CHAPTER I
If you have a love for color, choose the evening ebb by preference and stray over those lined and wrinkled sandflats among the gleaming pools left by the waters with the western sun lighting up the surface of the shallows, and touching the sea-weed fronts and every sand-grain and water-drop with prism hues, while the great sea-pools---fathoms deep of amethyst among the shifting sands---are changing and glancing with the dazzling ray of every ripple. This is the land of waters, this great dreamy Uist; full inland to the Muich, with fresh-water lakes innumerable, and girt with this wide sea passage filled by the chafing tide. It is jeweled with lakelets in its very sands. Further ashore it is the very region of mystic forgetfulness, with its slumbrous tarns and meres, its treeless solitudes, and the ocean murmur haunting it throughout like a spirit voice. Even its hills are rounded, even as if in calm, not like Hecla yonder, in the sister island, catching the sun's rays long after the sands are dark, and the low flat isles between are dusk with shadow.
Take the calm and the color of the ford while you may, and stray not far on the treacherous sands, for there is an ominous voice in the treacherous sea tonight, telling of a fierce tide yet to come, when the darkness shall have fallen, and the flood glides up the strand between the night and morning like a dim phantom foam rimmed and vexed with spray and spin drift. For if there be calm meanwhile, and color and soft outline in this nook of the tide-deserted land, there is an inconstant and wrathful shore out yonder on the verge of the Atlantic---breaking reef and surge for miles of coast line, and over the skerries and shoals of the stretch of ocean to the west, with only the dark hull of St. Kilda breaking the horizon, over the sand hummocks and tidal islets of this endless island shore.
There is one bit of color left which the night-cloud may not dim---and it may be seen, just now, at the door of Fergus Macrimmon's cottage --- the golden glimmer of his daughter Mairi's hair, as she looks up the road, and the breeze stirs a lock escaped from the banded braid on her white forehead. She is a Hebrid-born girl, but, among the island dwellers, her type of loveliness is rare. Do you know whence it comes? There has been a fusion of races here. There is the original Celtic type, dark-eyed and sallow---slavish and supple in character---but this was leavened long ago by the influx of the daring race which overran these and all the islands of the north and west---and blended with the tribes and races it could not overcome for numbers. The Northman has been here, but the Celtic tongue shows that his individuality was merged. Indistinct the Norse type has become in time. Only now and then a glimpse of it comes out---a characteristic rather than a special feature. Speak to Mairi and you will see it at once---hers are the nineteen years which show it best. If the blue eyes lift to yours, and she speaks in reply, how the face breaks up as if there were music in't---the plastic breathing features changing---like the shot neck of a dove---and kindling with every mood and passion. And yet every moment the countenance has a unity of its own---a face-chord of melody laid there every instant. It is not the white arms or the lustrous blue eyes alone which lift this simple girl to quiet beauty. It is not her figure, which is slight and not over middle height---it is just Mairi's gentle grace altogether---and, most of all, Mairi when she speaks and smiles.
It is evidently a more dangerous locality this than ford, or interrupted road, or storm can make it. For the road ends and the tide flows---and there is the sea---and Mairi, an innocent siren at its portal. So far does she seem from expecting the visit of a lover at this moment, that the sight of a tall figure striding through the sand hills apparently repels her rather than attracts her notice, for she runs quickly into the house, closing the door after her.
Inside, there was only old Fergus; the father and daughter make up the household. He is seated on a low stool before a peat fire, placed, as is the custom here, in the center of the floor. Coming in from the sunlight nothing is to be seen at first but the dull red embers; a small window in the side wall and a pane of glass let into the thatched roof, are the only openings for daylight. The house, one long apartment, with a low partition midway, is full of shadows---then, through the swirling smoke finding its way out by chinks in the roof and walls, and swayed by the opening of the door, may be dimly descried the old man's gray head and the outlines of his shrunken form and crippled limbs. He has been nearly worsted in the wars---this veteran---not that he ever fought abroad, but his has been a long single-handed combat with poverty at home, and the signs of the strife are not awanting. Ever since his wife died he was left with his only daughter; his has been a hard lot.
The old man and Mairi conversed for some time in Gaelic, after the latter's entrance, Fergus asking if the "ebb" was past,---by which he meant the passage of the ford from the south,---and if any one had crossed to Uist.
"Only Donald Cameron, the catechist," replied Mairi; "he is surely to be here after crossing," she roguishly added, it commonly being reported that the individual in question---though a zealous and painstaking man---was not unfrequently actuated in his visits as much by a desire for what he termed "perishing bread," as any the more special duties of his calling. Certainly the cottage close to the ford was tempting to a hungry wayfarer.
"Oh, Mairi, Mairi," sighed her father, the good man is welcome, yes, indeed ! When you come to be as old as I am you will be glad----"
But here the door opened and the catechist, a tall, gaunt man clad in black, with keen, sharp features set in long gray locks as if in a frame, put in his head interrogatively.
"Come in, Donald Cameron, and welcome," said Fergus. "Get a chair for the good man, Mairi," he added.
"Fine evening, friends," replied the catechist in Gaelic, slowly entering and closing the door behind him---then advancing and shaking hands with the inmates--- "Fine evening, indeed, but O, that ford !" he continued slowly taking off some of his wrappings, and then, standing beside the seat set for him, "that ford ! I have crossed it often, Fergus, but never saw a worse tide. The stream is so dead that it hardly left the long sand, and I had to wade for a good half hour through it , as my seaboots testify. I think. Mairi, if you can find me an old pair of brogans I'll take these off for an hour, before I go onto Clachan."
"Certainly," said the girl, "I will. Sit down and arm yourself, and I will be making some tea for you."
Not apparently heeding this hospitable offer, but seating himself nevertheless, the catechist began to converse with the old man and, after a little, their speech rose into the high-pitched falsetto key which characterizes serious conversation in these places; Mairi, in the meanwhile preparing the humble meal.
"Have you been hearing of "the work" in the South Isles, Fergus? how it has been growing and prospering?" said the catechist; "meetings after meetings, night after night. Mr John has been speaking with great effect. O! a blessed work."
"I have heard," replied the old man, lifting his eyes on the fire, and fixing them on the keen, eager face of the other, "I have heard, Donald. I have been told. I hope it is well. But there is need of great care, great care," he added as if by afterthought; and then the faded eyes fell again, and he relapsed into silence.
"O yes !" replied the other, "of course there's need of that too; but, as the ministers were saying to us at Barra, there's such a thing as too much care---over-cautious folk abound---the 'moderates' are cautious. There may be too much hanging-back. We must catch the blessed time before it goes by." Then, seeing he must keep up the conversation himself, he added, "It's in the islands now, and it may go from them again. The other day it was not, now it's here. When may it not pass away? Of a truth it is here. I tell you," cried the enthusiast, rising from his seat, with the intensity of his feelings, "I tell you it's here. I saw it once and heard it; heard it like the wind among the myrtles, and saw it like the Pentecostal fire !" He fell back on his seat as if overcome.
There was a long pause. The men evidently did not sympathize with each other. Perhaps the speaker felt he had gone too far. Then old Fergus said very gently:---
" 'The wind bloweth where it listeth, and thou hearest the sound thereof, but canst not tell whence it cometh, and whither it goeth; so is everyone that is born of the Spirit.' "
Then he was silent, and, while no one spoke, there came borne on the evening air, now so still that every sound was audible, an awful wail of wind from the seaward; like a formless cry it swelled, and fell, rose again, and died away into a murmur.
"There's a voice in the sea tonight," said Mairi, simply. She had joined the others and was standing in the firelight, which gleamed and rippled on her loosened hair.
"Young woman," said the catechist, abruptly turning to her, "I hope you are not mocking in what you say. These things are solemn; and it's a poor lesson, if you have learned it from some careless southerner, such as are hereabouts, I learn, to scoff at religion !"
The girl was silent with downcast eyes. She did not merit the rebuke, but she made no reply.
"Mairi did not mean any harm, I think," said Fergus quietly. "She was only speaking of the voice of the sea, and that is God's voice for he speaks now in storm and calm. There is no 'open vision' in these days, but His presence is ever near and close to the believer."
So their talk went on. Only the girl slipped away after a little, and by and by, went to the door, opened it and came out.
It was dark and chill. As she turned the gable of the house someone stepped up beside her quickly. She uttered an exclamation of surprise. The newcome, a tall, athletic youth, seized her hand. "Hush, Mairi, it's only a friend---Frank, you know ! When are you going to let me have a talk with you? I've been waiting here for hours."
