CHAPTER V
THE MYSTERY OF THE SEA
I do not remember what woke me. I have a vague idea that it was a voice,but whether outside the house or within myself I know not.
It was eleven o'clock by my watch when I left the Kilmarnock Arms andtook my way across the sandhills, heading for the Hawklaw which stoodout boldly in the brilliant moonlight. I followed the devious sheeptrack amongst the dunes covered with wet bent-grass, every now and againstumbling amongst the rabbit burrows which in those days honeycombed thesandhills of Cruden Bay. At last I came to the Hawklaw, and, climbingthe steep terraced edge near the sea, sat on the top to breathe myselfafter the climb.
The scene was one of exquisite beauty. Its natural loveliness wasenhanced by the softness of the full yellow moonlight which seemed toflood the heavens and the earth alike. To the south-east the bleakpromontory of Whinnyfold stood out stark and black as velvet and therocks of the Skares were like black dots in the quivering sea of gold. Iarose and went on my way. The tide was far out and as I stumbled alongthe rude path above the waste of boulders I had a feeling that I shouldbe late. I hurried on, crossed the little rill which usually onlytrickled down beside the fishers' zigzag path at the back of Whinnyfoldbut which was now a rushing stream--again the noise of falling water,the voice of the Lammas floods--and took the cart track which ran hardby the cliff down to the point which looked direct upon the Skares.
When I reached the very edge of the cliff, where the long sea-grassand the deep clover felt underfoot like a luxurious carpet, I was notsurprised to see Gormala seated, looking out seawards. The broad trackof the moon lay right across the outmost rock of the Skares and fallingacross some of the jagged rocks, which seemed like fangs rising fromthe deep water as the heave of the waveless sea fell back and the whitewater streamed down, came up to where we stood and seemed to bathe boththe Seer-woman and myself in light. There was no current anywhere, butonly the silent rise and fall of the water in the everlasting movementof the sea. When she heard me behind her Gormala turned round, and thepatient calmness of her face disappeared. She rose quickly, and as shedid so pointed to a small boat which sailing up from the south was nowdrawing opposite to us and appeared to be making a course as close toshore as possible, just clearing the outer bulwark of the Skares.
"Look!" she said, "Lauchlane Macleod comes by his lanes. The rocks arearound him, and his doom is at hand!"
There did not appear any danger in such a course; the wind was gentle,the tide was at the still moment between ebb and flow, and thesmoothness of the water beyond the rock seemed to mark its great depth.
All at once the boat seemed to stand still,--we were too far off to heara sound even on such a still night. The mast bent forward and brokeshort off, the sails hung limp in the water with the peak of the lugsail sticking up in a great triangle, like the fin of a mammoth shark. Afew seconds after, a dark speck moved on the water which became agitatedaround it; it was evident that a swimmer was making for the land. Iwould have gone to help him had it been of use; but it was not, theouter rock was half a mile away. Indeed, though I knew it was no use,I was yet about to swim to meet him when Gormala's voice behind mearrested me:
"Do ye no see that gin ye meet him amid yon rocks, ye can, when the tidebegins to race, be no help to any. If he can win through, ye may helphim if ye bide here." The advice was good and I stayed my feet. Theswimmer evidently knew the danger, for he hurried frantically to winsome point of safety before the tide should turn. But the rocks of theSkares are deadly steep; they rise from the water sheer everywhere,and to climb them from the sea is a hopeless task. Once and again theswimmer tried to find a chink or cranny where he could climb; but eachtime he tried to raise himself he fell back into the water. Moreover Icould see that he was wounded, for his left hand hung idle. He seemed torealise the hopelessness of the task, and turning, made desperately forthe part where we stood. He was now within the most dangerous spot inthe whole region of the Skares. The water is of great depth everywhereand the needlepoints of rocks rise almost to the very surface. It isonly when the waves are rough at low water that they can be seen at all,when the dip of the waves leaves them bare; but from the surface incalm weather they cannot be seen as the swirl of the tide around themis invisible. Here, too, the tide, rounding the point and having thecurrent broken by the masses of the great rock, rolls with inconceivablerapidity. I had too often watched from the headland where my home was tobe the set of the tide not to know the danger. I shouted as loudly as Icould, but for some reason he did not hear me. The moments ere the tideshould turn seemed like ages; and yet it was with a sudden shock that Iheard the gurgle of moving water followed by the lap, lap, lap, gettingquicker each second. Somewhere inland a clock struck twelve.
