The Mystery of the Sea
by Bram Stoker · English · Gutenberg #42455 · 847,064 chars · public domain (US)
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Title: The Mystery of the Sea
Author: Bram Stoker
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Language: English
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*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE MYSTERY OF THE SEA ***
The Mystery of the Sea
New 6s. Novels
THE ETERNAL CITY
BY HALL CAINE
THE ASSASSINS
BY N. M. MEAKIN
SCARLET AND HYSSOP
BY E. F. BENSON
THE LUCK OF THE VAILS
BY E. F. BENSON
THE STORY OF EDEN
BY DOLF WYLLARDE
A PROPHET OF THE REAL
BY ESTHER MILLER
SONS OF THE SWORD
BY MARGARET L. WOODS
BY BREAD ALONE
BY J. K. FRIEDMAN
THE RIGHT OF WAY
BY GILBERT PARKER
FOUR-LEAVED CLOVER
BY MAXWELL GRAY
JACK RAYMOND
BY E. L. VOYNICH
LOVE AND HIS MASK
BY MÉNIE MURIEL DOWN
TANGLED TRINITIES
BY DANIEL WOODROFFE
GILLETTE'S MARRIAGE
BY MAMIE BOWLES
VOYSEY
BY R. O. PROWSE
SAWDUST
BY DOROTHEA GERARD
FOREST FOLK
BY JAMES PRIOR
LONDON
WILLIAM HEINEMANN
21 BEDFORD STREET, W.C.
The
Mystery of the Sea
By
Bram Stoker
Author of "Dracula"
[Illustration]
London
William Heinemann
1902
_All rights reserved._
_This Edition enjoys copyright in all
countries signatory to the Berne
Treaty, and has been copyrighted in
the United States of America by
Bram Stoker, 1902._
TO
DAISY GILBEY RIVIERE
OF THE
THIRD GENERATION
OF
LOVING AND LOYAL FRIENDS
[Illustration]
"To win the mystery o' the sea,
"An' learn the secrets that there be,
"Gather in ane these weirds three:
"A gowden moon on a flowin' tide;
"An' Lammas floods for the spell to bide;
"An' a gowden mon wi death for his bride."
[Gælic verse and English translation.]
CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
I. SECOND SIGHT 3
II. GORMALA 9
III. AN ANCIENT RUNE 16
IV. LAMMAS FLOODS 23
V. THE MYSTERY OF THE SEA 32
VI. THE MINISTERS OF THE DOOM 44
VII. FROM OTHER AGES AND THE ENDS OF THE EARTH 51
VIII. A RUN ON THE BEACH 66
IX. CONFIDENCES AND SECRET WRITING 80
X. A CLEAR HORIZON 94
XI. IN THE TWILIGHT 104
XII. THE CIPHER 113
XIII. A RIDE THROUGH THE MOUNTAINS 122
XIV. A SECRET SHARED 130
XV. A PECULIAR DINNER PARTY 138
XVI. REVELATIONS 145
XVII. SAM ADAMS'S TASK 152
XVIII. FIREWORKS AND JOAN OF ARC 159
XIX. ON CHANGING ONE'S NAME 165
XX. COMRADESHIP 173
XXI. THE OLD FAR WEST AND THE NEW 180
XXII. CROM CASTLE 187
XXIII. SECRET SERVICE 195
XXIV. A SUBTLE PLAN 200
XXV. INDUCTIVE RATIOCINATION 207
XXVI. A WHOLE WEDDING DAY 215
XXVII. ENTRANCE TO THE CAVERN 222
XXVIII. VOICES IN THE DARK 229
XXIX. THE MONUMENT 237
XXX. THE SECRET PASSAGE 244
XXXI. MARJORY'S ADVENTURE 251
XXXII. THE LOST SCRIPT 260
XXXIII. DON BERNARDINO 269
XXXIV. THE ACCOLADE 277
XXXV. THE POPE'S TREASURE 285
XXXVI. THE RISING TIDE 293
XXXVII. ROUND THE CLOCK 302
XXXVIII. THE DUTY OF A WIFE 310
XXXIX. AN UNEXPECTED VISITOR 317
XL. THE REDEMPTION OF A TRUST 326
XLI. TREASURE TROVE 335
XLII. A STRUGGLE 346
XLIII. THE HONOUR OF A SPANIARD 355
XLIV. THE VOICE IN THE DUST 364
XLV. DANGER 374
XLVI. ARDIFFERY MANSE 382
XLVII. THE DUMB CAN SPEAK 394
XLVIII. DUNBUY HAVEN 403
XLIX. GORMALA'S LAST HELP 413
L. THE EYES OF THE DEAD 423
LI. IN THE SEA FOG 433
LII. THE SKARES 443
LIII. FROM THE DEEP 451
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[Illustration]
THE MYSTERY OF THE SEA
CHAPTER I
SECOND SIGHT
I had just arrived at Cruden Bay on my annual visit, and after a late
breakfast was sitting on the low wall which was a continuation of the
escarpment of the bridge over the Water of Cruden. Opposite to me,
across the road and standing under the only little clump of trees in the
place was a tall, gaunt old woman, who kept looking at me intently. As I
sat, a little group, consisting of a man and two women, went by. I found
my eyes follow them, for it seemed to me after they had passed me that
the two women walked together and the man alone in front carrying on his
shoulder a little black box--a coffin. I shuddered as I thought, but
a moment later I saw all three abreast just as they had been. The old
woman was now looking at me with eyes that blazed. She came across the
road and said to me without preface:
"What saw ye then, that yer e'en looked so awed?" I did not like to
tell her so I did not answer. Her great eyes were fixed keenly upon me,
seeming to look me through and through. I felt that I grew quite red,
whereupon she said, apparently to herself: "I thocht so! Even I did not
see that which he saw."
"How do you mean?" I queried. She answered ambiguously: "Wait! Ye shall
perhaps know before this hour to-morrow!"
Her answer interested me and I tried to get her to say more; but she
would not. She moved away with a grand stately movement that seemed to
become her great gaunt form.
After dinner whilst I was sitting in front of the hotel, there was a
great commotion in the village; much running to and fro of men and women
with sad mien. On questioning them I found that a child had been drowned
in the little harbour below. Just then a woman and a man, the same that
had passed the bridge earlier in the day, ran by with wild looks. One of
the bystanders looked after them pityingly as he said:
"Puir souls. It's a sad home-comin' for them the nicht."
"Who are they?" I asked. The man took off his cap reverently as he
answered:
"The father and mother of the child that was drowned!" As he spoke I
looked round as though some one had called me.
There stood the gaunt woman with a look of triumph on her face.
* * * * *
The curved shore of Cruden Bay, Aberdeenshire, is backed by a waste of
sandhills in whose hollows seagrass and moss and wild violets, together
with the pretty "grass of Parnassus" form a green carpet. The surface of
the hills is held together by bent-grass and is eternally shifting as
the wind takes the fine sand and drifts it to and fro. All behind is
green, from the meadows that mark the southern edge of the bay to the
swelling uplands that stretch away and away far in the distance, till
the blue mist of the mountains at Braemar sets a kind of barrier. In
the centre of the bay the highest point of the land that runs downward
to the sea looks like a miniature hill known as the Hawklaw; from this
point onward to the extreme south, the land runs high with a gentle
trend downwards.
Cruden sands are wide and firm and the sea runs out a considerable
distance. When there is a storm with the wind on shore the whole bay is
a mass of leaping waves and broken water that threatens every instant
to annihilate the stake-nets which stretch out here and there along the
shore. More than a few vessels have been lost on these wide stretching
sands, and it was perhaps the roaring of the shallow seas and the terror
which they inspired which sent the crews to the spirit room and the
bodies of those of them which came to shore later on, to the churchyard
on the hill.
If Cruden Bay is to be taken figuratively as a mouth, with the sand
hills for soft palate, and the green Hawklaw as the tongue, the rocks
which work the extremities are its teeth. To the north the rocks of red
granite rise jagged and broken. To the south, a mile and a half away as
the crow flies, Nature seems to have manifested its wildest forces. It
is here, where the little promontory called Whinnyfold juts out, that
the two great geological features of the Aberdeen coast meet. The red
sienite of the north joins the black gneiss of the south. That union
must have been originally a wild one; there are evidences of an upheaval
which must have shaken the earth to its centre. Here and there are great
masses of either species of rock hurled upwards in every conceivable
variety of form, sometimes fused or pressed together so that it is
impossible to say exactly where gneiss ends or sienite begins; but
broadly speaking here is an irregular line of separation. This line
runs seawards to the east and its strength is shown in its outcrop. For
half a mile or more the rocks rise through the sea singly or in broken
masses ending in a dangerous cluster known as "The Skares" and which has
had for centuries its full toll of wreck and disaster. Did the sea hold
its dead where they fell, its floor around the Skares would be whitened
with their bones, and new islands could build themselves with the piling
wreckage. At times one may see here the ocean in her fiercest mood;
for it is when the tempest drives from the south-east that the sea is
fretted amongst the rugged rocks and sends its spume landwards. The
rocks that at calmer times rise dark from the briny deep are lost to
sight for moments in the grand onrush of the waves. The seagulls which
usually whiten them, now flutter around screaming, and the sound of
their shrieks comes in on the gale almost in a continuous note, for the
single cries are merged in the multitudinous roar of sea and air.
The village, squatted beside the emboucher of the Water of Cruden at the
northern side of the bay is simple enough; a few rows of fishermen's
cottages, two or three great red-tiled drying-sheds nestled in the
sand-heap behind the fishers' houses. For the rest of the place as it
was when first I saw it, a little lookout beside a tall flagstaff on
the northern cliff, a few scattered farms over the inland prospect, one
little hotel down on the western bank of the Water of Cruden with a
fringe of willows protecting its sunk garden which was always full of
fruits and flowers.
From the most southern part of the beach of Cruden Bay to Whinnyfold
village the distance is but a few hundred yards; first a steep pull up
the face of the rock; and then an even way, beside part of which runs
a tiny stream. To the left of this path, going towards Whinnyfold, the
ground rises in a bold slope and then falls again all round, forming a
sort of wide miniature hill of some eighteen or twenty acres. Of this
the southern side is sheer, the black rock dipping into the waters of
the little bay of Whinnyfold, in the centre of which is a picturesque
island of rock shelving steeply from the water on the northern side, as
is the tendency of all the gneiss and granite in this part. But to east
and north there are irregular bays or openings, so that the furthest
points of the promontory stretch out like fingers. At the tips of these
are reefs of sunken rock falling down to deep water and whose existence
can only be suspected in bad weather when the rush of the current
beneath sends up swirling eddies or curling masses of foam. These little
bays are mostly curved and are green where falling earth or drifting
sand have hidden the outmost side of the rocks and given a foothold to
the seagrass and clover. Here have been at some time or other great
caves, now either fallen in or silted up with sand, or obliterated with
the earth brought down in the rush of surface-water in times of long
rain. In one of these bays, Broad Haven, facing right out to the Skares,
stands an isolated pillar of rock called locally the "Puir mon" through
whose base, time and weather have worn a hole through which one may walk
dryshod.
Through the masses of rocks that run down to the sea from the sides
and shores of all these bays are here and there natural channels with
straight edges as though cut on purpose for the taking in of the cobbles
belonging to the fisher folk of Whinnyfold.
When first I saw the place I fell in love with it. Had it been possible
I should have spent my summer there, in a house of my own, but the want
of any place in which to live forbade such an opportunity. So I stayed
in the little hotel, the Kilmarnock Arms.
The next year I came again, and the next, and the next. And then I
arranged to take a feu at Whinnyfold and to build a house overlooking
the Skares for myself. The details of this kept me constantly going to
Whinnyfold, and my house to be was always in my thoughts.
Hitherto my life had been an uneventful one. At school I was, though
secretly ambitious, dull as to results. At College I was better off, for
my big body and athletic powers gave me a certain position in which I
had to overcome my natural shyness. When I was about eight and twenty I
found myself nominally a barrister, with no knowledge whatever of the
practice of law and but little less of the theory, and with a commission
in the Devil's Own--the irreverent name given to the Inns of Court
Volunteers. I had few relatives, but a comfortable, though not great,
fortune; and I had been round the world, dilettante fashion.
CHAPTER II
GORMALA
All that night I thought of the dead child and of the peculiar vision
which had come to me. Sleeping or waking it was all the same; my mind
could not leave the parents in procession as seen in imagination, or
their distracted mien in reality. Mingled with them was the great-eyed,
aquiline-featured, gaunt old woman who had taken such an interest in
the affair, and in my part of it. I asked the landlord if he knew her,
since, from his position as postmaster he knew almost everyone for miles
around. He told me that she was a stranger to the place. Then he added:
"I can't imagine what brings her here. She has come over from Peterhead
two or three times lately; but she doesn't seem to have anything at
all to do. She has nothing to sell and she buys nothing. She's not a
tripper, and she's not a beggar, and she's not a thief, and she's not
a worker of any sort. She's a queer-looking lot anyhow. I fancy from
her speech that she's from the west; probably from some of the far-out
islands. I can tell that she has the Gaelic from the way she speaks."
Later on in the day, when I was walking on the shore near the Hawklaw,
she came up to speak to me. The shore was quite lonely, for in those
days it was rare to see anyone on the beach except when the salmon
fishers drew their nets at the ebbing tide. I was walking towards
Whinnyfold when she came upon me silently from behind. She must have
been hidden among the bent-grass of the sandhills for had she been
anywhere in view I must have seen her on that desolate shore. She was
evidently a most imperious person; she at once addressed me in a tone
and manner which made me feel as though I were in some way an inferior,
and in somehow to blame:
"What for did ye no tell me what ye saw yesterday?" Instinctively I
answered:
"I don't know why. Perhaps because it seemed so ridiculous." Her stern
features hardened into scorn as she replied:
"Are Death and the Doom then so redeekulous that they pleasure ye intil
silence?" I somehow felt that this was a little too much and was about
to make a sharp answer, when suddenly it struck me as a remarkable thing
that she knew already. Filled with surprise I straightway asked her:
"Why, how on earth do you know? I told no one." I stopped for I felt all
at sea; there was some mystery here which I could not fathom. She seemed
to read my mind like an open book, for she went on looking at me as she
spoke, searchingly and with an odd smile.
"Eh! laddie, do ye no ken that ye hae een that can see? Do ye no
understand that ye hae een that can speak? Is it that one with the Gift
o' Second Sight has no an understandin' o' it. Why, yer face when ye saw
the mark o' the Doom, was like a printed book to een like mine."
"Do you mean to tell me" I asked "that you could tell what I saw, simply
by looking at my face?"
"Na! na! laddie. Not all that, though a Seer am I; but I knew that you
had seen the Doom! It's no that varied that there need be any mistake.
After all Death is only one, in whatever way we may speak!" After a
pause of thought I asked her:
"If you have the power of Second Sight why did you not see the vision,
or whatever it was, yourself?"
"Eh! laddie" she answered, shaking her head "'Tis little ye ken o'
the wark o' the Fates! Learn ye then that the Voice speaks only as it
listeth into chosen ears, and the Vision comes only to chosen een. None
can will to hear or to see, to pleasure themselves."
"Then" I said, and I felt that there was a measure of triumph in my tone
"if to none but the chosen is given to know, how comes it that you, who
seem not to have been chosen on this occasion at all events, know all
the same?" She answered with a touch of impatience:
"Do ye ken, young sir, that even mortal een have power to see much, if
there be behind them the thocht, an' the knowledge and the experience
to guide them aright. How, think ye, is it that some can see much, and
learn much as they gang; while others go blind as the mowdiwart, at the
end o' the journey as before it?"
"Then perhaps you will tell me how much you saw, and how you saw it?"
"Ah! to them that have seen the Doom there needs but sma' guidance to
their thochts. Too lang, an' too often hae I mysen seen the death-sark
an' the watch-candle an' the dead-hole, not to know when they are seen
tae ither een. Na, na! laddie, what I kent o' yer seein' was no by the
Gift but only by the use o' my proper een. I kent not the muckle o' what
ye saw. Not whether it was ane or ither o' the garnishins o' the dead;
but weel I kent that it was o' death."
"Then," I said interrogatively "Second Sight is altogether a matter of
chance?"
"Chance! chance!" she repeated with scorn. "Na! young sir; when the
Voice has spoken there is no more chance than that the nicht will follow
the day."
"You mistake me," I said, feeling somewhat superior now that I had
caught her in an error, "I did not for a moment mean that the
Doom--whatever it is--is not a true forerunner. What I meant was that
it seems to be a matter of chance in whose ear the Voice--whatever it
is--speaks; when once it has been ordained that it is to sound in the
ear of some one." Again she answered with scorn:
"Na, na! there is no chance o' ocht aboot the Doom. Them that send forth
the Voice and the Seein' know well to whom it is sent and why. Can ye no
comprehend that it is for no bairn-play that such goes forth. When the
Voice speaks, it is mainly followed by tears an' woe an' lamentation!
Nae! nor is it only one bit manifestation that stands by its lanes,
remote and isolate from all ither. Truly 'tis but a pairt o' the great
scheme o' things; an' be sure that whoso is chosen to see or to hear is
chosen weel, an' must hae their pairt in what is to be, on to the verra
end."
"Am I to take it" I asked, "that Second Sight is but a little bit of
some great purpose which has to be wrought out by means of many kinds;
and that whoso sees the Vision or hears the Voice is but the blind
unconscious instrument of Fate?"
