The Mystery of the Sea

  CHAPTER VII

  FROM OTHER AGES AND THE ENDS OF THE EARTH

  The last week in June of next year, 1898, found me back in Cruden.My own house was in process of building. I had purposely arrangedwith the builders that the fitting up and what the conveyancers call"beautifyings" should not be done until I should be on the spot myselfnext year, to be consulted about everything. Every day I went overto see the place and become familiar with it before the plans fordecoration should be taken in hand. Still there was no enjoyment ingetting wet every time I went and came, or in remaining in wet clothes,so that my day was mainly spent at home.

  One of my first visits was to Peterhead which seemed to be in a state ofabsolute activity, for the herring fishing had been good and trade ofall kinds was brisk. At the market place which was half full of booths,could be had almost everything required for the needs or comfort oflife such as it can be on a fishing boat. Fruit and all sorts of summerluxuries were abundant. Being Saturday the boats had returned early andhad got their nets away to the drying-grounds, and the men had been ableto shave and dress tidily. The women, too, had got their dressing doneearly--the fish first and themselves afterwards.

  For awhile I wandered about aimlessly amongst the booths, with that sortof unsatisfaction upon me which had of late been the prelude to many ofthe manifestations of the power of Second Sight. This used to be justas if something within me was groping or searching unsuccessfully forsomething unknown, the satisfaction coming with the realization of theobjective of the search.

  Presently I came to an itinerant auctioneer who was dealing with a smallcart-load of odds and ends, evidently picked up in various places.His auction or "roup" was on the "Dutch" plan; an extravagant price,according to his own idea, being placed on each article, and the offerdecreasing in default of bidders. The auctioneer was ready with histongue; his patter showed how well he understood the needs and ideas ofthe class whom he addressed.

  "Here's the works of the Reverend Robert William McAlister ofTrottermaverish in twal volumes, wantin' the first an' the last twa;three damaged by use, but still full of power in dealing with thespeeritual necessities o' men who go down to the great deep in ships. Asermon for every day in the year, in the Gaelic for them as has na gotthe English, an' in good English for them as has. How much for the twalvolumes, wantin' but three? Not a bawbee less than nine shellin', goin'goin'. Wha says eight shellin' for the lot. Seven shellin' an' no less.Goin' for six. Five shellin' for you sir. Any bidder at four shellin'.Not a bawbee less than three shellin'; Half a croon. Any bidder at twashellin'. Gone for you sir!" the nine volumes were handed over to agrave-looking old man, and the two shillings which he produced from aheavy canvas bag duly pocketed by the auctioneer.

  Everything he had, found some buyer; even a blue-book seemed to haveits attraction. The oddness of some of the odd lots was occasionallyamusing. When I had been round the basins of the harbour and had seenthe dressings and barrelling of the fish, I again came across theauctioneer in the market place. He had evidently been using his timewell, for the cart was almost empty. He was just putting up the lastarticle, an old oak chest which up to now he had used as a sort of tableon which to display the object for sale. An old oak chest has alwayscharms for me, and I was about furnishing a house. I stepped over,opened the lid and looked in; there were some papers tossed on thebottom of it. I asked the auctioneer if the contents went with thechest, my real object being to get a look at the lock which seemed avery old one of steel, though it was much damaged and lacked a key. Iwas answered with a torrent of speech in true auctioneer fashion:

  "Aye, good master. Take the lot just as it stands. An oaken kist,hundreds of years aud and still worthy a rest in the house-place of anyman who has goods to guard. It wants a key, truth to tell; but the lockis a fine aud one and you can easy fit a key. Moreover the contents, bethey what they may, are yours also. See! aud letters in some foreigntongue--French I think. Yellow in age an' the ink faded. Somebody's loveletters, I'm thinkin'. Come now, young men here's a chance. Maybe ifye're no that fameeliar in writin' yer hairts oot to the lassies, ye canget some hints frae these. They can learn ye, I warrant!"

  I was not altogether unaccustomed to auctions, so I affected anonchalance which I did not feel. Indeed, I was unaccountably excited.It might have been that my feelings and memories had been worked up bythe seeing again the pier where first I had met Lauchlane Macleod, andthe moving life which then had environed him. I felt coming over me thatstrange impalpable influence or tendency which had been a part of mynature in the days immediately before the drowning of the Out-islander.Even as I looked, I seemed to feel rather than see fixed upon me thebaleful eyes of the man in the ghostly procession on that Lammas eve. Iwas recalled to myself by the voice of the auctioneer:

  "The kist and its contents will be sold for a guinea and not a bawbeeless."

