The Mermaid

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All around the bay the islands lay, their hills a soft red purple in the
light of a clear November evening. In the blue sky above there were
layers of vapour like thin gray gossamers, on which the rosy light
shone. The waters of the bay were calmer than the sea outside, yet they
were still broken by foam; across the foam the boats went sweeping,
until in the shadow of the isles and the fast-descending night they each
furled their sails and stopped their journey. It was in the western side
of the bay that the vessels lay, for the gale was from the west, and
here they found shelter; but night had descended suddenly, and Caius
could only see the black form of the nearest island, and the twinkling
lights that showed where houses were collected on its shore. They waited
there till the moon rose large and white, touching the island hills
again into visible existence. It was over one small rocky island that
she rose; this was the one that stood sentry at the entrance of the bay,
and on either side of it there were moon-lit paths that stretched far
out into the gulf. On the nearer island could be seen long sand reaches,
and dark rounded hills, and in a hollow of the hills the clustered
lights. When the moonlight was bright the master of the schooner lowered
a boat and set Caius and his traps ashore, telling him that some day
when the gale was over he could make his way to the island of Cloud. The
skipper said that the gale might blow one day, or two, or three, or
more, but it could not blow always, and in the meantime there was
entertainment to be had for those who could pay for it on the nearer
isle.

When Caius stood upon the beach with his portmanteaus beside him, some
half a dozen men clustered round; in their thick garments and mufflers
they looked outlandish enough. They spoke English, and after much
talking they bore his things to a small house on the hillside. He heard
the wind clamour against the wooden walls of this domicile as he stood
in its porch before the door was opened. The wind shouted and laughed
and shook the house, and whistled and sighed as it rushed away. Below
him, nearer the shore, lay the village, its white house-walls lit by the
moonlight, and beyond he could see the ships in the glittering bay.

When the door opened such a feast of warmth and comfort appeared to his
eyes that he did not soon forget it, for he had expected nothing but the
necessaries of life. Bright decoration of home-made rugs and ornaments
was on all sides, and a table was laid.

They were four spinsters of Irish descent who kept this small inn, and
all that good housewifery could do to make it comfortable was done. The
table was heaped with such dainties as could be concocted from the
homely products of the island; large red cranberries cooked in syrup
gave colour to the repast. Soon a broiled chicken was set before Caius,
and steaming coffee rich with cream.

To these old maids Caius was obliged to relate wherefore he had come and
whither he was bound. He told his story with a feeling of self-conscious
awkwardness, because, put it in as cursory a manner as he would, he felt
the heroism of his errand must appear; nor was he with this present
audience mistaken. The wrinkled maidens, with their warm Irish hearts,
were overcome with the thought that so much youth and beauty and
masculine charm, in the person of the young man before them, should be
sacrificed, and, as it seemed to them, foolishly.

The inhabitants of Cloud Island, said these ladies, were a worthless
set; and in proof of it they related to him how the girls of The Cloud
were not too nice in their notions to marry with the shipwrecked sailors
from foreign boats, a thing they assured him that was never done on
their own island. Italian, or German, or Norwegian, or whoever the man
might be, if he had good looks, a girl at The Cloud would take him!

And would not they themselves, Caius asked, in such a case, take pity on
a stranger who had need of a wife?

Whereat they assured him that it was safer to marry a native islander,
and that no self-respecting woman could marry with a man who was not
English, or Irish, or Scotch, or French. It was of these four latter
nationalities that the native population of the islands was composed.

But the ladies told him worse tales than these, for they said the devil
was a frequent visitor at Cloud Island, and at times he went out with
the fishers in their boats, choosing now one, now another, for a
companion; and whenever he went, there was a wonderful catch of fish;
but the devil must have his full share, which he ate raw and without
cleaning--a thing which no Christian could do. He lived in the round
valleys of the sand-dune that led to The Cloud. It was a convenient
hiding-place, because when you were in one valley you could not see into
the next, and the devil always leaped into the one that you were not in.
As to the pestilence, it was sent as a judgment because the people had
these impious dealings with the Evil One; but the devil could put an end
to it if he would.

It was strange to see the four gray-haired sisters as they sat in a row
against the wall and told him in chiming sentences these tales with full
belief.