"Aye! laddie. Weel eneuch the Fates know their wishes an' their wark, no
to need the help or the thocht of any human--blind or seein', sane or
silly, conscious or unconscious."
All through her speaking I had been struck by the old woman's use of the
word 'Fate,' and more especially when she used it in the plural. It was
evident that, Christian though she might be--and in the West they are
generally devout observants of the duties of their creed--her belief in
this respect came from some of the old pagan mythologies. I should have
liked to question her on this point; but I feared to shut her lips
against me. Instead I asked her:
"Tell me, will you, if you don't mind, of some case you have known
yourself of Second Sight?"
"'Tis no for them to brag or boast to whom has been given to see the
wark o' the hand o' Fate. But sine ye are yerself a Seer an' would
learn, then I may speak. I hae seen the sea ruffle wi'oot cause in the
verra spot where later a boat was to gang doon, I hae heard on a lone
moor the hammerin' o' the coffin-wright when one passed me who was soon
to dee. I hae seen the death-sark fold round the speerit o' a drowned
one, in baith ma sleepin' an' ma wakin' dreams. I hae heard the settin'
doom o' the Spaiks, an' I hae seen the Weepers on a' the crood that
walked. Aye, an' in mony anither way hae I seen an' heard the Coming o'
the Doom."
"But did all the seeings and hearings come true?" I asked. "Did it ever
happen that you heard queer sounds or saw strange sights and that yet
nothing came of them? I gather that you do not always know to whom
something is going to happen; but only that death is coming to some
one!" She was not displeased at my questioning but replied at once:
"Na doot! but there are times when what is seen or heard has no manifest
following. But think ye, young sir, how mony a corp, still waited for,
lies in the depths o' the sea; how mony lie oot on the hillsides, or are
fallen in deep places where their bones whiten unkent. Nay! more, to how
many has Death come in a way that men think the wark o' nature when his
hastening has come frae the hand of man, untold." This was a difficult
matter to answer so I changed or rather varied the subject.
"How long must elapse before the warning comes true?"
"Ye know yersel', for but yestreen ye hae seen, how the Death can follow
hard upon the Doom; but there be times, nay mostly are they so, when
days or weeks pass away ere the Doom is fulfilled."
"Is this so?" I asked "when you know the person regarding whom the Doom
is spoken." She answered with an air of certainty which somehow carried
conviction, secretly, with it.
"Even so! I know one who walks the airth now in all the pride o' his
strength. But the Doom has been spoken of him. I saw him with these
verra een lie prone on rocks, wi' the water rinnin' down from his hair.
An' again I heard the minute bells as he went by me on a road where is
no bell for a score o' miles. Aye, an' yet again I saw him in the kirk
itsel' wi' corbies flyin' round him, an' mair gatherin' from afar!"
Here was indeed a case where Second Sight might be tested; so I asked
her at once, though to do so I had to overcome a strange sort of
repugnance:
"Could this be proved? Would it not be a splendid case to make known; so
that if the death happened it would prove beyond all doubt the existence
of such a thing as Second Sight." My suggestion was not well received.
She answered with slow scorn:
"Beyon' all doot! Doot! Wha is there that doots the bein' o' the Doom?
Learn ye too, young sir, that the Doom an' all thereby is no for
traffickin' wi' them that only cares for curiosity and publeecity. The
Voice and the Vision o' the Seer is no for fine madams and idle gentles
to while away their time in play-toy make-believe!" I climbed down at
once.
"Pardon me!" I said "I spoke without thinking. I should not have said
so--to you at any rate." She accepted my apology with a sort of regal
inclination; but the moment after she showed by her words she was after
all but a woman!
"I will tell ye; that so in the full time ye may hae no doot yersel'.
For ye are a Seer and as Them that has the power hae gien ye the Gift
it is no for the like o' me to cumber the road o' their doin'. Know ye
then, and remember weel, how it was told ye by Gormala MacNiel that
Lauchlane Macleod o' the Outer Isles hae been Called; tho' as yet the
Voice has no sounded in his ears but only in mine. But ye will see the
time----"
She stopped suddenly as though some thought had struck her, and then
went on impressively:
"When I saw him lie prone on the rocks there was ane that bent ower him
that I kent not in the nicht wha it was, though the licht o' the moon
was around him. We shall see! We shall see!"
Without a word more she turned and left me. She would not listen to my
calling after her; but with long strides passed up the beach and was
lost among the sandhills.
CHAPTER III
AN ANCIENT RUNE
On the next day I rode on my bicycle to Peterhead, and walked on the
pier. It was a bright clear day, and a fresh northern breeze was
blowing. The fishing boats were ready to start at the turn of the tide;
and as I came up the first of them began to pass out through the harbour
mouth. Their movement was beautiful to see; at first slowly, and then
getting faster as the sails were hoisted, till at last they swept
through the narrow entrance, scuppers under, righting themselves as they
swung before the wind in the open sea. Now and again a belated smacksman
came hurrying along to catch his boat before she should leave the pier.
The eastern pier of Peterhead is guarded by a massive wall of granite,
built in several steps or tiers, which breaks the fury of the gale. When
a northern storm is on, it is a wild spot; the waves dash over it in
walls of solid green topped with mountainous masses of foam and spray.
But at present, with the July sun beating down, it was a vantage post
from which to see the whole harbour and the sea without. I climbed up
and sat on the top, looking on admiringly, and lazily smoked in quiet
enjoyment. Presently I noticed some one very like Gormala come hurrying
along the pier, and now and again crouching behind one of the mooring
posts. I said nothing but kept an eye on her, for I supposed that she
was at her usual game of watching some one.
Soon a tall man strode leisurely along, and from every movement of the
woman I could see that he was the subject of her watching. He came near
where I sat, and stood there with that calm unconcerned patience which
is a characteristic of the fisherman.
He was a fine-looking fellow, well over six feet high, with a tangled
mass of thick red-yellow hair and curly, bushy beard. He had lustrous,
far-seeing golden-brown eyes, and massive, finely-cut features. His
pilot-cloth trousers spangled all over with silver herring scales, were
tucked into great, bucket-boots. He wore a heavy blue jersey and a cap
of weazel skin. I had been thinking of the decline of the herring from
the action of the trawlers in certain waters, and fancied this would be
a good opportunity to get a local opinion. Before long I strolled over
and joined this son of the Vikings. He gave it, and it was a decided
one, uncompromisingly against the trawlers and the laws which allowed
them to do their nefarious work. He spoke in a sort of old-fashioned,
biblical language which was moderate and devoid of epithets, but full
of apposite illustration. When he had pointed out that certain fishing
grounds, formerly most prolific of result to the fishers, were now
absolutely worthless he ended his argument:
"And, sure, good master, it stands to rayson. Suppose you be a farmer,
and when you have prepared your land and manured it, you sow your seed
and plough the ridges and make it all safe from wind and devastatin'
storm. If, when the green corn be shootin' frae the airth, you take your
harrow and drag it ath'art the springin' seed, where be then the promise
of your golden grain?"
For a moment or two the beauty of his voice, the deep, resonant,
earnestness of his tone and the magnificent, simple purity of the man
took me away from the scene. He seemed as though I had looked him
through and through, and had found him to be throughout of golden
worth. Possibly it was the imagery of his own speech and the colour
which his eyes and hair and cap suggested, but he seemed to me for an
instant as a small figure projected against a background of rolling
upland clothed in ripe grain. Round his feet were massed the folds of
a great white sheet whose edges faded into air. In a moment the image
passed, and he stood before me in his full stature.
I almost gasped, for just behind him, where she had silently come,
stood Gormala, gazing not at the fisherman but at me, with eyes that
positively blazed with a sort of baleful eagerness. She was looking
straight into my eyes; I knew it when I caught the look of hers.
The fisherman went on talking. I did not, however, hear what he was
saying, for again some mysterious change had come over our surroundings.
The blue sea had over it the mystery of the darkness of the night; the
high noon sun had lost its fiery vigour and shone with the pale yellow
splendour of a full moon. All around me, before and on either hand, was
a waste of waters; the very air and earth seemed filmed with moving
water, and the sound of falling waters was in my ears. Again, the golden
fisherman was before me for an instant, not as a moving speck but in
full size now he lay prone; limp and lifeless, with waxen cold cheeks,
in the eloquent inaction of death. The white sheet--I could see now that
it was a shroud--was around him up to his heart. I seemed to feel
Gormala's eyes burning into my brain as I looked. All at once everything
seemed to resume its proper proportion, and I was listening calmly to
the holding forth of the Viking.
I turned instinctively and looked at Gormala. For an instant her eyes
seemed to blaze triumphantly; then she pulled the little shawl which she
wore closer round her shoulders and, with a gesture full of modesty and
deference turned away. She climbed up the ridges of the harbour wall and
sat looking across as at the sea beyond, now studded with a myriad of
brown sails.
A little later the stolid indifference as to time slipped all at once
from the fisherman. He was instinct with life and action, and with a
touch of his cap and a "Farewell good Master!" stood poised on the very
edge of the pier ready to spring on a trim, weather-beaten smack which
came rushing along almost grazing the rough stone work. It made our
hearts jump as he sprang on board and taking the tiller from the hand
of the steersman turned the boat's head to the open sea. As she rushed
out through the harbour mouth we heard behind us the voice of an old
fisherman who had hobbled up to us:
"He'll do that once too often! Lauchlane Macleod is like all these men
from Uist and the rest of the Out Islanders. They don't care 'naught
about naught.'"
Lauchlane Macleod! The very man of whom Gormala had prophesied! The very
mention of his name seemed to turn me cold.
After lunch at the hotel I played golf on the links till evening drew
near. Then I got on my bicycle to return home. I had laboured slowly up
the long hill to the Stirling quarry when I saw Gormala sitting on the
roadside on a great boulder of red granite. She was evidently looking
out for me, for when I came near she rose up and deliberately stood in
the roadway in my path. I jumped off my wheel and asked her point blank
what she wanted with me so much that she stopped me on the road.
Gormala was naturally an impressive figure, but at present she looked
weird and almost unearthly. Her tall, gaunt form lit by the afterglow in
a soft mysterious light was projected against the grey of the darkening
sea, whose sombreness was emphasised by the brilliant emerald green of
the sward which fell from where we stood to the jagged cliff-line.
The loneliness of the spot was profound. From where we stood not a house
was to be seen, and the darkening sea was desert of sails. It seemed as
if we two were the only living things in nature's vast expanse. To me
it was a little awesome. Gormala's first mysterious greeting when I had
seen the mourning for the child, and her persistent following of me ever
since, had begun to get on my nerves. She had become a sort of enforced
condition to me, and whether she was present in the flesh or not, the
expectation or the apprehension of her coming--I hardly knew which it
was--kept my thoughts perpetually interested in her. Now, her weird,
statuesque attitude and the scene around us finished my intellectual
subjugation. The weather had changed to an almost inconceivable degree.
The bright clear sky of the morning had become darkly mysterious, and
the wind had died away to an ominous calm. Nature seemed altogether
sentient, and willing to speak directly to a man in my own receptive
mood. The Seer-woman evidently knew this, for she gave fully a minute of
silence for the natural charm to work before she spoke. Then in a solemn
warning voice she said:
"Time is flying by us; Lammas-tide is nigh." The words impressed me, why
I know not; for though I had heard of Lammas-tide I had not the smallest
idea of what was meant by it. Gormala was certainly quick with her
eyes--she had that gypsy quality in remarkable degree--and she seemed to
read my face like an open book. There was a suppressed impatience in her
manner, as of one who must stop in the midst of some important matter to
explain to a child whose aid is immediately necessary:
"Ye no ken why? Is it that ye dinna heed o' Lammas-tide, or that ye no
ken o' the prophecy of the Mystery of the Sea and the treasures that
lie hid therein." I felt more than ever abashed, and that I should have
known long ago those things of which the gaunt woman spoke, towering
above me as I leaned on my wheel. She went on:
"An' ye no ken, then listen and learn!" and she spoke the following rune
in a strange, staccato cadence which seemed to suit our surroundings
and to sink into my heart and memory so deep that to forget would be
impossible:
"To win the Mystery o' the Sea,
"An' learn the secrets that there be,
"Gather in one these weirds three:
"A gowden moon on a flowin' tide,
"And Lammas floods for the spell to bide;
"And a gowden mon wi' death for his bride."
There was a long pause of silence between us, and I felt very strangely.
The sea before me took odd, indefinite shape. It seemed as though it was
of crystal clearness, and that from where I gazed I could see all its
mysteries. That is, I could see so as to know there were mysteries,
though what they were individually I could not even dream. The past and
the present and the future seemed to be mingled in one wild, chaotic,
whirling dream, from the mass of which thoughts and ideas seemed now and
again to fly out unexpectedly on all sides as do sparks from hot iron
under the hammer. Within my heart grew vague indefinite yearnings,
aspirations, possibilities. There came a sense of power so paramount
that instinctively I drew myself up to my full height and became
conscious of the physical vigour within me. As I did so I looked around
and seemed to wake from a dream.
Naught around me but the drifting clouds, the silent darkening land and
the brooding sea. Gormala was nowhere to be seen.
CHAPTER IV
LAMMAS FLOODS
When I got to Cruden it was quite dark. I had lingered by the way
thinking of Gormala MacNiel and all the queer kind of mystery in which
she seemed to be enmeshing me. The more I thought, the more I was
puzzled; for the strangest thing of all to me was that I understood
part of what seemed to be a mystery. For instance I was but imperfectly
acquainted with the Seer-woman's view of what was to be the result of
her watching of Lauchlane Macleod. I knew of course from her words at
our first conversation that in him she recognised a man doomed to near
death according to the manifestation of her own power of Second Sight;
but I knew what she did not seem to, that this was indeed a golden
man. From the momentary glimpse which I had had in that queer spell of
trance, or whatever it was which had come to me on the pier head, I had
seemed to _know_ him as a man of gold, sterling throughout. It was not
merely that his hair was red gold and that his eyes might fairly be
called golden, but his whole being could only be expressed in that way;
so that when Gormala spoke, the old rhyme seemed at once a prime factor
in the group of three powers which had to be united before the fathoming
of the Mystery of the Sea. I accordingly made up my mind to speak with
the Seer-woman and to ask her to explain. My own intellectual attitude
to the matter interested me. I was not sceptical, I did not believe;
but I think my mind hung in poise. Certainly my sympathies tended
towards the mysterious side, backed up by some kind of understanding of
the inner nature of things which was emotional or unintentional rather
than fixed.
All that night I seemed to dream, my mind working eternally round the
data of the day; hundreds of different relationships between Gormala,
Lauchlane Macleod, Lammas-tide, the moon and the secrets of the sea
revolved before me. It was grey morning before I fell asleep to the
occasional chirping of the earliest birds.
As sometimes happens after a night of uneasy dreaming of some disturbing
topic, the reaction of the morning carried oblivion with it. It was well
into the afternoon when all at once I remembered the existence of the
witch-woman--for as such I was beginning to think of Gormala. The
thought came accompanied by a sense of oppression which was not of fear,
but which was certainly of uneasiness. Was it possible that the woman
had in some way, or to some degree, hypnotised me. I remembered with a
slightly nervous feeling how the evening before I had stopped on the
roadway obedient to her will, and how I had lost the identity of my
surroundings in her presence. A sudden idea struck me; I went to the
window and looked out. For an instant my heart seemed to be still.
Just opposite the house stood Gormala, motionless. I went out at once
and joined her, and instinctively we turned our steps toward the
sand-hills. As we walked along I said to her:
"Where did you disappear to last night?"
"About that which is to be done!" Her lips and her face were set; I
knew it was no use following up that branch of the subject, so I asked
again:
"What did you mean by those verses which you told me?" Her answer was
given in a solemn tone:
"Them that made them alone can tell; until the time shall come!"
"Who made them?"
"Nane can now tell. They are as aud as the rocky foundations o' the
isles themselves."
"Then how did you come to know them?" There was a distinct note of pride
in her answer. Such a note as might be expected from a prince speaking
of his ancestry:
"They hae come doon to me through centuries. Frae mither to dochter, and
from mither to dochter again, wi' never a break in the lang line o' the
tellin'. Know ye, young master, that I am o' a race o' Seers. I take
my name from that Gormala o' Uist who through long years foresaw the
passing o' mony a one. That Gormala who throughout the islands of the
west was known and feared o' all men; that Gormala whose mither's
mither, and mither's mither again, away back into the darkness o' time
when coracles crept towards the sunset ower the sea and returned not,
held the fates o' men and women in their han's and ruled the Mysteries
o' the Sea." As it was evident that Gormala must have in her own mind
some kind of meaning of the prophecy, or spell, or whatever it was, I
asked her again:
"But you must understand something of the meaning, or you would not
attach so much importance to it?"
"I ken naught but what is seen to ma een, and to that inner e'e which
telleth tae the soul that which it seeth!"
"Then why did you warn me that Lammas-tide was near at hand?" The grim
woman actually smiled as she replied:
"Did ye no hearken to the words spoken of the Lammas floods, which be of
the Powers that rule the Spell?"
"Well, the fact is that I don't know anything of 'Lammas-tide!' We do
not keep it in the Church of England," I added as an afterthought,
explanatory of my ignorance. Gormala was clever enough to take advantage
of having caught me in a weak place; so she took advantage of it to turn
the conversation into the way she wished herself:
"What saw ye, when Lauchlane Macleod grew sma' in yer een, and girt
again?"