  "I take it!" I cried impulsively. The auctioneer who in his wildestdreams had no hope of such a price seemed startled into momentarycomparative silence. He quickly recovered himself and said: "The kist isyours, good master; and that concludes the roup!"

  I looked around to see if there was present any one who could evensuggest in any way the appearance of the man in the ghostly procession.But there was no such person. I met only _mirabile dictu_, the greedyeyes of Gormala MacNiel.

  That evening in my room at the Kilmarnock Arms, I examined the papersas well as I could by lamplight. They were in an old-fashioned styleof writing with long tails and many flourishes which made an addeddifficulty to me. The language was Spanish, which tongue I did not know;but by aid of French and what little Latin I could remember I made out afew words here and there. The dates ranged between 1598 and 1610. Theletters, of which there were eight, were of manifest unimportance, shortnotes directed: "Don de Escoban" and merely arranging meetings. Thenthere were a number of loose pages of some printed folio, used perhapsas some kind of tally or possibly a cipher, for they were marked allover with dots. The lot was completed by a thin, narrow strip of papercovered with figures--possibly some account. Papers of three centuriesago were valuable, were it only for their style of writing. So I lockedthem all up carefully before I went to bed, with full intention toexamine them thoroughly some day. The appearance of Gormala just at thetime when I had become possessed of them seemed to connect them in somemysterious way with the former weird experiences in which she had soprominent a part.

  That night I dreamed as usual, though my dreaming was of a scatteredand incoherent character. Gormala's haunting presence and all that hadhappened during the day, especially the buying of the chest with themysterious papers, as well as what had taken place since my arrival atCruden was mixed up in perpetually recurring images with the beginningof my Second Sight and the death of Lauchlane Macleod. Again, and again,and again, I saw with the eyes of memory, in fragmentary fashion, thegrand form of the fisherman standing in a blaze of gold, and laterfighting his way through a still sea of gold, of which the only reliefswere the scattered piles of black rock and the pale face patched withblood. Again, and again, and again, the ghostly procession came up thesteep path from the depths of the sea, and passed in slow silent measureinto St. Olaf's Well.

  Gormala's words were becoming a truth to me; that above and around mewas some force which was impelling to an end all things of which I couldtake cognizance, myself amongst the rest. Here I stopped, suddenlyarrested by the thought that it was Gormala herself who had set my mindworking in this direction; and the words with which she had at oncewarned and threatened me when after the night of Lauchlane's death westood at Witsennan point:

  "_When the Word is spoken all follows as ordained. Aye! though theMinisters of the Doom may be many and various, and though they may haveto gather in one from many ages and from the furthermost ends of theearth!_"

  The next few days were delightfully fine, and life was one longenjoyment. On Monday evening there was a sunset which I shall neverforget. The whole western sky seemed ablaze with red and gold; greatmasses of
cloud which had rolled up seemed like huge crimson canopieslooped with gold over the sun throned on the western mountains. I wasstanding on the Hawklaw, whence I could get a good view; beside me was ashepherd whose flock patched the steep green hillside as with snow. Iturned to him and said:

  "Is not that a glorious sight?"

  "Aye! 'Tis grand. But like all beauty o' the warld it fadeth intonaught; an' is only a mask for dool."

  "You do not seem to hold a very optimistic opinion of things generally."He deliberately stoked himself from his snuff mull before replying:

  "Optimist nor pessimist am I, eechie nor ochie. I'm thinkin' theoptimist and the pessimist are lears alike; takin' a pairt forthe whole, an' so guilty o' the logical sin o' _a particulari aduniversale_. Sophism they misca' it; as if there were anything but a leein a misstatement o' fac'. Fac's is good eneuch for me; an' that, let metell ye, is why I said that the splendour o' the sunset is but a maskfor dool. Look yon! The clouds are all gold and glory, like a regimentgoin' oot to the battle. But bide ye till the sun drops, not only belowthe horizon but beyond the angle o' refraction. Then what see ye? Allgrim and grey, and waste, and dourness and dool; like the army as itreturns frae the fecht. There be some that think that because the sunsets fine i' the nicht, it will of necessity rise fine i' the morn. Theyseem to no ken that it has to traverse one half o' the warld ere itreturns; and that the averages of fine and foul, o' light and dark haeto be aye maintained. It may be that the days o' fine follow ane anitherfast; or that the foul times linger likewise. But in the end, thefigures of fine and foul tottle up, in accord wi' their ordered sum.What use is it, then, to no tak' heed o' fac's? Weel I ken, that thefac' o' the morrow will differ sair frae the fac's o' this nicht. Not invain hae I seen the wisdom and glory o' the Lord in sunsets an' dawnswi'oot learnin' the lessons that they teach. Mon, I tell ye that it'sall those glories o' pomp and pageantry--all the lasceevious luxurieso' colour an' splendour, that are the forerinners o' disaster. Do ye nosee the streaks o' wind rinnin' i' the sky, frae the east to the west?Do ye ken what they portend? I'm tellin' ye, that before the sun setsthe morrow nicht there will be ruin and disaster on all this side o'Scotland. The storm will no begin here. It is perhaps ragin' the nooaway to the east. But it will come quick, most likely wi' the risin' o'the tide; and woe be then to them as has no made safe wi' all they can.Hark ye the stillness!" Shepherd-like he took no account of his ownsheep whose ceaseless bleating, sounding in every note of the scale,broke the otherwise universal silence of nature. "I'm thinkin' it'sbut the calm before the storm. Weel sir, I maun gang. The yowes say itis time for the hame comin'. An' mark ye, the collie! He looks at mereproachful, as though I had forgot the yowes! My sairvice to ye, sir!"

  "Good night" I answered, "I hope I shall meet you again."

  "I'm thinkin' the same masel'. I hae much enjoyed yer pleasin'converse. I hope it's mony a crack we yet may hae thegither!" And so myphilosophical egoist moved homewards, blissfully unconscious of the factthat my sole contribution to the "pleasing converse" was the remark thathe did not seem optimistic.

  The whole mass of his charge moved homewards at an even footpace, thecollie making frantic dashes here and there to keep his flock headed inthe right direction. Presently I saw the herd pouring like a foam-whitenoisy river across the narrow bridge over the Water of Cruden.

  The next morning was fine, very hot, and of an unusual stillness.Ordinarily I should have rejoiced at such a day; but the warning of theerudite and philosophical shepherd made me mistrust. To me the worst ofthe prophecy business was that it became a disturbing influence. To-day,perforce, because it was fine, I had to expect that it would end badly.About noon I walked over to Whinnyfold; it being Saturday I knew thatthe workmen would have gone away early, and I wanted to have the houseto myself so that I could go over it quietly and finally arrange thescheme of colouring. I remained there some hours, and then, when I hadmade up my mind as to things, I set off for the hotel.

  In those few hours the weather had changed marvellously. Busy withindoors and thinking of something else, I had not noticed the change,which must have been gradual however speedy. The heat had increased tillit was most oppressive; and yet through it all there was now and thena cold shiver in the air which almost made me wince. All was still, sopreternaturally still that occasional sounds seemed to strike the ear asdisturbances. The screaming of the seagulls had mainly ceased, and thesound of breaking waves on rocks and shore was at variance with thesilence over the sea; the sheep and cattle were so quiet that now andagain the "moo" of a cow or the bleat of a sheep seemed strangelysingle. As I stood looking out seaward there seemed to be rising a coldwind; I could not exactly feel it, but I knew it was there. As I camedown the path over the beach I thought I heard some one calling--a faintfar-away sound. At first I did not heed it, as I knew it could not beany one calling to me; but when I found it continued, I looked round.There is at least a sufficient amount of curiosity in each of us tomake us look round when there is a calling. At first I could not locateit; but then sight came to aid of sound, and I saw out on a rock twowomen waving handkerchiefs. The calling manifestly came from them. Itwas not good for any one to be isolated on a rock at a time when a stormwas coming up; and I knew well the rocks which these women were amongst.I hurried on as quickly as I could, for there was a good way to go toreach them.