The tide had turned and was beginning to flow.
In a few seconds the swimmer felt its effects, though he did not seem tonotice them. Then he was swept towards the north. All at once there wasa muffled cry which seemed to reach slowly to where we stood, and theswimmer rolled over for an instant. It was only too apparent what hadhappened; he had struck his arm against one of the sunken rocks andinjured it. Then he commenced a mad struggle for life, swimming withouteither arm in that deadly current which grew faster and faster everymoment. He was breathless, and now and again his head dipped; but hekept on valiantly. At last in one of these dips, borne by the momentumof his own strength and the force of the current, he struck his headagainst another of the sunken rocks. For an instant he raised it, and Icould see it run red in the glare of the moonlight.
Then he sank; from the height where I stood I could see the body rollover and over in the fierce current which made for the outmost point tothe north-east of the promontory. I ran over as fast as I could, Gormalafollowing. When I came to the rock, which here shelved, I plunged in andafter a few strokes met by chance the body as it rolled upward. With adesperate effort I brought it to land.
The struggle to lift the body from the water and to bear it up the rockexhausted me, so that when I reached the top of the cliff I had to pausefor a few seconds to breathe hard. Since the poor fellow's struggle forlife had begun I had never for an instant given the prophecy a thought.But now, all at once, as I looked past the figure, lying limp before mewith the poor arms twisted unnaturally and the head turned--away pastthe moonlit sea and the great, golden orb whose track was wrinkled overthe racing tide, the full force of it burst upon me, and I felt a sortof spiritual transformation. The air seemed full of fluttering wings;sea and land alike teemed with life that I had not hitherto dreamedof. I fell in a sort of spiritual trance. But the open eyes were uponme; I feared the man was dead, but Briton-like I would not acceptthe conviction without effort. So I raised the body to my shoulders,determined to make with what speed I could for Whinnyfold where fire andwilling hands could aid in restoration. As I laid the limp body acrossmy shoulders, holding the two hands in my right hand to steady theburden whilst with the left I drew some of the clothing tight, I caughtGormala's eye. She had not helped me in any possible way, though morethan once in distress I had called to her. So now I said angrily:
"Get away woman! You should be ashamed of yourself never to help atsuch a time," and I took my way unaided. I did not heed at the timeher answer, spoken with a certain measure of deprecation, though itafterwards came back to me:
"Am I to wark against the Fates when They have spoken! The Dead are deadindeed when the Voice has whispered in their ears!"
Now, as I passed along with the hands of the dead man in mine--the trueshell of a man whose spirit could be but little space away whilst thestill blood in the veins was yet warm--a strange thing began to happen.The spirits of earth and sea and air seemed to take shape to me, and allthe myriad sounds of the night to have a sentient cause of utterance. AsI panted and struggled on, my physical effort warring equally with thenew spiritual experience so that nothing remained except sentience andmemory, I could see Gormala walking abreast me with even steps. Her eyesglared balefully with a fierce disa
ppointment; never once did she remitthe vigilant, keen look which seemed to pierce into my very soul.
For a short space of time there was something of antagonism to her; butthis died away imperceptibly, and I neither cared nor thought about her,except when my attention would be called to her. I was becoming wrappedin the realisation of the mightier forces around me.
Just where the laneway from the cliff joins Whinnyfold there is a steepzigzag path running down to the stony beach far below where the fisherskeep their boats and which is protected from almost the wildest seas bythe great black rock--the Caudman,--which fills the middle of the littlebay, leaving deep channels on either hand. When I was come to this spot,suddenly all the sounds of the night seemed to cease. The very air grewstill so that the grasses did not move or rustle, and the waters of theswirling tide ceased to run in grim silence on their course. Even tothat inner sense, which was so new to me that the change in everythingto which it was susceptible became at once noticeable, all things stoodstill. It was as though the spirits of earth and air and water wereholding their breath for some rare portent. Indeed I noticed as my eyeranged the surface of the sea, that the moon track was for the time nolonger rippled, but lay in a broad glistening band.
The only living thing in all the wide world was, it seemed to me, thefigure of Gormala as, with lowering eyes and suspended breath, she stoodwatching me with uncompromising, persistent sternness.
