CHAPTER III
THE FIND.
Long ere daylight the storm had died away. The new-risen sun shone ina sky of transparent blue, with not a cirrhus rag to shew of theenswathing vapours of the night before.
The air, bracingly fresh but calm, stirred faintly among the sandhillsby the shore, shaking out the bent and grasses laid limp and tangledby their drenching overnight.
When the minister set forth on his return, the sun still hung low overthe eastern sea, and reddened the waves, foam-flecked and tossing inangry recollection of the lash of last night's gale. In the ebb theyhad shrunk far back across the sands, but again the tide had turnedand was advancing. The fisher folk were not astir. No boats could beexpected home that morning. Such as were away during the gale musthave put in for refuge somewhere, or been swallowed by the sea; norwould any stir outside the harbour till the sea went down. Perforcethey must rest; and they rested. The cottages were still shut up, andno smoke curled from the chimneys as Roderick rode over the roughlycausewayed street, past the harbour, where a lugger or two swayed upand down upon the heaving tide, and down upon the sands beyond, thathe might avoid the long detour of the night before.
The Effick Water spreads itself out into a small firth or bay somethree or four miles round, but the mouth of this bay is encumbered byupstanding rocks and boulders, and about these a bar or beach hasgathered, standing up out of the water at all times, save the highesttides, or when the sea is driven up by an easterly gale. Through thisbeach the Effick cuts a channel for its own escape, and that of thewater in the bay at the tide's turn, but it is fordable at any time,and at low water is but an insignificant trickling over the shinglybeach. The Point of Inverlyon divides Inverlyon bay and harbour fromthe Bay of Effick, it runs sharply out into the sea and completelyconceals the one from the other; and, in those days of scantyprovision for the ship-wrecked, a vessel might be driven ashore in thelatter desolate bay without the people of the village being aware,especially if the catastrophe took place after dark; and their firstintimation would be when in scanning the shore after a gale they cameon the wreckage.
It was an hour or two after Roderick had started before the first bandof prowlers set forth to search for the rejected spoils of victoriousOcean. The shore was solitary, and he was the first to come upon thetokens of the night's disaster. On passing the point, he found theshattered relics scattered on every side--boxes, barrels, planks,wreckage of every kind. By and by he came upon a stove-in boat, and alittle further along the body of a drowned sailor lay upon the sand.He was but partly dressed, and the dark yellow tinge of his skin, thestraight black hair, prominent features, and set of the eyes, as wellas the long, strange-looking knife, tied securely to his waist, showedhim to be a Lascar. So the ship probably had been an East Indiaman,had sailed in safety round the Cape, crossed the Bay of Biscay, andescaped who can tell how many perils, and all to be cast away in theend on this solitary shore, within a few leagues or hours of herdestined haven.
Roderick dismounted and examined the poor fellow, but he wasmanifestly dead, and there was no dwelling near to which he mightcarry him; so he drew the body up above high-water mark, to await thesearchers who were sure to arrive shortly in search of plunder. He hadvisitations and a meeting to fill up his day on getting home--servicedue, as he told himself, to the living, and therefore more importantthan ceremonial cares for the dead.
Hastening forward, he crossed the shingly beach at the mouth of theEffick, and reached the sands gathered about the base of the rocks,and sloping on the one side to the sea, on the other to the innerbasin or firth of the little stream,--at high water a brimming lake,but now at the ebb a slimy hollow full of pools, boulders, seaweed,and mussel beds, where gulls and crows met to quarrel over the spoilsof sea and land. There he came upon a sight sadder than the last, twowomen thrown together upon the sand, surrounded and partly coveredwith wreckage, as though a specially strong eddy had set in thisdirection, and there unburdened itself of its prey. The first heexamined was clad in thin and peculiar garments of white cotton, alife-preserver was made fast about her body, and her hands clung withthe inextricable grasp of death to the clothes of her companion. Herfeet were bare, so was her head, her skin was a dark olive, and herdress and appearance showed her to be an Ayah or Indian maid, inattendance doubtless on some lady returning to Europe. Her long blackhair was clotted and stained with blood, and closer inspection showedterrible wounds and bruises on the head, as though the waves haddashed and pounded her against the rocks before at lengthrelinquishing their hold. Clearly there could be no hope ofresuscitation there, and Roderick passed to the other.