"Simply, that he seemed to be all at once a tiny image of himself, seen
against a waste of ripe corn." Then it struck me that I had not as yet
told her or any one else of what I had seen. How then did she know it? I
was annoyed and asked her. She answered scornfully:
"How kent I it, an' me a Seer o' a race o' Seers! Are ma wakin' een then
so dim or so sma' that I canna read the thochts o' men in the glances o'
their een. Did I no see yer een look near an' far as quick as thocht?
But what saw ye after, when ye looked rapt and yer een peered side to
side, as though at one lyin' prone?" I was more annoyed than ever and
answered her in a sort of stupor:
"I saw him lying dead on a rock, with a swift tide running by; and over
the waters the broken track of a golden moon." She made a sound which
was almost a cry, and which recalled me to myself as I looked at her.
She was ablaze. She towered to her full height with an imperious,
exultant mien; the light in her eyes was more than human as she said:
"Dead, as I masel' saw him an' 'mid the foam o' the tide race! An' gowd,
always gowd ahint him in the een of this greater Seer. Gowden corn, and
gowden moon, and gowden sea! Aye! an' I see it now, backie-bird that I
hae been; the gowden mon indeed, wi' his gowden een an' his gowden hair
and all the truth o' his gowden life!" Then turning to me she said
fiercely:
"Why did I warn ye that Lammas-tide was near? Go ask those that value
the months and days thereof, when be Lammas and what it means to them
that hae faith. See what they are; learn o' the comin' o' the moon and
o' the flowin' o' the tides that follow!"
Without another word she turned and left me.
I went back to the hotel at once, determined to post myself as to
Lammas-tide; its facts and constitutions, and the beliefs and traditions
that hung around it. Also to learn the hours of the tides, and the age
of the moon about the time of Lammas-tide. Doubtless I could have found
out all I wanted from some of the ministers of the various houses of
religion which hold in Cruden; but I was not wishful to make public,
even so far, the mystery which was closing around me. My feeling was
partly a saving sense of humour, or the fear of ridicule, and partly a
genuine repugnance to enter upon the subject with any one who might not
take it as seriously as I could wish. From which latter I gather that
the whole affair was becoming woven into the structure of my life.
Possibly it was, that some trait, or tendency, or power which was
individual to me was beginning to manifest itself and to find its means
of expression. In my secret heart I not only believed but knew that some
instinct within me was guiding my thoughts in some strange way. The
sense of occult power which is so vital a part of divination was growing
within me and asserting its masterdom, and with it came an equally
forceful desire of secrecy. The Seer in me, latent so long, was becoming
conscious of his strength, and jealous of it.
At this time, as the feeling of strength and consciousness grew, it
seemed to lose something of its power from this very cause. Gradually it
was forced upon me that for the full manifestation of such faculty as
I might possess, some kind of abstraction or surrender of self was
necessary. Even a few hours of experience had taught me much; for now
that my mind was bent on the phenomena of Second Sight the whole living
and moving world around me became a veritable diorama of possibilities.
Within two days from the episode at the Pier head I had had behind me a
larger experience of effort of occult force than generally comes to a
man in a lifetime. When I look back, it seems to me that all the forces
of life and nature became exposed to my view. A thousand things which
hitherto I had accepted in simple faith as facts, were pregnant with
new meanings. I began to understand that the whole earth and sea,
and air--all that of which human beings generally ordinarily take
cognisance, is but a film or crust which hides the deeper moving powers
or forces. With this insight I began to understand the grand guesses of
the Pantheists, pagan and christian alike, who out of their spiritual
and nervous and intellectual sensitiveness began to realise that there
was somewhere a purposeful cause of universal action. An action which in
its special or concrete working appeared like the sentience of nature in
general, and of the myriad items of its cosmogony.
I soon learned that Lammas day is the first of August and is so often
accompanied by heavy weather that Lammas floods are almost annually
recurrent. The eve of the day is more or less connected with various
superstitions.
This made me more eager for further information, and by the aid of a
chance friend, I unearthed at Aberdeen a learned professor who gave me
offhand all the information which I desired. In fact he was so full of
astronomical learning that I had to stop him now and again in order to
elucidate some point easily explainable to those who understood his
terminology, but which wrapped my swaddling knowledge in a mystery all
its own. I have a sneaking friendliness even now for anyone to whom the
word 'syzygy' carries no special meaning.
I got at the bases of facts, however, and understood that on the night
of July 31, which was the eve of Lammas-tide, the moon would be full at
midnight. I learned also that from certain astronomical reasons the tide
which would ostensibly begin its flow a little after midnight would in
reality commence just on the stroke. As these were the points which
concerned me I came away with a new feeling of awe upon me. It seemed
as though the heavens as well as the earth were bending towards the
realisation or fulfillment of the old prophecy. At this time my own
connection with the mystery, or how it might affect me personally, did
not even enter my head. I was content to be an obedient item in the
general scheme of things.
It was now the 28th July so, if it were to take place at the Lammas-tide
of the current year, we should know soon the full measure of the
denouêment. There was but one thing wanting to complete the conditions
of the prophecy. The weather had been abnormally dry, and there might
after all be no Lammas floods. To-day, however, the sky had been heavily
overcast. Great black clouds which seemed to roll along tumbling over
and over, as the sail of a foundered boat does in a current, loomed up
from the west. The air grew closer, and to breathe was an effort. A sort
of shiver came over the wide stretch of open country. Darker and darker
grew the sky, till it seemed so like night that the birds in the few
low-lying coppices and the scanty hedgerows ceased to sing. The bleat of
sheep and the low of cattle seemed to boom through the still air with a
hollow sound, as if coming from a distance. The intolerable stillness
which precedes the storm became so oppressive that I, who am abnormally
susceptible to the moods of nature, could almost have screamed out.
Then all at once the storm broke. There was a flash of lightning so
vivid that it lit up the whole country away to the mountains which
encircle Braemar. The fierce crash and wide roll of the thunder followed
with incredible quickness. And then the hot, heavy-dropped summer rain
fell in torrents.
All that afternoon the rain fell, with only a few brief intervals of
glowing sunshine. All night, too, it seemed to fall without ceasing,
for whenever I woke--which I did frequently with a sense over me of
something impending--I could hear the quick, heavy patter on the roof,
and the rush and gurgle of the overcharged gutters.
The next day was one of unmitigated gloom. The rain poured down
ceaselessly. There was little wind, just sufficient to roll
north-eastwards the great masses of rain-laden clouds piled up by the
Gulf Stream against the rugged mountains of the western coast and its
rocky islands. Two whole days there were of such rain, and then there
was no doubt as to the strength of the Lammas floods this year. All the
wide uplands of Buchan were glistening with runnels of water whenever
the occasional glimpses of sunshine struck them. Both the Water of
Cruden and the Back Burn were running bank high. On all sides it was
reported that the Lammas floods were the greatest that had been known in
memory.
All this time my own spiritual and intellectual uneasiness was
perpetually growing. The data for the working of the prophecy were all
fixed with remarkable exactness. In theatrical parlance 'the stage was
set' and all ready for the action which was to come. As the hours wore
on, my uneasiness changed somewhat and apprehension became merged in a
curious mixture of superstition and exaltation. I was growing eager to
the coming time.
The afternoon of July 31 was fine. The sun shone brightly; the air was
dry and, for the time of year, cool. It seemed as though the spell of
wet weather was over and that fiery August was coming to its own again.
The effects of the rainstorm were, however, manifest. Not only was every
rill and stream and river in the North in spate but the bogs of the
mountains were so saturated with wet that many days must elapse before
they could cease to send their quota to swell the streams. The mountain
valleys were generally lakes in miniature. As one went through the
country the murmur or rush of falling water was forever in the ears. I
suppose it was in my own case partly because I was concerned in the mere
existence of Lammas floods that the whole of nature seemed so insistent
on the subject. The sound of moving water in its myriad gamut was so
perpetually in my ears that I could never get my mind away from it. I
had a long walk that afternoon through roads still too wet and heavy for
bicycling. I came back to dinner thoroughly tired out, and went to bed
early.
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 and
took my way across the sandhills, heading for the Hawklaw which stood
out boldly in the brilliant moonlight. I followed the devious sheep
track amongst the dunes covered with wet bent-grass, every now and again
stumbling amongst the rabbit burrows which in those days honeycombed the
sandhills of Cruden Bay. At last I came to the Hawklaw, and, climbing
the steep terraced edge near the sea, sat on the top to breathe myself
after the climb.
The scene was one of exquisite beauty. Its natural loveliness was
enhanced by the softness of the full yellow moonlight which seemed to
flood the heavens and the earth alike. To the south-east the bleak
promontory of Whinnyfold stood out stark and black as velvet and the
rocks of the Skares were like black dots in the quivering sea of gold. I
arose and went on my way. The tide was far out and as I stumbled along
the rude path above the waste of boulders I had a feeling that I should
be late. I hurried on, crossed the little rill which usually only
trickled down beside the fishers' zigzag path at the back of Whinnyfold
but 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 hard
by 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-grass
and the deep clover felt underfoot like a luxurious carpet, I was not
surprised to see Gormala seated, looking out seawards. The broad track
of the moon lay right across the outmost rock of the Skares and falling
across some of the jagged rocks, which seemed like fangs rising from
the deep water as the heave of the waveless sea fell back and the white
water streamed down, came up to where we stood and seemed to bathe both
the Seer-woman and myself in light. There was no current anywhere, but
only the silent rise and fall of the water in the everlasting movement
of the sea. When she heard me behind her Gormala turned round, and the
patient calmness of her face disappeared. She rose quickly, and as she
did so pointed to a small boat which sailing up from the south was now
drawing opposite to us and appeared to be making a course as close to
shore as possible, just clearing the outer bulwark of the Skares.
"Look!" she said, "Lauchlane Macleod comes by his lanes. The rocks are
around 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 the
smoothness 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 hear
a sound even on such a still night. The mast bent forward and broke
short off, the sails hung limp in the water with the peak of the lug
sail sticking up in a great triangle, like the fin of a mammoth shark. A
few seconds after, a dark speck moved on the water which became agitated
around it; it was evident that a swimmer was making for the land. I
would have gone to help him had it been of use; but it was not, the
outer 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 me
arrested me:
"Do ye no see that gin ye meet him amid yon rocks, ye can, when the tide
begins to race, be no help to any. If he can win through, ye may help
him if ye bide here." The advice was good and I stayed my feet. The
swimmer evidently knew the danger, for he hurried frantically to win
some point of safety before the tide should turn. But the rocks of the
Skares are deadly steep; they rise from the water sheer everywhere,
and to climb them from the sea is a hopeless task. Once and again the
swimmer tried to find a chink or cranny where he could climb; but each
time he tried to raise himself he fell back into the water. Moreover I
could see that he was wounded, for his left hand hung idle. He seemed to
realise the hopelessness of the task, and turning, made desperately for
the part where we stood. He was now within the most dangerous spot in
the whole region of the Skares. The water is of great depth everywhere
and the needlepoints of rocks rise almost to the very surface. It is
only 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 in
calm weather they cannot be seen as the swirl of the tide around them
is invisible. Here, too, the tide, rounding the point and having the
current broken by the masses of the great rock, rolls with inconceivable
rapidity. I had too often watched from the headland where my home was to
be the set of the tide not to know the danger. I shouted as loudly as I
could, but for some reason he did not hear me. The moments ere the tide
should turn seemed like ages; and yet it was with a sudden shock that I
heard the gurgle of moving water followed by the lap, lap, lap, getting
quicker 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 to
notice them. Then he was swept towards the north. All at once there was
a muffled cry which seemed to reach slowly to where we stood, and the
swimmer rolled over for an instant. It was only too apparent what had
happened; he had struck his arm against one of the sunken rocks and
injured it. Then he commenced a mad struggle for life, swimming without
either arm in that deadly current which grew faster and faster every
moment. He was breathless, and now and again his head dipped; but he
kept on valiantly. At last in one of these dips, borne by the momentum
of his own strength and the force of the current, he struck his head
against another of the sunken rocks. For an instant he raised it, and I
could see it run red in the glare of the moonlight.
Then he sank; from the height where I stood I could see the body roll
over and over in the fierce current which made for the outmost point to
the north-east of the promontory. I ran over as fast as I could, Gormala
following. When I came to the rock, which here shelved, I plunged in and
after a few strokes met by chance the body as it rolled upward. With a
desperate effort I brought it to land.
The struggle to lift the body from the water and to bear it up the rock
exhausted me, so that when I reached the top of the cliff I had to pause
for a few seconds to breathe hard. Since the poor fellow's struggle for
life 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 me
with the poor arms twisted unnaturally and the head turned--away past
the moonlit sea and the great, golden orb whose track was wrinkled over
the racing tide, the full force of it burst upon me, and I felt a sort
of spiritual transformation. The air seemed full of fluttering wings;
sea and land alike teemed with life that I had not hitherto dreamed
of. I fell in a sort of spiritual trance. But the open eyes were upon
me; I feared the man was dead, but Briton-like I would not accept
the conviction without effort. So I raised the body to my shoulders,
determined to make with what speed I could for Whinnyfold where fire and
willing hands could aid in restoration. As I laid the limp body across
my shoulders, holding the two hands in my right hand to steady the
burden whilst with the left I drew some of the clothing tight, I caught
Gormala's eye. She had not helped me in any possible way, though more
than 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 at
such a time," and I took my way unaided. I did not heed at the time
her answer, spoken with a certain measure of deprecation, though it
afterwards came back to me:
"Am I to wark against the Fates when They have spoken! The Dead are dead
indeed when the Voice has whispered in their ears!"
Now, as I passed along with the hands of the dead man in mine--the true
shell of a man whose spirit could be but little space away whilst the
still 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 all
the myriad sounds of the night to have a sentient cause of utterance. As
I panted and struggled on, my physical effort warring equally with the
new spiritual experience so that nothing remained except sentience and
memory, I could see Gormala walking abreast me with even steps. Her eyes
glared balefully with a fierce disappointment; never once did she remit
the vigilant, keen look which seemed to pierce into my very soul.
For a short space of time there was something of antagonism to her; but
this died away imperceptibly, and I neither cared nor thought about her,
except when my attention would be called to her. I was becoming wrapped
in the realisation of the mightier forces around me.
Just where the laneway from the cliff joins Whinnyfold there is a steep
zigzag path running down to the stony beach far below where the fishers
keep their boats and which is protected from almost the wildest seas by
the great black rock--the Caudman,--which fills the middle of the little
bay, 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 grew
still so that the grasses did not move or rustle, and the waters of the
swirling tide ceased to run in grim silence on their course. Even to
that inner sense, which was so new to me that the change in everything
to which it was susceptible became at once noticeable, all things stood
still. It was as though the spirits of earth and air and water were
holding their breath for some rare portent. Indeed I noticed as my eye
ranged the surface of the sea, that the moon track was for the time no
longer rippled, but lay in a broad glistening band.
The only living thing in all the wide world was, it seemed to me, the
figure of Gormala as, with lowering eyes and suspended breath, she stood
watching me with uncompromising, persistent sternness.
Then my own heart seemed to stand still, to be a part of the grim
silence of the waiting forces of the world. I was not frightened; I was
not even amazed. All seemed so thoroughly in keeping with the prevailing
influence 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 misty
of outline that through the grey green of their phantom being the rocks
and moonlit sea were apparent, and even the velvet blackness of the
shadows of the rocks did not lose their gloom. And yet each figure was
defined so accurately that every feature, every particle of dress or
accoutrement could be discerned. Even the sparkle of their eyes in that
grim waste of ghostly grey was like the lambent flashes of phosphoric
light in the foam of moving water cleft by a swift prow. There was no
need for me to judge by the historical sequence of their attire, or by
any inference of hearing; I knew in my heart that these were the ghosts
of 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 was
of 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; then
others with rude, primitive clothing. And so on in historic order men,
aye, and here and there a woman, too, of many lands, whose garments were
of varied cut and substance. Red-haired Vikings and black-haired Celts
and Phoenicians, fair-haired Saxons and swarthy Moors in flowing robes.
At first the figures, chiefly of the barbarians, were not many; but as
the sad procession passed along I could see how each later year had
brought its ever-growing tale of loss and disaster, and added more and
faster to the grim harvest of the sea. A vast number of the phantoms had
passed when there came along a great group which at once attracted my
attention. They were all swarthy, and bore themselves proudly under
their cuirasses and coats of mail, or their garb as fighting men of
the sea. Spaniards they were, I knew from their dress, and of three
centuries back. For an instant my heart leapt; these were men of the
great Armada, come up from the wreck of some lost galleon or patache to
visit once again the glimpses of the Moon. They were of lordly mien,
with large aquiline features and haughty eyes. As they passed, one of
them turned and looked at me. As his eyes lit on me, I saw spring into
them, as though he were quick, dread, and hate, and fear.
Hitherto I had been impressed, awed, by the indifference of the passing
ghosts. They had looked nowhere, but with steady, silent, even tread had
passed on their way. But when this one looked at me it was a glance from
the spirit world which chilled me to the very soul.
But he too passed on. I stood at the head of the winding path, having
the dead man still on my shoulders and looking with sinking heart at the
sad array of the victims of the Cruden Skares. I noticed that most who
came now were seamen, with here and there a group of shoresmen and a few
women amongst them. The fishermen were many, and without exception wore
great 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, and
both of whose arms hung limp. The blood from a gash on his forehead had
streamed 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, now
less warm, lay upon my shoulders; and so I knew that Lauchlane Macleod
was 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 with
equal steps, stopping and moving as I stopped and moved.