"And what sort of a disease is it?" asked Caius, curious to hear more.

"It's the sore throat and the choke, sir," said the eldest sister, "and
a very bad disease it is, for if it doesn't stop at the throat, it flies
direct to the stomach, sir, and then you can't breathe."

Caius pondered this description for a few moments, and then he formed a
question which was to the point.

"And where," said he, "is the stomach?"

At which she tapped her chest, and told him it was there.

He had eaten somewhat greedily, and when he found that the linen of his
bed was snow-white and the bed itself of the softest feathers, he lay
down with great contentment. Not even the jar and rush of the wind as it
constantly assaulted the house, nor the bright moonlight against the
curtainless window, kept him awake for a moment. He slept a dreamless
sleep.

CHAPTER III.

BETWEEN THE SURF AND THE SAND.

Next day the wind had grown stronger; the same clear skies prevailed,
with the keen western gale, for the west wind in these quarters is
seldom humid, and at that season it was frosty and very dry, coming as
it did over the already snow-covered plains of Gaspe and Quebec. It
seemed strange to Caius to look out at the glorious sunshine and be told
that not a boat would stir abroad that day, and that it would be
impossible for even a cart to drive to the Cloud Island.

He knew so little of the place to which he had come that when the
spinsters spoke of driving to another island it seemed to him that they
spoke as wildly as when they told of the pranks of the Evil One. He
learned soon that these islands were connected by long sand ridges, and
that when the tide was down it was possible to drive upon the damp beach
from one to another; but this was not possible, they told him, in a
western gale, for the wind beat up the tide so that one could not tell
how far it would descend or how soon it would return. There was risk of
being caught by the waves under the hills of the dune, which a horse
could not climb, and, they added, he had already been told who it was
who lived in the sand hollows.

In the face of the sunny morning, Caius could not forbear expressing his
incredulity of the diabolical legend, and his hostesses did not take the
trouble to argue the point, for it is to be noted that people seldom
argue on behalf of the items of faith they hold most firmly. The
spinsters merely remarked that there were a strange number of wrecks on
the sand-bar that led to The Cloud, and that, go where he would in the
village, he would get no sand-pilot to take him across while the tide
was beaten up by the wind, and a pilot he must have, or he would sink in
the quicksands and never be seen again.

Caius walked, with the merry wind for a playfellow, down through long
rows of fish-sheds, and heard what the men had to say with regard to his
journey. He heard exactly what the women had told him, for no one would
venture upon the dune that day.

Then, still in company with the madcap wind, he walked up on the nearer
hills, and saw that this island was narrow, lying between blue fields of
sea, both bay and ocean filled with wave crests, ever moving. The outer
sea beat upon the sandy beach with a roar and volume of surf such as he
had never seen before, for under the water the sand-bank stretched out a
mile but a little below the sea's level, and the breakers, rolling in,
retarded by it and labouring to make their accustomed course, came on
like wild beasts that were chafed into greater anger at each bound, so
that with ever-increasing fury they roared and plunged until they
touched the verge.

From the hills he saw that the fish-sheds which stood along the village
street could only be a camping place for the fishers at the season of
work, for all along the inner sides of the hills there were small
farm-houses, large enough and fine enough to make good dwellings. The
island was less savage than he had supposed. Indignation rose within him
that people apparently so well-to-do should let their neighbours die
without extending a helping hand. He would have been glad to go and
bully some owner of a horse and cart into taking him the last stage of
his journey without further delay; but he did not do this, he only
roamed upon the hills enjoying the fair prospect of the sea and the
sister isles, and went back to his inn about two o'clock. There he
feasted again upon the luxurious provision that the spinsters had been
making for the appetite that the new air had given him. He ate roast
duck, stuffed with a paste of large island mushrooms, preserved since
their season, and tarts of bake-apple berries, and cranberries, and the
small dark mokok berry--three kinds of tart he ate, with fresh cream
upon them, and the spinster innkeepers applauded his feat. They stood
around and rejoiced at his eating, and again they told him in chorus
that he must not go to the other island where the people were sick.

