The last week in June of next year, 1898, found me back in Cruden.My own house was in process of building. I had purposely arrangedwith the builders that the fitting up and what the conveyancers call"beautifyings" should not be done until I should be on the spot myselfnext year, to be consulted about everything. Every day I went overto see the place and become familiar with it before the plans fordecoration should be taken in hand. Still there was no enjoyment ingetting wet every time I went and came, or in remaining in wet clothes,so that my day was mainly spent at home.
One of my first visits was to Peterhead which seemed to be in a state ofabsolute activity, for the herring fishing had been good and trade ofall kinds was brisk. At the market place which was half full of booths,could be had almost everything required for the needs or comfort oflife such as it can be on a fishing boat. Fruit and all sorts of summerluxuries were abundant. Being Saturday the boats had returned early andhad got their nets away to the drying-grounds, and the men had been ableto shave and dress tidily. The women, too, had got their dressing doneearly--the fish first and themselves afterwards.
For awhile I wandered about aimlessly amongst the booths, with that sortof unsatisfaction upon me which had of late been the prelude to many ofthe manifestations of the power of Second Sight. This used to be justas if something within me was groping or searching unsuccessfully forsomething unknown, the satisfaction coming with the realization of theobjective of the search.
Presently I came to an itinerant auctioneer who was dealing with a smallcart-load of odds and ends, evidently picked up in various places.His auction or "roup" was on the "Dutch" plan; an extravagant price,according to his own idea, being placed on each article, and the offerdecreasing in default of bidders. The auctioneer was ready with histongue; his patter showed how well he understood the needs and ideas ofthe class whom he addressed.
"Here's the works of the Reverend Robert William McAlister ofTrottermaverish in twal volumes, wantin' the first an' the last twa;three damaged by use, but still full of power in dealing with thespeeritual necessities o' men who go down to the great deep in ships. Asermon for every day in the year, in the Gaelic for them as has na gotthe English, an' in good English for them as has. How much for the twalvolumes, wantin' but three? Not a bawbee less than nine shellin', goin'goin'. Wha says eight shellin' for the lot. Seven shellin' an' no less.Goin' for six. Five shellin' for you sir. Any bidder at four shellin'.Not a bawbee less than three shellin'; Half a croon. Any bidder at twashellin'. Gone for you sir!" the nine volumes were handed over to agrave-looking old man, and the two shillings which he produced from aheavy canvas bag duly pocketed by the auctioneer.
Everything he had, found some buyer; even a blue-book seemed to haveits attraction. The oddness of some of the odd lots was occasionallyamusing. When I had been round the basins of the harbour and had seenthe dressings and barrelling of the fish, I again came across theauctioneer in the market place. He had evidently been using his timewell, for the cart was almost empty. He was just putting up the lastarticle, an old oak chest which up to now he had used as a sort of tableon which to display the object for sale. An old oak chest has alwayscharms for me, and I was about furnishing a house. I stepped over,opened the lid and looked in; there were some papers tossed on thebottom of it. I asked the auctioneer if the contents went with thechest, my real object being to get a look at the lock which seemed avery old one of steel, though it was much damaged and lacked a key. Iwas answered with a torrent of speech in true auctioneer fashion:
"Aye, good master. Take the lot just as it stands. An oaken kist,hundreds of years aud and still worthy a rest in the house-place of anyman who has goods to guard. It wants a key, truth to tell; but the lockis a fine aud one and you can easy fit a key. Moreover the contents, bethey what they may, are yours also. See! aud letters in some foreigntongue--French I think. Yellow in age an' the ink faded. Somebody's loveletters, I'm thinkin'. Come now, young men here's a chance. Maybe ifye're no that fameeliar in writin' yer hairts oot to the lassies, ye canget some hints frae these. They can learn ye, I warrant!"
I was not altogether unaccustomed to auctions, so I affected anonchalance which I did not feel. Indeed, I was unaccountably excited.It might have been that my feelings and memories had been worked up bythe seeing again the pier where first I had met Lauchlane Macleod, andthe moving life which then had environed him. I felt coming over me thatstrange impalpable influence or tendency which had been a part of mynature in the days immediately before the drowning of the Out-islander.Even as I looked, I seemed to feel rather than see fixed upon me thebaleful eyes of the man in the ghostly procession on that Lammas eve. Iwas recalled to myself by the voice of the auctioneer:
"The kist and its contents will be sold for a guinea and not a bawbeeless."
"I take it!" I cried impulsively. The auctioneer who in his wildestdreams had no hope of such a price seemed startled into momentarycomparative silence. He quickly recovered himself and said: "The kist isyours, good master; and that concludes the roup!"
I looked around to see if there was present any one who could evensuggest in any way the appearance of the man in the ghostly procession.But there was no such person. I met only _mirabile dictu_, the greedyeyes of Gormala MacNiel.