  Near the south end of Cruden Bay there is a cluster of rocks which jutsout from shore, something like a cock's spur. Beyond this cluster areisolated rocks, many of them invisible at high tide. These form part ofthe rocky system of the Skares, which spread out fan-like from the pointof Whinnyfold. Amongst these rocks the sea runs at change of tide withgreat force; more than once when swimming there I had been almostcarried away. What it was to be carried away amongst the rocks of theSkares I knew too well from the fate of Lauchlane Macleod. I ran as fastas I could down the steep pathway and along the boulder-strewn beachtill I came to the Sand Craigs. As I ran I could see from the quickinrush of waves, which though not much at present were gathering forceevery instant, that the storm which the shepherd had predicted wascoming fast upon us. In such case every moment was precious. Indeed itmight mean life; and so in breathless haste I scrambled over the rocks.Behind the main body of the Sand Craigs are two isolated rocks whosetops are just uncovered at high tide, but which are washed with everywave. The near one of these is at low water not separated from the mainmass, but only joined by a narrow isthmus a few feet long, over whichthe first waves of the turning tide rush vigourously, for it is in thedirect sweep of the flowing tide. Beyond this, some ninety or a hundredfeet off and separated by a deep channel, is the outer rock, alwaysin island form. From this spot at low water is the best view of themultitudinous rocks of the Skares. On all sides they rise round youas you stand, the granite seeming yellow with the washing of the seabetween the lines of high and low water; above the latter the blackseaweed ceases growing. This island is so hidden by the higher rocksaround it that it cannot be seen from any part of Cruden Bay or fromPort Erroll across it; it can only be seen from the path leading toWhinnyfold. It was fortunate that some one had been passing just then,or the efforts of the poor women to attract attention might have beenmade in vain.

  When I reached the Sand Craigs I scrambled at once to the farthest pointof the rocks, and came within sight of the isolated rock. Fortunatelyit was low water. The tide had only lately turned and was beginning toflow rapidly through the rocks. When I had scrambled on the second lastrock I was only some thirty yards from the outermost one and could seeclearly the two women. One was stout and elderly, the other young andtall and of exceeding beauty. The elderly one was in an almost franticcondition of fright; but the younger one, though her face was deadlypale--and I could see from the anxious glances which she kept castinground her that she was far from at ease--was outwardly calm. For aninstant there was a curious effect as her pale face framed in dark hairstood out against the foam of the tide churning round the far off rocks.It seemed as though her head were d
ressed with white flowers. As therewas no time to lose, I threw off my coat and shoes and braced myself fora swim. I called as I did so: "What has become of your boat?" The answercame back in a clear, young voice of manifestly American intonation:

  "It drifted away. It has gone off amongst those rocks at the headland."

  I had for a moment an idea that my best plan might be to fetch it first,but a glance at the distance and at the condition of the sea made me seethe futility of any such hope. Already the waves were rising so fastthat they were beginning to sweep over the crest of the rocks. Even thatin front of me where the women stood was now topped by almost everywave. Without further delay I jumped into the sea and swam across. Thegirl gave me a hand up the rock, and I stood beside them, the old ladyholding tight to me whilst I held the younger one and the rising waveswashing round our feet. For a moment or two I considered the situation,and then asked them if either of them could swim. The answer was in thenegative. "Then," I said decisively, "you must leave yourselves to me,and I shall swim across with each of you in turn." The old lady groaned.I pointed out that there was no other way, and that if we came at onceit would not be difficult, as the distance was short and the waves werenot as yet troublesome. I tried to treat the matter as though it were anice holiday episode so that I might keep up their spirits; but all thesame I felt gravely anxious. The distance to swim was only some thirtyyards, but the channel was deep, and the tide running strong. Moreoverthe waves were rising, and we should have to get a foothold on theslippery seaweed-covered rock. However there was nothing to be done butto hasten; and as I was considering how best I should take the old ladyacross I said:

  "What a pity it is that we haven't even a strong cord, and then we couldpull each other across." The girl jumped at the idea and said:

  "There was plenty in the boat, but of course it is gone. Still thereshould be a short piece here. I took care to fasten the painter to apiece of rock; but like a woman forgot to see that the other end wasfixed to the boat, so that when the tide turned she drifted away withthe stream. The fast end should be here still." When the coming wavehad rolled on she pointed to a short piece of rope tied round a juttingpiece of rock; its loose end swayed to and fro with every wave. I jumpedfor it at once, for I saw a possible way out of our difficulty; even ifthe rope were short, so was the distance, and its strands ravelled mightcover the width of the channel. I untied the rope as quickly as I could.It was not an easy task, for the waves made it impossible to work exceptfor a few seconds at a time; however, I got it free at last and pulledit up. It was only a fragment some thirty feet in length; but my heartleaped for I saw my way clear now. The girl saw it too and said at once:

  "Let me help you." I gave her one end of the rope and we commencedsimultaneously to ravel the piles. It was a little difficult to do,standing as we did upon the uneven surface of the rock with the wavesrushing over our feet and the old lady beside us groaning and moaningand imploring us to hasten. Mostly she addressed herself to me, as insome way the _deus ex machina_ and thus superior to the occasion wherehelpless women were concerned; but occasionally the wail was directed toher companion, who would then, even in that time of stress and hurry,spare a moment to lay a comforting hand on her as she said:

  "Hush! oh hush! Do not say anything, dear. You will only frightenyourself. Be brave!" and such phrases of kindness and endearment. Oncethe girl stopped as a wave bigger than the rest broke over her feet. Theold lady tried to still her shriek into a moan as she held on to her,saying "Oh Miss Anita! Oh Miss Anita!" plaintively over and over again.