Then, judging from her silence that her eyes were downcast. "Come, Mairi," he said, "speak to a fellow, won't you?"
She tried to free her hand from his.
"Don't, Mr Dayrell, don't," she said in fair English; "I'm not company for the like of you, and there's nothing to say, forbye. Why do you come about so late? You don't even come in. And you would, if you really wanted to see us."
It was not encouraging, the young man felt. It was scarcely Fergus's society he sought. And the catechist and he would not have suited each other.
"I'll tell you what it is, Mairi," he said, when having freed her hand she stepped a little back from him, "you are too hard upon me ! I'm going away soon, now---going away 'to spend a week in Heisger' (as your song goes), over yonder, after I come back from Benbecula, where I am going to fish tomorrow. Couldn't you come? No answer?---O, I suppose Donal' More wouldn't let you come, eh?"
"Dhomnuil Mhor? said the girl, laughing in spite of herself, and imitating his southron tongue. "What do you know of Dhomnuil Mhor?" But the dark was kindly, and hid her quick blush from the other's gaze. Then, springing backward a step or two, she added "Now, sir, do go away, the catechist will be coming out, and he is sure to see you about---good-bye !" and, quickly evading his attempt to grasp her hand again, she passed round the corner, opened the door and disappeared.
The unfavored suitor, left alone in the darkness, was not well pleased. He stayed about the spot for nearly an hour, but the girl did not again come out, and when the door once more opened it was only for the egress of the catechist, at sight of whom the young man quickly vanished in the darkness. He was indeed none other than the "Mocking Southerner," who pointed the frequent moral of the itinerant teacher's admonitions. Shortly afterward he entered the inn close by, and made arrangements to remain there all night, preparatory to crossing the ford, on foot, the following morning. He was in bad humor and even his host's vaunted "Talisker," the potent manufacture of the veritable "Long John," failed to revive him. He had hoped to have had a flirtation with Mairi, and that the girl herself had contrived to evade. "Confound that fellow Donal' More or whatever they call him," he said moodily; "to see a lout like that with such a girl !" and then he turned to the "Talisker" once more.
Frank Dayrell had been for the last four months wandering through the island on a fishing tour. He had paid attentions to Mairi at intervals during that time. These had never seemed very welcome, and were less listened to now, apparently, than ever. A plague on Dhomnuil Mhor, wheelwright and fisherman of Clachan-Carnish
Take the calm and the color of the ford while you may, and stray not far on the treacherous sands, for there is an ominous voice in the treacherous sea tonight, telling of a fierce tide yet to come, when the darkness shall have fallen, and the flood glides up the strand between the night and morning like a dim phantom foam rimmed and vexed with spray and spin drift. For if there be calm meanwhile, and color and soft outline in this nook of the tide-deserted land, there is an inconstant and wrathful shore out yonder on the verge of the Atlantic---breaking reef and surge for miles of coast line, and over the skerries and shoals of the stretch of ocean to the west, with only the dark hull of St. Kilda breaking the horizon, over the sand hummocks and tidal islets of this endless island shore.
There is one bit of color left which the night-cloud may not dim---and it may be seen, just now, at the door of Fergus Macrimmon's cottage --- the golden glimmer of his daughter Mairi's hair, as she looks up the road, and the breeze stirs a lock escaped from the banded braid on her white forehead. She is a Hebrid-born girl, but, among the island dwellers, her type of loveliness is rare. Do you know whence it comes? There has been a fusion of races here. There is the original Celtic type, dark-eyed and sallow---slavish and supple in character---but this was leavened long ago by the influx of the daring race which overran these and all the islands of the north and west---and blended with the tribes and races it could not overcome for numbers. The Northman has been here, but the Celtic tongue shows that his individuality was merged. Indistinct the Norse type has become in time. Only now and then a glimpse of it comes out---a characteristic rather than a special feature. Speak to Mairi and you will see it at once---hers are the nineteen years which show it best. If the blue eyes lift to yours, and she speaks in reply, how the face breaks up as if there were music in't---the plastic breathing features changing---like the shot neck of a dove---and kindling with every mood and passion. And yet every moment the countenance has a unity of its own---a face-chord of melody laid there every instant. It is not the white arms or the lustrous blue eyes alone which lift this simple girl to quiet beauty. It is not her figure, which is slight and not over middle height---it is just Mairi's gentle grace altogether---and, most of all, Mairi when she speaks and smiles.
It is evidently a more dangerous locality this than ford, or interrupted road, or storm can make it. For the road ends and the tide flows---and there is the sea---and Mairi, an innocent siren at its portal. So far does she seem from expecting the visit of a lover at this moment, that the sight of a tall figure striding through the sand hills apparently repels her rather than attracts her notice, for she runs quickly into the house, closing the door after her.
Inside, there was only old Fergus; the father and daughter make up the household. He is seated on a low stool before a peat fire, placed, as is the custom here, in the center of the floor. Coming in from the sunlight nothing is to be seen at first but the dull red embers; a small window in the side wall and a pane of glass let into the thatched roof, are the only openings for daylight. The house, one long apartment, with a low partition midway, is full of shadows---then, through the swirling smoke finding its way out by chinks in the roof and walls, and swayed by the opening of the door, may be dimly descried the old man's gray head and the outlines of his shrunken form and crippled limbs. He has been nearly worsted in the wars---this veteran---not that he ever fought abroad, but his has been a long single-handed combat with poverty at home, and the signs of the strife are not awanting. Ever since his wife died he was left with his only daughter; his has been a hard lot.
The old man and Mairi conversed for some time in Gaelic, after the latter's entrance, Fergus asking if the "ebb" was past,---by which he meant the passage of the ford from the south,---and if any one had crossed to Uist.
"Only Donald Cameron, the catechist," replied Mairi; "he is surely to be here after crossing," she roguishly added, it commonly being reported that the individual in question---though a zealous and painstaking man---was not unfrequently actuated in his visits as much by a desire for what he termed "perishing bread," as any the more special duties of his calling. Certainly the cottage close to the ford was tempting to a hungry wayfarer.
"Oh, Mairi, Mairi," sighed her father, the good man is welcome, yes, indeed ! When you come to be as old as I am you will be glad----"
But here the door opened and the catechist, a tall, gaunt man clad in black, with keen, sharp features set in long gray locks as if in a frame, put in his head interrogatively.
"Come in, Donald Cameron, and welcome," said Fergus. "Get a chair for the good man, Mairi," he added.
"Fine evening, friends," replied the catechist in Gaelic, slowly entering and closing the door behind him---then advancing and shaking hands with the inmates--- "Fine evening, indeed, but O, that ford !" he continued slowly taking off some of his wrappings, and then, standing beside the seat set for him, "that ford ! I have crossed it often, Fergus, but never saw a worse tide. The stream is so dead that it hardly left the long sand, and I had to wade for a good half hour through it , as my seaboots testify. I think. Mairi, if you can find me an old pair of brogans I'll take these off for an hour, before I go onto Clachan."
"Certainly," said the girl, "I will. Sit down and arm yourself, and I will be making some tea for you."
Not apparently heeding this hospitable offer, but seating himself nevertheless, the catechist began to converse with the old man and, after a little, their speech rose into the high-pitched falsetto key which characterizes serious conversation in these places; Mairi, in the meanwhile preparing the humble meal.
"Have you been hearing of "the work" in the South Isles, Fergus? how it has been growing and prospering?" said the catechist; "meetings after meetings, night after night. Mr John has been speaking with great effect. O! a blessed work."
"I have heard," replied the old man, lifting his eyes on the fire, and fixing them on the keen, eager face of the other, "I have heard, Donald. I have been told. I hope it is well. But there is need of great care, great care," he added as if by afterthought; and then the faded eyes fell again, and he relapsed into silence.
"O yes !" replied the other, "of course there's need of that too; but, as the ministers were saying to us at Barra, there's such a thing as too much care---over-cautious folk abound---the 'moderates' are cautious. There may be too much hanging-back. We must catch the blessed time before it goes by." Then, seeing he must keep up the conversation himself, he added, "It's in the islands now, and it may go from them again. The other day it was not, now it's here. When may it not pass away? Of a truth it is here. I tell you," cried the enthusiast, rising from his seat, with the intensity of his feelings, "I tell you it's here. I saw it once and heard it; heard it like the wind among the myrtles, and saw it like the Pentecostal fire !" He fell back on his seat as if overcome.