That evening in my room at the Kilmarnock Arms, I examined the papersas well as I could by lamplight. They were in an old-fashioned styleof writing with long tails and many flourishes which made an addeddifficulty to me. The language was Spanish, which tongue I did not know;but by aid of French and what little Latin I could remember I made out afew words here and there. The dates ranged between 1598 and 1610. Theletters, of which there were eight, were of manifest unimportance, shortnotes directed: "Don de Escoban" and merely arranging meetings. Thenthere were a number of loose pages of some printed folio, used perhapsas some kind of tally or possibly a cipher, for they were marked allover with dots. The lot was completed by a thin, narrow strip of papercovered with figures--possibly some account. Papers of three centuriesago were valuable, were it only for their style of writing. So I lockedthem all up carefully before I went to bed, with full intention toexamine them thoroughly some day. The appearance of Gormala just at thetime when I had become possessed of them seemed to connect them in somemysterious way with the former weird experiences in which she had soprominent a part.
That night I dreamed as usual, though my dreaming was of a scatteredand incoherent character. Gormala's haunting presence and all that hadhappened during the day, especially the buying of the chest with themysterious papers, as well as what had taken place since my arrival atCruden was mixed up in perpetually recurring images with the beginningof my Second Sight and the death of Lauchlane Macleod. Again, and again,and again, I saw with the eyes of memory, in fragmentary fashion, thegrand form of the fisherman standing in a blaze of gold, and laterfighting his way through a still sea of gold, of which the only reliefswere the scattered piles of black rock and the pale face patched withblood. Again, and again, and again, the ghostly procession came up thesteep path from the depths of the sea, and passed in slow silent measureinto St. Olaf's Well.
Gormala's words were becoming a truth to me; that above and around mewas some force which was impelling to an end all things of which I couldtake cognizance, myself amongst the rest. Here I stopped, suddenlyarrested by the thought that it was Gormala herself who had set my mindworking in this direction; and the words with which she had at oncewarned and threatened me when after the night of Lauchlane's death westood at Witsennan point:
"_When the Word is spoken all follows as ordained. Aye! though theMinisters of the Doom may be many and various, and though they may haveto gather in one from many ages and from the furthermost ends of theearth!_"
The next few days were delightfully fine, and life was one longenjoyment. On Monday evening there was a sunset which I shall neverforget. The whole western sky seemed ablaze with red and gold; greatmasses of
cloud which had rolled up seemed like huge crimson canopieslooped with gold over the sun throned on the western mountains. I wasstanding on the Hawklaw, whence I could get a good view; beside me was ashepherd whose flock patched the steep green hillside as with snow. Iturned to him and said:
"Is not that a glorious sight?"
"Aye! 'Tis grand. But like all beauty o' the warld it fadeth intonaught; an' is only a mask for dool."
"You do not seem to hold a very optimistic opinion of things generally."He deliberately stoked himself from his snuff mull before replying:
"Optimist nor pessimist am I, eechie nor ochie. I'm thinkin' theoptimist and the pessimist are lears alike; takin' a pairt forthe whole, an' so guilty o' the logical sin o' _a particulari aduniversale_. Sophism they misca' it; as if there were anything but a leein a misstatement o' fac'. Fac's is good eneuch for me; an' that, let metell ye, is why I said that the splendour o' the sunset is but a maskfor dool. Look yon! The clouds are all gold and glory, like a regimentgoin' oot to the battle. But bide ye till the sun drops, not only belowthe horizon but beyond the angle o' refraction. Then what see ye? Allgrim and grey, and waste, and dourness and dool; like the army as itreturns frae the fecht. There be some that think that because the sunsets fine i' the nicht, it will of necessity rise fine i' the morn. Theyseem to no ken that it has to traverse one half o' the warld ere itreturns; and that the averages of fine and foul, o' light and dark haeto be aye maintained. It may be that the days o' fine follow ane anitherfast; or that the foul times linger likewise. But in the end, thefigures of fine and foul tottle up, in accord wi' their ordered sum.What use is it, then, to no tak' heed o' fac's? Weel I ken, that thefac' o' the morrow will differ sair frae the fac's o' this nicht. Not invain hae I seen the wisdom and glory o' the Lord in sunsets an' dawnswi'oot learnin' the lessons that they teach. Mon, I tell ye that it'sall those glories o' pomp and pageantry--all the lasceevious luxurieso' colour an' splendour, that are the forerinners o' disaster. Do ye nosee the streaks o' wind rinnin' i' the sky, frae the east to the west?Do ye ken what they portend? I'm tellin' ye, that before the sun setsthe morrow nicht there will be ruin and disaster on all this side o'Scotland. The storm will no begin here. It is perhaps ragin' the nooaway to the east. But it will come quick, most likely wi' the risin' o'the tide; and woe be then to them as has no made safe wi' all they can.Hark ye the stillness!" Shepherd-like he took no account of his ownsheep whose ceaseless bleating, sounding in every note of the scale,broke the otherwise universal silence of nature. "I'm thinkin' it'sbut the calm before the storm. Weel sir, I maun gang. The yowes say itis time for the hame comin'. An' mark ye, the collie! He looks at mereproachful, as though I had forgot the yowes! My sairvice to ye, sir!"
"Good night" I answered, "I hope I shall meet you again."
