londonlife--seemed to have passed quite aw
ay, and he lived at the moment afreer and higher life. He looked at the glistening water as it stoleits way over the flat waste of sand, coming closer and closerinsensibly--the tide had turned. Presently he heard a distant shoutingalong the beach very far off.
'The fishermen calling to each other,' he said to himself and lookedaround. As he did so he got a horrible shock, for though just then acloud sailed across the moon he saw, in spite of the sudden darknessaround him, his own image. For an instant, on the top of the oppositerock he could see the bald back of the head and the Glengarry cap withthe immense eagle's feather. As he staggered back his foot slipped,and he began to slide down towards the sand between the two rocks. Hetook no concern as to falling, for the sand was really only a few feetbelow him, and his mind was occupied with the figure or simulacrum ofhimself, which had already disappeared. As the easiest way of reaching_terra firma_ he prepared to jump the remainder of the distance. Allthis had taken but a second, but the brain works quickly, and even ashe gathered himself for the spring he saw the sand below him lying somarbly level shake and shiver in an odd way. A sudden fear overcamehim; his knees failed, and instead of jumping he slid miserably downthe rock, scratching his bare legs as he went. His feet touched thesand--went through it like water--and he was down below his kneesbefore he realised that he was in a quicksand. Wildly he grasped atthe rock to keep himself from sinking further, and fortunately therewas a jutting spur or edge which he was able to grasp instinctively.To this he clung in grim desperation. He tried to shout, but hisbreath would not come, till after a great effort his voice rang out.Again he shouted, and it seemed as if the sound of his own voice gavehim new courage, for he was able to hold on to the rock for a longertime than he thought possible--though he held on only in blinddesperation. He was, however, beginning to find his grasp weakening,when, joy of joys! his shout was answered by a rough voice from justabove him.
'God be thankit, I'm nae too late!' and a fisherman with greatthigh-boots came hurriedly climbing over the rock. In an instant herecognised the gravity of the danger, and with a cheering 'Haud fast,mon! I'm comin'!' scrambled down till he found a firm foothold. Thenwith one strong hand holding the rock above, he leaned down, andcatching Markam's wrist, called out to him, 'Haud to me, mon! Haud tome wi' ither hond!'
Then he lent his great strength, and with a steady, sturdy pull,dragged him out of the hungry quicksand and placed him safe upon therock. Hardly giving him time to draw breath, he pulled and pushedhim--never letting him go for an instant--over the rock into the firmsand beyond it, and finally deposited him, still shaking from themagnitude of his danger, high upon the beach. Then he began to speak:
'Mon! but I was just in time. If I had no laucht at yon foolish ladsand begun to rin at the first you'd a bin sinkin' doon to the bowelso' the airth be the noo! Wully Beagrie thocht you was a ghaist, andTom MacPhail swore ye was only like a goblin on a puddick-steel! "Na!"said I. "Yon's but the daft Englishman--the loony that had escapitfrae the waxwarks." I was thinkin' that bein' strange and silly--ifnot a whole-made feel--ye'd no ken the ways o' the quicksan'! Ishouted till warn ye, and then ran to drag ye aff, if need be. But Godbe thankit, be ye fule or only half-daft wi' yer vanity, that I was nothat late!' and he reverently lifted his cap as he spoke.
Mr. Markam was deeply touched and thankful for his escape from ahorrible death; but the sting of the charge of vanity thus made oncemore against him came through his humility. He was about to replyangrily, when suddenly a great awe fell upon him as he remembered thewarning words of the half-crazy letter-carrier: 'Meet thyself face toface, and repent ere the quicksand shall swallow thee!'
Here, too, he remembered the image of himself that he had seen and thesudden danger from the deadly quicksand that had followed. He wassilent a full minute, and then said:
'My good fellow, I owe you my life!'
The answer came with reverence from the hardy fisherman, 'Na! Na! Yeowe that to God; but, as for me, I'm only too glad till be the humbleinstrument o' His mercy.'
'But you will let me thank you,' said Mr. Markam, taking both thegreat hands of his deliverer in his and holding them tight. 'My heartis too full as yet, and my nerves are too much shaken to let me saymuch; but, believe me, I am very, very grateful!' It was quite evidentthat the poor old fellow was deeply touched, for the tears wererunning down his cheeks.