There was a long pause. The men evidently did not sympathize with each other. Perhaps the speaker felt he had gone too far. Then old Fergus said very gently:---
" 'The wind bloweth where it listeth, and thou hearest the sound thereof, but canst not tell whence it cometh, and whither it goeth; so is everyone that is born of the Spirit.' "
Then he was silent, and, while no one spoke, there came borne on the evening air, now so still that every sound was audible, an awful wail of wind from the seaward; like a formless cry it swelled, and fell, rose again, and died away into a murmur.
"There's a voice in the sea tonight," said Mairi, simply. She had joined the others and was standing in the firelight, which gleamed and rippled on her loosened hair.
"Young woman," said the catechist, abruptly turning to her, "I hope you are not mocking in what you say. These things are solemn; and it's a poor lesson, if you have learned it from some careless southerner, such as are hereabouts, I learn, to scoff at religion !"
The girl was silent with downcast eyes. She did not merit the rebuke, but she made no reply.
"Mairi did not mean any harm, I think," said Fergus quietly. "She was only speaking of the voice of the sea, and that is God's voice for he speaks now in storm and calm. There is no 'open vision' in these days, but His presence is ever near and close to the believer."
So their talk went on. Only the girl slipped away after a little, and by and by, went to the door, opened it and came out.
It was dark and chill. As she turned the gable of the house someone stepped up beside her quickly. She uttered an exclamation of surprise. The newcome, a tall, athletic youth, seized her hand. "Hush, Mairi, it's only a friend---Frank, you know ! When are you going to let me have a talk with you? I've been waiting here for hours."
Then, judging from her silence that her eyes were downcast. "Come, Mairi," he said, "speak to a fellow, won't you?"
She tried to free her hand from his.
"Don't, Mr Dayrell, don't," she said in fair English; "I'm not company for the like of you, and there's nothing to say, forbye. Why do you come about so late? You don't even come in. And you would, if you really wanted to see us."
It was not encouraging, the young man felt. It was scarcely Fergus's society he sought. And the catechist and he would not have suited each other.
"I'll tell you what it is, Mairi," he said, when having freed her hand she stepped a little back from him, "you are too hard upon me ! I'm going away soon, now---going away 'to spend a week in Heisger' (as your song goes), over yonder, after I come back from Benbecula, where I am going to fish tomorrow. Couldn't you come? No answer?---O, I suppose Donal' More wouldn't let you come, eh?"
"Dhomnuil Mhor? said the girl, laughing in spite of herself, and imitating his southron tongue. "What do you know of Dhomnuil Mhor?" But the dark was kindly, and hid her quick blush from the other's gaze. Then, springing backward a step or two, she added "Now, sir, do go away, the catechist will be coming out, and he is sure to see you about---good-bye !" and, quickly evading his attempt to grasp her hand again, she passed round the corner, opened the door and disappeared.
The unfavored suitor, left alone in the darkness, was not well pleased. He stayed about the spot for nearly an hour, but the girl did not again come out, and when the door once more opened it was only for the egress of the catechist, at sight of whom the young man quickly vanished in the darkness. He was indeed none other than the "Mocking Southerner," who pointed the frequent moral of the itinerant teacher's admonitions. Shortly afterward he entered the inn close by, and made arrangements to remain there all night, preparatory to crossing the ford, on foot, the following morning. He was in bad humor and even his host's vaunted "Talisker," the potent manufacture of the veritable "Long John," failed to revive him. He had hoped to have had a flirtation with Mairi, and that the girl herself had contrived to evade. "Confound that fellow Donal' More or whatever they call him," he said moodily; "to see a lout like that with such a girl !" and then he turned to the "Talisker" once more.
Frank Dayrell had been for the last four months wandering through the island on a fishing tour. He had paid attentions to Mairi at intervals during that time. These had never seemed very welcome, and were less listened to now, apparently, than ever. A plague on Dhomnuil Mhor, wheelwright and fisherman of Clachan-Carnish
CHAPTER II
The Flow of Mingalay
THE morning broke roughly, after a night to rain and wind. But, soon after dawn, the wind lulled treacherously, and a dense mist came rolling in from seaward, before a northwesterly breeze. Sometimes the fog-banks lifted, the clouds dispersed, and the wind freshened, then again it lulled, and the mists settled again. To the westward the sea broke heavily. Fergus Macrimmon, early astir outside his cottage door, opined that the weather looked ill. "A good thing," he said, "that the tides were dead (i.e. neap), else there would have been a high flood". A high flood, being on this account, objectionable, that it was likely to invade the "lazybeds" of potatoes adjoining the house, and even at times, the house itself. On these low-lying shores the difficulty is to secure a site safe from the incursions of the waves. but the prospect for the day was not wholly favorable, on account of the "neap;" for there would be "no ford" that day, Fergus said with the air of a man who knew what he was talking about. It was on Mairi's tongue to say that Mr. Dayrell would not be able to carry out his plan of crossing to Benbecula; but she checked herself in time. How was she to say that he intended to go, without mentioning that he had told her? So this discreet maiden held her peace on this particular subject, and talked only of "the ford" generally, and the chance of anybody. Anybody of course including "Dhomnuil" of whom it was no harm to be thinking.
"No ford, you think, father?"
"None," replied he decisively, "no man in his senses would trust a neap, with northwest wind, and there's the mist too ! Always raised a heavy sea, did the mist. Any one knowing the ford well might cross with a good horse, if it were a life-and-death errand, but not on foot, O no !"
Now Mr. Dayrell did not know the tidal passage---thought Mairi---he had not come on horseback to the ford last night, and horses were not readily to be hired in these places. Could he have gone nevertheless? And for all Mairi could do to banish this question from her thoughts, it would come back upon her again and again. Though he did not much deserve it, this "mocking southron" was much more frequently in the girl's thoughts this morning than even his more favored rival. Has he crossed or tried to cross? Would they suffer him to go from the inn with the intention of crossing or would the people at the inn never inquire whither he intended going? Perhaps he had told no one of his plan except herself. Supposing he did go and got into danger, what if he were lost? These ideas were so maddening that, at last, with old Fergus, seated in his chair for the forenoon, she made some vague excuse and slipped away from the house in the direction of the inn. There was no one outside the house from whom she could inquire. This was trying. Suppose the young gentleman was still within, what could she say? At last she summoned courage, asked for, and saw the landlord. He didn't know. Thought Mr. Dayrell was still in the house, though he had paid his bill. Eventually he made inquiries and found his guest had departed.
"What do you want to know for, Mairi?" he asked, coming back.
"My father---," faltered the girl,---"I mean Mr. Dayrell was passing our house last night, and spoke of going over to Benbecula, and my father thinks it isn't weather for any one to go, at least on foot, and be strange to the way."
"Neither is it weather to go," said mine host, "but of course if he went he went, and if he didn't go, why, then he didn't. I don't know whether he went that way or not. We have enough to do here, all of us, without looking after mad Englishmen with more money than wits. Seems you take an interest in him, eh Mairi? Ah lass, lass, what's this?" It was all the return the poor girl got, and she blushed in spite of herself, her denial of any particular interest in the wayfarer, beyond a wish for his safety, only giving point to the landlord's sarcasm.
Part of the way she returned to her home, then stopped irresolutely and thought. The wind was rising, there was no doubt of that---driving the mist off the South Uist hills, and even off the nearer shore, but midway the cloud-fog rested heavily on the ford. It had ebbed for nearly an hour; but she knew full well, that all the outflow today would be slight, with the wind full on the shore and the slow tide. Soon, perilously soon, the flood would return. At last she resolved to make one effort more to see if he had gone, and, if possible, to prevent him; failing that she could do no more. Tying her shawl tightly over her head, she turned from the main road, and ran for the sandhills, skirting the ford-track of the strand. By a shortcut she could anticipate much of the way, and gain a particular point, at which the track, finally quitting the sandhills, struck out for the open ford. If he had not left the inn very long before now, she would be at a point before him, if indeed he were on the way, and could warn him to return. When she had fairly left the road, she stooped down, took off her heavy shoes, and homespun stockings, and hiding them in a clump of rushes, fled though the sandhills like a fawn.
It was fully half an hour before she reached the wished-for spot, where the ford-track struck off. Five miles as the crow flies to Benbecula at this point, with two deep swollen saltwater streams midway, safely to be crossed only at one place. Behind the furthest out of the sandy hillocks she sat down, out of breath, to wait and watch. It seemed, after all, a fruitless chase, for even here the traveler might pass and be invisible a quarter of a mile away on account of the mist. It was possible, also, that already he might have passed. Long and anxiously she watched. Strange whirling wreaths of smoke-like mist trailed and swept across the level sands, now hovering suspended, spirit-like, in air---light trails and eddies with a puff of wind wheeling in circles---then the dense white cloud, bent down and brooding on the ground, enveloped all. Behind an ominous thunder roar. Was it the turning of the tide already or only the last of the ebb waves? or, neither slack nor flood, the stealthy "snarr" of the waters? A bad tide, in the language of the dwellers by the ford.