It was just then that a great knock came at the front door; the loudness
of the wind had silenced the approaching footsteps. A square-built,
smooth-faced man, well wrapped in a coat of ox fur, came into the house,
asking for Caius Simpson by name. His face was one which it was
impossible to see without remarking the lines of subtle intelligence
displayed in its leathery wrinkles. The eyes were light blue, very
quick, almost merry--and yet not quite, for if there was humour in them,
it was of the kind that takes its pleasures quietly; there was no
proneness to laughter in the hard-set face.

When Caius heard his own name spoken, he knew that something unexpected
had happened, for no one upon the island had asked his name, and he had
not given it.

The stranger, who, from his accent, appeared to be a Canadian of Irish
parentage, said, in a few curt words, that he had a cart outside, and
was going to drive at once to Cloud Island, that he wished to take the
young doctor with him; for death, he observed, was not sitting idle
eating his dinner at The Cloud, and if anyone was coming to do battle
with him it would be as well to come quickly.

The sarcasm nettled Caius, first, because he felt himself to be caught
napping; secondly, because he knew he was innocent.

The elder of the spinsters had got behind the stranger, and she
intimated by signs and movements of the lips that the stranger was
unknown, and therefore mysterious, and not to be trusted; and so quickly
was this pantomime performed that it was done before Caius had time to
speak, although he was under the impression that he rose with alacrity
to explain to the newcomer that he would go with him at once.

The warning that the old maid gave resulted at least in some cautious
questioning. Caius asked the stranger who he was, and if he had come
from The Cloud that day.

As to who he was, the man replied that his name was John O'Shea, and he
was the man who worked the land of Madame Le Maitre. "One does not go
and come from Cloud Island in one day at this season," said he. "'Tis
three days ago since I came. I've been waiting up at the parson's for
the schooner. To-day we're going back together, ye and me."

He was sparing of language. He shut his mouth over the short sentences
he had said, and that influence which always makes it more or less
difficult for one man to oppose the will of another caused Caius to make
his questions as few as possible.

Was it safe, he asked, to drive to Cloud Island that day?

The other looked at him from head to foot. "Not safe," he said, "for
women and childer; but for men"--the word was lingered upon for a
moment--"yes, safe enough."

The innkeepers were too mindful of their manners as yet to disturb the
colloquy with open interruption; but with every other sort of
interruption they did disturb it, explaining by despairing gestures and
direful shakings of the head that, should Caius go with this gentleman,
he would be driving into the very jaws of death.

Nevertheless, after O'Shea's last words Caius had assented to the
expedition, although he was uncertain whether the assent was wise or
not. He had the dissatisfaction of feeling that he had been ruled,
dared, like a vain schoolboy, into the hasty consent.

"Now, if you are servant to Madame Le Maitre at The Cloud, how is it
that you've never been seen on this island?" It was the liveliest of the
sisters who could no longer keep silence.

While Caius was packing his traps he was under the impression that
O'Shea had replied that, in the first place, he had not lived long at
The Cloud, and, in the second, visitors from The Cloud had not been so
particularly welcome at the other islands. His remarks on the last
subject were delivered with brief sarcasm. After he had started on the
journey Caius wondered that he had not remembered more particularly the
gist of an answer which it concerned him to hear.

At the time, however, he hastened to strap together those of his bundles
which had been opened, and, under the direction of O'Shea, to clothe
himself in as many garments as possible, O'Shea arguing haste for the
sake of the tide, which, he said, had already begun to ebb, and there
was not an hour to be lost.

The women broke forth once more, this time into open expostulation and
warning. To them O'Shea vouchsafed no further word, but with an annoying
assumption that the doctor's courage would quail under their warnings,
he encouraged him.

"There's a mere boy, a slim lad, on my cart now," he said, "that's going
with us; he's no more froightened than a gull is froightened of the
sea."

Caius showed his valour by marching out of the door, a bag in either
hand.

No snow had as yet fallen on the islands. The grass that was before the
inn door was long and of that dry green hue that did not suggest
verdure, for all the juices had gone back into the ground. It was swept
into silver sheens by the wind, and as they crossed it to reach the road
where the cart stood, the wind came against them all with staggering
force. The four ladies came out in spite of the icy blast, and attended
them to the cart, and stood to watch them as they wended their way up
the rugged road that led over a hill.