Then my own heart seemed to stand still, to be a part of the grimsilence of the waiting forces of the world. I was not frightened; I wasnot even amazed. All seemed so thoroughly in keeping with the prevailinginfluence of the time that I did not feel even a moment of surprise.
Up the steep path came a silent procession of ghostly figures, so mistyof outline that through the grey green of their phantom being the rocksand moonlit sea were apparent, and even the velvet blackness of theshadows of the rocks did not lose their gloom. And yet each figure wasdefined so accurately that every feature, every particle of dress oraccoutrement could be discerned. Even the sparkle of their eyes in thatgrim waste of ghostly grey was like the lambent flashes of phosphoriclight in the foam of moving water cleft by a swift prow. There was noneed for me to judge by the historical sequence of their attire, or byany inference of hearing; I knew in my heart that these were the ghostsof the dead who had been drowned in the waters of the Cruden Skares.
Indeed the moments of their passing--and they were many for the line wasof sickening length--became to me a lesson of the long flight of time.At the first were skin-clad savages with long, wild hair matted; thenothers with rude, primitive clothing. And so on in historic order men,aye, and here and there a woman, too, of many lands, whose garments wereof varied cut and substance. Red-haired Vikings and black-haired Celtsand Phoenicians, fair-haired Saxons and swarthy Moors in flowing robes.At first the figures, chiefly of the barbarians, were not many; but asthe sad procession passed along I could see how each later year hadbrought its ever-growing tale of loss and disaster, and added more andfaster to the grim harvest of the sea. A vast number of the phantoms hadpassed when there came along a great group which at once attracted myattention. They were all swarthy, and bore themselves proudly undertheir cuirasses and coats of mail, or their garb as fighting men ofthe sea. Spaniards they were, I knew from their dress, and of threecenturies back. For an instant my heart leapt; these were men of thegreat Armada, come up from the wreck of some lost galleon or patache tovisit once again the glimpses of the Moon. They were of lordly mien,with large aquiline features and haughty eyes. As they passed, one ofthem turned and looked at me. As his eyes lit on me, I saw spring intothem, as though he were quick, dread, and hate, and fear.
Hitherto I had been impressed, awed, by the indifference of the passingghosts. They had looked nowhere, but with steady, silent, even tread hadpassed on their way. But when this one looked at me it was a glance fromthe spirit world which chilled me to the very soul.
But he too passed on. I stood at the head of the winding path, havingthe dead man still on my shoulders and looking with sinking heart at thesad array of the victims of the Cruden Skares. I noticed that most whocame now were seamen, with here and there a group of shoresmen and a fewwomen amongst them. The fishermen were many, and without exception woregreat sea boots. And so with what patience I could I waited for the end.
At length it came in the shape of a dim figure of great stature, andboth of whose arms hung limp. The blood from a gash on his forehead hadstreamed on to his golden beard, and the golden eyes looked far away.With a shudder I saw that this was the ghost of the man whose body, nowless warm, lay upon my shoulders; and so I knew that Lauchlane Macleodwas dead. I was relieved when I saw that he did not even look at me;though as I moved on, following the procession, he walked beside me withequal steps, stopping and moving as I stopped and moved.
The silence of death was upon the little hamlet of Whinnyfold. There wasnot a sign of life; not a dog barked as the grim procession had moved upthe steep path or now filed across the running stream and moved alongthe footpath toward Cruden. Gormala with eager eyes kept watchingme; and as the minutes wore on I began to resume my double action ofthought, for I could see in her face that she was trying to reason outfrom my own expression something of what I was looking at. As we movedalong she now began to make suggestions to me in a fierce whisper,evidently hoping that she might learn something from my acquiescence in,or negation of, her thought. Through that ghostly silence her livingvoice cut with the harshness of a corncrake.
"Shearing the silence of the night with ragged edge."
Perhaps it was for the best; looking back now on that awful experience,I know that no man can say what his mind may suffer in the aftertime whowalks alone with the Dead. That I was strung to some amazing pitch wasmanifested by the fact that I did not seem to feel the great weightwhich lay upon my shoulders. I have naturally vast strength and theathletic training of my youth had developed it highly. But the weight ofan ordinary man is much to hold or carry for even a short time, and thebody which I bore was almost that of a giant.
