The Boats of the Glen Carrig

The Boats of the 'Glen Carrig'
Madre Mia
I - The Land of Lonesomeness
II - The Ship in the Creek
III - The Thing that Made Search
IV - The Two Faces
V - The Great Storm
VI - The Weed-Choked Sea
VII - The Island in the Weed
VIII - The Noises in the Valley
IX - What Happened in the Dusk
X - The Light in the Weed
XI - The Signals from the Ship
XII - The Making of the Great Bow
XIII - The Weed Men
XIV - In Communication
XV - Aboard the Hulk
XVI - Freed
XVII - How We Came to Our Own Country

Being an account of their Adventures in the Strange places of the Earth,
after the foundering of the good ship
Glen Carrig
through striking upon
a hidden rock in the unknown seas to the Southward. As told by John
Winterstraw, Gent., to his son James Winterstraw, in the year 1757, and
by him committed very properly and legibly to manuscript.

People may say thou art no longer young
And yet, to me, thy youth was yesterday,
A yesterday that seems
Still mingled with my dreams.
Ah! how the years have o'er thee flung
Their soft mantilla, grey.

And e'en to them thou art not over old;
How could'st thou be! Thy hair
Hast scarcely lost its deep old glorious dark:
Thy face is scarcely lined. No mark
Destroys its calm serenity. Like gold
Of evening light, when winds scarce stir,
The soul-light of thy face is pure as prayer.

Now we had been five days in the boats, and in all this time made no
discovering of land. Then upon the morning of the sixth day came there a
cry from the bo'sun, who had the command of the lifeboat, that there was
something which might be land afar upon our larboard bow; but it was very
low lying, and none could tell whether it was land or but a morning
cloud. Yet, because there was the beginning of hope within our hearts, we
pulled wearily towards it, and thus, in about an hour, discovered it to
be indeed the coast of some flat country.

Then, it might be a little after the hour of midday, we had come so close
to it that we could distinguish with ease what manner of land lay beyond
the shore, and thus we found it to be of an abominable flatness, desolate
beyond all that I could have imagined. Here and there it appeared to be
covered with clumps of queer vegetation; though whether they were small
trees or great bushes, I had no means of telling; but this I know, that
they were like unto nothing which ever I had set eyes upon before.

So much as this I gathered as we pulled slowly along the coast, seeking
an opening whereby we could pass inward to the land; but a weary time
passed or ere we came upon that which we sought. Yet, in the end, we
found it—a slimy-banked creek, which proved to be the estuary of a great
river, though we spoke of it always as a creek. Into this we entered, and
proceeded at no great pace upwards along its winding course; and as we
made forward, we scanned the low banks upon each side, perchance there
might be some spot where we could make to land; but we found none—the
banks being composed of a vile mud which gave us no encouragement to
venture rashly upon them.

Now, having taken the boat something over a mile up the great creek, we
came upon the first of that vegetation which I had chanced to notice from
the sea, and here, being within some score yards of it, we were the
better able to study it. Thus I found that it was indeed composed largely
of a sort of tree, very low and stunted, and having what might be
described as an unwholesome look about it. The branches of this tree, I
perceived to be the cause of my inability to recognize it from a bush,
until I had come close upon it; for they grew thin and smooth through all
their length, and hung towards the earth; being weighted thereto by a
single, large cabbage-like plant which seemed to sprout from the extreme
tip of each.

Presently, having passed beyond this clump of the vegetation, and the
banks of the river remaining very low, I stood me upon a thwart, by which
means I was enabled to scan the surrounding country. This I discovered,
so far as my sight could penetrate, to be pierced in all directions with
innumerable creeks and pools, some of these latter being very great of
extent; and, as I have before made mention, everywhere the country was
low set—as it might be a great plain of mud; so that it gave me a sense
of dreariness to look out upon it. It may be, all unconsciously, that my
spirit was put in awe by the extreme silence of all the country around;
for in all that waste I could see no living thing, neither bird nor
vegetable, save it be the stunted trees, which, indeed, grew in clumps
here and there over all the land, so much as I could see.

This silence, when I grew fully aware of it was the more uncanny; for my
memory told me that never before had I come upon a country which
contained so much quietness. Nothing moved across my vision—not even a
lone bird soared up against the dull sky; and, for my hearing, not so
much as the cry of a sea-bird came to me—no! nor the croak of a frog,
nor the plash of a fish. It was as though we had come upon the Country of
Silence, which some have called the Land of Lonesomeness.

Now three hours had passed whilst we ceased not to labor at the oars, and
we could no more see the sea; yet no place fit for our feet had come to
view, for everywhere the mud, grey and black, surrounded us—encompassing
us veritably by a slimy wilderness. And so we were fain to pull on, in
the hope that we might come ultimately to firm ground.