The cart was a small-sized wooden one--a shallow box on wheels; no
springs, no paint, had been used in its making. Some straw had been
spread on the bottom, and on this Caius was directed to recline. His
bags also were placed beside him. O'Shea himself sat on the front of the
cart, his legs dangling, and the boy, who was "no more froightened of
the journey than a sea-gull is of the sea," perched himself upon one
corner of the back and looked out backwards, so that his face was turned
from Caius, who only knew that he was a slim lad because he had been
told so; a long gray blanket-coat with capuchin drawn over the head and
far over the face covered him completely.

Caius opposed his will to the reclining attitude which had been
suggested to him, and preferred to sit upon the flat bottom with the
desire to keep erect; and he did sit thus for awhile, like a porcelain
mandarin with nodding head, for, although the hardy pony went slowly,
the jolting of the cart on the rough, frozen road was greater than it is
easy for one accustomed to ordinary vehicles to imagine.

Up the hill they went, past woods of stunted birch and fir, past upland
fields, from which the crops had long been gathered. They were making
direct for the southern side of the island. While they ascended there
was still some shelter between them and the fiercest blast of the gale,
and they could still look down at the homely inn below, at the village
of fishers' sheds and the dancing waters of the bay. He had only passed
one night there, and yet Caius looked at this prospect almost fondly. It
seemed familiar in comparison with the strange region into which he was
going.

When the ridge was gained and the descent began, the wind broke upon
them with all its force. He looked below and saw the road winding for a
mile or more among the farms and groves of the slope, and then out
across a flat bit of shrub-covered land; beyond that was the sand,
stretching here, it seemed, in a tract of some square miles. The surf
was dimly seen like a cloud at its edge.

It was not long that he sat up to see the view. The pony began to run
down the hill; the very straw in the bottom of the cart danced. Caius
cast his arms about his possessions, fearing that, heavy though they
were, they would be thrown out upon the roadside, and he lay holding
them. The wind swept over; he could hear it whistling against the speed
of the cart; he felt it like a knife against his cheeks as he lay. He
saw the boy brace himself, the lithe, strong muscles of his back,
apparent only by the result of their action, swayed balancing against
the jolting, while, with thickly-gloved hands, he grasped the wooden
ledge on which he sat. In front O'Shea was like an image carved of the
same wood as the cart, so firmly he held to it. Well, such hours pass.
After a while they came out upon the soft, dry sand beyond the scrubby
flat, and the horse, with impeded footsteps, trudged slowly.

The sand was so dry, driven by the wind, that the horse and cart sank in
it as in driven snow. The motion, though slow, was luxurious compared to
what had been. O'Shea and the boy had sprung off the cart, and were
marching beside it. Caius clambered out, too, to walk beside them.

"Ye moight have stayed in, Mr. Doctor," said O'Shea. "The pony is more
than equal to carrying ye."

Again Caius felt that O'Shea derided him. He hardly knew why the man's
words always gave him this impression, for his manner was civil enough,
and there was no particular reason for derision apparent; for, although
O'Shea's figure had broadened out under the weight of years, he was not
a taller man than Caius, and the latter was probably the stronger of the
two. When Caius glanced later at the other's face, it appeared to him
that he derived his impression from the deep, ray-like wrinkles that
were like star-fish round the man's eyes; but if so, it must have been
that something in the quality of the voice reflected the expression of
the face, for they were not in such plight as would enable them to
observe one another's faces much. The icy wind bore with it a burden of
sparkling sand, so that they were often forced to muffle their faces,
walking with heads bowed.

Since Caius would walk, O'Shea ordered the boy back into the cart, and
the two men ploughed on through the sand beside the horse, whose every
hair was turned by the wind, which now struck them sideways, and whose
rugged mane and forelock were streaming horizontally, besprinkled with
sand. The novelty of the situation, the beauty of the sand-wreaths, the
intoxication of the air, the vivid brilliancy of the sun and the sky,
delighted Caius. The blue of heaven rounded the sandscape to their
present sight, a dome of blue flame over a plain whose colour was like
that of an autumn leaf become sear. Caius, in his exhilaration, remarked
upon the strangeness of the place, but either the prospect was too
common to O'Shea to excite his interest, or the enterprise he meditated
burdened his mind; he gave few words in answer, and soon they, too,
relapsed into the silence that the boy and the pony had all the time
observed.