The path across the neck of land which makes the Skares a promontory isflat, with here and there a deep cleft like a miniature ravine where thewater from the upland rushes in flood time down to the sea. All theserills were now running strong, but I could hear no sound of murmuringwater, no splash as the streams leapt over the edge of the cliff on therocks below in whitening spray. The ghostly procession did not pause atany of these streams, but moved on impassively to the farther side wherethe path trends down to the sands of Cruden Bay. Gormala stood a momentwatching my eyes as they swept the long line passing the angle so that Icould see them all at once. That she guessed something was evident fromher speech:
"They are many; his eyes range wide!" I started, and she knew that shehad guessed aright. This one guess seemed to supply her with illimitabledata; she evidently knew something of the spirit world, though she couldnot see into its mysteries. Her next words brought enlightenment to me:
"They are human spirits; they follow the path that the feet o' men haemade!"
It was so. The procession did not float over the surface of field orsand, but took its painful way down the zigzag of the cliff and over therocky path through the great boulders of the foreshore. When the head ofit reached the sand, it passed along the summit of the ridge, just asevery Sunday night the fishermen of Whinnyfold and Collieston did inreturning to their herring boats at Peterhead.
The tramp across the sands was long and dreary. Often as I had takenthat walk in rain or storm, with the wind almost sweeping me off my feetwhilst the sand drift from the bent-covered hills almost cut my cheeksand ears, I had never felt the way to be so long or so hard to travel.Though I did not realise it at the time, the dead man's weight wasbeginning to tell sorely upon me. Across the Bay I could see the fewlights in the village of Port Erroll that were to be seen at such atime of night; and far over the water came the cold grey light which isthe sign of the waning of the night rather than of t
he coming of themorning.
When we came to the Hawklaw, the head of the procession turned inwardthrough the sandhills. Gormala, watching my eyes, saw it and anextraordinary change came over her. For an instant she was as ifstricken, and stood stock still. Then she raised her hands in wonder,and said in an awed whisper:
"The Holy Well! They gang to St. Olaf's well! The Lammas floods will ayeserve them weel."
With an instinct of curiosity strong upon me I hurried on so as to headthe procession. As I moved along the rough path amongst the sandhills Ifelt the weight of the burden on my shoulders grow heavier and heavier,so that my feet dragged as do the feet of one in a night-mare. As Imoved on, I looked round instinctively and saw that the shade ofLauchlane Macleod no longer kept pace with me, but retained its place inthe procession. Gormala's evil eye was once more upon me, but with herdiabolical cunning she guessed the secret of my looking round. She movedalong, not with me but at the rate she had been going as though sheliked or expected to remain in juxtaposition to the shade of the deadman; some purpose of her own was to be fulfilled.
As I pressed on, the shades around me seemed to grow dimmer and dimmerstill; till at the last I could see little more than a film or haze.When I came to St. Olaf's well--then merely a rough pool at the base ofthe high land that stretches back from the Hawklaw--the ghostly mist wasbeginning to fade into the water. I stood hard by, and the weight uponmy shoulders became dreadful. I could hardly stand; I determined,however, to hold on as long as I could and see what would happen. Thedead man, too, was becoming colder! I did not know whether the dimmingof the shadows was from this cause, or because the spirit of the man wasfarther away. It was possibly both, for as the silent, sad processioncame on I could see more distinctly. When the wraith of the Spaniardturned and looked at me, he seemed once more to look with living eyesfrom a living soul. Then there was a dreary wait whilst the restcame along and passed in awesome stillness down into the well anddisappeared. The weight upon my shoulders now became momentarily moreintolerable. At last I could bear it no longer, and half bending Iallowed the body to slip to the ground, I only holding the hands tosteady the descent. Gormala was now opposite to me, and seeing whatI had done leaped towards me with a loud cry. For one dim moment thewraith of the dead man stood above its earthly shell; and then I saw theghostly vision no more.
At that instant, just as Gormala was about to touch the dead body, therewas a loud hiss and murmur of waters. The whole pool burst up in a greatfountain, scattering sand and water around for a wide space. I rushedback; Gormala did the same.
Then the waters receded again, and when I looked, the corpse ofLauchlane Macleod was gone. It was swallowed up in the Holy Well.
Overcome with physical weariness and strange horror of the scene I sankdown on the wet sand. The scene whirled round me.... I remember nomore.