The fisherman said, with a rough but true courtesy:
'Ay, sir! thank me and ye will--if it'll do yer poor heart good. An'I'm thinking that if it were me I'd be thankful too. But, sir, as forme I need no thanks. I am glad, so I am!'
That Arthur Fernlee Markam was really thankful and grateful was shownpractically later on. Within a week's time there sailed into PortCrooken the finest fishing smack that had ever been seen in theharbour of Peterhead. She was fully found with sails and gear of allkinds, and with nets of the best. Her master and men went away by thecoach, after having left with the salmon-fisher's wife the paperswhich made her over to him.
As Mr. Markam and the salmon-fisher walked together along the shorethe former asked his companion not to mention the fact that he hadbeen in such imminent danger, for that it would only distress his dearwife and children. He said that he would warn them all of thequicksand, and for that purpose he, then and there, asked questionsabout it till he felt that his information on the subject wascomplete. Before they parted he asked his companion if he had happenedto see a second figure, dressed like himself on the other rock as hehad approached to succour him.
'Na! Na!' came the answer, 'there is nae sic another fule in theseparts. Nor has there been since the time o' Jamie Fleeman--him thatwas fule to the Laird o' Udny. Why, mon! sic a heathenish dress as yehave on till ye has nae been seen in these pairts within the memory o'mon. An' I'm thinkin' that sic a dress never was for sittin' on thecauld rock, as ye done beyont. Mon! but do ye no fear the rheumatismor the lumbagy wi' floppin' doon on to the cauld stanes wi' yer bareflesh? I was thinking that it was daft ye waur when I see ye themornin' doon be the port, but it's fule or eediot ye maun be for thelike o' thot!' Mr. Markam did not care to argue the point, and as theywere now close to his own home he asked the salmon-fisher to have aglass of whisky--which he did--and they parted for the night. He tookgood care to warn all his family of the quicksand, telling them thathe had himself been in some danger from it.
All that night he never slept. He heard the hours strike one after theother; but try how he would he could not get to sleep. Over and overagain he went through the horrible episode of the quicksand, from thetime that Saft Tammie had broken his habitual silence to preach to himof the sin of vanity and to warn him. The question kept ever arisingin his mind: 'Am I then so vain as to be in the ranks of the foolish?'and the answer ever came in the words of the crazy prophet: '"Vanityof vanities! All is vanity." Meet thyself face to face, and repent erethe quicksand shall swallow thee!' Somehow a feeling of doom began toshape itself in his mind that he would yet perish in that samequicksand, for there he had already met himself face to face.
In the grey of the morning he dozed off, but it was evident that hecontinued the subject in his dreams, for he was fully awakened by hiswife, who said:
'Do sleep quietly! That blessed Highland suit has got on your brain.Don't talk in your sleep, if you can help it!' He was somehowconscious of a glad feeling, as if some terrible weight had beenlifted from him, but he did not know any cause of it. He asked hiswife what he had said in his sleep, and she answered:
'You said it often enough, goodness knows, for one to rememberit--"Not face to face! I saw the eagle plume over the bald head! Thereis hope yet! Not face to face!" Go to sleep! Do!' And then he did goto sleep, for he seemed to realise that the prophecy of the crazy manhad not yet been fulfilled. He had not met himself face to face--asyet at all events.
