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 arranged
with the builders that the fitting up and what the conveyancers call
"beautifyings" should not be done until I should be on the spot myself
next year, to be consulted about everything. Every day I went over
to see the place and become familiar with it before the plans for
decoration should be taken in hand. Still there was no enjoyment in
getting 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 of
absolute activity, for the herring fishing had been good and trade of
all kinds was brisk. At the market place which was half full of booths,
could be had almost everything required for the needs or comfort of
life such as it can be on a fishing boat. Fruit and all sorts of summer
luxuries were abundant. Being Saturday the boats had returned early and
had got their nets away to the drying-grounds, and the men had been able
to shave and dress tidily. The women, too, had got their dressing done
early--the fish first and themselves afterwards.
For awhile I wandered about aimlessly amongst the booths, with that sort
of unsatisfaction upon me which had of late been the prelude to many of
the manifestations of the power of Second Sight. This used to be just
as if something within me was groping or searching unsuccessfully for
something unknown, the satisfaction coming with the realization of the
objective of the search.
Presently I came to an itinerant auctioneer who was dealing with a small
cart-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 offer
decreasing in default of bidders. The auctioneer was ready with his
tongue; his patter showed how well he understood the needs and ideas of
the class whom he addressed.
"Here's the works of the Reverend Robert William McAlister of
Trottermaverish in twal volumes, wantin' the first an' the last twa;
three damaged by use, but still full of power in dealing with the
speeritual necessities o' men who go down to the great deep in ships. A
sermon for every day in the year, in the Gaelic for them as has na got
the English, an' in good English for them as has. How much for the twal
volumes, 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 twa
shellin'. Gone for you sir!" the nine volumes were handed over to a
grave-looking old man, and the two shillings which he produced from a
heavy canvas bag duly pocketed by the auctioneer.
Everything he had, found some buyer; even a blue-book seemed to have
its attraction. The oddness of some of the odd lots was occasionally
amusing. When I had been round the basins of the harbour and had seen
the dressings and barrelling of the fish, I again came across the
auctioneer in the market place. He had evidently been using his time
well, for the cart was almost empty. He was just putting up the last
article, an old oak chest which up to now he had used as a sort of table
on which to display the object for sale. An old oak chest has always
charms for me, and I was about furnishing a house. I stepped over,
opened the lid and looked in; there were some papers tossed on the
bottom of it. I asked the auctioneer if the contents went with the
chest, my real object being to get a look at the lock which seemed a
very old one of steel, though it was much damaged and lacked a key. I
was 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 any
man who has goods to guard. It wants a key, truth to tell; but the lock
is a fine aud one and you can easy fit a key. Moreover the contents, be
they what they may, are yours also. See! aud letters in some foreign
tongue--French I think. Yellow in age an' the ink faded. Somebody's love
letters, I'm thinkin'. Come now, young men here's a chance. Maybe if
ye're no that fameeliar in writin' yer hairts oot to the lassies, ye can
get some hints frae these. They can learn ye, I warrant!"
I was not altogether unaccustomed to auctions, so I affected a
nonchalance which I did not feel. Indeed, I was unaccountably excited.
It might have been that my feelings and memories had been worked up by
the seeing again the pier where first I had met Lauchlane Macleod, and
the moving life which then had environed him. I felt coming over me that
strange impalpable influence or tendency which had been a part of my
nature 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 the
baleful eyes of the man in the ghostly procession on that Lammas eve. I
was recalled to myself by the voice of the auctioneer:
"The kist and its contents will be sold for a guinea and not a bawbee
less."
"I take it!" I cried impulsively. The auctioneer who in his wildest
dreams had no hope of such a price seemed startled into momentary
comparative silence. He quickly recovered himself and said: "The kist is
yours, good master; and that concludes the roup!"
I looked around to see if there was present any one who could even
suggest in any way the appearance of the man in the ghostly procession.
But there was no such person. I met only _mirabile dictu_, the greedy
eyes of Gormala MacNiel.
That evening in my room at the Kilmarnock Arms, I examined the papers
as well as I could by lamplight. They were in an old-fashioned style
of writing with long tails and many flourishes which made an added
difficulty 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 a
few words here and there. The dates ranged between 1598 and 1610. The
letters, of which there were eight, were of manifest unimportance, short
notes directed: "Don de Escoban" and merely arranging meetings. Then
there were a number of loose pages of some printed folio, used perhaps
as some kind of tally or possibly a cipher, for they were marked all
over with dots. The lot was completed by a thin, narrow strip of paper
covered with figures--possibly some account. Papers of three centuries
ago were valuable, were it only for their style of writing. So I locked
them all up carefully before I went to bed, with full intention to
examine them thoroughly some day. The appearance of Gormala just at the
time when I had become possessed of them seemed to connect them in some
mysterious way with the former weird experiences in which she had so
prominent a part.