The silence of death was upon the little hamlet of Whinnyfold. There was
not a sign of life; not a dog barked as the grim procession had moved up
the steep path or now filed across the running stream and moved along
the footpath toward Cruden. Gormala with eager eyes kept watching
me; and as the minutes wore on I began to resume my double action of
thought, for I could see in her face that she was trying to reason out
from my own expression something of what I was looking at. As we moved
along 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 living
voice 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 who
walks alone with the Dead. That I was strung to some amazing pitch was
manifested by the fact that I did not seem to feel the great weight
which lay upon my shoulders. I have naturally vast strength and the
athletic training of my youth had developed it highly. But the weight of
an ordinary man is much to hold or carry for even a short time, and the
body which I bore was almost that of a giant.
The path across the neck of land which makes the Skares a promontory is
flat, with here and there a deep cleft like a miniature ravine where the
water from the upland rushes in flood time down to the sea. All these
rills were now running strong, but I could hear no sound of murmuring
water, no splash as the streams leapt over the edge of the cliff on the
rocks below in whitening spray. The ghostly procession did not pause at
any of these streams, but moved on impassively to the farther side where
the path trends down to the sands of Cruden Bay. Gormala stood a moment
watching my eyes as they swept the long line passing the angle so that I
could see them all at once. That she guessed something was evident from
her speech:
"They are many; his eyes range wide!" I started, and she knew that she
had guessed aright. This one guess seemed to supply her with illimitable
data; she evidently knew something of the spirit world, though she could
not see into its mysteries. Her next words brought enlightenment to me:
"They are human spirits; they follow the path that the feet o' men hae
made!"
It was so. The procession did not float over the surface of field or
sand, but took its painful way down the zigzag of the cliff and over the
rocky path through the great boulders of the foreshore. When the head of
it reached the sand, it passed along the summit of the ridge, just as
every Sunday night the fishermen of Whinnyfold and Collieston did in
returning to their herring boats at Peterhead.
The tramp across the sands was long and dreary. Often as I had taken
that walk in rain or storm, with the wind almost sweeping me off my feet
whilst the sand drift from the bent-covered hills almost cut my cheeks
and 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 was
beginning to tell sorely upon me. Across the Bay I could see the few
lights in the village of Port Erroll that were to be seen at such a
time of night; and far over the water came the cold grey light which is
the sign of the waning of the night rather than of the coming of the
morning.
When we came to the Hawklaw, the head of the procession turned inward
through the sandhills. Gormala, watching my eyes, saw it and an
extraordinary change came over her. For an instant she was as if
stricken, 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 aye
serve them weel."
With an instinct of curiosity strong upon me I hurried on so as to head
the procession. As I moved along the rough path amongst the sandhills I
felt 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 I
moved on, I looked round instinctively and saw that the shade of
Lauchlane Macleod no longer kept pace with me, but retained its place in
the procession. Gormala's evil eye was once more upon me, but with her
diabolical cunning she guessed the secret of my looking round. She moved
along, not with me but at the rate she had been going as though she
liked or expected to remain in juxtaposition to the shade of the dead
man; some purpose of her own was to be fulfilled.
As I pressed on, the shades around me seemed to grow dimmer and dimmer
still; 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 of
the high land that stretches back from the Hawklaw--the ghostly mist was
beginning to fade into the water. I stood hard by, and the weight upon
my shoulders became dreadful. I could hardly stand; I determined,
however, to hold on as long as I could and see what would happen. The
dead man, too, was becoming colder! I did not know whether the dimming
of the shadows was from this cause, or because the spirit of the man was
farther away. It was possibly both, for as the silent, sad procession
came on I could see more distinctly. When the wraith of the Spaniard
turned and looked at me, he seemed once more to look with living eyes
from a living soul. Then there was a dreary wait whilst the rest
came along and passed in awesome stillness down into the well and
disappeared. The weight upon my shoulders now became momentarily more
intolerable. At last I could bear it no longer, and half bending I
allowed the body to slip to the ground, I only holding the hands to
steady the descent. Gormala was now opposite to me, and seeing what
I had done leaped towards me with a loud cry. For one dim moment the
wraith of the dead man stood above its earthly shell; and then I saw the
ghostly vision no more.
At that instant, just as Gormala was about to touch the dead body, there
was a loud hiss and murmur of waters. The whole pool burst up in a great
fountain, scattering sand and water around for a wide space. I rushed
back; Gormala did the same.
Then the waters receded again, and when I looked, the corpse of
Lauchlane Macleod was gone. It was swallowed up in the Holy Well.
Overcome with physical weariness and strange horror of the scene I sank
down on the wet sand. The scene whirled round me.... I remember no
more.
CHAPTER VI
THE MINISTERS OF THE DOOM
When at last I looked around me I was not surprised at anything I saw;
not even at the intense face of Gormala whose eyes, bright in the full
moonlight, were searching my face more eagerly than ever. I was lying on
the sand, and she was bending over me so closely that her face almost
touched mine. It was evident, even to my half-awake sensibilities, that
she was listening intently, lest even a whispered word from me should be
missed.
The witch-woman was still seemingly all afire, but withal there was
manifested in her face and bearing a sense of disappointment which
comforted me. I waited a few minutes until I felt my brain clear, and
my body rested from the intolerable strain which it had undergone in
carrying that terrific burden from Whinnyfold.
When I looked up again Gormala recognised the change in me, and her own
expression became different. The baleful glitter of her eyes faded,
and the blind, unreasoning hate and anger turned to keen inquiry. She
was not now merely baffled in her hopes, and face to face with an
unconscious man; there was at least a possibility of her gaining some
knowledge, and all the energy of her nature woke again as she spoke:
"So ye are back wi' the moon and me. Whither went ye when ye lay down
upon the sand. Was it back ye went, or forrart; wi' the ghaists into the
Holy Well and beyond in their manifold course; or back to their comin'
frae the sea and all that could there be told? Oh! mon, what it is to me
that any ither can gang like that into spirit land, and me have to wait
here by my lanes; to wring my hands an' torture my hairt in broken
hopes!" I answered her question with another:
"How do you mean that ghosts go into the well and beyond?" Her answer
was at the first given in a stern tone which became, however, softer, as
she went on.
"Knew ye not, that the Lammas Floods are the carriers o' the Dead; that
on Lammas nicht the Dead can win their way to where they will, under the
airth by wherever there is rinnin' watter. Happy be they that can gain a
Holy Well, an' so pass into the bowels o' the airth to where they list."
"And how and when do they return?"
"Dinna jest wi' Fate an' the Dead. They in their scope can gang and
return again; no een, save your ain, o' man or Seer has seen the method
o' their gangin'. No een, even yours, can see them steal out again in
the nicht, when the chosen graves that they hae sought hae taken from
them the dross o' the airth." I felt it was not wise to talk further, so
without a word I turned and walked home by the sheep tracks amongst the
sand hills. Now and again I stumbled in a rabbit hole, and as I would
sink forward the wet bent would brush against my face.
The walk back in the dark dawn seemed interminable. All this time
my mind was in a turmoil. I did not even seem to remember anything
definitely, or think consecutively; but facts and fancies swept through
my mind in a chaotic whirl. When I got to the house, I undressed quickly
and got into bed; I must have instantly fallen into a deep sleep.
Next afternoon I walked by the shore to Whinnyfold. It was almost
impossible to believe that I was looking at the same place as on last
night. I sat on the cliff where I had sat last night, the hot August
sun and the cool breeze from the sea being inconceivably soothing. So I
thought and thought.... The lack of sufficient sleep the night before
and the tired feeling of the physical strain I had undergone--my
shoulders still ached--told upon me, and I fell asleep.
When I waked Gormala stood in front of me.
After a long pause she spoke:
"I see that ye remember, else would ye ha' spoken to me. Will ye no tell
me all that ye saw? Then, wi' your Seer's een an' my knowledge o' the
fact we may thegither win oot the great Secret o' the Sea." I felt
stronger than ever the instinctive conviction that I must remain keenly
on guard with her. So I said nothing; waiting thus I should learn
something, whether from her words or her silence. She could not stand
this. I saw her colour rise till her face was all aglow with a red flush
that shamed the sunset; and at last the anger blazed in her eyes. It was
in a threatening tone which she spoke, though the words were themselves
sufficiently conciliatory:
"The Secrets o' the Sea are to be won; and tae thee and me it is given
to win them. What hae been is but an earnest of what will be. For ages
ithers have tried to win but hae failed; and if we fail too for lack o'
purpose or because ye like me not, then to ithers will come in time the
great reward. For the secrets are there, and the treasures lie awaiting.
The way is open for those to whom are the Gifts. Throw not away the
favour of the Fates. For if they be kind to give where they will, they
are hard to thwart, and their revenge is sure!" I must confess that her
words began to weaken my purpose. In one way inexorable logic was on
her side. Powers such as were mine were surely given for some purpose.
Might I not be wrong in refusing to use them. If the Final Cause of
my powers were purposeful, then might not a penalty be exacted from
me because I had thwarted the project. Gormala, with that diabolical
cunning of hers, evidently followed the workings of my mind, for her
face lit up. How she knew, I know not, but I do know that her eyes never
left mine. I suppose it may be that the eyes which have power to see
at times the inwardness of things have some abnormal power also of
expressing the thoughts behind them. I felt, however, that I was in
danger. All my instincts told me that once in Gormala's power I should
rue it, so I spoke out on the instant strongly:
"I shall have nothing to do with you whatever. Last night when you
refused to help me with the wounded man--whom you had followed,
remember, for weeks, hoping for his death--I saw you in your true
colours; and I mean to have nothing to do with you." Fierce anger blazed
again in her eyes; but again she controlled herself and spoke with an
appearance of calm, though it was won with great effort, as I could see
by the tension of her muscles:
"An' so ye would judge me that I would not help ye to bring the Dead to
life again! I knew that Lauchlane was dead! Aye! and ye kent it too as
weel as I did masel'. It needed no Seer to tell that, when ye brocht him
up the rocks oot o' the tide. Then, when he was dead, for why wad ye
no use him? Do the Dead themselves object that they help the livin' to
their ends while the blood is yet warm in them? Is it ye that object to
the power of the Dead? You whose veins have the power o' divination of
the quick; you to whom the heavens themselves opened, and the airth and
the watters under the airth, when the spirit of the Dead that ye carried
walked beside ye as ye ganged to St. Olaf's Well. An' as for me, what
hae I done that you should object. I saw, as you did, that Lauchlane's
sands were run. You and I are alike in that. To us baith was given to
see, by signs that ages have made sacred, that Fate had spoken in his
ears though he had himself not heard the Voice. Nay more, to me was only
given to see that the Voice had spoken. But to you was shown how, and
when, and where the Doom should come, though you yersel' that can read
the future as no ither that is known, canna read the past; and so could
na tell what a lesser one would ha' guessed at lang syne. I followed the
Doom; you followed the Doom. I by my cunnin'; you when ye waked frae yer
sleep, followin' yer conviction, till we met thegither for Lauchlane's
death, amid Lammas floods and under the gowden moon on the gowden sea.
Through his aid--aye, young sir--for wi'oot a fresh corp to aid, no Seer
o' airth could hae seen as ye did, that lang line o' ghaists ye saw last
nicht. Through his aid the wonders o' the heavens and the deep, o' airth
and air, was opened till ye. Wha then be ye that condemn me that only
saw a sign an' followed? Gin I be guilty, what be you?"
It would be impossible to describe the rude, wild, natural eloquence
with which this was spoken. In the sunset, the gaunt woman seemed to
tower above me; and as she moved her arms, the long shadows of them
stretched over the green down before us and away over the wrinkled sea
as though her gestures were, giant like, appealing to all nature.
I was distinctly impressed, for all that she said was quite true. She
had in reality done nothing that the law would call wrong. Lauchlane's
death was in no possible way due to any act of hers. She had only
watched him; and as he did not even know that she watched he could not
have been influenced in any way by it or by her. As to my own part! Her
words gave me a new light. Why had I risen in the night and come out to
Whinnyfold? Was it intuition, or a call from the witch-woman, who in
such case must have had some hypnotic influence over me? Or was it----?
I stood appalled at the unspoken thought. Could it be that the powers
of Nature which had been revealed to me in the dread hour had not only
sentience but purpose!
I felt that my tone was more conciliatory as I answered her:
"I did not mean to blame you for anything you had done. I see now that
your wrong was only passive." I felt that my words were weak, and my
feeling was emphasised by the scorn of her reply:
"My wrang was only passive! My wrang! What wrang hae I done that you
should sit in judgment on me. Could I hae helpit it when Lauchlane met
his death amang the rocks in the tide. Why you yoursel' sat here beside
me, an' ye no helpit him or tried to, strong man though ye be, that
could carry his corp frae here to St. Olaf's Well; for ye kenned that no
livin' arm could aid him in that hour o' doom. Aye! laddie, the Fates
know their wark o'er weel to hae ony such betterment o' their plans! An'
div ye think that by any act o' yer ain, or by any refusal o' act or
speech, ye can baffle the purpose o' the Doom. Ye are yet young and
ye must learn; then learn it now whiles ye can, that when the Word is
spoken all follows as ordained. Aye! though the Ministers o' the Doom be
many an' various, an' though they hae to gather in ane from many ages
an' frae the furthermost ends o' the airth!"
Gormala's logic and the exactness of her statement were too much for me.
I felt that I owed her some reparation and told her so. She received it
in her gaunt way with the dignity of an empress.
But there her dignity stopped; for seeing that she had got a lever
in her hands she began at once, womanlike, to use it. Without any
hesitation or delay she asked me straightly to tell her what I had seen
the night before. The directness of her questioning was my best help; my
heart hardened and my lips closed. She saw my answer before I had spoken
it, and turned away with an eloquent, rugged gesture of despair. She
felt that her last hope was gone; that her last bolt had been sped in
vain.
With her going, the link with last night seemed to break, and as she
passed up the road the whole of that strange experience became dimmer
and dimmer.
I walked home by Cruden sands in a sort of dream. The chill and strain
of the night before seemed to affect me more and more with each hour.
Feeling fatigued and drowsy I lay down on my bed and sank into a heavy,
lethargic sleep.
The last thing I remember is the sounding of the dinner-gong, and a dim
resolution not to answer its call....
* * * * *
It was weeks after, when the fever had passed away, that I left my bed
in the Kilmarnock Arms.
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 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.
CHAPTER VIII
A RUN ON THE BEACH
The girl's kiss was so spontaneous and so natural that it could not
convey any false impression to me. It was a manifest expression of
gratitude, and that only. Nevertheless it set my heart beating and my
veins tingling with delight. From that instant I did not feel quite a
stranger to the giver; nor could I ever feel as quite a stranger again.
Something of the same idea may have passed through the girl's mind, for
she blushed and looked around her shyly; but, with a proud lifting of
her head and a slight stamp of her foot on the rock, she put the matter
behind her, for the present. The old lady, in the midst of her concern
for her companion and herself, was able to throw a glance of disapproval
on me, as though I had done something wrong; from which I gathered that
the younger lady was not only very dear to her, but held in some sort of
unusual respect as well. It was peculiar that she should in the midst of
her present condition be able to give a thought to so trivial a thing.
For though death did not now stare her in the face, she was cold and
wet; the rock she stood on was hard and slippery, and the foam of the
breaking waves was even now curling around her feet.
She looked about her apprehensively; she did not know whether or no we
were on another isolated rock. I reassured her on this subject, and we
scrambled as quickly as we could over the rocks on our way shoreward.
The elder lady took up most of my time. Here and there in a difficult
place, for the wind by now blew so strongly that one found it hard to
balance oneself as is necessary when walking on rocks, I offered the
younger my hand. At first she firmly declined; but then, manifestly
thinking it churlish, she relented and let me help her. That kiss was
evidently rankling in her mind.
Both the women breathed more freely when we had reached the shore and
stood secure from the sea. And indeed by this time the view, as we
looked back, was enough to frighten one. Great waves topped with white
were rolling in from as far as we could see; dashing over the rocks,
sending up here and there white towers of spray, or rolling in on the
flat shore in front of us with an ominous roar. Woe betide any one who
might be isolated now on any rock beyond; he would be swept off, and
beaten on the rocks. The old lady groaned as she saw it, and then said
audibly a prayer of thankfulness. Even the girl grew white for a moment;
then, to my secret joy, unconsciously she drew closer to me. I took
control of the party.
"Come," I said, "you mustn't stand here in your wet clothes. Hurry to
the hotel and get dried. You will get your death of cold. We must all
run! Or hasten, at all events!" I added, as I took in the dimensions of
the elder lady.
"We have left our trap at the hotel" said the younger lady as we began
to walk quickly in the direction of Port Erroll.
As we were moving off it suddenly struck me that Gormala might have seen
the episode of the rescue. The very thought of such a thing filled me
with such dismay that I groaned aloud. Not for all the world would I
have had her have a hand in this; it was too sacred--too delightful--too
much apart from ordinary things! Whilst I was lost in a reverie of
inexpressible sweetness for perhaps two or three seconds altogether, I
was recalled to myself by the voice of the girl who came close to me:
"Are you hurt? Please tell me if you are. I am a First Aid."
"Hurt?" I asked, surprised "not at all. What on earth makes you think
so?"
"I heard you groan!"