At length Mairi's heart began to fail, and she had thoughts of retracing her steps when, on a sudden, the lifting mist revealed something moving across the sands, then instantly fell again and hid it from view. But the figure, whatever it was, was certainly, from the glimpse she obtained of it, going toward the South Island; there was no doubt of that. Passing so late it was madness to attempt the ford. It could be none other than the stranger. Darting from the sandhill the girl ran lightly and quickly in the direction where the figure had been seen. Yes, it was he, without doubt, walking swiftly along toward the mid-channel crossing place, a fishing basket slung over his shoulder,a light folded rod in one hand. Running til she came within hailing distance, for his back being toward the shore as he went, he did not observe her, the girl at length stopped and called to him, "Come back, Mr. Dayrell, come back !" He stopped at once, as if surprised; then, seeing the girl coming on but slowly, he retraced his steps and met her.
"Mr. Dayrell," she said, before he came up, "you must not go on today, there is no tide to cross with. Father says, you can't wade the mid-streams with the neap."
"Why, Mairi," he said, coming closer to her, "did you really come all the way after me to tell me this?"
"Yes, I did," answered she. You said, last night, you were going and I thought----"
Here she stopped, guessing that he misinterpreted her already.
"You thought I should be lost, and you came to save? Was that it, Mairi?" he said smiling. "That was kind of you. But you see, I don't think I will be lost at all, and, indeed, you will come now that you are here and show me the way. Didn't you come for that, dear?"
"Indeed, sir," said the girl, bridling, "I did nothiing of the sort. I only came to warn you, as I would any other, and as for your soft words, please keep them to yourself ! But turn back, sir, do," she pleaded, the ford isn't safe now, and every minute it will be worse." And she entreated him as if she had a fonder stake at heart. But he would not listen.
"No, no," he said, "I'll go on, and you'll come with me, just a little way, and then you can run back."
"Indeed I will not," she replied, indignantly, you might take a warning without thinking people think so much of you. But I can't help it if you won't. I shall go back."
So saying, her cheeks aflame, poor girl, for his words were not pleasant in tone, she left him and turned for the sandhills again, but by a shorter way than that by which she had come.
He stood irresolute for a moment, looking after her. (How the time was flying and the tide had surely turned !) as if thinking she would return, then went to follow her. A few rapid strides brought him to her side.
"Come with me, Mairi," he said, "come a' suilish ! I must go, you know. Come !"
By this time she had neared a rapid stream, which, issuing far up the ford, crossed th sands to seaward, cutting a channel for itself. It was little more than ankle-deep, but over-wide to leap. She was about to wade when he came up, then turned, before she dipped her veined feet in the hurrying water.
"Think, shame !" she said, and her eyes filled, "to speak that way to one who only came to warn you."
He caught her arm, but she swung herself from his grasp and walked steadily across through the water. Then. without turning round, she pursued her way homeward.
He, rather chagrined, for he saw that he had deeply offended her, and being loath to wet his feet, turned and went his way to the south.
Walking in opposite directions the distance between them quickly increased, and after her indignant words, Mairi was too proud to look behind her to see if he followed. But pity at last softened her heart, and she looked backward. He had gone on, apparently, for he was now out of sight in the fog. Now his chance of safety was less than before. Their interview, though only lasting a few minutes, might prove his ruin. Oh! would he not turn at the next stream? Safe on her own side of the stream she had just waded, she resolved to follow it down for a little way to see if he would not return at the first difficult crossing-place, half a mile further on. Did she see him make for home again at that stage she could easily avoid meeting him as he returned. But again, if he crossed the first ford and went on to the "long sand"---her heart sank when she thought of that. Following down the stream beside her, she might yet catch another glimpse of him. So she went. Long the mist baffled her, though she went far down, every step taking her at a nearer angle to his course. At last, and suddenly, it cleared. Who was that on the other side, half a mile away? Dayrell, walking to seaward, as if to meet the waves, and worse !---Great God !" the cry burst from her lips, "He is going for the flow of Mingalay !" The fog had deceived him, he had described nearly a quarter of a circle, and his steps were approaching the treacherous quick-sands of the ford.
Instantly, and thinking only of his safety now, she cried aloud, rushing across the turbid stream once more, "Come back, don't go that way !" But he did not hear her and continued walking onward toward his doom. "O God !" shrieked the terrified girl, frantically running over the sands toward the unaware man, "He will be lost. Help !" Still her shouts did not reach his ear; he was too far off yet and too close to his danger. Another step or two and his footing, while on firm, stable sand apparently, yielded beneath him; he stumbled, half fell forward and plunged heavily to the depth of his knees, then, almost instantly, to his waist. It was a "working flow" into which he had fallen; sand and water mixed, with a deceitful surface as of firm ground, a sand-bog of varying depths, spreading for man hundred yards from the spot, and swaying backward and forward, a very witch-broth in its fatal spell.
At first he thought that the footing underneath was firm, even though, as he stood, he was submerged to the waist. But he found his mistake when he tried to extricate himself. Lifting one foot heavily, he put it cautiously forward toward the shore he had stepped from---itself crumbling and treacherous---but only to find that no foothold existed round him, save that uncertain one on which he was. The impetus of his stumble had sent him forward some distance; he was far from his last foot mark on the firm sand; his rod, which might have helped him, had slipped from his grasp and lay beyond his reach. Then he saw the girl coming toward him, breathless and pale. Somehow, up to that moment, he had not thought of danger; there was some awkwardness perhaps, and some ungraceful floundering to be done in the matter; some cause for laughter on the girl's part. But when he saw Mairi's face, bloodless to the lips, he felt a strange sinking at the heart. He was about to call to her, before she reached the edge, but she took the words out of his mouth.
"Don't stir," she panted hollowly, "keep still and don't move for God's love; you will sink if you do. I will try what I can."
He looked down at the sand, already at his waist. Was it rising or was he slowly going down, down? Surely it was not above that button a moment before, and an awful chill crept over him, his lips twitched convulsively.
Meanwhile his would-be rescuer had taken off her tartan shawl, baring her bonny yellow hair in all its wealth, and began, it was no time for words, to tear it up with desperate, trembling hands, into strips.
"I'll try to throw this to you," she cried, for he was far beyond arm's length, and the bank broke and fell in whenever she neared it.
"Try, Mairi," he cried faintly, "I fear I am sinking deeper." Knotting the strips together, with all her strength and speed, she formed at length a rude rope, and, standing on the nearest edge, she tried to throw it to him, weighted at one end with a stone. At first it did not go straight or far enough. Twice she pulled it in and threw again. Yes, he caught it that time ! Would it stand the strain now, and help to pull him through to the shore? At first it held, but when the strain told heavily upon it, the brave girl pulling on the shore, it parted midway ! Another expedient failed also. He tried to loose the strap of the fishing basket from his shoulders, but even that slight effort threatened to sink him deeper. He could do nothing it was evident. The girl was equally powerless to help him. She tried to tear a strip from her wincey dress but could not effect it. And all the while the relentless tide creeping upon them both over the sands. Twice she strove, in the hopeless panic now besetting her, to wade to him by some approach less hazardous than another, but it was in vain: he seemed to be on the only piece of steady ground at the bottom, and even that seemed to be deserting him, for he was visibly going deeper down. She only desisted from these attempts by being convinced of their hopelessness, and by his earnest appeals to her not to try. It would have been certain death for her to have ventured in. A strange, delusive hope fired the breast of the struggling victim. "Why not run, Mairi," he said, and get help, a rope or something from Carnish? I think I could keep up till you came back." He had forgotten for the moment, but she had not, and she burst into tears. She did not answer at first, but turned and glanced at the mist cloud to seaward.
"There is not time," she said.
He also looked in the same direction, a brief look of agony.
"How, how long will it be?" he stammered.
"Less than an hour," she sobbed.
"Save yourself, save yourself, Mairi," he screamed as the reality came upon his mind. "Run for the shore, you must not wait for me. Your own life is safe yet !" Still she delayed. Her breathing countenance fell, changed, and dropped in the shadow. She might have gone, but she went not, though she knew that between that young life in the grasp of the flow and death there there was not forty minutes clear. And her own? What would it be worth then?