That night I dreamed as usual, though my dreaming was of a scattered
and incoherent character. Gormala's haunting presence and all that had
happened during the day, especially the buying of the chest with the
mysterious papers, as well as what had taken place since my arrival at
Cruden was mixed up in perpetually recurring images with the beginning
of my Second Sight and the death of Lauchlane Macleod. Again, and again,
and again, I saw with the eyes of memory, in fragmentary fashion, the
grand form of the fisherman standing in a blaze of gold, and later
fighting his way through a still sea of gold, of which the only reliefs
were the scattered piles of black rock and the pale face patched with
blood. Again, and again, and again, the ghostly procession came up the
steep path from the depths of the sea, and passed in slow silent measure
into St. Olaf's Well.
Gormala's words were becoming a truth to me; that above and around me
was some force which was impelling to an end all things of which I could
take cognizance, myself amongst the rest. Here I stopped, suddenly
arrested by the thought that it was Gormala herself who had set my mind
working in this direction; and the words with which she had at once
warned and threatened me when after the night of Lauchlane's death we
stood at Witsennan point:
"_When the Word is spoken all follows as ordained. Aye! though the
Ministers of the Doom may be many and various, and though they may have
to gather in one from many ages and from the furthermost ends of the
earth!_"
The next few days were delightfully fine, and life was one long
enjoyment. On Monday evening there was a sunset which I shall never
forget. The whole western sky seemed ablaze with red and gold; great
masses of cloud which had rolled up seemed like huge crimson canopies
looped with gold over the sun throned on the western mountains. I was
standing on the Hawklaw, whence I could get a good view; beside me was a
shepherd whose flock patched the steep green hillside as with snow. I
turned to him and said:
"Is not that a glorious sight?"
"Aye! 'Tis grand. But like all beauty o' the warld it fadeth into
naught; 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' the
optimist and the pessimist are lears alike; takin' a pairt for
the whole, an' so guilty o' the logical sin o' _a particulari ad
universale_. Sophism they misca' it; as if there were anything but a lee
in a misstatement o' fac'. Fac's is good eneuch for me; an' that, let me
tell ye, is why I said that the splendour o' the sunset is but a mask
for dool. Look yon! The clouds are all gold and glory, like a regiment
goin' oot to the battle. But bide ye till the sun drops, not only below
the horizon but beyond the angle o' refraction. Then what see ye? All
grim and grey, and waste, and dourness and dool; like the army as it
returns frae the fecht. There be some that think that because the sun
sets fine i' the nicht, it will of necessity rise fine i' the morn. They
seem to no ken that it has to traverse one half o' the warld ere it
returns; and that the averages of fine and foul, o' light and dark hae
to be aye maintained. It may be that the days o' fine follow ane anither
fast; or that the foul times linger likewise. But in the end, the
figures 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 the
fac' o' the morrow will differ sair frae the fac's o' this nicht. Not in
vain hae I seen the wisdom and glory o' the Lord in sunsets an' dawns
wi'oot learnin' the lessons that they teach. Mon, I tell ye that it's
all those glories o' pomp and pageantry--all the lasceevious luxuries
o' colour an' splendour, that are the forerinners o' disaster. Do ye no
see 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 sets
the 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 noo
away 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 own
sheep whose ceaseless bleating, sounding in every note of the scale,
broke the otherwise universal silence of nature. "I'm thinkin' it's
but the calm before the storm. Weel sir, I maun gang. The yowes say it
is time for the hame comin'. An' mark ye, the collie! He looks at me
reproachful, 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 my
philosophical egoist moved homewards, blissfully unconscious of the fact
that my sole contribution to the "pleasing converse" was the remark that
he did not seem optimistic.
The whole mass of his charge moved homewards at an even footpace, the
collie making frantic dashes here and there to keep his flock headed in
the right direction. Presently I saw the herd pouring like a foam-white
noisy 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 the
erudite and philosophical shepherd made me mistrust. To me the worst of
the 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 that
the workmen would have gone away early, and I wanted to have the house
to myself so that I could go over it quietly and finally arrange the
scheme of colouring. I remained there some hours, and then, when I had
made up my mind as to things, I set off for the hotel.
