CHAPTER I
SECOND SIGHT
I had just arrived at Cruden Bay on my annual visit, and after a latebreakfast was sitting on the low wall which was a continuation of theescarpment of the bridge over the Water of Cruden. Opposite to me,across the road and standing under the only little clump of trees in theplace was a tall, gaunt old woman, who kept looking at me intently. As Isat, a little group, consisting of a man and two women, went by. I foundmy eyes follow them, for it seemed to me after they had passed me thatthe two women walked together and the man alone in front carrying on hisshoulder a little black box--a coffin. I shuddered as I thought, buta moment later I saw all three abreast just as they had been. The oldwoman was now looking at me with eyes that blazed. She came across theroad and said to me without preface:
"What saw ye then, that yer e'en looked so awed?" I did not like totell her so I did not answer. Her great eyes were fixed keenly upon me,seeming to look me through and through. I felt that I grew quite red,whereupon she said, apparently to herself: "I thocht so! Even I did notsee that which he saw."
"How do you mean?" I queried. She answered ambiguously: "Wait! Ye shallperhaps know before this hour to-morrow!"
Her answer interested me and I tried to get her to say more; but shewould not. She moved away with a grand stately movement that seemed tobecome her great gaunt form.
After dinner whilst I was sitting in front of the hotel, there was agreat commotion in the village; much running to and fro of men and womenwith sad mien. On questioning them I found that a child had been drownedin the little harbour below. Just then a woman and a man, the same thathad passed the bridge earlier in the day, ran by with wild looks. One ofthe bystanders looked after them pityingly as he said:
"Puir souls. It's a sad home-comin' for them the nicht."
"Who are they?" I asked. The man took off his cap reverently as heanswered:
"The father and mother of the child that was drowned!" As he spoke Ilooked round as though some one had called me.
There stood the gaunt woman with a look of triumph on her face.
* * * * *
The curved shore of Cruden Bay, Aberdeenshire, is backed by a waste ofsandhills in whose hollows seagrass and moss and wild violets, togetherwith the pretty "grass of Parnassus" form a green carpet. The surface ofthe hills is held together by bent-grass and is eternally shifting asthe wind takes the fine sand and drifts it to and fro. All behind isgreen, from the meadows that mark the southern edge of the bay to theswelling uplands that stretch away and away far in the distance, tillthe blue mist of the mountains at Braemar sets a kind of barrier. Inthe centre of the bay the highest point of the land that runs downwardto the sea looks like a miniature hill known as the Hawklaw; from thispoint onward to the extreme south, the land runs high with a gentletrend downwards.
Cruden sands are wide and firm and the sea runs out a considerabledistance. When there is a storm with the wind on shore the whole bay isa mass of leaping waves and broken water that threatens every instantto annihilate the stake-nets which stretch out here and there along theshore. More than a few vessels have been lost on these wide stretchingsands, and it was perhaps the roaring of the shallow seas and the terrorwhich they inspired which sent the crews to the spirit room and thebodies of those of them which came to shore later on, to the churchyardon the hill.
If Cruden Bay is to be taken figuratively as a mouth, with the sandhills for soft palate, and the green Hawklaw as the tongue, the rockswhich work the extremities are its teeth. To the north the rocks of redgranite rise jagged and broken. To the south, a mile and a half away asthe crow flies, Nature seems to have manifested its wildest forces. Itis here, where the little promontory called Whinnyfold juts out, thatthe two great geological features of the Aberdeen coast meet. The redsienite of the north joins the black gneiss of the south. That unionmust have been originally a wild one; there are evidences of an upheavalwhich must have shaken the earth to its centre. Here and there are greatmasses of either species of rock hurled upwards in every conceivablevariety of form, sometimes fused or pressed together so that it isimpossible to say exactly where gneiss ends or sienite begins; butbroadly speaking here is an irregular line of separation. This lineruns seawards to the east and its strength is shown in its outcrop. Forhalf a mile or more the rocks rise through the sea singly or in brokenmasses ending in a dangerous cluster known as "The Skares" and which hashad for centuries its full toll of wreck and disaster. Did the sea holdits dead where they fell, its floor around the Skares would be whitenedwith their bones, and new islands could build themselves with the pilingwreckage. At times one may see here the ocean in her fiercest mood;for it is when the tempest drives from the south-east that the sea isfretted amongst the rugged rocks and sends its spume landwards. Therocks that at calmer times rise dark from the briny deep are lost tosight for moments in the grand onrush of the waves. The seagulls whichusually whiten them, now flutter around screaming, and the sound oftheir shrieks comes in on the gale almost in a continuous note, for thesingle cries are merged in the multitudinous roar of sea and air.
The village, squatted beside the emboucher of the Water of Cruden at thenorthern side of the bay is simple enough; a few rows of fishermen'scottages, two or three great red-tiled drying-sheds nestled in thesand-heap behind the fishers' houses. For the rest of the place as itwas when first I saw it, a little lookout beside a tall flagstaff onthe northern cliff, a few scattered farms over the inland prospect, onelittle hotel down on the western bank of the Water of Cruden with afringe of willows protecting its sunk garden which was always full offruits and flowers.
From the most southern part of the beach of Cruden Bay to Whinnyfoldvillage the distance is but a few hundred yards; first a steep pull upthe face of the rock; and then an even way, beside part of which runsa tiny stream. To the left of this path, going towards Whinnyfold, theground rises in a bold slope and then falls again all round, forming asort of wide miniature hill of some eighteen or twenty acres. Of thisthe southern side is sheer, the black rock dipping into the waters ofthe little bay of Whinnyfold, in the centre of which is a picturesqueisland of rock shelving steeply from the water on the northern side, asis the tendency of all the gneiss and granite in this part. But to eastand north there are irregular bays or openings, so that the furthestpoints of the promontory stretch out like fingers. At the tips of theseare reefs of sunken rock falling down to deep water and whose existencecan only be suspected in bad weather when the rush of the currentbeneath sends up swirling eddies or curling masses of foam. These littlebays are mostly curved and are green where falling earth or driftingsand have hidden the outmost side of the rocks and given a foothold tothe seagrass and clover. Here have been at some time or other greatcaves, now either fallen in or silted up with sand, or obliterated withthe earth brought down in the rush of surface-water in times of longrain. In one of these bays, Broad Haven, facing right out to the Skares,stands an isolated pillar of rock called locally the "Puir mon" throughwhose base, time and weather have worn a hole through which one may walkdryshod.
Through the masses of rocks that run down to the sea from the sidesand shores of all these bays are here and there natural channels withstraight edges as though cut on purpose for the taking in of the cobblesbelonging to the fisher folk of Whinnyfold.
When first I saw the place I fell in love with it. Had it been possibleI should have spent my summer there, in a house of my own, but the wantof any place in which to live forbade such an opportunity. So I stayedin the little hotel, the Kilmarnock Arms.
The next year I came again, and the next, and the next. And then Iarranged to take a feu at Whinnyfold and to build a house overlookingthe Skares for myself. The details of this kept me constantly going toWhinnyfold, and my house to be was always in my thoughts.
Hitherto my life had been an uneventful one. At school I was, thoughsecretly ambitious, dull as to results. At College I was better off, formy big body and athletic powers gave me a certain
position in which Ihad to overcome my natural shyness. When I was about eight and twenty Ifound myself nominally a barrister, with no knowledge whatever of thepractice of law and but little less of the theory, and with a commissionin the Devil's Own--the irreverent name given to the Inns of CourtVolunteers. I had few relatives, but a comfortable, though not great,fortune; and I had been round the world, dilettante fashion.