Now, as sure as ever I lay beneath the third arch of Aber-Aydyr Bridge,
in a blanket of Welsh serge or flannel, with a double border, so surely
did I see, and not dream, what I am going to tell you.
The river ran from east to west; and the moon, being now the harvest
moon, was not very high, but large and full, and just gliding over the
crest of the hill that overhangs the quarry-pit; so that, if I can put
it plainly, the moon was across the river from me, and striking the
turbulent water athwart, so that her face, or a glimmer thereof, must
have been lying upon the river if any smooth place had been left for it.
But of this there was no chance, because the whole of the river was in
a rush, according to its habit, and covered with bubbles, and froth, and
furrows, even where it did not splash, and spout, and leap, as it loved
to do. In the depth of the night, when even the roar of the water seemed
drowsy and indolent, and the calm trees stooped with their heavy limbs
over-changing the darkness languidly, and only a few rays of the moon,
like the fluttering of a silver bird, moved in and out the mesh-work, I
leaned upon, my elbow, and I saw the dead George Bowring.
He came from the pit of the river toward me, quietly and without stride
or step, gliding over the water like a mist or the vapour of a calm
white frost; and he stopped at the ripple where the shore began, and he
looked at me very peacefully. And I felt neither fear nor doubt of him,
any more than I do of this pen in my hand.
“George,” I said, “I have been uneasy all the day about you and I cannot
sleep, and I have had no comfort. What has made you treat me so?”
He seemed to be anxious to explain, having always been so
straightforward; but an unknown hand or the power of death held him, so
that he could only smile. And then it appeared to me as if he pointed
to the water first and then to the sky, with such an import that I
understood (as plainly as if he had pronounced it) that his body lay
under the one and his soul was soaring on high through the other; and,
being forbidden to speak, he spread his hands, as if entrusting me with
all that had belonged to him; and then he smiled once more, and faded
into the whiteness of the froth and foam.
And then I knew that I had been holding converse, face to face, with
Death; and icy fear shook me, and I strove in vain to hide my eyes from
everything. And when I awoke in the morning there was a gray trunk of an
alder tree, just George Bowring's height and size, on the other side of
the water, so that I could have no doubt that himself had been there.
After a search of about three hours we found the body of my dear friend
in a deep black pool of the Aydyr--not the first hole below the place
in which he sat down to his luncheon, but nearly a hundred yards farther
down, where a bold cliff jutted out and bent the water scornfully. Our
quarrymen would not search this pool until the sunlight fell on it,
because it was a place of dread with a legend hovering over it. “The
Giant's Tombstone” was the name of the crag that overhung it; and the
story was that the giant Idris, when he grew worn out with age, chose
this rock out of many others near the top of the mountain, and laid it
under his arm and came down here to drink of the Aydyr. He drank the
Aydyr dry because he was feverish and flushed with age; and he set down
the crag in a hole he had scooped with the palms of his hands for more
water; and then he lay down on his back, and Death (who never could
reach to his knee when he stood) took advantage of his posture to drive
home the javelin. And thus he lay dead, with the crag for his headstone,
and the weight of his corpse sank a grave for itself in the channel of
the river, and the toes of his boots are still to be seen after less
than a mile of the valley.
Under this headstone of Idris lay the body of George Bowring, fair and
comely, with the clothes all perfect, and even the light cap still on
the head. And as we laid it upon the grass, reverently and carefully,
the face, although it could smile no more, still appeared to wear a
smile, as if the new world were its home, and death a mere trouble left
far behind. Even the eyes were open, and their expression was not of
fright or pain, but pleasant and bright, with a look of interest such as
a man pays to his food.
“Stand back, all of you!” I said sternly; “none shall examine him but
myself. Now all of you note what I find here.”
I searched all his pockets, one after another; and tears came to my eyes
again as I counted not less than eleven of them, for I thought of the
fuss we used to make with the Shrewsbury tailor about them. There was
something in every pocket, but nothing of any importance at present,
except his purse and a letter from his wife, for which he had walked to
Dolgelly and back on the last entire day of his life.
“It is a hopeless mystery!” I exclaimed aloud, as the Welshmen gazed
with superstitious awe and doubt. “He is dead as if struck by lightning,
but there was no storm in the valley!”
“No, no, sure enough; no storm was there. But it is plain to see what
has killed him!” This was Evan Peters, the quarryman, and I glanced at
him very suspiciously. “Iss, sure, plain enough,” said another; and then
they all broke into Welsh, with much gesticulation; and “e-ah, e-ah,”
and “otty, otty,” and “hanool, hanool,” were the sounds they made--at
least to an ignorant English ear.
“What do you mean, you fools?” I asked, being vexed at their offhand way
of settling things so far beyond them. “Can you pretend to say what it
was?”
“Indeed, then, and indeed, my gentleman, it is no use to talk no more.
It was the Caroline Morgan.”
“Which is the nearest house?” I asked, for I saw that some of them were
already girding up their loins to fly, at the mere sound of that fearful
name; for the cholera morbus had scared the whole country; and if one
were to fly, all the rest would follow, as swiftly as mountain sheep
go. “Be quick to the nearest house, my friends, and we will send for the
doctor.”
This was a lucky hit; for these Cambrians never believed in anyone's
death until he had “taken the doctor.” And so, with much courage and
kindness, “to give the poor gentleman the last chance,” they made a rude
litter, and, bearing the body upon sturdy shoulders, betook themselves
to a track which I had overlooked entirely. Some people have all their
wits about them as soon as they are called for, but with me it is mainly
otherwise. And this I had shown in two things already; the first of
which came to my mind the moment I pulled out my watch to see what the
time was. “Good Heavens!” it struck me, “where is George's watch? It was
not in any of his pockets; and I did not feel it in his fob.”
In an instant I made them set down the bier; and, much as it grieved me
to do such a thing, I carefully sought for my dear friend's watch. No
watch, no seals, no ribbon, was there! “Go on,” I said; and I fell behind
them, having much to think about. In this condition, I took little heed
of the distance, or of the ground itself; being even astonished when, at
last, we stopped; as if we were bound to go on forever.