In those few hours the weather had changed marvellously. Busy within
doors and thinking of something else, I had not noticed the change,
which must have been gradual however speedy. The heat had increased till
it was most oppressive; and yet through it all there was now and then
a cold shiver in the air which almost made me wince. All was still, so
preternaturally still that occasional sounds seemed to strike the ear as
disturbances. The screaming of the seagulls had mainly ceased, and the
sound of breaking waves on rocks and shore was at variance with the
silence over the sea; the sheep and cattle were so quiet that now and
again the "moo" of a cow or the bleat of a sheep seemed strangely
single. As I stood looking out seaward there seemed to be rising a cold
wind; I could not exactly feel it, but I knew it was there. As I came
down the path over the beach I thought I heard some one calling--a faint
far-away sound. At first I did not heed it, as I knew it could not be
any 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 to
make us look round when there is a calling. At first I could not locate
it; but then sight came to aid of sound, and I saw out on a rock two
women waving handkerchiefs. The calling manifestly came from them. It
was not good for any one to be isolated on a rock at a time when a storm
was 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 to
reach them.
Near the south end of Cruden Bay there is a cluster of rocks which juts
out from shore, something like a cock's spur. Beyond this cluster are
isolated rocks, many of them invisible at high tide. These form part of
the rocky system of the Skares, which spread out fan-like from the point
of Whinnyfold. Amongst these rocks the sea runs at change of tide with
great force; more than once when swimming there I had been almost
carried away. What it was to be carried away amongst the rocks of the
Skares I knew too well from the fate of Lauchlane Macleod. I ran as fast
as I could down the steep pathway and along the boulder-strewn beach
till I came to the Sand Craigs. As I ran I could see from the quick
inrush of waves, which though not much at present were gathering force
every instant, that the storm which the shepherd had predicted was
coming fast upon us. In such case every moment was precious. Indeed it
might mean life; and so in breathless haste I scrambled over the rocks.
Behind the main body of the Sand Craigs are two isolated rocks whose
tops are just uncovered at high tide, but which are washed with every
wave. The near one of these is at low water not separated from the main
mass, but only joined by a narrow isthmus a few feet long, over which
the first waves of the turning tide rush vigourously, for it is in the
direct sweep of the flowing tide. Beyond this, some ninety or a hundred
feet off and separated by a deep channel, is the outer rock, always
in island form. From this spot at low water is the best view of the
multitudinous rocks of the Skares. On all sides they rise round you
as you stand, the granite seeming yellow with the washing of the sea
between the lines of high and low water; above the latter the black
seaweed ceases growing. This island is so hidden by the higher rocks
around it that it cannot be seen from any part of Cruden Bay or from
Port Erroll across it; it can only be seen from the path leading to
Whinnyfold. It was fortunate that some one had been passing just then,
or the efforts of the poor women to attract attention might have been
made in vain.
When I reached the Sand Craigs I scrambled at once to the farthest point
of the rocks, and came within sight of the isolated rock. Fortunately
it was low water. The tide had only lately turned and was beginning to
flow rapidly through the rocks. When I had scrambled on the second last
rock I was only some thirty yards from the outermost one and could see
clearly the two women. One was stout and elderly, the other young and
tall and of exceeding beauty. The elderly one was in an almost frantic
condition of fright; but the younger one, though her face was deadly
pale--and I could see from the anxious glances which she kept casting
round her that she was far from at ease--was outwardly calm. For an
instant there was a curious effect as her pale face framed in dark hair
stood out against the foam of the tide churning round the far off rocks.