"I will not leave you," she said, quickly and steadily. The fog thickened every moment, all hope of being seen from the shore was gone. Besides they were in a hollow or bend of the sands scarcely visible at any time from the sandhills.
A thought all at once struck her. "I will come back," she said, "immediately. There's no time to go far but there may be some mussel-gatherers going home from the ebb. Don't move while I am away." So saying she ran quickly down the sands in the direction of the sea, and skirting the edge of the flow. The further she ran down, the louder the surf roared; the lifting mist already revealed the first creaming wave spreading a wreath over the sand. Half an hour to spare? there was not so much by half. It was dead neap, and the tide had fairly turned. The sand was level here, and the first great wave that washed into the flow would---and not a mussel-gatherer to be seen. Save one! blessed be God. There was hope yet !---A long skeleton-figure, half man, half boy, was stooping in the distance, apparently digging in the sands with his fingers, in search of razor-fish, right in front of the advancing tide. Every now and again his task was interrupted by a furious incoming wave, spreading round him in foam. Starting then to an erect position, and displaying his gaunt limbs clad only to the knees, an old tattered jacket over his shoulders, this waif of the shore spread from place to place on the sand, as the water forced him to retreat. Agile and light, he kept pace with the tide, now leaping and caracoling as if out of his senses, which indeed he partially was. Ian Vich Alastair, the "born-natural" of the district, was well versed in the ways of the ford, and might safely linger near the surf, when none other dared. Walking, or running rather, as he habitually did on tip-toe, the calves of his legs, covered with shaggy "fell" of black hairs were enormously developed, and the speed with which he could flit over the sands, and swim the strongest currents, was a proverb in the place.
Out of breath with excitement, Mairi screamed as loudly as she could whenever her eyes lit upon this weird figure. He raised his head, shook his elfin locks from his eyes, for cap he never wore, and with a shrill cry raced like a young cold to her side.
"Ian, Ian !" cried Mairi, clutching his arm, for she knew the poor lad was docile and friendly. "Make haste, haste for the flow sand---this side---Mr. Frank has fallen into it. Haste, Ian dear, to save him !"
In the flow !" shrieked the lad, glancing over his shoulder at the coming waves with a scared look. Then without another word he fled in the direction she indicated at full speed. She followed as quickly as she could. When she reached the flow-bank, she found Ian there, his tattered coat slipped off, and busily disentangling a rope from the light basket slung on his back. On this he apparently relied for the rescue of Frank. Alas! his case seemed desperate now, already he had sunk to the armpits, his hands spread out on the pitiless flow, helpless and weak, a few minutes must end his life. In vain Ian, standing on the nearest edge, threw the rope within his reach. He could not grasp it and by the appearance of his face as he lay with his head half pillowed on the sands, it was plain he could make no effort. But Ian did not despair, his habitual glee had departed, the thin dark face was set, the glancing eyes resolute and keen, save when they strayed fitfully to seaward, then their light seemed to fade. Tying the rope firmly round his chest with a firm knot, he hurriedly directed the girl to hold the other end tightly, and lying flat on the brink, prepared to stretch himself as if to swim on the deceitful surface. These working flows readily sustain anything flatly laid upon them. Gently gliding forward like a boat, he launched himself slowly out, the rope the girl held supporting his head and shoulders. It was a work of time when every moment was precious. Already a white breaker had invaded the lower part of the flow, which surged dangerously. The next moment the sands rose to Dayrell's neck. But just then the vise-like grip of Ian fastened on his collar, and raised him by a superhuman effort,---trying to the deliverer's safety and straining the rope---several inches from the ooze. Urging the other in Gaelic to cling to his neck, Ian supported him, and working backward with the aid of Mairi's vigorous pulling, the two struggled safely to the bank. Dayrell was faint and chilled and at first could hardly stand. It was only now the spreading foam now and beyond them, that served him at all. In his wild shrieking way Ian directed them both to cling fast to his arms on either side, and half supporting, half dragging them, for his speed was beyond their powers. the three rushed up the sands.
"Were they yet in time to escape the tide?" was the question with Ian and Mairi. Frank, who had not yet fully recovered his senses, and who did not know the intricacies of the ford, thought all was safe if only they outstripped the waves behind them. None spoke but Ian, who urged his companions on and encouraged them with the hope that all might be well. Poor fellow, he well knew that even trusting to his own fleet steps he would have quitted the sands half an hour ago ! It was not the same way, to all appearance, by which they had come. It was broken up now with streams and breaks of hurrying water. The pools were all swollen with the coming tide, from the Muich on the eastern side, as well as with the Atlantic waters. Sometimes they had to make long circuits to escape the brimming pools, which lay on every hand, and every delay of this kind hastened the awful flood behind them, the sound of it now loud in their ears. "One point in front, " Ian screamed to them as they ran, "was the deciding one." If they could wade that one, all was well. Alas! When they reached it nothing was to be seen, as far as the mist permitted but a swollen, rolling flood, created with gleaming waves. The tide race there was too rapid and strong even for Ian himself, and stretched as far as the eye could reach. Hope was at an end ! They gazed bleakly at each other, these hunted creatures, one of them saved from death only to ingulf the others in a later but similar fate. Even Ian broke down. He urged them indeed to go with him further up, but both he and Mairi knew that being on the edge of the fatal "long sand" they were, in reality, in a cul-de-sac, the fords on either hand impassable, the tide behind and beyond them. All they could do was make for an iron guide-post several feet in height, one of a series once erected in the sands, and with some rude masonry at its base. Standing on the latter they were a few inches above the sands. It was only delaying the inevitable for a little, it would not help them long, and it was useless to attempt to signal to the shore, for the distance and the fog alone prevented, if it were not that the"long sand" from its position is scarcely visible from the land. They made thither accordingly.
Frank knew now. It was hard, hard, death so close, and all so young ! What did it matter now that the tide washed round their every step, or the sands were slippery and yielding under them, as they reached the standard, a truncated iron pillar, with a broken arm stretched out near the top? In a few minutes it would be all the same. Through death's bitterness they severally passed as they took their stations on the little cairn at the foot. Ian swarming the standard, and the other two, side by side on the base. It was all alike, a foot or two, what did it matter? Little they said to each other in the supreme moments. Frank only spoke once, when Mairi took her station by him and her streaming hair rested on his shoulder. He bent down to her and whispered in her ear. She did not reply, and, then, he stooped again, and, unreproved, laid a kiss upon her lips
"No ford, you think, father?"
"None," replied he decisively, "no man in his senses would trust a neap, with northwest wind, and there's the mist too ! Always raised a heavy sea, did the mist. Any one knowing the ford well might cross with a good horse, if it were a life-and-death errand, but not on foot, O no !"
Now Mr. Dayrell did not know the tidal passage---thought Mairi---he had not come on horseback to the ford last night, and horses were not readily to be hired in these places. Could he have gone nevertheless? And for all Mairi could do to banish this question from her thoughts, it would come back upon her again and again. Though he did not much deserve it, this "mocking southron" was much more frequently in the girl's thoughts this morning than even his more favored rival. Has he crossed or tried to cross? Would they suffer him to go from the inn with the intention of crossing or would the people at the inn never inquire whither he intended going? Perhaps he had told no one of his plan except herself. Supposing he did go and got into danger, what if he were lost? These ideas were so maddening that, at last, with old Fergus, seated in his chair for the forenoon, she made some vague excuse and slipped away from the house in the direction of the inn. There was no one outside the house from whom she could inquire. This was trying. Suppose the young gentleman was still within, what could she say? At last she summoned courage, asked for, and saw the landlord. He didn't know. Thought Mr. Dayrell was still in the house, though he had paid his bill. Eventually he made inquiries and found his guest had departed.
"What do you want to know for, Mairi?" he asked, coming back.
"My father---," faltered the girl,---"I mean Mr. Dayrell was passing our house last night, and spoke of going over to Benbecula, and my father thinks it isn't weather for any one to go, at least on foot, and be strange to the way."
"Neither is it weather to go," said mine host, "but of course if he went he went, and if he didn't go, why, then he didn't. I don't know whether he went that way or not. We have enough to do here, all of us, without looking after mad Englishmen with more money than wits. Seems you take an interest in him, eh Mairi? Ah lass, lass, what's this?" It was all the return the poor girl got, and she blushed in spite of herself, her denial of any particular interest in the wayfarer, beyond a wish for his safety, only giving point to the landlord's sarcasm.