"Oh that----" I began with a smile. Then I stopped, for again the
haunting fear of Gormala's interference closed over my heart like a wet
mist. With the fear, however, came a resolution; I would not have any
doubt to torment me. In my glance about the shore, as we came off the
rocks on to the beach, I had not seen a sign of anyone. At this part of
the shore the sandhills have faded away into a narrow flat covered with
bent-grass, beyond which the land slopes up directly to the higher
plain. There was not room or place for any one to hide; even one lying
amongst the long bents could be seen at a glance from above. Without a
word I turned to the left and ran as quickly as I could across the beach
and up the steep bank of the sandy plateau. With a certain degree of
apprehension, and my heart beating like a trip-hammer--I had certainly
taken this matter with much concern--I looked around. Then I breathed
freely; there was not a sign of anyone as far as I could see. The wind,
now coming fiercely in from the sea, swept the tall bent-grass till it
lay over, showing the paler green of its under side; the blue-green,
metallic shimmer which marks it, and which painters find it so hard to
reproduce, had all vanished under the stress.
I ran back to join the ladies. The elder one had continued walking
stolidly along the shore, leaving a track of wet on the half dry sand
as she went; but the younger one had lingered and came towards me as I
approached.
"I hope there was nothing wrong?" she asked in a most natural way.
"No," I said it without thinking, for there was something about the
girl which made me feel as if we were old friends, and I spoke to her
unconsciously in this strain. "It's all right. She's not there!"
"Who?" she asked with unconsciousness of any _arrière pensée_, an
unconsciousness similar to my own.
"Gormala!" I answered.
"And who is Gormala?" For quite a minute or two I walked on without
speaking, for I wanted to think before I answered. I felt that it would
be hard to explain the odd way in which the Seer-woman seemed to have
become tangled up in my life; and yet I wanted to tell this girl. I
feared that she might laugh at me; that she might think me ridiculous;
that she might despise me; or even that she might think me a lunatic!
Then again Gormala might come and tell things to her. There was no
accounting for what the woman might do. She might come upon us at any
moment; she might be here even now! The effect of her following or
watching me had begun to tell on my mind; her existence haunted me. I
looked around anxiously, and breathed freely. There was no sign of her.
My eyes finally fetched up on the face of the girl.... Her beautiful,
dark eyes were fixed on me with interest and wonder.
"Well!" she said, after a pause, "I don't suppose I'm more inquisitive
than my neighbours, but I should just like to know, right here, what's
wrong with you. You looked round that time just as if you were haunted!
Why did you run away that time and search round as if some one had taken
a pot-shot at you and you wanted to locate him? Why did you groan before
you went, and come back humming? Who is Gormala, anyhow; and why were
you glad that you didn't see her? Why didn't you answer me when I asked
you who she was? Why did you walk along with your head up and your eyes
staring, as though you were seeing visions? And why----"
All at once she stopped, and a swift blush swept over her face and even
her neck. "Oh," she said in a low tone with a note of pathos in her
voice, "I beg your pardon! my unruly tongue ran away with me. I have no
right to ask so many questions--and from a stranger too!" She stopped as
suddenly as she had begun.
"You might have spared me that!" I said "I know I have been rude in
delaying to answer your question about Gormala; but the fact is that
there are so many odd things in connection with her that I was really
considering whether you would think me a fool or a lunatic if I told
them to you. And you certainly would not understand why I didn't want
to see her, if I didn't. And perhaps not even if I did," I added as an
afterthought. The girl's awkwardness slipped from her like a robe; the
blush merged into a smile as she turned to me and said:
"This is most interesting. O! do tell me--if you don't mind."
"I shall be delighted" I said, and I only expressed my thought.
"Gormala" I began; but just then the stout lady in front of us, who was
now a considerable way ahead, turned round and called to us. I could
only hear "Miss Anita;" but the girl evidently understood, for she
called out:
"All right! We are coming at once!" and she hurried on. It gave me a
thrill of pleasure that she said "we" not "I;" it was sweet to have a
part in such a comprehension. As we went she turned to me and said:
"You must tell me all about it; I shan't be happy till I hear the whole
story, whatever it is. This is all too lovely and exciting. I hadn't an
idea when we went out sleepily this morning that there would be so much
in the day to think of afterwards." I felt that I had taken my courage
in both hands as I said:
"You'll both dine with me at the hotel, won't you. You have missed
lunch and must be hungry, so we can dine early. It will be such a true
pleasure to me; and I can tell you all about everything afterwards, if
we can manage to get a moment alone."
She paused, and I waited anxiously. Then she spoke with a delightful
smile:
"That must be as Mrs. Jack says. But we shall see!" With this I had to
be content for the present.
When we came up to her, Mrs. Jack said in a woeful way:
"Oh, Miss Anita, I don't know what to do. The sand is so heavy, and my
clothes are so weighty with the wet, and my boots squish so with the
water in them that I'm beginning to think I'll never be able to get warm
or dry again; though I'm both warm enough and dry enough in other ways."
As she spoke she moved her feet somewhat after the manner of a bear
dancing, so as to make her wet boots squeak. I would have liked to have
laughed, though I really pitied the poor thing; but a glance at the
concern on Miss Anita's face checked me. Very tenderly she began to help
and comfort the old lady, and looked at me pleadingly to help her. "Why
dear" she said "no wonder it is hard walking for you with your clothes
so wringing wet," and she knelt down on the wet sand and began to wring
them out. I looked around to see what I could do to help. Just opposite,
where we were the outcrop of rock on which the Hawklaw is based sent up
a jagged spur of granite through the sand, close under the bent-covered
hillocks. I pointed to this and we led the old lady over to it and made
her sit down on a flat rock. Then we proceeded to wring her out, she
all the while protesting against so much trouble being taken about
her. We pulled off her spring-side boots, emptied them out and, with
considerable difficulty, forced them on again. Then we all stood up, and
the girl and I took her arms and hurried her along the beach; we all
knew that nothing could be done for real comfort till we should have
reached the hotel. As we went she said with gratitude in every note of
her voice, the words joggling out of her as she bumped along:
"Oh, my dears, you are very good to me."
Once again the use of the plural gave me pleasure. This time, however,
it was my head, rather than my heart, which was affected; to be so
bracketted with Miss Anita was to have hope as well as pleasure.
Things were beginning to move fast with me.
When we got to Cruden there was great local excitement, and much running
to and fro on the part of the good people of the hotel to get dry
clothes for the strange ladies. None of us gave any detail as to how the
wetting took place; by some kind of common consent it was simply made
known for the time that they had been overtaken by the tide. When once
the incomplete idea had been started I took care not to elaborate it. I
could see plainly enough that though the elder lady had every wish to be
profuse in the expression of her gratitude to me, the younger one not
only remained silent but now and again restrained her companion by a
warning look. Needless to say, I let things go in their own way; it was
too sweet a pleasure to me to share anything in the way of a secret with
my new friend, to imperil such a bliss by any breach of reticence. The
ladies were taken away to bedrooms to change, and I asked that dinner
for the three of us might be served in my room. When I had changed my
own clothes, over which operation I did not lose any time, I waited in
the room for the arrival of my guests. Whilst the table was being laid I
learned that the two ladies had come to the hotel early in the day in a
dogcart driven by the younger one. They had given no orders except that
the horse should be put up and well cared for.
It was not long before the ladies appeared. Mrs. Jack began to express
her gratitude to me. I tried to turn it aside, for though it moved me
a little by its genuineness, I felt somewhat awkward, as though I were
accepting praise under false pretences. Such service as I had been able
to render, though of the utmost importance to them, had been so easy of
execution to me that more than a passing expression of thanks seemed
out of place. After all I had only accepted a wetting on behalf of two
ladies placed in an awkward position. I was a good swimmer; and my part
of the whole proceeding was unaccompanied by any danger whatever, I
thought, of course, had it been later in the coming of the storm, things
might have been very different. Here I shuddered as my imagination gave
me an instantaneous picture of the two helpless women in the toils of
the raging sea amongst those grim rocks and borne by that racing tide
which had done poor Lauchlane Macleod to death. As if to emphasise my
fears there now came a terrific burst of wind which seemed to sweep over
the house with appalling violence. It howled and roared above us, so
that every window, chimney and door, seemed to bear the sound right in
upon us. Overhead was heard, between the burst which shook the windows
and doors, that vague, booming sound, which conveys perhaps a better
sense of nature's forces when let loose, than even the concrete
expression of their violence. In this new feeling of the possibilities
of the storm, I realised the base and the truth of the gratitude which
the ladies felt; and I also realised what an awful tragedy might have
come to pass had I or some one else not come down the path from
Whinnyfold just when I did.
I was recalled to myself by an expression of concern by Mrs. Jack:
"Look how pale he has got. I do hope he has not been hurt." Mechanically
I answered:
"Hurt! I was never better in my life," then I felt that my pallor must
have left me and that I grew red with pleasure as I heard Miss Anita
say:
"Ah! I understand. He did not have any fear for himself; but he
is beginning to feel how terrible it was for us." The fulness of
understanding on the part of the beautiful girl, her perfect and ready
sympathy, the exactness of her interpretation of my mind, made for me an
inexpressible pleasure.
When I told Mrs. Jack that I had ventured to claim them both as my
guests, and hoped that they would honour me by dining with me, she
looked at her companion in the same inquiring way which I had already
noticed. I could not see the face of the younger lady at the moment as
it was turned away from me, but her approval was manifest; the answer
was made gladly in the affirmative. Then I put forth a hope that they
would allow me to have a carriage ready to take them home, whenever they
might desire, so that they might feel at ease in remaining till they had
been thoroughly restored after their fatigue. I added that perhaps it
would be good for Miss Anita. Mrs. Jack raised her eyebrows slightly,
and I thought there was a note of distance in her voice, as though she
resented in a quiet way my mentioning the name:
"Miss Anita!" she said; and there was that unconscious stiffening of
the back which evidences that one is on guard. I felt somewhat awkward,
as though I had taken a liberty. The younger lady saw my difficulty, and
with a quick smile jumped to the rescue.
"Oh Mrs. Jack" she said "I quite forgot that we were never introduced;
but of course he heard you mention my name. It was rather hurried our
meeting; wasn't it? We must set it right now." Then she added very
demurely:
"Dear Mrs. Jack, will you present to Miss Anita, Mr.----" she looked at
me interrogatively.
"Archibald Hunter" I said, and the presentation was formally made. Then
Miss Anita answered my question about the carriage:
"Thank you for your kind offer, Mr. Archibald Hunter" I thought she
dwelt on the name, "but we shall drive back as we came. The storm will
not be quite so bad inland, and as it does not rain the cart will be all
right; we have plenty of wraps. The lamps are good, and I know the road;
I noted it well as we came. Is not that right?" she added, turning to
her companion.
"Quite right, my dear! Do just as you like," and so the manner of their
going was arranged.
Then we had dinner; a delightful, cosy meal. The fire leaped whenever
the wind roared; and as the darkness of the storm made a sort of
premature nightfall, it gave a pleasant, homely look to everything.
After dinner we sat round the fire, and I think for a time we were
all content. To me it was so like a dream. To sit there close to the
beautiful stranger, and to think of the romantic beginning of our
acquaintance, was enjoyment beyond words. As yet I did not dare to
cast a glance forwards; but I was content to wait for that. I had a
conviction that my own mind was made up.
After a little while we all became silent. Mrs. Jack was beginning to
doze in her chair, and we two young folk instinctively banded ourselves
together with our youthful superiority over sleep and fatigue. I
sat quite still; there was something so sweet in this organised
companionship of silence that it enraptured me. I did not need Miss
Anita's look of caution to remain quiet; there was something in her
face, some power or quality which was as eloquent as speech. I began to
think of it; and the habit of introspection, which had now become a part
of my nature, asserted itself. How much of this quality I thought, was
in her face, how much in my own eyes and the brain that lay behind them.
I was recalled to myself by a whisper:
"I thought for a moment you were going to sleep too. Hsh!" she placed a
finger on her lip a moment and then tiptoed over to the sofa; taking a
soft cushion she placed it under Mrs. Jack's head, which had now fallen
over sideways upon the arm of the chair. Then she sat beside me again,
and bending over said softly:
"While she is asleep would you mind walking down to the beach, I want to
see the waves. They must be big by now; I can hear their roaring from
here."
"I will go with delight;" I said "but you must wrap up properly. It will
not do to run any chance of a chill."
"All right, oh wise man! I obey, King Solomon! I shall wait to put on my
own clothes till I get back; and you can lend me a mackie-coat if you
will." I got one of mine for her, the newest; and we walked over the
sandhills to the beach.
The wind was blowing furiously. It never left off for a moment; but
occasionally there were bursts of such added violence that we found it
difficult to keep our feet. We clung to each other at such moments, and
the very sense of the strength which enabled me to shield her somewhat
from the violence of the storm, made a new feeling of love--I could not
now disguise it from myself. Something went out from me to her; some
subtle feeling which must, I suppose, have manifested itself in some
way, how I know not, for I kept guard upon myself. For one blissful
moment, possibly of forgetfulness, she clung to me as the weak cling to
the strong, the clinging of self-surrender which is equally dear to the
weak and the strong, to the woman and the man. And then she drew herself
sharply away from me.
There was no misunderstanding the movement; it was an intentional and
conscious one, and the motive which lay behind both was her woman's
mystery. I did not know much about women, but I could make no mistake
as to this. Inasmuch as Providence has thought fit in its wisdom to
make men and women different, it is just as well that each sex should
at critical times use its own potentialities for its protection and
advancement. Herein comes, in the midst of an unnatural civilisation,
the true utility of instinct. Since we have lost the need of early
information of the presence of game or of predatory animals or hostile
men, even our instincts adapt themselves to our surroundings. Many
an act which may afterwards seem the result of long and careful
premeditation is, on reflection, found to be simply the result of that
form of momentary impulse which is in reality a blind obedience to
some knowledge of our ancestors gained through painful experience.
Some protective or militant instinct whose present exercise is but a
variant of its primal use. For an instant the man and the woman were
antagonistic. The woman shrank, therefore it was the man's interest to
advance; all at once the man in me spoke through the bashfulness and
reticence of years:
"Why do you shrink from me? Have I done anything?"
"Oh no!"
"Then why?" A hot blush mantled her face and neck. Had she been an
English girl I should not probably have had a direct answer; she would
have switched conversation on some safer track, or have, after some
skirmishing, forbidden the topic altogether. This girl's training,
however, had been different. Her equal companionship in study with boys
in school and college had taught her the futility of trying to burke a
question when her antagonist was masculine; and the natural pluck and
dominance--the assertion of individuality which is a part of an American
woman's birthright--brought up her pride. Still blushing, but bearing
herself with additional dignity, she spoke. Had she been more
self-conscious, and could she have seen herself at the moment, she would
have recognised to the full that with so much pride and so much dignity
she could well afford to discuss any topic that she chose.
"The fault is not yours. It is, or it was, my own."
"You mean when I gave you back your brooch?" The blood deepened and
deepened to a painful intensity. In a low voice, in the tone of speech,
but with only the power of a whisper she answered me:
"Yes!" This was my chance and I said with all the earnestness I had, and
which I felt to the full:
"Let me say something. I shall not ever allude to it again unless you
wish. I took that sweet acknowledgment of your gratitude exactly as it
was meant. Do believe that I am a gentleman. I have not got a sister, I
am sorry to say, but if I had, I should not mind her giving a kiss to a
stranger under such circumstances. It was a sweet and womanly act and I
respect--and--like you more for it. I wouldn't, of course, for all the
world you hadn't done it; and I shall never forget it. But believe me
I shall never forget myself on account of it. If I did I should be a
howling cad;--and--that's all."
As I spoke her face brightened and she sighed with an expression of
relief. The blush almost faded away, and a bright smile broke over her
face. With a serious deep look in the eyes which glistened through her
smile she held out her hand and said:
"You are a good fellow, and I thank you with all my heart."
I felt as if I walked on air as we forced our way through the storm
which roared around us, over the sandhills towards the sea. It was with
an exultation that made my head swim that I noticed that she kept step
with me.
CHAPTER IX
CONFIDENCES AND SECRET WRITING
The shore was a miracle of wild water and white foam. When the wind
blows into Cruden Bay there is no end or limit to the violence of waves,
which seem to gather strength as they rush over the flat expanse of
shore. The tide was now only half in, and ordinarily there would have
been a great stretch of bare sand between the dunes and the sea.
To-night, however, the piling up of the waters sent in an unnatural tide
which swept across the flat shore with exceeding violence. The roaring
was interminable, and as we stood down on the beach we were enveloped
in sheets of flying foam. The fierce blasts came at moments with such
strength that it was physically impossible for us to face them. After a
little we took shelter behind one of the wooden bathing-boxes fastened
down under the sandhills. Here, protected from the direct violence
of the storm, the shelter seemed like a calm from which we heard the
roaring of wind and wave as from far off. There was a sense of cosiness
in the shelter which made us instinctively draw close together. I could
have remained happy in such proximity forever, but I feared that it
would end at any moment. It was therefore, with delight that I heard the
voice of Miss Anita, raised to suit the requirements of the occasion:
"Now that we are alone, won't you tell me about Gormala and the strange
occurrences?" I tried to speak, but the storm was too great for the
purposes of narrative. So I suggested that we should come behind the
sandhill. We went accordingly, and made a nest in a deep hollow behind
the outer range of hillocks. Here crouched among the tall bent, which
flew like whip lashes when the wilder bursts of the storm came, and amid
a never-ending scourge of fine sand swept from the top of the sandhills,
I told her of all my experiences of Gormala and Second Sight.