An hour's walk, and another sound rang in their ears beside the
whistling of the wind, low at first and fitful, louder and louder, till
the roar of the surf was deafening. Then they came to the brink and
heard all the notes of which the chords of its more distant music had
been composed, the gasping sob of the under tow, the rush of the lifting
wave as it upreared itself high, the silken break of its foam, the crash
of drums with which it fell, the dash of wave against wave, and the cry
of the foremost waves that bemoaned themselves prostrate upon the beach.

The cart, with its little company, turned into the narrow strip of dark
damp sand that the tide had already left bare. Here the footing was much
firmer, and the wind struck them obliquely. The hardy pony broke into
its natural pace, a moderate trot. In spite of this pace, the progress
they made was not very swift, and it was already four by the clock.
O'Shea climbed to his place on the front of the cart; the boy sprang
down and ran to warm himself, clapping his gloved hands as he ran. It
was not long before Caius clambered into his straw seat again, and,
sitting, watched the wonder of the waves. So level was the beach, so
high was the surf, that from the low cart it seemed that gigantic
monsters were constantly arising from the sea; and just as the fear of
them overshadowed the fascinated mind, they melted away again into
nothingness. As he looked at the waves he saw that their water, mixed
with sand, was a yellowish brown, and dark almost to black when the
curling top yawned before the downfall; but so fast did each wave break
one upon the other that glossy water was only seen in glimpses, and
boiling fields of foam and high crests of foam were the main substance
of all that was to be seen for a hundred yards from the shore.

Proceeding thus, they soon came to what was actually the end of the
island, and were on the narrow ridge of sand-dunes which extended a
distance of some twenty miles to the next island. The sand-hills rising
sheer from the shore, fifty, sixty, or a hundred feet in height,
bordered their road on the right. To avoid the soft dry sand of their
base the pony often trotted in the shallow flow of the foam, which even
yet now and then crept over all the damp beach to the high-water mark.
The wind was like spur and lash; the horse fled before it. Eyes and ears
grew accustomed even to the threatening of the sea-monsters. The sun of
the November afternoon sank nearer and nearer the level of sand and
foam; they could not see the ocean beyond the foam. When it grew large
and ruddy in the level atmosphere, and some flakes of red, red gold
appeared round it, lying where the edge of the sea must be, like the
Islands of the Blessed, when the crests of the breakers near and far
began to be touched with a fiery glow, when the soft dun brown of the
sand-hills turned to gold, Caius, overcome with having walked and eaten
much, and drunk deeply of the wine of the wild salt wind, fell into a
heavy dreamless slumber, lying outstretched upon his bed of straw.

CHAPTER IV.

WHERE THE DEVIL LIVED.

Caius did not know how long he slept. He woke with a sudden start and a
presentiment of evil. It was quite dark, as black as starlight night
could be; for the foam of the waves hardly glimmered to sight, except
here and there where some phosphorescent jelly was tossed among them
like a blue death-light. What had wakened Caius was the sound of voices
talking ahead of the cart, and the jerk of the cart as it was evidently
being driven off the smooth beach on to a very rough and steep incline.

He sat up and strove to pierce the darkness by sight. They had come to
no end of their journey. The long beach, with its walls of foam and of
dune, stretched on without change. But upon this beach they were no
longer travelling; the horse was headed, as it were, to the dune, and
now began to climb its almost upright side.

With an imprecation he threw himself out of the cart at a bound into
sand so soft that he sank up to the knees and stumbled against the
upright side of the hill. The lower voice he had heard was silent
instantly. O'Shea stopped the pony with a sharp word of interrogation.

"Where are you going?" shouted Caius. "What are you going to do?"

He need not have shouted, for the wind was swift to carry all sounds
from his lips to O'Shea; but the latter's voice, as it came back to him,
seemed to stagger against the force of the wind and almost to fail.

"Where are we going? Well, we're going roight up towards the sky at
present, but in a minute we'll be going roight down towards the other
place. If ye just keep on at that side of the cart ye'll get into a
place where we'll have a bit of shelter and rest till the moon rises."

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