  At last we had ravelled the four strands of the rope and I began to knotthem together. The result was a rope long enough to reach from rock torock, though it was in places of very doubtful strength. I made a bigloop at one end of it and put it over the stout lady's head and underher armpits. I cautioned both women not to tax the cord too severely bya great or sudden strain. The elder lady protested against going first,but was promptly negatived by the young lady, whose wishes on thesubject were to me a foregone conclusion. I took the loose end of therope and diving into the water swam across to the other rock upon thetop of which I scrambled with some little trouble, for the waves, thoughnot as yet in themselves dangerous, made difficult any movement whichexposed me to their force. I signed to the old lady to slide into thesea which, assisted by the girl, she did very pluckily. She gasped andgurgled a good deal and clutched the loop with a death grip; but I kepta steady even strain on the rope whose strength I mistrusted. In a fewseconds she was safely across, and I was pulling her up by the hands upthe rock. When she was firmly fixed I gave her the loose end of the cordto hold and swam back with the loop. The girl did not delay or giveany trouble. As she helped me up the rock I could not but notice whatstrength she had; her grip of my wet hand was firm and strong, and therewas in it no quiver of anxiety. I felt that she had no care for herself,now that her companion was safe. I signalled to the old lady to beready; the girl slipped into the water, I going in at the same time andswimming beside her. The old lady pulled zealously. So absorbed was shein her work that she did not heed my warning cry not to pull too hard.She pulled as though on her strength rested the issue of life and death;with the result that before we were a third of the way across the ropebroke and she fell sitting on the rock behind her. For an instant thegirl was submerged and came up gasping. In the spasmodic impulse commonat such moments she gripped me so hard round the neck that I feltwe were both in danger. Before we sank I wrenched, though with somedifficulty her hands away from me, so that when we rose I had her atarm's length. For a few seconds I held her so that she could get herbreath; and as I did so I could hear the old lady screaming out in anagonised way:

  "Marjory! Marjory! Marjory!" With her breath came back the girl'sreason, and she left herself to me passively. As I held her by theshoulder, a wave sweeping over the rock took us, and in my sudden effortto hold her I tore away the gown at her throat. It was quite evident herwits were all about her now for she cried out suddenly:

  "Oh, my brooch! my brooch!" There was no time to waste and no time forquestions. When a man has to swim for two in a choppy sea, and when theother one is a fully clothed woman, there is little to waste of strengthor effort. So I swam as I had never done, and brought her up to the rockwhere the old lady helped her to scramble to her feet. When I had got mybreath I asked her about her brooch. She replied:

  "I would not have lost it for all the world. It is an heirloom."

  "Was it gold?" I asked, for I wanted to know its appearance as Iintended to dive for it.

  "Yes!" she said, and without another word I jumped into the channelagain to swim to the outer rock, for it was close there it must havebeen lost and I could dive from there. The channel between the rockshas a sandy bottom, and it would be easy to see the gold. As I went shecalled out to me to come back, not to mind, that she would rather loseit a thousand times than have me run any risk, and so forth; thingsmightily pleasant to hear when spoken by such lips. For myself I hadonly exultation. I had got off both the women without accident, and thesea was as yet, not such as to give any concern to a good swimmer. Idived from the rock and got bottom easily, the depth being only ten ortwelve feet; and after a few seconds looking round me I saw the gleam ofgold. When I had risen and swam to the inner rock the two women pulledme up to my feet.

  When I gave her the brooch the young lady pressed it to her lips, andturning to me with tears in her eyes said:

  "Oh you brave man! You kind, brave man! I would not have lost this foranything I call mine. Thank you that you have saved our lives; andthat you have saved this for me." Then with girlish impulsiveness andunpremeditation she put up her face and kissed me.

  That moment, with her wet face to mine, was the happiest of my life.