She listened with a rapt attention. At times I could not see her face,
for the evening was closing in and the driving clouds overhead, which
kept piling up in great masses along the western horizon, shut out the
remnants of the day. When, however, in the pauses of drifting sand and
flying foam I could see her properly, I found her face positively alight
with eager intelligence. Throughout, she was moved at times, and now and
again crept a little closer to me; as for instance when I told her of
the dead child and of Lauchlane Macleod's terrible struggle for life
in the race of the tide amongst the Skares. Her questions were quite
illuminating to me at moments, for her quick woman's intuition grasped
possibilities at which my mere logical faculties had shied. Beyond all
else, she was interested in the procession of ghosts on Lammas Eve. Only
once during my narrative of this episode she interrupted me; not an
intentional interruption but a passing comment of her own, candidly
expressed. This was where the body of armed men came along; at which she
said with a deep hissing intake of her breath through her teeth:
"Spaniards! I knew it! They were from some lost ship of the Armada!"
When I spoke of the one who turned and looked at me with eyes that
seemed of the quick, she straightened her back and squared her
shoulders, and looking all round her alertly as though for some hidden
enemy, clenched her hands and shut her lips tightly. Her great dark eyes
seemed to blaze; then she grew calm again in a moment.
When I had finished she sat silent for a while, her eyes fixed in front
of her as with one whose mind is occupied with introspection. Suddenly
she said:
"That man had some secret, and he feared you would discover it. I can
see it all! He, coming from his grave, could see with his dead eyes what
you could see with your living ones. Nay, more; he could, perhaps, see
not only that you saw, and what you saw, but where the knowledge would
lead you. That certainly is a grand idea of Gormala's, that of winning
the Secret of the Sea!" After a pause of a few moments she went on,
standing up as she did so and walking restlessly to and fro with
clenched hands and flashing eyes:
"And if there be any Secrets of the Sea why not win them? If they be of
Spain and the Spaniard, why not, a thousand times more, win them. If the
Spaniard had a secret, be sure it was of no good to our Race. Why--" she
moved excitedly as she went on: "Why this is growing interesting beyond
belief. If his dead eyes could for an instant become quick, why should
not the change last longer? He might materialise altogether." She
stopped suddenly and said: "There! I am getting flighty as usual. I
must think it all over. It is all too wonderful and too exciting for
anything. You will let me ask you more about it, won't you, when we meet
again?"
When we meet again! Then we would meet again: The thought was a delight
to me; and it was only after several rapturous seconds that I answered
her:
"I shall tell you all I know; everything. You will be able to help me in
discovering the Mystery; perhaps working together we can win the Secret
of the Sea."
"That would be too enchanting!" she said impulsively, and then stopped
suddenly as if remembering herself. After a pause she said sedately:
"I'm afraid we must be going back now. We have a long way to drive; and
it will be quite late enough anyhow."
As we moved off I asked her if I might not see her and Mrs. Jack safely
home. I could get a horse at the hotel and drive with them. She laughed
lightly as she answered:
"You are very kind indeed. But surely we shall not need any one! I
am a good driver; the horse is perfect and the lamps are bright. You
haven't any 'hold-ups' here as we have Out West; and as I am not within
Gormala's sphere of influence, I don't think there is anything to
dread!" Then after a pause she added:
"By the way have you ever seen Gormala since?" It was with a queer
feeling which I could not then analyse, but which I found afterwards
contained a certain proportion of exultation I answered:
"Oh yes! I saw her only two days ago--" Here I stopped for I was struck
with a new sense of the connection of things. Miss Anita saw the wonder
in my face and drawing close to me said:
"Tell me all about it!" So I told her of the auction at Peterhead and of
the chest and the papers with the mysterious marks, and of how I thought
it might be some sort of account--"or," I added as a new idea struck
me--"secret writing." When I had got thus far she said with decision:
"I am quite sure it is. You must try to find it out. Oh, you must, you
must!"
"I shall," said I, "if you desire it." She said nothing, but a blush
spread over her face. Then she resumed her movement towards the hotel.
We walked in silence; or rather we ran and stumbled, for the fierce
wind behind us drove us along. The ups and downs of the surface were
veiled with the mist of flying sand swept from amongst the bent-grass
on the tops of the sandhills. I would have liked to help her, but a
judicious dread of seeming officious--and so losing a step in her good
graces--held me back. I felt that I was paying a price of abstinence for
that kiss. As we went, the silence between us seemed to be ridiculous;
so to get over it I said, after searching in my mind for a topic which
would not close up her sympathies with me:
"You don't seem to like Spaniards?"
"No," she answered quickly, "I hate them! Nasty, cruel, treacherous
wretches! Look at the way they are treating Cuba! Look at the _Maine_!"
Then she added suddenly:
"But how on earth did you know I dislike them." I answered:
"Your voice told me when you spoke to yourself whilst I was telling you
about the ghosts and the man with the eyes."
"True," she said reflectively. "So I did. I must keep more guard on
myself and not let my feelings run away with me. I give myself away so
awfully." I could have made a reply to this, but I was afraid. That kiss
seemed like an embodied spirit of warning, holding a sword over my head
by a hair.
It was not long before I found the value of my silence. The lady's
confidence in my discretion was restored, and she began, of her own
initiative, to talk. She spoke of the procession of ghosts; suddenly
stopping, however, as if she had remembered something, she said to me:
"But why were you so anxious that Gormala should not have seen you
saving us from the rock?"
"Because," I answered, "I did not want her to have anything to do with
this."
"What do you mean by 'this'?" There was something in the tone of her
query which set me on guard. It was not sincere; it had not that natural
intonation, even, all through, which marks a question put in simple
faith. Rather was it in the tone of one who asks, knowing well the
answer which will or may be given. As I have said, I did not know much
about women, but the tone of coquetry, no matter how sweet, no matter
how ingenuous, no matter how lovable, cannot be mistaken by any man with
red blood in his veins! Secretly I exulted, for I felt instinctively
that there rested some advantage with me in the struggle of sex. The
knowledge gave me coolness, and brought my brain to the aid of my heart.
Nothing would have delighted me more at the moment than to fling myself,
actually as well as metaphorically, at the girl's feet. My mind was made
up to try to win her; my only thought now was the best means to that
end. I felt that I was a little sententious as I replied to her
question:
"By 'this' I mean the whole episode of my meeting with you."
"And Mrs. Jack," she added, interrupting me.
"And Mrs. Jack, of course," I went on, feeling rejoiced that she had
given me an opportunity of saying something which I would not otherwise
have dared to say. "Or rather I should perhaps say, my meeting with Mrs.
Jack and her friend. It was to me a most delightful thing to meet with
Mrs. Jack; and I can honestly say this day has been the happiest of my
life."
"Don't you think we had better be getting on? Mrs. Jack will be waiting
for us!" she said, but without any kind of reproach in her manner.
"All right," I answered, as I ran up a steep sandhill and held out my
hand to help her. I did not let her hand go till we had run down the
other side, and up and down another hillock and came out upon the flat
waste of sand which lay between us and the road, and over which a sort
of ghostly cloud of sand drifted.
Before we left the sand, I said earnestly:
"Gormala's presence seems always to mean gloom and sorrow, weeping and
mourning, fear and death. I would not have any of them come near you or
yours. This is why I thanked God then, and thank Him now, that in our
meeting Gormala had no part!"
She gave me her hand impulsively. As for an instant her soft palm lay
in my palm and her strong fingers clasped mine, I felt that there was a
bond between us which might some day enable me to shield her from harm.
When Mrs. Jack, and 'her friend', were leaving the hotel, I came to
the door to see them off. She said to me, in a low voice, as I bade
farewell:
"We shall, I daresay, see you before long. I know that Mrs. Jack intends
to drive over here again. Thank you for all your kindness. Good night!"
There was a shake of the reins, a clatter of feet on the hard road, a
sweeping round of the rays of light from the lamp as the cart swayed at
the start under the leap forward of the high-bred horse and swung up the
steep inland roadway. The last thing I saw was a dark, muffled figure,
topped by a tam-o'-shanter cap, projected against the mist of moving
light from the lamp.
Next morning I was somewhat _distrait_. Half the night I had lain awake
thinking; the other half I had dreamt. Both sleeping and waking dreams
were mixed, ranging from all the brightness of hope to the harrowing
possibilities of vague, undefined fear.
Sleeping dreams have this difference over day dreams, that the
possibilities become for the time actualities, and thus for good and
ill, pleasure or pain, multiply the joys or sufferings. Through all,
however, there remained one fixed hope always verging toward belief, I
should see Miss Anita--Marjory--again.
Late in the afternoon I got a letter directed in a strange hand, fine
and firm, with marked characteristics and well formed letters, and just
enough of unevenness to set me at ease. I am never quite happy with the
writer whose hand is exact, letter by letter, and word by word, and line
by line. So much can be told by handwriting, I thought, as I looked at
the letter lying beside my plate. A hand that has no characteristics is
that of a person insipid; a hand that is too marked and too various is
disconcerting and undependable. Here my philosophising came to an end,
for I had opened the envelope, and not knowing the writing, had looked
at the signature, "Marjory Anita."
I hoped that no one at the table d'hote breakfast noticed me, for I felt
that I was red and pale by turns. I laid the letter down, taking care
that the blank back page was uppermost; with what nonchalance I could I
went on with my smoked haddie. Then I put the letter in my pocket and
waited till I was in my own room, secure from interruption, before I
read it.
That one should kiss a letter before reading it, is conceivable,
especially when it is the first which one has received from the girl he
loves.
It was not dated nor addressed. A swift intuition told me that she had
not given the date because she did not wish to give the address; the
absence of both was less marked than the presence of the one alone. It
addressed me as "Dear Mr. Hunter." She knew my name, of course, for I
had told it to her; it was on the envelope. The body of the letter said
that she was asked by Mrs. Jack to convey her warm thanks for the great
service rendered; to which she ventured to add the expression of her own
gratitude. That in the hurry and confusion of mind, consequent on their
unexpected position, they had both quite forgotten about the boat which
they had hired and which had been lost. That the owner of it would no
doubt be uneasy about it, and that they would both be grateful if I
would see him--he lived in one of the cottages close to the harbour of
Port Erroll--and find out from him the value of the boat so that Mrs.
Jack might pay it to him, as well as a reasonable sum for the loss of
its use until he should have been able to procure another. That Mrs.
Jack ventured to give him so much trouble, as Mr. Hunter had been
already so kind that she felt emboldened to trespass upon his goodness.
And was "yours faithfully, 'Marjory Anita.'" Of course there was a
postscript--it was a woman's letter! It ran as follows:
"Have you deciphered those papers? I have been thinking over them as
well as other things, and I am convinced they contain some secret.
You must tell me all about them when I see you on Tuesday.
M."
I fear that logic, as understood in books, had little to do with my kiss
on reading this; the reasoning belonged to that higher plane of thought
on which rests the happiness of men and women in this world and the
next. There was not a thought in the postscript which did not give me
joy--utter and unspeakable joy; and the more I thought of it and the
oftener I read it the more it seemed to satisfy some aching void in my
heart, "Have you deciphered the papers"--the papers whose existence was
only known to her and me! It was delightful that we should know so much
of a secret in common. She had been 'thinking over them'--and other
things! 'Other things!'--I had been thinking of other things; thinking
of them so often that every detail of their being or happening was
photographed not only on my memory but seemingly on my very soul. And
of all these 'other things' there was one!!...
To see her again; to hear her voice; to look in her eyes; to see her
lips move and watch each varying expression which might pass across that
lovely face, evoked by thoughts which we should hold in common; to touch
her hand....
I sat for a while like one in a rapturous dream, where one sees all the
hopes of the heart fulfilled in completeness and endlessly. And this was
all to be on Tuesday next--Only six days off!...
I started impulsively and went to the oak chest which stood in the
corner of my room and took out the papers.
After looking over them carefully I settled quietly down to a minute
examination of them. I felt instinctively that my mandate or commission
was to see if they contained any secret writing. The letters I placed
aside, for the present at any rate. They were transparently simple
and written in a flowing hand which made anything like the necessary
elaboration impossible. I knew something of secret writing, for such had
in my boyhood been a favourite amusement with me. At one time I had been
an invalid for a considerable period and had taken from my father's
library a book by Bishop Wilkins, the brother-in-law of Oliver Cromwell,
called "Mercury: or the Secret and Swift Messenger." Herein were given
accounts of many of the old methods of secret communication, ciphers,
string writing, hidden meanings, and many of the mechanical devices
employed in an age when the correspondence of ambassadors, spies and
secret agents was mainly conducted by such means. This experience had
set my mind somewhat on secret writing, and ever after when in the
course of miscellaneous reading I came across anything relating to the
subject I made a note of it. I now looked over the papers to see if I
could find traces of any of the methods with which I was acquainted;
before long I had an idea.
It was only a rudimentary idea, a surmise, a possibility; but still it
was worth going into. It was not any cause of undue pride to me, for it
came as a corollary to an established conclusion, rather than as a fine
piece of reasoning from acute observation. The dates of the letters gave
the period as the end of the sixteenth century, when one of the best
ciphers of that time had been conceived, the "Biliteral Cipher" of
Francis Bacon. To this my attention had been directed by the work
of John Wilkins and I had followed it out with great care. As I was
familiar with the principle and method of this cipher I was able to
detect signs of its existence; and this being so, I had at once strong
hopes of being able to find the key to it. The Biliteral cipher has as
its great advantage, that it can be used in any ordinary writing, and
that its forms and methods are simply endless. All that it requires in
the first instance is that there be some method arranged on between the
writer and the reader of distinguishing between different forms of the
same letter. In my desk I had a typewritten copy of a monograph on the
subject of the Biliteral cipher, in which I half suggested that possibly
Bacon's idea might be worked out more fully so that a fewer number of
symbols than his five would be sufficient. Leaving my present occupation
for a moment I went and got it; for by reading it over I might get some
clue to aid me. Some thought which had already come to me, or some
conclusion at which I had already arrived might guide me in this new
labyrinth of figures, words and symbols.[1]
[1] See Appendix A.
When I had carefully read the paper, occasionally referring to the
documents before me, I sat down and wrote a letter to Miss Anita
telling her that I had undertaken the task at once on her suggestion and
that I surmised that the method of secret writing adopted if any, was
probably a variant of the Biliteral cipher. I therefore sent her my own
monograph on the subject so that if she chose she might study it and be
prepared to go into the matter when we met. I studiously avoided saying
anything which might frighten her or make any barrier between us;
matters were shaping themselves too clearly for me to allow myself to
fall into the folly of over-precipitation. It was only when I had
placed the letter with its enclosure in the envelope and written
Marjory's--Miss Anita's--name that I remembered that I had not got her
address. I put it in my pocket to keep for her till we should meet on
Tuesday.
When I resumed my work I began on the two remaining exhibits. The first
was a sheaf of some thirty pages torn out of some black-letter law-book.
The only remarkable thing about it was that every page seemed covered
with dots--hundreds, perhaps thousands on each page. The second was
quite different: a narrow slip of paper somewhat longer than a half
sheet of modern note paper, covered with an endless array of figures in
even lines, written small and with exquisite care. The paper was just
such a size as might be put as marker in an ordinary quarto; that it had
been so used was manifest by the discolouration of a portion of it that
had evidently stuck out at the top of the volume. Fortunately, in its
long dusty rest in the bookshelf the side written on had been downward
so that the figures, though obscured by dust and faded by light and
exposure to the air, were still decipherable. This paper I examined most
carefully with a microscope; but could see in it no signs of secret
writing beyond what might be contained in the disposition of the numbers
themselves. I got a sheet of foolscap and made an enlarged copy, taking
care to leave fair space between the rows of figures and between the
figures themselves.
Then I placed the copy of figures and the first of the dotted pages side
by side before me and began to study them.
I confined my attention at first chiefly to the paper of figures, for it
struck me that it would of necessity be the simpler of the two systems
to read, inasmuch as the symbols should be self-contained. In the dotted
letters it was possible that more than one element existed, for the
disposition of significants appeared to be of endless variety, and
the very novelty of the method--it being one to which the eyes and the
senses were not accustomed--made it a difficult one to follow at first.
I had little doubt, however, that I should ultimately find the dot
cipher the more simple of the two, when I should have learned its secret
and become accustomed to its form. Its mere bulk made the supposition
likely that it was in reality simple; for it would be indeed an endless
task, to work out in this laborious form two whole sheets of a
complicated cipher.
Over and over and over again I read the script of numbers. Forward and
backward; vertically; up and down, for the lines both horizontal and
vertical were complete and exact, I read it. But nothing struck me of
sufficient importance to commence with as a beginning.
Of course there were here and there repetitions of the same combination
of figures, sometimes two, sometimes three, sometimes four together; but
of the larger combinations the instances were rare and did not afford me
any suggestion of a clue!
So I became practical, and spent the remainder of my work-time that day
in making by aid of my microscope an exact but enlarged copy, but in
Roman letters, of the first of the printed pages.
Then I reproduced the dots as exactly as I could. This was a laborious
task indeed. When the page was finished, half-blinded, I took my hat and
went out along the shore towards Whinnyfold. I wanted to go to the Sand
Craigs; but even to myself I said 'Whinnyfold' which lay farther on.
"Men are deceivers ever," sang Balthazar in the play: they deceive
even themselves at times. Or they pretend they do--which is a new and
advanced form of the same deceit.