From under pieces of plank and broken cabin furniture he was able atlast to disentangle the form of a lady. She too was encased in alife-preserver, which in her case too had failed to save her life. Thecruel rocks and breakers had made sure of that. Her head and faceespecially showed contusions and bruises of the most dreadfuldescription, and there was a distortion of the features, as though herlast thought had been one of agony, in striking contrast to the calmwhich had settled on the face of her companion. The arms too werestretched out in an intensity of purpose that death had been unable toparalyze, and the fingers were clenched on a bit of a chain composedof coins connected by knotted links of gold. Could it be that theparting of this chain, and the severance from what it held, was thelast agonizing idea which had passed through the poor creature's mind?
As Roderick gazed, a feeble wail hard by gave a new turn to hismusings. Not many steps away, but where the sand sloped inwards to theprotected waters of the bay, he descried a bundle of clothing, andwhile he looked it seemed to move, and again the wail was heard.Taking it up he found the bundle to be a tiny infant, warmly wrappedup in many shawls and wound in a life-preserver. The poor drownedmother had probably given her last care to make the little one as safeas she could, and by a miracle she had succeeded. The lightness andsmallness of the tiny bundle had secured its safety. While heavierbodies were being hurled and rolled among rocks and stones on thebeach, this slight thing had been caught up on the crest of a surgeand flung beyond the rocks and boulders margining the sea, into theprotected waters of the inner bay, where it would float in comparativesafety till, on the subsidence of the tide, it stranded on the shore.
Roderick took it up and undid the swathings, that it might freely useits limbs. At once the infant ceased its wailing; it stretched itslittle arms, and, looking into his face, it smiled. Who that is human,not to say humane, could resist the appeal?--the flattery of beingapproved by a pure fresh soul, all untarnished by the world's guile,and so lately come from heaven!
"The baby smiled, and twined its fingers in hiswhisker-ends." Page 19.]
Roderick was enthralled at once. 'You poor wee darling,' he said, 'wecannot leave you here alone, waiting till other help finds you; youmust come with me!'
The baby smiled again, and twined its fingers in his whisker ends.Roderick wrapped it again in its shawls, remounted the pony, andproceeded on his way.
He could not but look back regretfully at the poor dead mother, whomhe seemed to be separating from her child; but there was nothing hecould do for her without assistance, and that he must go miles toseek, and he knew it would arrive equally soon without hisintervention.
He passed a good deal more wreckage as he went, but nothing that hadlife, nor any more bodies of the drowned. Leaving the shore, he camein time to Effick Bridge. It had withstood the spate, and though badlyshaken, was still available for crossing the stream. The waters hadsubsided over the flooded meadows, and after crossing these he beganto ascend the hill. It was a tedious task; the soil was washed away inplaces, and in others stones had rolled from above, among which he hadto pick his way carefully, lest a jolt should disturb his fragileburden.
The morning coach for Inverlyon reached the brow of the hill, comingdown, while he was still wending upwards. It stopped there, and itspassengers were required to alight, and make th
eir way downward onfoot, while the driver, with all precaution, guided his team and theempty vehicle over the encumbered track. The passengers included aparishioner or two of the minister's, who by and by encountered him ontheir descent, and greeted him effusively. His response, however, wasabsent and constrained, he was wholly disinclined to stand still inthe middle of the tedious ascent, or engage in the desultory gossip sodear to his rustic friends. In truth, he was worn out. His tempestuousjourney over-night, the early start without breakfast, the sadspectacle of death which he had beheld, and doubts how best to do hisduty to his helpless charge, had thrown him into a melancholy andpreoccupied mood, and deprived him of all power to enter intoindifferent chat. He made no attempt, therefore, to rein up the'pownie,' and that canny beast went tranquilly forward, picking hissteps as seemed best among the sods and heather tufts by the side ofthe road.
'What's come ower the minister? He wad scarce gie us the time o' dayas he gaed by, an' he glowered at a body like the far awa end o'Willie Cant's fiddle. An' what brings him awa down here at this timeo' day? An' ridin' on that godless chield, Patey Soutar's pownie! I'msair misdoubtin' but he's been after nae gude!'
'Hoot, awa! Peter Malloch, ye maunna judge sae hard. I'm jalousin'he's been awa a' nicht, an' aiblins he's meditatin' on his nextdiscoorse. Gin he'd gotten as far as the twalthly, or even theseventhly, ye see, he wadna be for brecken aff, to haver wi' a curranfules, ower a' the clashes o' the country side.'