Part of the way she returned to her home, then stopped irresolutely and thought. The wind was rising, there was no doubt of that---driving the mist off the South Uist hills, and even off the nearer shore, but midway the cloud-fog rested heavily on the ford. It had ebbed for nearly an hour; but she knew full well, that all the outflow today would be slight, with the wind full on the shore and the slow tide. Soon, perilously soon, the flood would return. At last she resolved to make one effort more to see if he had gone, and, if possible, to prevent him; failing that she could do no more. Tying her shawl tightly over her head, she turned from the main road, and ran for the sandhills, skirting the ford-track of the strand. By a shortcut she could anticipate much of the way, and gain a particular point, at which the track, finally quitting the sandhills, struck out for the open ford. If he had not left the inn very long before now, she would be at a point before him, if indeed he were on the way, and could warn him to return. When she had fairly left the road, she stooped down, took off her heavy shoes, and homespun stockings, and hiding them in a clump of rushes, fled though the sandhills like a fawn.
It was fully half an hour before she reached the wished-for spot, where the ford-track struck off. Five miles as the crow flies to Benbecula at this point, with two deep swollen saltwater streams midway, safely to be crossed only at one place. Behind the furthest out of the sandy hillocks she sat down, out of breath, to wait and watch. It seemed, after all, a fruitless chase, for even here the traveler might pass and be invisible a quarter of a mile away on account of the mist. It was possible, also, that already he might have passed. Long and anxiously she watched. Strange whirling wreaths of smoke-like mist trailed and swept across the level sands, now hovering suspended, spirit-like, in air---light trails and eddies with a puff of wind wheeling in circles---then the dense white cloud, bent down and brooding on the ground, enveloped all. Behind an ominous thunder roar. Was it the turning of the tide already or only the last of the ebb waves? or, neither slack nor flood, the stealthy "snarr" of the waters? A bad tide, in the language of the dwellers by the ford.
At length Mairi's heart began to fail, and she had thoughts of retracing her steps when, on a sudden, the lifting mist revealed something moving across the sands, then instantly fell again and hid it from view. But the figure, whatever it was, was certainly, from the glimpse she obtained of it, going toward the South Island; there was no doubt of that. Passing so late it was madness to attempt the ford. It could be none other than the stranger. Darting from the sandhill the girl ran lightly and quickly in the direction where the figure had been seen. Yes, it was he, without doubt, walking swiftly along toward the mid-channel crossing place, a fishing basket slung over his shoulder,a light folded rod in one hand. Running til she came within hailing distance, for his back being toward the shore as he went, he did not observe her, the girl at length stopped and called to him, "Come back, Mr. Dayrell, come back !" He stopped at once, as if surprised; then, seeing the girl coming on but slowly, he retraced his steps and met her.
"Mr. Dayrell," she said, before he came up, "you must not go on today, there is no tide to cross with. Father says, you can't wade the mid-streams with the neap."
"Why, Mairi," he said, coming closer to her, "did you really come all the way after me to tell me this?"
"Yes, I did," answered she. You said, last night, you were going and I thought----"
Here she stopped, guessing that he misinterpreted her already.
"You thought I should be lost, and you came to save? Was that it, Mairi?" he said smiling. "That was kind of you. But you see, I don't think I will be lost at all, and, indeed, you will come now that you are here and show me the way. Didn't you come for that, dear?"
"Indeed, sir," said the girl, bridling, "I did nothiing of the sort. I only came to warn you, as I would any other, and as for your soft words, please keep them to yourself ! But turn back, sir, do," she pleaded, the ford isn't safe now, and every minute it will be worse." And she entreated him as if she had a fonder stake at heart. But he would not listen.
"No, no," he said, "I'll go on, and you'll come with me, just a little way, and then you can run back."
"Indeed I will not," she replied, indignantly, you might take a warning without thinking people think so much of you. But I can't help it if you won't. I shall go back."
So saying, her cheeks aflame, poor girl, for his words were not pleasant in tone, she left him and turned for the sandhills again, but by a shorter way than that by which she had come.
He stood irresolute for a moment, looking after her. (How the time was flying and the tide had surely turned !) as if thinking she would return, then went to follow her. A few rapid strides brought him to her side.
"Come with me, Mairi," he said, "come a' suilish ! I must go, you know. Come !"
By this time she had neared a rapid stream, which, issuing far up the ford, crossed th sands to seaward, cutting a channel for itself. It was little more than ankle-deep, but over-wide to leap. She was about to wade when he came up, then turned, before she dipped her veined feet in the hurrying water.
"Think, shame !" she said, and her eyes filled, "to speak that way to one who only came to warn you."
He caught her arm, but she swung herself from his grasp and walked steadily across through the water. Then. without turning round, she pursued her way homeward.
He, rather chagrined, for he saw that he had deeply offended her, and being loath to wet his feet, turned and went his way to the south.
Walking in opposite directions the distance between them quickly increased, and after her indignant words, Mairi was too proud to look behind her to see if he followed. But pity at last softened her heart, and she looked backward. He had gone on, apparently, for he was now out of sight in the fog. Now his chance of safety was less than before. Their interview, though only lasting a few minutes, might prove his ruin. Oh! would he not turn at the next stream? Safe on her own side of the stream she had just waded, she resolved to follow it down for a little way to see if he would not return at the first difficult crossing-place, half a mile further on. Did she see him make for home again at that stage she could easily avoid meeting him as he returned. But again, if he crossed the first ford and went on to the "long sand"---her heart sank when she thought of that. Following down the stream beside her, she might yet catch another glimpse of him. So she went. Long the mist baffled her, though she went far down, every step taking her at a nearer angle to his course. At last, and suddenly, it cleared. Who was that on the other side, half a mile away? Dayrell, walking to seaward, as if to meet the waves, and worse !---Great God !" the cry burst from her lips, "He is going for the flow of Mingalay !" The fog had deceived him, he had described nearly a quarter of a circle, and his steps were approaching the treacherous quick-sands of the ford.
Instantly, and thinking only of his safety now, she cried aloud, rushing across the turbid stream once more, "Come back, don't go that way !" But he did not hear her and continued walking onward toward his doom. "O God !" shrieked the terrified girl, frantically running over the sands toward the unaware man, "He will be lost. Help !" Still her shouts did not reach his ear; he was too far off yet and too close to his danger. Another step or two and his footing, while on firm, stable sand apparently, yielded beneath him; he stumbled, half fell forward and plunged heavily to the depth of his knees, then, almost instantly, to his waist. It was a "working flow" into which he had fallen; sand and water mixed, with a deceitful surface as of firm ground, a sand-bog of varying depths, spreading for man hundred yards from the spot, and swaying backward and forward, a very witch-broth in its fatal spell.
At first he thought that the footing underneath was firm, even though, as he stood, he was submerged to the waist. But he found his mistake when he tried to extricate himself. Lifting one foot heavily, he put it cautiously forward toward the shore he had stepped from---itself crumbling and treacherous---but only to find that no foothold existed round him, save that uncertain one on which he was. The impetus of his stumble had sent him forward some distance; he was far from his last foot mark on the firm sand; his rod, which might have helped him, had slipped from his grasp and lay beyond his reach. Then he saw the girl coming toward him, breathless and pale. Somehow, up to that moment, he had not thought of danger; there was some awkwardness perhaps, and some ungraceful floundering to be done in the matter; some cause for laughter on the girl's part. But when he saw Mairi's face, bloodless to the lips, he felt a strange sinking at the heart. He was about to call to her, before she reached the edge, but she took the words out of his mouth.
"Don't stir," she panted hollowly, "keep still and don't move for God's love; you will sink if you do. I will try what I can."
He looked down at the sand, already at his waist. Was it rising or was he slowly going down, down? Surely it was not above that button a moment before, and an awful chill crept over him, his lips twitched convulsively.
Meanwhile his would-be rescuer had taken off her tartan shawl, baring her bonny yellow hair in all its wealth, and began, it was no time for words, to tear it up with desperate, trembling hands, into strips.
"I'll try to throw this to you," she cried, for he was far beyond arm's length, and the bank broke and fell in whenever she neared it.