CHAPTER X
A CLEAR HORIZON
If any ordinary person be afflicted with ennui and want something
to take his thoughts away from a perpetual consideration of his own
weariness let me recommend him to take up the interpretation of secret
writing. At first, perhaps, he may regard the matter lightly and be
inclined to smile at its triviality. But after a little while, if he
have in him at all any of the persistence or doggedness which is, and
should be, a part of a man's nature, he will find the subject take
possession of him to the almost entire exclusion of all else. Turn from
it how he will; make he never so many resolutions to put the matter
behind him; try he never so hard to find some more engrossing topic, he
will still find the evasive mystery ever close before him. For my own
part I can honestly say that I ate, drank, slept and dreamed secret
writing during the entire of the days and nights which intervened
between my taking up the task and the coming of Miss Anita to Cruden
Bay. All day long the hidden mystery was before me; wherever I was, in
my room, still or contorting myself; walking on the beach; or out on the
headlands, with the breezes singing in my ears, and the waves lapping
below my feet. Hitherto in my life my only experience of haunting
had been that of Gormala; but even that experience failed before the
ever-hopeful, ever-baffling subject of the cryptograms. The worst of my
feeling, and that which made it more poignant, was that I was of the
firm belief not only that there was a cryptogram but that my mind was
already on the track of it. Every now and again, sometimes when the MS.
or its copy was before me and sometimes when I was out in the open,
for the moment not thinking of it at all, a sort of inspiration would
come to me; some sort of root idea whose full significance I felt it
difficult to grasp.
My first relief came on Tuesday when at noon I saw the high dog-cart
dash past the gate and draw up short opposite the post-office.
I did not lose any time in reaching the cart so as to be able to help
the ladies down. Marjory gave me both her hands and jumped lightly, but
the elder lady required a good deal of help. It is always thus; the
experience of every young man is the same. Every woman, old or young,
except the one whom he likes to lift or carry tenderly, is willing to be
lifted or carried in the most leisurely or self-denying manner.
When Mrs. Jack and 'her friend' had come into the hotel sitting-room the
latter said to me:
"I hope you forgive us for all the trouble we have put you to."
"No trouble at all," I answered--and oh! it sounded so tame--"only a
pleasure!" "Thank you," she continued gravely, "that is very nice of
you. Now we want you to add to your kindness and take us out again on
that rock. I have not yet finished my sketch, and I don't like to be
baffled."
"Finished your sketch, my dear," said Mrs. Jack, in a tone which
manifestly showed that the whole thing was new to her. "Why, Marjory, it
was washed into the sea before Mr. Hunter came to help us!" The slight,
quick blush which rose to her face showed that she understood the false
position in which the maladroit remark placed her; but she went on
pluckily:
"Oh, yes, dear, I know! What I mean is, that having set my heart on
making that sketch, I want to do it; even if my first effort went wrong.
That is, dear Mrs. Jack, if you do not mind our going out there again."
"Oh, my dear," said the elder lady, "of course I will do just whatever
you wish. But I suppose it will do if I sit on the rock near at hand?
Somehow, since our experience there, I seem to prefer the mainland than
any place where you may have to swim to get away from it." Marjory
smiled at me as she said to her:
"That will do capitally. And you can keep the lunch basket; and have
your eye on me and the rising of the tide all the time."
So I sent to Whinnyfold to have a boat ready when we should drive over.
Whilst the ladies were preparing themselves for the boating trip I
went to my room and took in my pocket the papers from the chest and my
rescripts. I took also the letter which I had not been able to deliver.
At Whinnyfold Miss Anita and I took the steep zigzag to the beach,
piloted by one of John Hay's boys whilst the other took Mrs. Jack across
the neck of the headland to the Sand Craigs.
As we went down the steep path, the vision of the procession of ghosts
moving steadily up it on Lammas Eve, came back to me; instinctively I
looked round to see if Gormala was watching. I breathed more freely when
I saw she was not about.
I should dearly have liked to take Miss Anita alone in the boat, but I
feared that such was not safe. Rowing amongst the rocks of the Skares is
at the best of times no child's play, and I was guardian of too great a
treasure to be willing to run any risks. Young Hay and I pulled, the boy
being in the bow and doing the steering. This position of affairs suited
me admirably, for it kept me close to my companion and facing her. It
was at all times a pleasure to me as it would have been to any man, to
watch her face; but to-day her eager joy at the beauty of all around her
made me thrill with delight. The day was ideal for the place; a bright,
clear day with just a ripple of wind from the water which took the edge
from the July heat. The sea quivered with points of light, as though it
were strewn with diamonds, and the lines of the racing tide threading a
way amongst the rocks below were alone an endless source of interest.
We rowed slowly which is much the safest way of progression in these
waters, and especially when, as now, the tide was running towards the
end of the ebb. As the boy seemed to know every one of the myriad rocks
which topped the water, and by a sort of instinct even those that lay
below, we steered a devious course. I had told him to take us round by
the outer rocks from which thousands of seabirds rose screaming as we
approached; and as we crept in under the largest of them we felt that
mysterious sense of unworthiness which comes to one in deep water under
the shadow of rocks. I could see that Marjory had the sense of doubt,
or of possible danger, which made her clutch hard at each gunwale of
the boat till her knuckles grew white. As we rounded the Reivie o'
Pircappies, and found the tide swirling amongst the pointed rocks,
she grew so deadly pale that I felt concerned. I should have liked to
question her, but as I knew from my experience of her courage that she
would probably prefer that I remained silent, I pretended not to notice.
Male pretence does not count for much with women. She saw through me
at once, and with a faint smile, which lit the pallor of her face like
sunshine on snow, she said in so low a whisper that it did not reach the
fisher boy:
"I was thinking what it would have been for us that day--only for you."
"I was glad," I answered in an equally low voice, "to be able to render
any help to--to Mrs. Jack and her friend."
"Mrs. Jack--and her friend--are very much obliged to you," she answered
gaily in her natural voice and tone. I could see that she had fully
regained her courage, as involuntarily she took her hands from the sides
of the boat. We kept now well out from the rocks and in deep water,
and shortly sighted the Sand Craigs. As we could see Mrs. Jack and her
escort trudging leisurely along the sand, and as we did not wish to
hurry her, I asked young Hay with my companion's consent, to keep
round the outermost of the Sand Craigs, which was now grey-white with
sea-gulls. On our approach the birds all rose and wheeled round with
myriad screaming; the wonder and admiration of the girl's eyes as they
eagerly followed the sweep of the cloud of birds was good to see.
We hung around the great pointed rock till we saw Mrs. Jack making her
way cautiously along the rocks. We rowed at once to the inner rock and
placed the luncheon basket in a safe place. We then prepared a little
sheltered nook for Mrs. Jack, with rugs and cushions so that she might
be quite at ease. Miss Anita chose the place herself. I am bound to say
it was not just as I should have selected; for when she sat down, her
back was towards the rock from which she had been rescued. It was
doubtless the young girl's thoughtfulness in keeping her mind away from
a place fraught with such unpleasant memories.
When she was safely installed we dismissed the boys till the half tide.
Mrs. Jack was somewhat tired with her trudge over the sand, and even
when we left her she was nodding her head with coming sleep. Then Miss
Anita got out her little easel which I fixed for her as she directed;
when her camp stool was rightly placed and her palette prepared I sat
down on the rock at her feet and looked at her whilst she began her
work. For a little while she painted in silence: then turning to me she
said suddenly:
"What about those papers? Have you found anything yet?" It was only then
I bethought me of the letter in my pocket. Without a word I took it out
and handed it to her. There was a slight blush as well as a smile on her
face as she took it. When she saw the date she said impulsively:
"Why did I not get it before?"
"Because I had not got your address, and did not know how to reach you."
"I see!" she answered abstractedly as she began to read. When she had
gone right through it she handed it to me and said:
"Now you read it out loud to me whilst I paint; and let me ask questions
so that I may understand." So I read; and now and again she asked
me searching questions. Twice or three times I had to read over the
memorandum; but each time she began to understand better and better, and
at last said eagerly:
"Have you ever worked out such reductions?"
"Not yet, but I could do so. I have been so busy trying to decipher the
secret writing that I have not had time to try any such writing myself."
"Have you succeeded in any way?"
"No!" I answered. "I am sorry to say that as yet I have nothing
definite; though I am bound to say I am satisfied that there is a
cipher."
"Have you tried both the numbers and the dots?"
"Both," I answered; "but as yet I want a jumping-off place."
"Do you really think from what you have studied that the cipher is a
biliteral one, or on the basis of a biliteral cipher?"
"I do! I can't say exactly how I came to think so; but I certainly do."
"Are there combinations of five?"
"Not that I can see."
"Are there combinations of less than five?"
"There may be. There are certainly."
"Then why on earth don't you begin by reducing the biliteral cipher to
the lowest dimensions you can manage? You may light on something that
way."
A light began to dawn upon me, and I determined that my task--so soon as
my friends had left Cruden--would be to reduce Bacon's biliteral. It was
with genuine admiration for her suggestion that I answered Miss Anita:
"Your woman's intuition is quicker than my man's ratiocination. 'I shall
in all my best obey you, Madam!'" She painted away steadily for some
time. I was looking at her, covertly but steadily when an odd flash of
memory came to me; without thinking I spoke:
"When I first saw you, as you and Mrs. Jack stood on the rock, and away
beyond you the rocks were all fringed with foam, your head looked as
if it was decked with flowers." For a moment or two she paused before
asking:
"What kind of flowers?"
Once again in our brief acquaintance I stood on guard. There was
something in her voice which made me pause. It made my brain whirl, too,
but there was a note of warning. At this time, God knows, I did not want
any spurring. I was head over heels in love with the girl, and my only
fear was lest by precipitancy I should spoil it all. Not for the wide
world would I have cancelled the hopes that were dawning in me and
filling me with a feverish anxiety. I could not help a sort of satisfied
feeling as I answered:
"White flowers!"
"Oh!" she said impulsively, and then with a blush continued, painting
hard as she spoke:
"That is what they put on the dead! I see!" This was a counter-stroke
with a vengeance. It would not do to let it pass so I added:
"There is another 'first-column' function also in which white flowers
are used. Besides, they don't put flowers on the head of corpses."
"Of whom then?" The note of warning sounded again in the meekness of the
voice. But I did not heed it. I did not want to heed it. I answered:
"Of Brides!" She made no reply--in words. She simply raised her eyes and
sent one flashing glance through me, and then went on with her work.
That glance was to a certain degree encouragement; but it was to a much
greater degree dangerous, for it was full of warning. Although my brain
was whirling, I kept my head and let her change the conversation with
what meekness I could.
We accordingly went back to the cipher. She asked me many questions, and
I promised to show her the secret writings when we should go back to the
hotel. Here she struck in:
"We have ordered dinner at the hotel; and you are to dine with us." I
tried not to tremble as I answered:
"I shall be delighted."
"And now," she said "if we are to have lunch here to-day we had better
go and wake Mrs. Jack. See! the tide has been rising all the time we
have been talking. It is time to feed the animals."
Mrs. Jack was surprised when we wakened her; but she too was ready for
lunch. We enjoyed the meal hugely.
At half-tide the Hay boys came back. Miss Anita thought that there was
enough work for them both in carrying the basket and helping Mrs. Jack
back to the carriage. "You will be able to row all right, will you not?"
she said, turning to me. "You know the way now and can steer. I shall
not be afraid!"
When we were well out beyond the rock and could see the figures of Mrs.
Jack and the boys getting further away each step, I took my courage in
both hands; I was getting reckless now, and said to her:
"When a man is very anxious about a thing, and is afraid that just for
omitting to say what he would like to say, he may lose something that he
would give all the rest of the world to have a chance of getting--do--do
you think he should remain silent?" I could see that she, too, could
realise a note of warning. There was a primness and a want of the usual
reality in her voice as she answered me:
"Silence, they say, is golden." I laughed with a dash of bitterness
which I could not help feeling as I replied:
"Then in this world the gold of true happiness is only for the dumb!"
she said nothing but looked out with a sort of steadfast introspective
eagerness over the million flashing diamonds of the sea; I rowed on with
all my strength, glad to let go on something. Presently she turned to
me, and with all the lambency of her spirit in her face, said with a
sweetness which tingled through me:
"Are you not rowing too hard? You seem anxious to get to Whinnyfold. I
fear we shall be there too soon. There is no hurry; we shall meet the
others there in good time. Had you not better keep outside the dangerous
rocks. There is not a sail in sight; not one, so far as I know, over the
whole horizon, so you need not fear any collision. Remember, I do not
advise you to cease rowing; for, after all, the current may bear us
away if we are merely passive. But row easily; and we may reach the
harbour safely and in good time!"
Her speech filled me with a flood of feeling which has no name. It was
not love; it was not respect; it was not worship; it was not, gratitude.
But it was compounded of them all. I had been of late studying secret
writing so earnestly that there was now a possible secret meaning in
everything I read. But oh! the poverty of written words beside the
gracious richness of speech! No man who had a heart to feel or a brain
to understand could have mistaken her meaning. She gave warning, and
hope, and courage, and advice; all that wife could give husband, or
friend give friend. I only looked at her, and without a word held out my
hand. She placed hers in it frankly; for a brief, blissful moment my
soul was at one with the brightness of sea and sky.
There, in the very spot where I had seen Lauchlane Macleod go down into
the deep, my own life took a new being.
CHAPTER XI
IN THE TWILIGHT
It was not without misgiving that I climbed the steep zigzag at
Whinnyfold, for at every turn I half expected to see the unwelcome face
of Gormala before me. It seemed hardly possible that everything could
go on so well with me, and that yet I should not be disturbed by her
presence. Miss Anita, I think, saw my uneasiness and guessed the cause
of it; I saw her follow my glances round, and then she too kept an eager
look out. We won the top, however, and got into the waiting carriage
without mishap. At the hotel she asked me to bring to their sitting-room
the papers with the secret writing. She gave a whispered explanation
that we should be quite alone as Mrs. Jack always took a nap, when
possible, before dinner.
She puzzled long and anxiously over the papers and over my enlarged part
copy of them. Finally she shook her head and gave it up for the time.
Then I told her the chief of the surmises which I had made regarding the
means by which the biliteral cipher, did such exist, might be expressed.
That it must be by marks of some sort was evident; but which of those
used were applied to this purpose I could not yet make out. When I had
exhausted my stock of surmises she said:
"More than ever I am convinced that you must begin by reducing the
biliteral cipher. Every time I think of it, it seems plainer to me that
Bacon, or any one else using such a system, would naturally perfect it
if possible. And now let us forget this for the present. I am sure you
must want a rest from thinking of the cipher, and I feel that I do.
Dinner is ready; after it, if you will, I should like another run down
to the beach."
"_Another_" run to the beach! then she remembered our former one as a
sort of fixed point. My heart swelled within me, and my resolution to
take my own course, even if it were an unwise one, grew.
After dinner, we took our way over the sandhills and along the shore
towards the Hawklaw, keeping on the line of hard sand just below
high-water mark.
The sun was down and the twilight was now beginning. In these northern
latitudes twilight is long, and at the beginning differs little from the
full light of day. There is a mellowed softness over everything, and all
is grey in earth and sea and air. Light, however, there is in abundance
at the first. The mystery of twilight, as Southerns know it, comes later
on, when the night comes creeping up from over the sea, and the shadows
widen into gloom. Still twilight is twilight in any degree of its
changing existence; and the sentiment of twilight is the same all the
world over. It is a time of itself; between the stress and caution of
the day, and the silent oblivion of the night: It is an hour when all
living things, beasts as well as human, confine themselves to their own
business. With the easy relaxation comes something of self-surrender;
soul leans to soul and mind to mind, as does body to body in moments of
larger and more complete intention. Just as in the moment after sunset,
when the earth is lit not by the narrow disc of the sun but by the
glory of the wide heavens above, twin shadows merge into one, so in the
twilight two natures which are akin come closer to the identity of one.
Between daylight and dark as the myriad sounds of life die away one by
one, the chirp of birds, the lowing of cattle, the bleating of sheep,
the barking of dogs, so do the natural sounds such as the rustle of
trees, the plash of falling water, or the roar of breaking waves wake
into a new force that strikes on the ear with a sense of intention or
conscious power. It is as though in all the wide circle of nature's
might there is never to be such a thing as stagnation; no moment of
poise, save when the spirits of nature proclaim abnormal silence, such
as ruled when earth stood "at gaze, like Joshua's moon on Ajalon."
The spirits of my companion and myself yielded to this silent influence
of the coming night. Unconsciously we walked close together and in step;
and were silent, wrapt in the beauty around us. To me it was a gentle
ecstasy. To be alone with her in such a way, in such a place, was the
good of all heaven and all earth in one. And so for many minutes we went
slowly on our way along the deserted sand, and in hearing of the music
of the sounding sea and the echoing shore.
But even Heaven had its revolt. It seems that whether it be on Earth or
in Heaven intelligence is not content to remain in a condition of poise.
Ever there are heights to be won. Out of my own very happiness and the
peace that it gave me, came afresh the wild desire to scale new heights
and to make the present altitude which I had achieved a stepping-off
place for a loftier height. All arguments seemed to crowd in my mind to
prove that I was justified in asking Marjory to be my wife. Other men
had asked women whom they had known but a short time to marry them; and
with happy result. It was apparent that at the least she did not dislike
me. I was a gentleman, of fair stock, and well-to-do; I could offer her
a true and a whole heart. She, who was seemingly only companion to a
wealthy woman, could not be offended at a man's offering to her all
he had to give. I had already approached the subject, and she had not
warned me off it; she had only given me in a sweetly artful way advice
in which hope held a distinct place. Above all, the days and hours and
moments were flying by. I did not know her address or when I should see
her again, or if at all. This latest thought decided me. I would speak
plainly to-night.