'Speak for yersel, Tammas! An' dinna ye be for judgin' theoffice-bearers o' the Lord's Kirk by yer ain silly sel'. I'm thinkingin he'd kenned a' 'at I cud hae telt him, he'd hae frisket up hislegs, an' drawn bridle fast enough. The Sustentation Fund's prosperin'bye a' expectation, an' I wad hae telled him a' about it. But noo hecan juist bide till the next Deacons' Coort, whan I'll read my report.Set him up wi' his high looks! Is't no me 'ats gatherin' the sillerthat's to pay him wi?'
'Hoot! Peter, man, I'm thinkin' he was that carried like in's mind, hedidna ken even wha it was gaed by! But I'm sayin', Peter, what was yonthe minister was carryin' afore him on the saidle, 'at he took saemuckle tent on? It was sma' an' muckle happit up, an' he ne'er tookhis e'en aff it. Gin it hadna been him I'd hae said it was a bairn,an' he was blate ower 't.'
The subject of the discussion went on his way, unwitting of theoffence he had given. 'Tammas' was scarcely wrong in surmising that hedid not know who passed. Had he been questioned at the moment he wouldno doubt have answered correctly, but as there was no one to do so,the impression on his consciousness glanced off, causing, indeed, themechanical salutation at the moment, but powerless to influence histhought.
Upward toils the pony, picking his steps from one soft sod to thenext; the rider sunk in a brown study lets the bridle hang loosely onhis neck, and the baby, rocked by the springy undulations of his gait,sleeps again, unconscious and content. The summit is gained in time,the road grows easier, and the pace mends, till a shout in frontstartles their drowsy senses.
'Hallo! Roddie!--halt! You're not going to pass an old friend likethat!'
Roderick, wakening with a start, catches the bridle of thegood-natured beast, which has already come to a stand. A middle-agedgentleman is descending a heathery knoll overhanging the road, andcarries a salmon rod on his shoulder, and a boy follows with hisbasket, apparently well filled, and from which there peers acompanionable-looking bottle neck.
'Good morning! Captain Drysdale.'
'Good morning, Roddie! Glad to see you after so long.'
'Going to try a last cast at the salmon before the fishing closes? Youhave every prospect of good sport. The water looked splendid at thebridge as I came over. The spate has fallen, but the water is stillbrown, and dotted with foam-spots. You will have a fine day's sport.'
'I hope so, lad! And I only wish you were coming with me! Od! Roddie,do you ever think of the jolly days we used to have, when youngKenneth was at home, lad! The fishing! and the days after the grouse!we expect Kenneth home to-day for three months' leave,--in fact heshould have come last night. I wish you were to be with us too, oldman!'
'Thanks, Captain John; but that can scarcely be. A minister shouldhave other things to think about,--at least the Presbytery would sayso, and I do not think the General would relish the crack of adissenter's gun on any moor of his.'
'Hang the dissenters! and that weary Free Kirk that has set the peopleby the ears. I never could understand how they contrived to inveigle asensible fellow like you--gentle born and bred, and your father's son,in among a crew of canting demagogues.'
'Please don't! Captain Drysdale. Nothing but a conviction that it wasright could have led me to take the step, and give up so much of whatI valued most. Having that conviction, I am sure even you must approvemy acting up to it. My choice has cost me much, but I counted, thecost before I made it. So, as regards the church, we had better "letthat flea stick to the wa'" as my beadle says. We might argue till wevexed each other, but neither would be converted to the other'sviews.'
'Well, Roddie! And probably your beadle says again--"They that will toCupar, maun to Cupar;"--there's no use speaking, but it's a greatpity!--And where, in the name of all that's wonderful, are youtrapezing to, at this hour of the morning? And of all the steeds inthe country side to carry a douse Free Kirk presbyter, if that is notPatey Soutar the drunken cadger's pony! Bonny on-goings! my lad. Whatwould the 'Residuary' Presbytery, as you are pleased to denominate thechurch of your fathers say to that? Ha, ha! I doubt not the Free isboth free and easy--ha! ha! And what may that be your reverence iscarrying home so gingerly? My stars! I believe it is a child!'
At this point the baby disturbed first by the cessation of the pony'srocking gait, and then fairly awakened by the Captain's loud guffaw,lifted up its small voice and wept.
'Indeed, Master Roddie, yours seems to be a very free church indeed!'
'Captain Drysdale, I do think some things should not be said even injest, which is all you mean, I know. But I do not think I havehitherto so desecrated my sacred calling as to have laid myself opento such insinuations even in jest.'
'Tush, man! Don't be so thin-skinned. One must have his joke. Besides,after all, you have no need to be much vexed, "it is such a littleone," as the French girl said to her confessor.' And with a volley of'ha, ha, ha!' Captain John bounded down the hill.