It seemed as though her head were dressed with white flowers. As there
was no time to lose, I threw off my coat and shoes and braced myself for
a swim. I called as I did so: "What has become of your boat?" The answer
came 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 see
the futility of any such hope. Already the waves were rising so fast
that they were beginning to sweep over the crest of the rocks. Even that
in front of me where the women stood was now topped by almost every
wave. Without further delay I jumped into the sea and swam across. The
girl gave me a hand up the rock, and I stood beside them, the old lady
holding tight to me whilst I held the younger one and the rising waves
washing 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 the
negative. "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 once
it would not be difficult, as the distance was short and the waves were
not as yet troublesome. I tried to treat the matter as though it were a
nice holiday episode so that I might keep up their spirits; but all the
same I felt gravely anxious. The distance to swim was only some thirty
yards, but the channel was deep, and the tide running strong. Moreover
the waves were rising, and we should have to get a foothold on the
slippery seaweed-covered rock. However there was nothing to be done but
to hasten; and as I was considering how best I should take the old lady
across I said:
"What a pity it is that we haven't even a strong cord, and then we could
pull each other across." The girl jumped at the idea and said:
"There was plenty in the boat, but of course it is gone. Still there
should be a short piece here. I took care to fasten the painter to a
piece of rock; but like a woman forgot to see that the other end was
fixed to the boat, so that when the tide turned she drifted away with
the stream. The fast end should be here still." When the coming wave
had rolled on she pointed to a short piece of rope tied round a jutting
piece of rock; its loose end swayed to and fro with every wave. I jumped
for it at once, for I saw a possible way out of our difficulty; even if
the rope were short, so was the distance, and its strands ravelled might
cover 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 except
for a few seconds at a time; however, I got it free at last and pulled
it up. It was only a fragment some thirty feet in length; but my heart
leaped 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 commenced
simultaneously to ravel the piles. It was a little difficult to do,
standing as we did upon the uneven surface of the rock with the waves
rushing over our feet and the old lady beside us groaning and moaning
and imploring us to hasten. Mostly she addressed herself to me, as in
some way the _deus ex machina_ and thus superior to the occasion where
helpless women were concerned; but occasionally the wail was directed to
her 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 frighten
yourself. Be brave!" and such phrases of kindness and endearment. Once
the girl stopped as a wave bigger than the rest broke over her feet. The
old 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 knot
them together. The result was a rope long enough to reach from rock to
rock, though it was in places of very doubtful strength. I made a big
loop at one end of it and put it over the stout lady's head and under
her armpits. I cautioned both women not to tax the cord too severely by
a great or sudden strain. The elder lady protested against going first,
but was promptly negatived by the young lady, whose wishes on the
subject were to me a foregone conclusion. I took the loose end of the
rope and diving into the water swam across to the other rock upon the
top of which I scrambled with some little trouble, for the waves, though
not as yet in themselves dangerous, made difficult any movement which
exposed me to their force. I signed to the old lady to slide into the
sea which, assisted by the girl, she did very pluckily. She gasped and
gurgled a good deal and clutched the loop with a death grip; but I kept
a steady even strain on the rope whose strength I mistrusted. In a few
seconds she was safely across, and I was pulling her up by the hands up
the rock. When she was firmly fixed I gave her the loose end of the cord
to hold and swam back with the loop. The girl did not delay or give
any trouble. As she helped me up the rock I could not but notice what
strength she had; her grip of my wet hand was firm and strong, and there
was 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 be
ready; the girl slipped into the water, I going in at the same time and
swimming beside her. The old lady pulled zealously. So absorbed was she
in 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 rope
broke and she fell sitting on the rock behind her. For an instant the
girl was submerged and came up gasping. In the spasmodic impulse common
at such moments she gripped me so hard round the neck that I felt
we were both in danger. Before we sank I wrenched, though with some
difficulty her hands away from me, so that when we rose I had her at
arm's length. For a few seconds I held her so that she could get her
breath; and as I did so I could hear the old lady screaming out in an
agonised way:
"Marjory! Marjory! Marjory!" With her breath came back the girl's
reason, and she left herself to me passively. As I held her by the
shoulder, a wave sweeping over the rock took us, and in my sudden effort
to hold her I tore away the gown at her throat. It was quite evident her
wits were all about her now for she cried out suddenly:
"Oh, my brooch! my brooch!" There was no time to waste and no time for
questions. When a man has to swim for two in a choppy sea, and when the
other one is a fully clothed woman, there is little to waste of strength
or effort. So I swam as I had never done, and brought her up to the rock
where the old lady helped her to scramble to her feet. When I had got my
breath 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 I
intended to dive for it.
"Yes!" she said, and without another word I jumped into the channel
again to swim to the outer rock, for it was close there it must have
been lost and I could dive from there. The channel between the rocks
has a sandy bottom, and it would be easy to see the gold. As I went she
called out to me to come back, not to mind, that she would rather lose
it a thousand times than have me run any risk, and so forth; things
mightily pleasant to hear when spoken by such lips. For myself I had
only exultation. I had got off both the women without accident, and the
sea was as yet, not such as to give any concern to a good swimmer. I
dived from the rock and got bottom easily, the depth being only ten or
twelve feet; and after a few seconds looking round me I saw the gleam of
gold. When I had risen and swam to the inner rock the two women pulled
me up to my feet.
When I gave her the brooch the young lady pressed it to her lips, and
turning to me with tears in her eyes said:
"Oh you brave man! You kind, brave man! I would not have lost this for
anything I call mine. Thank you that you have saved our lives; and
that you have saved this for me." Then with girlish impulsiveness and
unpremeditation she put up her face and kissed me.
That moment, with her wet face to mine, was the happiest of my life.