As one of these great waves rushed in, Willy’s heart beat loudly, and for a second he looked around as though for some voice, from whence he knew not, which was calling to him. Then he looked down and saw, far below him, tossed high upon the summit of the wave, a mass that in the gloom of the evening and the storm looked like a tangle of wreckage — spar and sail and rope — twirling in the rushing water round a dead woman, whose white face was set in an aureole of floating hair. Without a word, but with the bound of a panther, Willy Barrow sprang out on the projecting point of rock, and plunged down into the rushing wave whence he could meet that precious wreckage and grasp it tight.
Down in the village the men were talking in groups as the chance of the storm had driven them to shelter. In the rocket-house opposite the Salmon Fisher’s store had gathered a big cluster, and they were talking eagerly of all that had gone by. Presently one of them said:
“Men, oughtn’t some o’ us to gang abeen the rocks and bide a wee wi’ Sailor Willy? The puir lad is nigh daft wi’ his loss, an ‘a wee bit companionship wouldna be bad for him.”
To which a sturdy youth answered as he stepped out:
“A’ll go bide wi’ him. It must be main lonely for him in the guard-house the nicht. An’ when he’s relieved, as A hear he is to be, by Michael Watson ower frae Whinnyfold, A’ll gang wi’ him or tak him hame wi’ me. Mither’ll be recht glad to thole for him!” and drawing his oilskin closer round his neck he went out in the storm.
As he walked up the path to the cliff the storm seemed to fade away — the clouds broke, and through the wet mist came gleams of fading twilight; and when he looked eastwards from the cliff the angry sea was all that was of storm, for in the sky was every promise of fine weather to come. He went straight to the guard-house and tried to open the door, but it was locked; then he went to the side and looked in. There was just sufficient light to see that the place was empty. So he went along the cliff looking for Willy. It was now light enough to see all round, for the blackness of the sky overhead had passed, the heavy clouds being swept away by the driving wind; but nowhere could he see any trace of the man he sought. He went all along the cliff up the Watter’s Mou’, till, following the downward trend of the rock, and plashing a way through the marsh — now like a quagmire, so saturated was it with the heavy rainfall — he came to the shallows opposite the Barley Mill. Here he met a man from The Bullers, who had come along by the Castle, and him he asked if he had seen Willy Barrow on his way. The decidedly negative answer “A’ve seen nane. It’s nae a night for ony to be oot that can bide wi’in!” made him think that all might not be well with Sailor Willy, and so he went back again on his search, peering into every hole and cranny as he went. At the flagstaff he met some of his companions, who, since the storm had passed, had come to look for weather signs and to see what the sudden tempest might have brought about. When they heard that there was no sign of the coastguard they separated, searching for him, and shouting lest he might have fallen anywhere and could hear their voices.
All that night they searched, for each minute made it more apparent that all was not well with him; but they found no sign. The waves still beat into the Watter’s Mou’ with violence, for though the storm had passed the sea was a wide-stretching mass of angry waters, and curling white crowned every wave. But with the outgoing tide the rocky bed of the cove broke up the waves, and they roared sullenly as they washed up the estuary.
In the grey of the morning a fisher-boy rushed up to a knot of men who were clustered round the guardhouse and called to them:
“There’s somethin’ wollopin’ aboot i’ the shallows be the Barley Mill! Come an’ get it oot! It looks like some ane!” So there was a rush made to the place. When they got to the islands of sea-grass the ebbing tide had done its work, and stranded the “something” which had rolled amid the shallows.
There, on the very spot whence the boat had set sail on its warning errand, lay its wreckage, and tangled in it the body of the noble girl who had steered it — her brown hair floating wide and twined round the neck of Sailor Willy, who held her tight in his dead arms.
The requiem of the twain was the roar of the breaking waves and the screams of the white birds that circled round the Watter’s Mou’.
The Shoulder of Shasta
First published: 1895
Chapter 1
When Mrs. Elstree was told that a suitable summer home had been found for her, a certain weight was lifted from her mind. The Doctor whom she had consulted in San Francisco as to her daughter’s health was emphatic in his direction that Esse should spend the coming summer high up on some mountain side, and that she should have iron and other natural tonics suitable to her anaemic condition. Dr. De Young suggested that on some of the spurs of Shasta, a spot might be found where the air was sufficiently bracing, and where the waters which lower down made the valleys green and bright with their crystal purity had the requisite volcanic qualities. Mrs. Elstree had passed by Shasta Mountain once, on her way from British Columbia, and had fallen somewhat under its spell.
It is certainly a wonderful mountain, and has a personality which is rare amongst mountains. The Matterhorn has such a quality, and so have Ranier and Mount Hood; but mountains generally have as little individuality as the items