"Try, Mairi," he cried faintly, "I fear I am sinking deeper." Knotting the strips together, with all her strength and speed, she formed at length a rude rope, and, standing on the nearest edge, she tried to throw it to him, weighted at one end with a stone. At first it did not go straight or far enough. Twice she pulled it in and threw again. Yes, he caught it that time ! Would it stand the strain now, and help to pull him through to the shore? At first it held, but when the strain told heavily upon it, the brave girl pulling on the shore, it parted midway ! Another expedient failed also. He tried to loose the strap of the fishing basket from his shoulders, but even that slight effort threatened to sink him deeper. He could do nothing it was evident. The girl was equally powerless to help him. She tried to tear a strip from her wincey dress but could not effect it. And all the while the relentless tide creeping upon them both over the sands. Twice she strove, in the hopeless panic now besetting her, to wade to him by some approach less hazardous than another, but it was in vain: he seemed to be on the only piece of steady ground at the bottom, and even that seemed to be deserting him, for he was visibly going deeper down. She only desisted from these attempts by being convinced of their hopelessness, and by his earnest appeals to her not to try. It would have been certain death for her to have ventured in. A strange, delusive hope fired the breast of the struggling victim. "Why not run, Mairi," he said, and get help, a rope or something from Carnish? I think I could keep up till you came back." He had forgotten for the moment, but she had not, and she burst into tears. She did not answer at first, but turned and glanced at the mist cloud to seaward.
"There is not time," she said.
He also looked in the same direction, a brief look of agony.
"How, how long will it be?" he stammered.
"Less than an hour," she sobbed.
"Save yourself, save yourself, Mairi," he screamed as the reality came upon his mind. "Run for the shore, you must not wait for me. Your own life is safe yet !" Still she delayed. Her breathing countenance fell, changed, and dropped in the shadow. She might have gone, but she went not, though she knew that between that young life in the grasp of the flow and death there there was not forty minutes clear. And her own? What would it be worth then?
"I will not leave you," she said, quickly and steadily. The fog thickened every moment, all hope of being seen from the shore was gone. Besides they were in a hollow or bend of the sands scarcely visible at any time from the sandhills.
A thought all at once struck her. "I will come back," she said, "immediately. There's no time to go far but there may be some mussel-gatherers going home from the ebb. Don't move while I am away." So saying she ran quickly down the sands in the direction of the sea, and skirting the edge of the flow. The further she ran down, the louder the surf roared; the lifting mist already revealed the first creaming wave spreading a wreath over the sand. Half an hour to spare? there was not so much by half. It was dead neap, and the tide had fairly turned. The sand was level here, and the first great wave that washed into the flow would---and not a mussel-gatherer to be seen. Save one! blessed be God. There was hope yet !---A long skeleton-figure, half man, half boy, was stooping in the distance, apparently digging in the sands with his fingers, in search of razor-fish, right in front of the advancing tide. Every now and again his task was interrupted by a furious incoming wave, spreading round him in foam. Starting then to an erect position, and displaying his gaunt limbs clad only to the knees, an old tattered jacket over his shoulders, this waif of the shore spread from place to place on the sand, as the water forced him to retreat. Agile and light, he kept pace with the tide, now leaping and caracoling as if out of his senses, which indeed he partially was. Ian Vich Alastair, the "born-natural" of the district, was well versed in the ways of the ford, and might safely linger near the surf, when none other dared. Walking, or running rather, as he habitually did on tip-toe, the calves of his legs, covered with shaggy "fell" of black hairs were enormously developed, and the speed with which he could flit over the sands, and swim the strongest currents, was a proverb in the place.
Out of breath with excitement, Mairi screamed as loudly as she could whenever her eyes lit upon this weird figure. He raised his head, shook his elfin locks from his eyes, for cap he never wore, and with a shrill cry raced like a young cold to her side.
"Ian, Ian !" cried Mairi, clutching his arm, for she knew the poor lad was docile and friendly. "Make haste, haste for the flow sand---this side---Mr. Frank has fallen into it. Haste, Ian dear, to save him !"
In the flow !" shrieked the lad, glancing over his shoulder at the coming waves with a scared look. Then without another word he fled in the direction she indicated at full speed. She followed as quickly as she could. When she reached the flow-bank, she found Ian there, his tattered coat slipped off, and busily disentangling a rope from the light basket slung on his back. On this he apparently relied for the rescue of Frank. Alas! his case seemed desperate now, already he had sunk to the armpits, his hands spread out on the pitiless flow, helpless and weak, a few minutes must end his life. In vain Ian, standing on the nearest edge, threw the rope within his reach. He could not grasp it and by the appearance of his face as he lay with his head half pillowed on the sands, it was plain he could make no effort. But Ian did not despair, his habitual glee had departed, the thin dark face was set, the glancing eyes resolute and keen, save when they strayed fitfully to seaward, then their light seemed to fade. Tying the rope firmly round his chest with a firm knot, he hurriedly directed the girl to hold the other end tightly, and lying flat on the brink, prepared to stretch himself as if to swim on the deceitful surface. These working flows readily sustain anything flatly laid upon them. Gently gliding forward like a boat, he launched himself slowly out, the rope the girl held supporting his head and shoulders. It was a work of time when every moment was precious. Already a white breaker had invaded the lower part of the flow, which surged dangerously. The next moment the sands rose to Dayrell's neck. But just then the vise-like grip of Ian fastened on his collar, and raised him by a superhuman effort,---trying to the deliverer's safety and straining the rope---several inches from the ooze. Urging the other in Gaelic to cling to his neck, Ian supported him, and working backward with the aid of Mairi's vigorous pulling, the two struggled safely to the bank. Dayrell was faint and chilled and at first could hardly stand. It was only now the spreading foam now and beyond them, that served him at all. In his wild shrieking way Ian directed them both to cling fast to his arms on either side, and half supporting, half dragging them, for his speed was beyond their powers. the three rushed up the sands.
"Were they yet in time to escape the tide?" was the question with Ian and Mairi. Frank, who had not yet fully recovered his senses, and who did not know the intricacies of the ford, thought all was safe if only they outstripped the waves behind them. None spoke but Ian, who urged his companions on and encouraged them with the hope that all might be well. Poor fellow, he well knew that even trusting to his own fleet steps he would have quitted the sands half an hour ago ! It was not the same way, to all appearance, by which they had come. It was broken up now with streams and breaks of hurrying water. The pools were all swollen with the coming tide, from the Muich on the eastern side, as well as with the Atlantic waters. Sometimes they had to make long circuits to escape the brimming pools, which lay on every hand, and every delay of this kind hastened the awful flood behind them, the sound of it now loud in their ears. "One point in front, " Ian screamed to them as they ran, "was the deciding one." If they could wade that one, all was well. Alas! When they reached it nothing was to be seen, as far as the mist permitted but a swollen, rolling flood, created with gleaming waves. The tide race there was too rapid and strong even for Ian himself, and stretched as far as the eye could reach. Hope was at an end ! They gazed bleakly at each other, these hunted creatures, one of them saved from death only to ingulf the others in a later but similar fate. Even Ian broke down. He urged them indeed to go with him further up, but both he and Mairi knew that being on the edge of the fatal "long sand" they were, in reality, in a cul-de-sac, the fords on either hand impassable, the tide behind and beyond them. All they could do was make for an iron guide-post several feet in height, one of a series once erected in the sands, and with some rude masonry at its base. Standing on the latter they were a few inches above the sands. It was only delaying the inevitable for a little, it would not help them long, and it was useless to attempt to signal to the shore, for the distance and the fog alone prevented, if it were not that the"long sand" from its position is scarcely visible from the land. They made thither accordingly.
Frank knew now. It was hard, hard, death so close, and all so young ! What did it matter now that the tide washed round their every step, or the sands were slippery and yielding under them, as they reached the standard, a truncated iron pillar, with a broken arm stretched out near the top? In a few minutes it would be all the same. Through death's bitterness they severally passed as they took their stations on the little cairn at the foot. Ian swarming the standard, and the other two, side by side on the base. It was all alike, a foot or two, what did it matter? Little they said to each other in the supreme moments. Frank only spoke once, when Mairi took her station by him and her streaming hair rested on his shoulder. He bent down to her and whispered in her ear. She did not reply, and, then, he stooped again, and, unreproved, laid a kiss upon her lips
CHAPTER III
How the Catechist Returned to the Work
THE morning after his visit to Fergus's cottage, Donald Cameron, the catechist, who had sojourned in a "neighbor's house" during the night, at Clachan, five miles away, found himself in a very dissatisfied humor. He had been greatly disappointed. The "work" in the South Isles had exhilarated and inspired him at the time, and while he was in the midst of it, but its effects had now diminished sadly, even in his own eyes. While still on the spot he had often pictured to himself the enthusiasm which his reports of the movement would create among the "colder" people further north. The first discouragement he had received after crossing the ford was Fergus's rather curt remarks anent the dangers of excitement. The old man was certainly lukewarm. Here, at Clachan, the spiritual temperature was still lower. Some went so far as to say that these continual meetings might do harm instead of good---in other words they were inclined to "scoff." Generally his report was neither believed nor approved of; or if accepted at all it was with grave qualifications. In this frigid atmosphere the catechist's own feelings were becoming chill. When cold a man instinctively seeks the fireside, so the good man resolved to go back, without delay, to the scene of the excitement, and, by taking two Clachan boatmen to ferry him thither by sea, secure at least two witnesses to the accuracy of his reports; the aforesaid Donald MacDonald (or Domnuil Mhor) being one. So, in a small boat, they all started the same morning for South Uist. During the passage, which was an easy one owing to the prevailing currents, the sails were little used; all that was necessary was to head the boat into the running tide, and steer cautiously on account of the uncertain mist. So there was ample opportunity for haranguing his two companions as to the subject nearest to the catechist's heart. It was also convenient for the good man to be able, as it were, to clinch any surprising and otherwise incredible statement regarding it, with the additional guarantee that they would see it for themselves on arrival,---a part of the action being that the two men were to remain, for at least one night, at the port of arrival.