"I'm thinkin' the same masel'. I hae much enjoyed yer pleasin'converse. I hope it's mony a crack we yet may hae thegither!" And so myphilosophical egoist moved homewards, blissfully unconscious of the factthat my sole contribution to the "pleasing converse" was the remark thathe did not seem optimistic.
The whole mass of his charge moved homewards at an even footpace, thecollie making frantic dashes here and there to keep his flock headed inthe right direction. Presently I saw the herd pouring like a foam-whitenoisy river across the narrow bridge over the Water of Cruden.
The next morning was fine, very hot, and of an unusual stillness.Ordinarily I should have rejoiced at such a day; but the warning of theerudite and philosophical shepherd made me mistrust. To me the worst ofthe prophecy business was that it became a disturbing influence. To-day,perforce, because it was fine, I had to expect that it would end badly.About noon I walked over to Whinnyfold; it being Saturday I knew thatthe workmen would have gone away early, and I wanted to have the houseto myself so that I could go over it quietly and finally arrange thescheme of colouring. I remained there some hours, and then, when I hadmade up my mind as to things, I set off for the hotel.
In those few hours the weather had changed marvellously. Busy withindoors and thinking of something else, I had not noticed the change,which must have been gradual however speedy. The heat had increased tillit was most oppressive; and yet through it all there was now and thena cold shiver in the air which almost made me wince. All was still, sopreternaturally still that occasional sounds seemed to strike the ear asdisturbances. The screaming of the seagulls had mainly ceased, and thesound of breaking waves on rocks and shore was at variance with thesilence over the sea; the sheep and cattle were so quiet that now andagain the "moo" of a cow or the bleat of a sheep seemed strangelysingle. As I stood looking out seaward there seemed to be rising a coldwind; I could not exactly feel it, but I knew it was there. As I camedown the path over the beach I thought I heard some one calling--a faintfar-away sound. At first I did not heed it, as I knew it could not beany one calling to me; but when I found it continued, I looked round.There is at least a sufficient amount of curiosity in each of us tomake us look round when there is a calling. At first I could not locateit; but then sight came to aid of sound, and I saw out on a rock twowomen waving handkerchiefs. The calling manifestly came from them. Itwas not good for any one to be isolated on a rock at a time when a stormwas coming up; and I knew well the rocks which these women were amongst.I hurried on as quickly as I could, for there was a good way to go toreach them.
Near the south end of Cruden Bay there is a cluster of rocks which jutsout from shore, something like a cock's spur. Beyond this cluster areisolated rocks, many of them invisible at high tide. These form part ofthe rocky system of the Skares, which spread out fan-like from the pointof Whinnyfold. Amongst these rocks the sea runs at change of tide withgreat force; more than once when swimming there I had been almostcarried away. What it was to be carried away amongst the rocks of theSkares I knew too well from the fate of Lauchlane Macleod. I ran as fastas I could down the steep pathway and along the boulder-strewn beachtill I came to the Sand Craigs. As I ran I could see from the quickinrush of waves, which though not much at present were gathering forceevery instant, that the storm which the shepherd had predicted wascoming fast upon us. In such case every moment was precious. Indeed itmight mean life; and so in breathless haste I scrambled over the rocks.Behind the main body of the Sand Craigs are two isolated rocks whosetops are just uncovered at high tide, but which are washed with everywave. The near one of these is at low water not separated from the mainmass, but only joined by a narrow isthmus a few feet long, over whichthe first waves of the turning tide rush vigourously, for it is in thedirect sweep of the flowing tide. Beyond this, some ninety or a hundredfeet off and separated by a deep channel, is the outer rock, alwaysin island form. From this spot at low water is the best view of themultitudinous rocks of the Skares. On all sides they rise round youas you stand, the granite seeming yellow with the washing of the seabetween the lines of high and low water; above the latter the blackseaweed ceases growing. This island is so hidden by the higher rocksaround it that it cannot be seen from any part of Cruden Bay or fromPort Erroll across it; it can only be seen from the path leading toWhinnyfold. It was fortunate that some one had been passing just then,or the efforts of the poor women to attract attention might have beenmade in vain.
When I reached the Sand Craigs I scrambled at once to the farthest pointof the rocks, and came within sight of the isolated rock. Fortunatelyit was low water. The tide had only lately turned and was beginning toflow rapidly through the rocks. When I had scrambled on the second lastrock I was only some thirty yards from the outermost one and could seeclearly the two women. One was stout and elderly, the other young andtall and of exceeding beauty. The elderly one was in an almost franticcondition of fright; but the younger one, though her face was deadlypale--and I could see from the anxious glances which she kept castinground her that she was far from at ease--was outwardly calm. For aninstant there was a curious effect as her pale face framed in dark hairstood out against the foam of the tide churning round the far off rocks.It seemed as though her head were d
ressed with white flowers. As therewas no time to lose, I threw off my coat and shoes and braced myself fora swim. I called as I did so: "What has become of your boat?" The answercame back in a clear, young voice of manifestly American intonation:
"It drifted away. It has gone off amongst those rocks at the headland."