He was awakened early by a maid who came to tell him that there was afisherman at the door who wanted to see him. He dressed himself asquickly as he could--for he was not yet expert with the Highlanddress--and hurried
down, not wishing to keep the salmon-fisherwaiting. He was surprised and not altogether pleased to find that hisvisitor was none other than Saft Tammie, who at once opened fire onhim:
'I maun gang awa' t' the post; but I thocht that I would waste an houron ye, and ca' roond just to see if ye waur still that fou wi' vanityas on the nicht gane by. An I see that ye've no learned the lesson.Well! the time is comin', sure eneucht! However I have all the time i'the marnins to my ain sel', so I'll aye look roond jist till see howye gang yer ain gait to the quicksan', and then to the de'il! I'm afftill ma wark the noo!' And he went straightway, leaving Mr. Markamconsiderably vexed, for the maids within earshot were vainly trying toconceal their giggles. He had fairly made up his mind to wear on thatday ordinary clothes, but the visit of Saft Tammie reversed hisdecision. He would show them all that he was not a coward, and hewould go on as he had begun--come what might. When he came tobreakfast in full martial panoply the children, one and all, held downtheir heads and the backs of their necks became very red indeed. As,however, none of them laughed--except Titus, the youngest boy, who wasseized with a fit of hysterical choking and was promptly banished fromthe room--he could not reprove them, but began to break his egg with asternly determined air. It was unfortunate that as his wife washanding him a cup of tea one of the buttons of his sleeve caught inthe lace of her morning wrapper, with the result that the hot tea wasspilt over his bare knees. Not unnaturally, he made use of a swearword, whereupon his wife, somewhat nettled, spoke out:
'Well, Arthur, if you will make such an idiot of yourself with thatridiculous costume what else can you expect? You are not accustomed toit--and you never will be!' In answer he began an indignant speechwith: 'Madam!' but he got no further, for now that the subject wasbroached, Mrs. Markam intended to have her say out. It was not apleasant say, and, truth to tell, it was not said in a pleasantmanner. A wife's manner seldom is pleasant when she undertakes to tellwhat she considers 'truths' to her husband. The result was that ArthurFernlee Markam undertook, then and there, that during his stay inScotland he would wear no other costume than the one she abused.Woman-like his wife had the last word--given in this case with tears:
'Very well, Arthur! Of course you will do as you choose. Make me asridiculous as you can, and spoil the poor girls' chances in life.Young men don't seem to care, as a general rule, for an idiotfather-in-law! But I must warn you that your vanity will some day geta rude shock--if indeed you are not before then in an asylum or dead!'
It was manifest after a few days that Mr. Markam would have to takethe major part of his outdoor exercise by himself. The girls now andagain took a walk with him, chiefly in the early morning or late atnight, or on a wet day when there would be no one about; theyprofessed to be willing to go out at all times, but somehow somethingalways seemed to occur to prevent it. The boys could never be found atall on such occasions, and as to Mrs. Markam she sternly refused to goout with him on any consideration so long as he should continue tomake a fool of himself. On the Sunday he dressed himself in hishabitual broadcloth, for he rightly felt that church was not a placefor angry feelings; but on Monday morning he resumed his Highlandgarb. By this time he would have given a good deal if he had neverthought of the dress, but his British obstinacy was strong, and hewould not give in. Saft Tammie called at his house every morning, and,not being able to see him nor to have any message taken to him, usedto call back in the afternoon when the letter-bag had been deliveredand watched for his going out. On such occasions he never failed towarn him against his vanity in the same words which he had used at thefirst. Before many days were over Mr. Markam had come to look upon himas little short of a scourge.
By the time the week was out the enforced partial solitude, theconstant chagrin, and the never-ending brooding which was thusengendered, began to make Mr. Markam quite ill. He was too proud totake any of his family into his confidence since they had in his viewtreated him very badly. Then he did not sleep well at night, and whenhe did sleep he had constantly bad dreams. Merely to assure himselfthat his pluck was not failing him he made it a practice to visit thequicksand at least once every day; he hardly ever failed to go therethe last thing at night. It was perhaps this habit that wrought thequicksand with its terrible experience so perpetually into his dreams.More and more vivid these became, till on waking at times he couldhardly realise that he had not been actually in the flesh to visit thefatal spot. He sometimes thought that he might have been walking inhis sleep.
One night his dream was so vivid that when he awoke he could notbelieve that it had only been a dream. He shut his eyes again andagain, but each time the vision, if it was a vision, or the reality,if it was a reality, would rise before him. The moon was shining fulland yellow over the quicksand as he approached it; he could see theexpanse of light shaken and disturbed and full of black shadows as theliquid sand quivered and trembled and wrinkled and eddied as was itswont between its pauses of marble calm. As he drew close to it anotherfigure came towards it from the opposite side with equal footsteps. Hesaw that it was his own figure, his very self, and in silent terror,compelled by what force he knew not, he advanced--charmed as the birdis by the snake, mesmerised or hypnotised--to meet this other self. Ashe felt the yielding sand closing over him he awoke in the agony ofdeath, trembling with fear, and, strange to say, with the silly man'sprophecy seeming to sound in his ears: '"Vanity of vanities! All isvanity!" See thyself and repent ere the quicksand swallow thee!'