Then, a little before sundown, we halted upon our oars, and made a scant
meal from a portion of our remaining provisions; and as we ate, I could
see the sun sinking away over the wastes, and I had some slight diversion
in watching the grotesque shadows which it cast from the trees into the
water upon our larboard side; for we had come to a pause opposite a clump
of the vegetation. It was at this time, as I remember, that it was borne
in upon me afresh how very silent was the land; and that this was not due
to my imagination, I remarked that the men both in our own and in the
bo'sun's boat, seemed uneasy because of it; for none spoke save in
undertones, as though they had fear of breaking it.

And it was at this time, when I was awed by so much solitude, that there
came the first telling of life in all that wilderness. I heard it first
in the far distance, away inland—a curious, low, sobbing note it was,
and the rise and the fall of it was like to the sobbing of a lonesome
wind through a great forest. Yet was there no wind. Then, in a moment, it
had died, and the silence of the land was awesome by reason of the
contrast. And I looked about me at the men, both in the boat in which I
was and that which the bo'sun commanded; and not one was there but held
himself in a posture of listening. In this wise a minute of quietness
passed, and then one of the men gave out a laugh, born of the nervousness
which had taken him.

The bo'sun muttered to him to hush, and, in the same moment, there came
again the plaint of that wild sobbing. And abruptly it sounded away on
our right, and immediately was caught up, as it were, and echoed back
from some place beyond us afar up the creek. At that, I got me upon a
thwart, intending to take another look over the country about us; but
the banks of the creek had become higher; moreover the vegetation acted
as a screen, even had my stature and elevation enabled me to overlook
the banks.

And so, after a little while, the crying died away, and there was another
silence. Then, as we sat each one harking for what might next befall,
George, the youngest 'prentice boy, who had his seat beside me, plucked
me by the sleeve, inquiring in a troubled voice whether I had any
knowledge of that which the crying might portend; but I shook my head,
telling him that I had no knowing beyond his own; though, for his
comfort, I said that it might be the wind. Yet, at that, he shook his
head; for indeed, it was plain that it could not be by such agency, for
there was a stark calm.

Now, I had scarce made an end of my remark, when again the sad crying
was upon us. It appeared to come from far up the creek, and from far down
the creek, and from inland and the land between us and the sea. It filled
the evening air with its doleful wailing, and I remarked that there was
in it a curious sobbing, most human in its despairful crying. And so
awesome was the thing that no man of us spoke; for it seemed that we
harked to the weeping of lost souls. And then, as we waited fearfully,
the sun sank below the edge of the world, and the dusk was upon us.

And now a more extraordinary thing happened; for, as the night fell with
swift gloom, the strange wailing and crying was hushed, and another sound
stole out upon the land—a far, sullen growling. At the first, like the
crying, it came from far inland; but was caught up speedily on all sides
of us, and presently the dark was full of it. And it increased in volume,
and strange trumpetings fled across it. Then, though with slowness, it
fell away to a low, continuous growling, and in it there was that which I
can only describe as an insistent, hungry snarl. Aye! no other word of
which I have knowledge so well describes it as that—a note of
hunger
,
most awesome to the ear. And this, more than all the rest of those
incredible voicings, brought terror into my heart.

Now as I sat listening, George gripped me suddenly by the arm, declaring
in a shrill whisper that something had come among the clump of trees upon
the left-hand bank. Of the truth of this, I had immediately a proof; for
I caught the sound of a continuous rustling among them, and then a nearer
note of growling, as though a wild beast purred at my elbow. Immediately
upon this, I caught the bo'sun's voice, calling in a low tone to Josh,
the eldest 'prentice, who had the charge of our boat, to come alongside
of him; for he would have the boats together. Then got we out the oars
and laid the boats together in the midst of the creek; and so we watched
through the night, being full of fear, so that we kept our speech low;
that is, so low as would carry our thoughts one to the other through the
noise of the growling.

And so the hours passed, and naught happened more than I have told, save
that once, a little after midnight, the trees opposite to us seemed to be
stirred again, as though some creature, or creatures, lurked among them;
and there came, a little after that, a sound as of something stirring the
water up against the bank; but it ceased in a while and the silence fell
once more.

Thus, after a weariful time, away Eastwards the sky began to tell of the
coming of the day; and, as the light grew and strengthened, so did that
insatiable growling pass hence with the dark and the shadows. And so at
last came the day, and once more there was borne to us the sad wailing
that had preceded the night. For a certain while it lasted, rising and
falling most mournfully over the vastness of the surrounding wastes,
until the sun was risen some degrees above the horizon; after which it
began to fail, dying away in lingering echoes, most solemn to our ears.
And so it passed, and there came again the silence that had been with us
in all the daylight hours.