A good part of the passage accomplished, it was no wonder that the continuous topic continuously enlarged and dwelt upon should become slightly wearisome to the listeners. Indeed, their instructor was just about to administer a serious rebuke to Donald for the lack of interest in the subject, which his frequent gaping evinced, when a shrill and piercing whistle broke on their ears, proceeding, apparently, from the upper reaches of the ford across the entrance of which they were now passing. They started to their feet.
"What can that be?" said Dhomnuil Mhor, "in the name of all that's earthly?"
Nothing was visible on the watery waste all around, though the mist was too close to see far. Yet again and again, that shrill whistle rang down the ford from the southeast.
"That's no bird-cry," said the catechist, as he turned the helm for upstream.
Suddenly Donald, who had been scanning the water from the bows, darted from the thwart and seized the ropes to hoist the sail.
"Row," he cried, loudly, to the other, "row a point starboard. For the long sand ! there's someone caught on the standard there !"
Up flew mainsail and jib ! and down the boat swept, the foaming waves to the gunwale. The catechist forgot even the South Isles in the excitement.
"Steady with the helm," roared Donald, "the sea is heavy ahead."
Then they peered anxiously into the mist where the white water was breaking, far over the long sand.
"I see three persons there," cried the catechist, excitedly standing, tiller in hand. "They are holding on by the standard; one a woman with light hair; the other is surely MacAlastair. They are well-nigh gone. Can the third be the jesting Englishman who makes light----"
"Stow that !" said Dhomnuil impatiently---his nerves were high strung, for a thought had darted into his mind, and your Celt is jealous as the grave.
Indeed, they were just in time---a minute or two more and they would have been too late, as the boat swept round and came alongside the perishing group. Had it not been for Ian, who had manfully held up from above the other two, first by his strong arms, and then by the rope swung from the cross-limb, the two would have been washed away long before, the water had been completely over them at times. Mairi had been insensible till the boat was sighted and hailed by Ian, and Dayrell had been half unconscious at times. Ian had now completely recovered his glee, and cheered and shrieked lustily; but the other two were with difficulty carried into the rocking boat. Donald lifted Mairi in first; he carried her in his arms like a child to the stern, unceremoniously displacing the catechist, raised her drooping head on the seat, and, taking off his own rough coat, bound it round her, chafing her hands till he lifted her eyes and smiled faintly on him. Ian, whose excited temperament rose to fever-pitch, shrieked and gesticulated so wildly that they could scarcely get him lifted in. The other boatman so far forgot himself as to term the poor lad (with that copiousness of epithet so peculiarly marked in Gaelic) a "screeching fowl of darkness." But at last they got him in, and he was bundled in the bow, beside Dayrell, white and speechless.
"Steer for Carnish !" cried Donald; alas for the South Isles and "the work !" The boat swept nobly round, and bore for the North-ford entrance.
A heavy cloud rested on Dhomnuil Mhor's brow, which even the rescue of his loved Mairi from death could not dispel. As, under canvas they shot up the tide-reaches, passing the Flow of Mingalay fathoms deep beneath, his eye rested firstly on Mairi lying restfully in the dripping wet on the aft thwarts, and then on Dayrell, still too exhausted to answer any query. From Ian no satisfaction could be got---his brain was in a whirl and he raved about the long sand and the flow, all the way, with an audience of nobody in particular.
SO that is a story of a life-saving rescue but the denouement is another thing. Dhomnuil Mhor could not get out of his mind the idea that Mairi and Frank were dilly-dallying together and, later, Mairi, sensing that distrust and realizing his jealous nature, cut off her relationship with him. And Frank Dayrell. realizing Mairi's true worth, and that she was not just a girl to dilly-dally with, built his own little house near Fergus's by the ford and eventually married Mairi and made a little inn for travelers like himself. And, finally, Ian, bless his soul, became the godfather of Mairi's and Frank's children.
A good part of the passage accomplished, it was no wonder that the continuous topic continuously enlarged and dwelt upon should become slightly wearisome to the listeners. Indeed, their instructor was just about to administer a serious rebuke to Donald for the lack of interest in the subject, which his frequent gaping evinced, when a shrill and piercing whistle broke on their ears, proceeding, apparently, from the upper reaches of the ford across the entrance of which they were now passing. They started to their feet.
"What can that be?" said Dhomnuil Mhor, "in the name of all that's earthly?"
Nothing was visible on the watery waste all around, though the mist was too close to see far. Yet again and again, that shrill whistle rang down the ford from the southeast.
"That's no bird-cry," said the catechist, as he turned the helm for upstream.
Suddenly Donald, who had been scanning the water from the bows, darted from the thwart and seized the ropes to hoist the sail.
"Row," he cried, loudly, to the other, "row a point starboard. For the long sand ! there's someone caught on the standard there !"
Up flew mainsail and jib ! and down the boat swept, the foaming waves to the gunwale. The catechist forgot even the South Isles in the excitement.
"Steady with the helm," roared Donald, "the sea is heavy ahead."
Then they peered anxiously into the mist where the white water was breaking, far over the long sand.
"I see three persons there," cried the catechist, excitedly standing, tiller in hand. "They are holding on by the standard; one a woman with light hair; the other is surely MacAlastair. They are well-nigh gone. Can the third be the jesting Englishman who makes light----"
"Stow that !" said Dhomnuil impatiently---his nerves were high strung, for a thought had darted into his mind, and your Celt is jealous as the grave.
Indeed, they were just in time---a minute or two more and they would have been too late, as the boat swept round and came alongside the perishing group. Had it not been for Ian, who had manfully held up from above the other two, first by his strong arms, and then by the rope swung from the cross-limb, the two would have been washed away long before, the water had been completely over them at times. Mairi had been insensible till the boat was sighted and hailed by Ian, and Dayrell had been half unconscious at times. Ian had now completely recovered his glee, and cheered and shrieked lustily; but the other two were with difficulty carried into the rocking boat. Donald lifted Mairi in first; he carried her in his arms like a child to the stern, unceremoniously displacing the catechist, raised her drooping head on the seat, and, taking off his own rough coat, bound it round her, chafing her hands till he lifted her eyes and smiled faintly on him. Ian, whose excited temperament rose to fever-pitch, shrieked and gesticulated so wildly that they could scarcely get him lifted in. The other boatman so far forgot himself as to term the poor lad (with that copiousness of epithet so peculiarly marked in Gaelic) a "screeching fowl of darkness." But at last they got him in, and he was bundled in the bow, beside Dayrell, white and speechless.
"Steer for Carnish !" cried Donald; alas for the South Isles and "the work !" The boat swept nobly round, and bore for the North-ford entrance.
A heavy cloud rested on Dhomnuil Mhor's brow, which even the rescue of his loved Mairi from death could not dispel. As, under canvas they shot up the tide-reaches, passing the Flow of Mingalay fathoms deep beneath, his eye rested firstly on Mairi lying restfully in the dripping wet on the aft thwarts, and then on Dayrell, still too exhausted to answer any query. From Ian no satisfaction could be got---his brain was in a whirl and he raved about the long sand and the flow, all the way, with an audience of nobody in particular.
SO that is a story of a life-saving rescue but the denouement is another thing. Dhomnuil Mhor could not get out of his mind the idea that Mairi and Frank were dilly-dallying together and, later, Mairi, sensing that distrust and realizing his jealous nature, cut off her relationship with him. And Frank Dayrell. realizing Mairi's true worth, and that she was not just a girl to dilly-dally with, built his own little house near Fergus's by the ford and eventually married Mairi and made a little inn for travelers like himself. And, finally, Ian, bless his soul, became the godfather of Mairi's and Frank's children.
THE HAPPY END
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