Oh, but men are dull beside women in the way of intuition. This girl
seemed to be looking over the sea, and yet with some kind of double
glance, such as women have at command, she seemed to have been all the
time looking straight through and through me and getting some idea
of her own from my changing expression. I suppose the appearance of
determination frightened her or set her on guard, for she suddenly said:
"Ought we not to be turning home?"
"Not yet!" I pleaded, all awake in a moment from my dreams. "A few
minutes, and then we can go back."
"Very well," she said with a smile, and then added demurely; "we must
not be long." I felt that my hour had come and spoke impulsively:
"Marjory, will you be my wife?" Having got out the words I stopped. My
heart was beating so heavily that I could not speak more. For a few
seconds, which seemed ages to me, we were both silent. I daresay that
she may have been prepared for something; from what I know now I am
satisfied that her own intention was to ward off any coming difficulty.
But the suddenness and boldness of the question surprised her and
embarrassed her to silence. She stopped walking, and as she stood still
I could see her bosom heave--like my own. Then with a great effort,
which involved a long breath and the pulling up of her figure and the
setting back of her shoulders, she spoke:
"But you know nothing of me!"
"I know all of you that I want to know!" This truly Hibernian speech
amused her, even through her manifest emotion and awkwardness, if one
can apply the word to one compact of so many graces. I saw the smile,
and it seemed to set us both more at ease.
"That sounds very rude," she said "but I understand what you mean, and
take it so." This gave me an opening into which I jumped at once. She
listened, seeming not displeased at my words; but on the whole glad of a
moment's pause to collect her thoughts before again speaking:
"I know that you are beautiful; the most beautiful and graceful girl I
ever saw. I know that you are brave and sweet and tender and thoughtful.
I know that you are clever and resourceful and tactful. I know that you
are a good comrade; that you are an artist with a poet's soul. I know
that you are the one woman in all the wide world for me; that having
seen you there can never be any one else to take your place in my heart.
I know that I would rather die with you in my arms, than live a king
with any other queen!"
"But you have only seen me twice. How can you know so many nice things
about me. I wish they were all true! I am only a girl; and I must say it
is sweet to hear them, whether they be true or not. Anyhow, supposing
them all true, how could you have known them?"
Hope was stepping beside me now. I went on:
"I did not need a second meeting to know so much. To-day was but a
repetition of my joy; an endorsement of my judgment; a fresh rivetting
of my fetters!" She smiled in spite of herself as she replied:
"You leave me dumb. How can I answer or argue with such a conviction."
Then she laid her hand tenderly on my arm as she went on:
"Oh, I know what you mean, my friend. I take it all in simple truth; and
believe me it makes me proud to hear it, though it also makes me feel
somewhat unworthy of so much faith. But there is one other thing which
you must consider. In justice to me you must." She paused and I felt my
heart grow cold. "What is it?" I asked. I tried to speak naturally but I
felt that my voice was hoarse. Her answer came slowly, but it seemed to
turn me to ice:
"But I don't know you!"
There was a pity in her eyes which gave me some comfort, though not
much; a man whose soul is crying out for love does not want pity.
Love is a glorious self-surrender; all spontaneity; all gladness, all
satisfaction, in which doubt and forethought have no part. Pity is a
conscious act of the mind; wherein is a knowledge of one's own security
of foothold. The two can no more mingle than water and oil.
The shock had come, and I braced myself to it. I felt that now if ever
I should do my devoir as a gentleman. It was my duty as well as my
privilege to shield this woman from unnecessary pain and humiliation.
Well I knew, that it had been pain to her to say such a thing to me; and
the pain had come from my own selfish impulse. She had warned me earlier
in the day, and I had broken through her warning. Now she was put in
a false position through my act; it was necessary I should make her
feelings as little painful as I could. I had even then a sort of dim
idea that my best plan would have been to have taken her in my arms and
kissed her. Had we both been older I might have done so; but my love was
not built in this fashion. Passion was so mingled with respect that the
other course, recognition of, and obedience to, her wishes seemed all
that was open to me. Besides it flashed across me that she might take it
that I was presuming on her own impulsive act on the rock. I said with
what good heart I could:
"That is an argument unanswerable, at present. I can only hope that time
will stand my friend. Only" I added and my voice choked as I said it
"Do, do believe that I am in deadly earnest; that all my life is at
stake; and that I only wait, and I will wait loyally with what patience
I can, in obedience to your will. My feelings and my wish, and--and my
request will stand unaltered till I die!" She said not a word, but the
tears rose up in her beautiful eyes and ran down her blushing cheeks as
she held out her hand to me. She did not object when I raised it to my
lips and kissed it with all my soul in the kiss!
We turned instinctively and walked homewards. I felt dejected, but not
broken. At first the sand seemed to be heavy to my feet; but when after
a little I noticed that my companion walked with a buoyancy unusual even
to her, I too became gay again. We came back to the hotel much in the
spirit in which we had set out.
We found Mrs. Jack dressed, all but her outer cloak, and ready for the
road. She went away with Marjory to finish her toilet, but came back
before her younger companion. When we were alone she said to me after a
few moments of 'hum'ing and 'ha'ing and awkward preparation of speech:
"Oh Mr. Hunter, Marjory tells me that she intends to ride on her bicycle
down to Aberdeen from Braemar where we are going on Friday. I am to
drive from Braemar to Ballater and then go on by train so that I shall
be in before her, though I am to leave later. But I am fearful about the
girl riding such a journey by herself. We have no gentleman friend here,
and it would be so good of you to take charge of her, if you happened
to be anywhere about there. I know I can trust you to take care of her,
you have been so good to her, and to me, already."
My heart leaped. Here was an unexpected chance come my way. Time was
showing himself to be my friend already.
"Be quite assured," I said as calmly as I could "I shall be truly glad
to be of the least service. And indeed it will just suit my plans, as I
hoped to go to Braemar on my bicycle one day very soon and can arrange
to go just as may suit you. But of course you understand that I must not
go unless Miss Anita wishes it. I could not presume to thrust myself
upon her."
"Oh that is all right!" she answered quickly, so quickly that I took it
that she had already considered the matter and was satisfied about it.
"Marjory will not object." Just then the young lady entered the room and
Mrs. Jack turning to her said:
"I have asked Mr. Hunter my dear to ride down with you from Braemar; and
he says that as it just suits his plans as he was going there he will be
very happy if you ask him." She smiled as she said:
"Oh since you asked him and he had said yes I need not ask him too; but
I shall be very glad!" I bowed. When Mrs. Jack went out, Marjory turning
to me said:
"When did you plan to go to Braemar?"
"When Mrs. Jack told me you were going" I answered boldly.
"Oh! I didn't mean that," she said with a slight blush "but at what time
you were to be there." To which I said:
"That will be just to suit your convenience. Will you write and let me
know?" She saw through my ruse of getting a letter, and smilingly held
up a warning finger.
As we strolled up the road, waiting for the dog-cart to be got ready,
she said to me:
"Now you can be a good comrade I know; and you said that, amongst other
things, I was a good comrade. So I am; and between Braemar and Aberdeen
we must both be good comrades. That and nothing more! Whatever may come
after, for good or ill, that time must be kept apart."
"Agreed!" I said and felt a secret exultation as we joined Mrs. Jack.
Before they started Marjory said:
"Mrs. Jack I also have asked Mr. Hunter to come on the ride from
Braemar. I thought it would please him if we both asked him, since he is
so diffident and unimpulsive!"
With a smile she said good-bye and waved it with her whip as they
started.
CHAPTER XII
THE CIPHER
I went straight to my own room and commenced to work afresh on the
biliteral cipher. More than ever had I the conviction upon me that the
reading of the secret writing would be the first step to the attainment
of my wishes regarding Marjory. It would have been strange therefore if
I had not first attempted the method which she had herself suggested,
the reducing the Baconian cipher to its lowest elements.
For many hours I laboured at this work, and finally when I had reduced
the Baconian five symbols to three I felt that I had accomplished all
that was possible in that way.[2]
[2] See Appendix B.
When I had arrived at this result, and had tested its accuracy in
working, I felt in a position to experiment with my new knowledge on the
old number cipher. First I wrote out my method of reduction as a sort of
addendum to the paper which I had prepared for Marjory. Then I made a
key to cipher and one to de-cipher.[3] By this time the night was well
on and the grey of early morning was beginning to steal in by the edges
of the blinds; I was not sleepy, however; I was too much excited to
think of sleep, for the solving of the problem seemed almost within my
grasp. Excited to a state which almost frightened me by its intensity, I
got ready my copy of the number cipher and my newly prepared key. With
an effort which took me all my resolution I went on steadily writing
its proper letter under each combination without once looking back; for
I knew that even should some of the letters be misplaced in the key
the chance of recognising the right ones would be largely increased by
seeing a considerable number of letters together.
[3] See Appendix C.
Then I glanced over the whole and found that many of the symbols made up
letters. With such a basis to work on, the rest was only labour. A few
tentative efforts and I had corrected the key to agreement with some of
the combinations in the cipher.
I found, however, that only here and there were letters revealed; try
how I would, I could not piece out the intervening symbols. At last it
occurred to me that there might be in the paper two or more ciphers. On
trying to follow out the idea, it became apparent that there were at
least a quantity of impeding numbers scattered through the cipher. These
might be only put in to baffle pursuit, as I had surmised might be done
when I made the cipher; or they might have a more definite purpose. At
any rate they hampered my work, so I struck them out as I went along.
That I continued till I had exhausted the whole list of numbers in the
script.
When I looked back over the letters translated from the cipher thus
depleted, I found to my inexpressible joy that the sequence and sense
were almost complete. The translation read as follows:
"To read the history of the Trust use cipher of Fr. Bacon. The senses
and the figures are less worthy than the Trinity B. de E."
One step more and my work was done. I set the discarded numbers in
sequence on another sheet of paper, and found to my intense satisfaction
they formed an inner record readable by the same key. The "encloased"
words, to use Bacon's phrase, were:
"Treasure Cave cliff one and half degree Northe of East from outer
rock."
Then and then only did I feel tired. The sun was well up but I tumbled
into bed and was asleep in a moment.
The gong was sounding for breakfast when I awoke. After breakfast when
I resumed my work I set myself to construct a variant of my number key
to suit the dotted letters, for my best chance, now that I was on the
track was to construct rather than to decipher. After some hard work I
at last constructed a cipher on this plan.[4]
[4] See Appendix D.
I then began therefore to apply my new key to the copy of the cipher in
the printed pages.
I worked steadily and completed the whole of the first page, writing
down only the answer to those combinations which fitted into my scheme,
and leaving all doubtful matters blank. Then I laid aside my key, and
with a beating heart glanced over the result.
It more than satisfied me, for in the scattered letters though there
were many blanks, was manifestly a connected narrative. Then I took the
blanks and worked at them altering my key to suit the scheme of the
original writer, till by slow degrees I had mastered the secret of the
cipher construction.
From that hour on, till I had translated the cipher writing from
beginning to end I knew no rest that I could avoid. I had to take my
meals, and to snatch a few hours of sleep now and again; for the labour
of translation was very arduous and slow, and the strain on my eyes
was too great to be kept up continuously; with each hour, however, I
acquired greater facility in the work. It was the evening of the fourth
day, however, before my work was complete. I was then absolute master
of the writer's intent.
All this time I had not heard from Marjory, and this alone made
excessive work a necessary anodyne. Had I not had the long and
overwhelming preoccupation to keep my mind from dwelling on the never
ending disappointment, I do not know what I should have done. I fully
expected a letter by the last post that night. I knew Marjory was
staying somewhere in the County; it was by that post that we received
local letters. None came, however, and that night I spent in making a
fair transcript of the whole translation.
The first part of it was in the shape of a letter, and ran as follows:
"My deare Sonne, These from the towne of Aberdeyne in Scotland
wherin I lie sick, and before I go on my quest for the fullfillment
of my Trust. I have written, from time to time during my long
sickness, a full narrative of what has been; so that you may know
all as though your own ears had heard and your own eyes had seen.
All that I have written is to the one end--that you my eldest sonne
and the rest of my children, may, should I fail--and I am weak in
bodie to so strive--carry on the Trust to which I have pledged you
as well as myself; so that untill that Trust be yielded up complete,
neither I nor you nor they are free to any that may clash with the
purpose to which our race is henceforth now devoted. But that mine
oath may not press overhard on my children, and if need be on their
children and their children's children to the end, it will suffice
if one alone at all times shall hold himself or herself pledged to
the fullfillment of the Trust. To this end I charge herewith all of
my blood and race that the eldest sonne of each generation do hold
himself pledged to the purpose of the Trust, unless some other of
the direct lineage do undertake it on his behalf. In default of
which, or if such undertaken Trust shall fail, then the duty
reverteth back and back till one be found whose duty it is by
priority of inheritance, unless by some other of the direct lineage
the Trust be undertaken on his behalf. And be mindful one and all to
whom is this sacred duty that secrecy is of its very essence. The
great Trust was to me in the first instance in that His Holiness
Pope Sixtus Fifth and my good kinsman known as the Spanish Cardinal
held graciouslly that I was one in whose heart the ancient honour of
our dear Spain had a place of lodgement so secure that time alone
could not efface it nor its continuance in the hearts of my
children. To the purpose then of this great Trust His Holiness hath
himself given to me and mine full powers of all kinds so to deal
with such circumstances as may arise that the labour which we have
undertaken may in all cases be brought to a successful issue. To the
which His Holiness hath formulated a Quittance which shall be
co-existent with the Trust and which shall purge the natural sin of
any to whom in the discharge of the duties of the Trust any
necessity may arise. But inasmuch as the Trust is a secret one and
the undue publication of such Quittance might call the attention of
the curious to its existence, such Document is filed in the secret
record of the Vatican, where, should necessity hereafter arise, it
may be found by the Holy Father who may then occupy the Chair of St.
Peter on application made to him on behalf of any who may so offend
against law or the rules of well-being which govern the children of
Christ. And I charge you, oh! my sonne to ever bear in mind that
though there be some strange things in the narrative they are in
mine own eyes true in all ways, though it may appear to you that
they accord not with what may be said hereafter of these time's by
other men.
"And oh, my sonne, and my children all, take this my last blessing
and with it my counsel that ye walk always in Faith and
Righteousness, in Honour and in Good Report, with your duty ever to
Holy Church and to the King in loyal service. Farewell! God and the
Blessed Virgin and the Saintes and Angels watch over you and help
you that your duty be done.
"Your father in all love,
"BERNARDINO DE ESCOBAN."
"These will be brought by a trusty hand, for I fear lest they shall
fall into the hands of the English Queene, or any of her hereticall
surroundings. If it be that you fail at the first in the speedy
fullfillment of the Trust--as may be, now that the purpose of our
great Armada hath been checked--it may be well that whoso to whom
is the Trust may come hither and dwell upon these shores so that he
may watch over the purpose of the Trust and be at hand for its
fullfillment when occasion may serve. But be mindful ever, oh my
sonne, that who so guardeth the Trust will be ever surrounded by
enemies, heathenish and without remorse, whose greed should it ever
be awakened to this purpose would be fatal to all which we cherish.
Dixi."
Following this came:
"Narrative of Bernardino de Escoban, Knight of the Cross of the Holy
See and Grandee of Spain.
In this was set out at full length[5] the history of the great
Treasure gathered by Pope Sixtus Fifth for the subjugation of
England, and which he entrusted to the writer of the narrative who
had at his own cost built and manned one of the vessels of the
Armada the _San Cristobal_ flagship of the Squadron of the Galleons
of Castile. The Pope, wearied by the demands of Philip of Spain and
offended by his claim to appoint bishops under the new domain and
further incensed by the incautious insolence of Count de Olivares
the Spanish ambassador to Rome, has chosen to make this a secret
trust and has on the suggestion of the Spanish Cardinal chosen Don
Bernardino de Escoban for the service. In furtherance of his design
he has sent him for his new galleon a "figurehead" wrought in
silver and gold for his own galley by Benvenuto Cellini. Also he
has given him as a souvenir a brooch wrought by the same
master-hand, the figurehead wrought _in petto_. Don Bernardino
gives account of the defeat of the Armada and tells how his vessel
being crippled and he being fearful of the seizure of the treasure
entrusted to him buries it and the coveted figurehead in a water
cave at the headland of a bay on the coast of Aberdeyne. He has
blown up the opening of the cave for safety. In the narrative were
certain enlightening phrases such as when the Pope says:
[5] See Appendix E.
"'To which end I am placing with you a vastness of treasure such as no
nation hath ever seen." Which was to be applied to only the advancement
of the True Faith, and which was in case of failure of the enterprise of
the Armada to be given to the custody of whatever King should, after the
death of Sixtus V, sit upon the throne. And again:
"'The Cave was a great one on the south side of the Bay with many
windings and blind offsets.... 'The black stone on one hand and the red
on the other giving back the blare of the lantern.'"
The memoranda which follow give the future history of the Trust:
"The narrative of my father, the great and good Don Bernardino de
Escoban, I have put in the present form for the preservation of the
secret. For inasmuch as the chart to which he has alluded is not to
be found, though other papers and charts there be, it may be
necessary that a branch of our house may live in this country in
obedience to the provision of the Trust and so must learn to speak
the English as
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