So convinced was he that this was no dream that he arose, early as itwas, and dressing himself without disturbing his wife took his way tothe shore. His heart fell when he came across a series of footsteps onthe sands, which he at once recognised as his own. There was the samewide heel, the same square toe; he had no doubt now that he hadactually been there, and half horrified, and half in a state of dreamystupor, he followed the footsteps, and found them lost in the edge ofthe yielding quicksand. This gave him a terrible shock, for there wereno return steps marked on the sand, and he felt that there was somedread mystery which he could not penetrate, and the penetration ofwhich would, he feared, undo him.
In this state of affairs he took two wrong courses. Firstly he kepthis trouble to himself, and, as none of his family had any clue to it,every innocent word or expression which they used supplied fuel to theconsuming fire of his imagination. Secondly he began to read booksprofessing to bear upon the mysteries of dreaming and of mentalphenomena generally, with the result that every wild imagination ofevery crank or half-crazy philosopher became a living germ of unrestin the fertilising soil of his disordered brain. Thus negatively andpositively all things began to work to a common end. Not the least ofhis disturbing causes was Saft Tammie, who had now become at certaintimes of the day a fixture at his gate. After a while, beinginterested in the previous state of this individual, he made inquiriesregarding his past with the following result.
Saft Tammie was popularly believed to be the son of a laird in one ofthe counties round the Firth of Forth. He had been partially educatedfor the ministry, but for some cause which no one ever knew threw uphis prospects suddenly, and, going to Peterhead in its days of whalingprosperity, had there taken service on a whaler. Here off and on hehad remained for some years, getting gradually more and more silent inhis habits, till finally his shipmates protested against so taciturn amate, and he had found service amongst the fishing smacks of thenorthern fleet. He had worked for many years at the fishing withalways the reputation of being 'a wee bit daft,' till at length he hadgradually settled down at Crooken, where the laird, doubtless knowingsomething of his family history, had given him a job which practicallymade him a pensioner. The minister who gave the information finishedthus:--
'It is a very strange thing, but the man seems to have some odd kindof gift. Whether it be that "second sight" which we Scotch people areso prone to believe in, or some other occult form of knowledge, I knownot, but nothing of a disastrous tendency ever occurs in this placebut the men with whom he lives are able to quote after the event
somesaying of his which certainly appears to have foretold it. He getsuneasy or excited--wakes up, in fact--when death is in the air!'
This did not in any way tend to lessen Mr. Markam's concern, but onthe contrary seemed to impress the prophecy more deeply on his mind.Of all the books which he had read on his new subject of study noneinterested him so much as a German one _Die Doeppleganger_, by Dr.Heinrich von Aschenberg, formerly of Bonn. Here he learned for thefirst time of cases where men had led a double existence--each naturebeing quite apart from the other--the body being always a reality withone spirit, and a simulacrum with the other. Needless to say that Mr.Markam realised this theory as exactly suiting his own case. Theglimpse which he had of his own back the night of his escape from thequicksand--his own footmarks disappearing into the quicksand with noreturn steps visible--the prophecy of Saft Tammie about his meetinghimself and perishing in the quicksand--all lent aid to the convictionthat he was in his own person an instance of the doeppleganger. Beingthen conscious of a double life he took steps to prove its existenceto his own satisfaction. To this end on one night before going to bedhe wrote his name in chalk on the soles of his shoes. That night hedreamed of the quicksand, and of his visiting it--dreamed so vividlythat on walking in the grey of the dawn he could not believe that hehad not been there. Arising, without disturbing his wife, he soughthis shoes.
The chalk signatures were undisturbed! He dressed himself and stoleout softly. This time the tide was in, so he crossed the dunes andstruck the shore on the further side of the quicksand. There, oh,horror of horrors! he saw his own footprints dying into the abyss!
He went home a desperately sad man. It seemed incredible that he, anelderly commercial man, who had passed a long and uneventful life inthe pursuit of business in the midst of roaring, practical London,should thus find himself enmeshed in mystery and horror, and that heshould discover that he had two existences. He could not speak of histrouble even to his own wife, for well he knew that she would at oncerequire the fullest particulars of that other life--the one which shedid not know; and that she would at the start not only imagine butcharge him with all manner of infidelities on the head of it. And sohis brooding grew deeper and deeper still. One evening--the tide thengoing out and the moon being at the full--he was sitting waiting fordinner when the maid announced that Saft Tammie was making adisturbance outside because he would not be let in to see him. He wasvery indignant, but did not like the maid to think that he had anyfear on the subject, and so told her to bring him in. Tammie entered,walking more briskly than ever with his head up and a look of vigorousdecision in the eyes that were so generally cast down. As soon as heentered he said:
'I have come to see ye once again--once again; and there ye sit, stilljust like a cockatoo on a pairch. Weel, mon, I forgie ye! Mind yethat, I forgie ye!' And without a word more he turned and walked outof the house, leaving the master in speechless indignation.
After dinner he determined to pay another visit to the quicksand--hewould not allow even to himself that he was afraid to go. And so,about nine o'clock, in full array, he marched to the beach, andpassing over the sands sat on the skirt of the nearer rock. The fullmoon was behind him and its light lit up the bay so that its fringe offoam, the dark outline of the headland, and the stakes of thesalmon-nets were all emphasised. In the brilliant yellow glow thelights in the windows of Port Crooken and in those of the distantcastle of the laird trembled like stars through the sky. For a longtime he sat and drank in the beauty of the scene, and his soul seemedto feel a peace that it had not known for many days. All the pettinessand annoyance and silly fears of the past weeks seemed blotted out,and a new holy calm took the vacant place. In this sweet and solemnmood he reviewed his late action calmly, and felt ashamed of himselffor his vanity and for the obstinacy which had followed it. And thenand there he made up his mind that the present would be the last timehe would wear the costume which had estranged him from those whom heloved, and which had caused him so many hours and days of chagrin,vexation, and pain.
But almost as soon as he arrived at this conclusion another voiceseemed to speak within him and mockingly to ask him if he should everget the chance to wear the suit again--that it was too late--he hadchosen his course and must now abide the issue.
'It is not too late,' came the quick answer of his better self; andfull of the thought, he rose up to go home and divest himself of thenow hateful costume right away. He paused for one look at thebeautiful scene. The light lay pale and mellow, softening everyoutline of rock and tree and house-top, and deepening the shadows intovelvety-black, and lighting, as with a pale flame, the incoming tide,that now crept fringe-like across the flat waste of sand. Then he leftthe rock and stepped out for the shore.
But as he did so a frightful spasm of horror shook him, and for aninstant the blood rushing to his head shut out all the light of thefull moon. Once more he saw that fatal image of himself moving beyondthe quicksand from the opposite rock to the shore. The shock was allthe greater for the contrast with the spell of peace which he had justenjoyed; and, almost paralysed in every sense, he stood and watchedthe fatal vision and the wrinkly, crawling quicksand that seemed towrithe and yearn for something that lay between. There could be nomistake this time, for though the moon behind threw the face intoshadow he could see there the same shaven cheeks as his own, and thesmall stubby moustache of a few weeks' growth. The light shone on thebrilliant tartan, and on the eagle's plume. Even the bald space at oneside of the Glengarry cap glistened, as did the cairngorm brooch onthe shoulder and the tops of the silver buttons. As he looked he felthis feet slightly sinking, for he was still near the edge of the beltof quicksand, and he stepped back. As he did so the other figurestepped forward, so that the space between them was preserved.
So the two stood facing each other, as though in some weirdfascination; and in the rushing of the blood through his brain Markamseemed to hear the words of the prophecy: 'See thyself face to face,and repent ere the quicksand swallow thee.' He did stand face to facewith himself, he had repented--and now he was sinking in thequicksand! The warning and prophecy were coming true.
Above him the seagulls screamed, circling round the fringe of theincoming tide, and the sound being entirely mortal recalled him tohimself. On the instant he stepped back a few quick steps, for as yetonly his feet were merged in the soft sand. As he did so the otherfigure stepped forward, and coming within the deadly grip of thequicksand began to sink. It seemed to Markam that he was looking athimself going down to his doom, and on the instant the anguish of hissoul found vent in a terrible cry. There was at the same instant aterrible cry from the other figure, and as Markam threw up his handsthe figure did the same. With horror-struck eyes he saw him sinkdeeper into the quicksand; and then, impelled by what power he knewnot, he advanced again towards the sand to meet his fate. But as hismore forward foot began to sink he heard again the cries of theseagulls which seemed to restore his benumbed faculties. With a mightyeffort he drew his foot out of the sand which seemed to clutch it,leaving his shoe behind, and then in sheer terror he turned and ranfrom the place, never stopping till his breath and strength failedhim, and he sank half swooning on the grassy path through thesandhills.
* * * * *
Arthur Markam made up his mind not to tell his family of his terribleadventure--until at least such time as he should be complete master ofhimself. Now that the fatal double--his other self--had been engulfedin the quicksand he felt something like his old peace of mind.
That night he slept soundly and did not dream at all; and in themorning was quite his old self. It really seemed as though his newerand worser self had disappeared for ever; and strangely enough SaftTammie was absent from his post that morning and never appeared thereagain, but sat in his old place watching nothing, as of old, withlack-lustre eye. In accordance with his resolution he did not wear hisHighland suit again, but one evening tied it up in a bundle, claymore,dirk and philibeg and all, and bringing it secretly with him th
rew itinto the quicksand. With a feeling of intense pleasure he saw itsucked below the sand, which closed above it into marble smoothness.Then he went home and announced cheerily to his family assembled forevening prayers:
'Well! my dears, you will be glad to hear that I have abandoned myidea of wearing the Highland dress. I see now what a vain old fool Iwas and how ridiculous I made myself! You shall never see it again!'
'Where is it, father?' asked one of the girls, wishing to saysomething so that such a self-sacrificing announcement as her father'sshould not be passed in absolute silence. His answer was so sweetlygiven that the girl rose from her seat and came and kissed him. Itwas:
'In the quicksand, my dear! and I hope that my worser self is buriedthere along with it--for ever.'
* * * * *
The remainder of the summer was passed at Crooken with delight by allthe family, and on his return to town Mr. Markam had almost forgottenthe whole of the incident of the quicksand, and all touching on it,when one day he got a letter from the MacCallum More which caused himmuch thought, though he said nothing of it to his family, and left it,for certain reasons, unanswered. It ran as follows:--
'The MacCallum More and Roderick MacDhu. 'The Scotch All-Wool Tartan Clothing Mart. Copthall Court, E.C., 30th September, 1892.
'Dear Sir,--I trust you will pardon the liberty which I take inwriting to you, but I am desirous of making an inquiry, and I aminformed that you have been sojourning during the summer inAberdeenshire (Scotland, N.B.). My partner, Mr. Roderick MacDhu--as heappears for business reasons on our bill-heads and in ouradvertisements, his real name being Emmanuel Moses Marks ofLondon--went early last month to Scotland (N.B.) for a tour, but as Ihave only once heard from him, shortly after his departure, I amanxious lest any misfortune may have befallen him. As I have beenunable to obtain any news of him on making all inquiries in my power,I venture to appeal to you. His letter was written in deep dejectionof spirit, and mentioned that he feared a judgment had come upon himfor wishing to appear as a Scotchman on Scottish soil, as he had onemoonlight night shortly after his arrival seen his 'wraith'. Heevidently alluded to the fact that before his departure he hadprocured for himself a Highland costume similar to that which we hadthe honour to supply to you, with which, as perhaps you will remember,he was much struck. He may, however, never have worn it, as he was, tomy own knowledge, diffident about putting it on, and even went so faras to tell me that he would at first only venture to wear it late atnight or very early in the morning, and then only in remote places,until such time as he should get accustomed to it. Unfortunately hedid not advise me of his route so that I am in complete ignorance ofhis whereabouts; and I venture to ask if you may have seen or heard ofa Highland costume similar to your own having been seen anywhere inthe neighbourhood in which I am told you have recently purchased theestate which you temporarily occupied. I shall not expect an answer tothis letter unless you can give me some information regarding myfriend and partner, so pray do not trouble to reply unless there because. I am encouraged to think that he may have been in yourneighbourhood as, though his letter is not dated, the envelope ismarked with the postmark of "Yellon" which I find is in Aberdeenshire,and not far from the Mains of Crooken.
'I have the honour to be, dear sir, 'Yours very respectfully, 'JOSHUA SHEENY COHEN BENJAMIN '(The MacCallum More.)'
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