CHAPTER X
DAWN AND THE LAND
A day, a whole day, spent upon that sullen, sunless waste of water,with the great waves bearing them onwards in one eternal, monotonousprocession, till at length they grew dizzy with looking at them, andthe ceaseless gale piping in their ears. Long ago they had lost sight ofland; even the tall church towers built by our ancestors as beaconson this stormy coast had vanished utterly. Twice they sighted shipsscudding along under their few rags of canvas, and once a steamerpassed, the smoke from her funnels blowing out like long black pennons.But all of these were too far off, or too much engaged with theirown affairs to see the little craft tossing hither and thither like aused-up herring basket upon the endless area of ocean.
Fortunately, from his youth Morris had been accustomed to the managementof boats in all sorts of weather, the occupation of sailing aloneupon the waters being one well suited to his solitary and reflectivedisposition. Thus it came about that they survived, when others,less skilful, might have drowned. Sometimes they ran before the seas;sometimes they got up a few square feet of sail, and, taking advantageof a veer in the wind, tried to tack, and once, when it blew itshardest, fearing lest they should be pooped, for over an hour theycontrived to keep head on to the waves.
Thus, diversified by some necessary bailing, passed the short Novemberday, long enough for them, till once more the darkness began to gather.They had still some food and drink left; indeed, had it not been forthese they would have perished. Most happily, also, with the sun thewind dropped, although for hours the sea remained dangerously high.Now wet and cold were their enemies, worse than any that they had beencalled upon to face. Long ago the driving spray had soaked them to theskin, and there upon the sea the winter night was very chill.
While the wind, fortunately for them, by comparison a warm one, stillblew from the west, and the sea remained tempestuous, they foundsome shelter by wrapping themselves in a corner of the sail. Towardsmidnight, however, it got round to the northeast, enough of it tomoderate the sea considerably, and to enable them to put the boat aboutand go before it with a closely reefed sail. Now, indeed, they werebitterly cold, and longed even for the shelter of the wet canvas.Still Morris felt, and Stella was of the same mind, that before utterexhaustion overtook them their best chance for life lay in trying tomake the shore, which was, they knew not how far away.
There, then, for hours they cowered in the stern of the boat, huddledtogether to protect themselves as best they might from the weather, andplunging forward beneath their little stretch of sail. Sleep they couldnot, for that icy breath bit into their marrow, and of this Morris wasglad, since he did not dare relax his watch for an instant. So sometimesthey sat silent, and sometimes by fits and starts they talked, theirlips close to each other's face, as though they were whispering to oneanother.
To while away the weary time, Morris told his companion about hisinvention, the aerophone. Then she in turn told him something of herprevious life--Stella was now a woman of four and twenty. It seemedthat her mother had died when she was fourteen at the rectory inNorthumberland, where she was born. After that, with short intervals,she had spent five years in Denmark, whither her father came tovisit her every summer. Most of this time she passed at a school inCopenhagen, going for her holidays to stay with her grandmother, who wasthe widow of a small landowner of noble family, and lived in an ancient,dilapidated house in some remote village. At length the grandmotherdied, leaving to Stella the trifle she possessed, after which, hereducation being completed, she returned to Northumberland to keep housefor her father. Here, too, it would seem that her life was very lonely,for the place was but an unvisited coast village, and they were notrich enough to mix much with the few county families who lived anywherewithin reach.
"Have you no brothers or sisters?" asked Morris.
Even then, numb as was her flesh with cold, he felt her wince at thequestion.
"No, no," she answered, "none now--at least, none here. I have--I meanI had--a sister, my twin, but she died when we were seventeen. This wasthe most dreadful thing that ever happened to me, the thing which mademe what I am."
"I don't quite understand. What are you, then?"
"Oh, something very unsatisfactory, I am afraid, quite different fromother people. What Mr. Tomley said _you_ were, Mr. Monk, a mystic anda dreamer of dreams; a lover of the dead; one who dwells in the past,and--in the future."
Morris did not pursue the subject; even under their strangecircumstances, favourable as they were to intimacy and confidences, itseemed impertinent to him to pry into the mysteries of his companion'slife. Only he asked, at hazard almost:
"How did you spend your time up there in Northumberland?"
"In drawing a little, in collecting eggs, moths, and flowers a greatdeal; in practising with my violin playing and singing; and during thelong winters in making translations in my spare time of Norse sagas,which no one will publish."
"I should like to read them; I am fond of the sagas," he said, and afterthis, under pressure of their physical misery, the conversation diedaway.
Hour succeeded to hour, and the weather moderated so much that now theywere in little danger of being swamped. This, indeed, was fortunate,since in the event of a squall or other emergency, in their numbedcondition it was doubtful whether they could have found enough strengthto do what might be necessary to save themselves. They drank whatremained of the whiskey, which put life into their veins for a while,but soon its effects passed off, leaving them, if possible, more frozenthan before.
"What is the time?" asked Stella, after a long silence.
"It should be daybreak in about two hours," he said, in a voice thatattempted cheerfulness.
Then a squall of sleet burst upon them, and after this new misery atorpor overcame Stella; at least, her shiverings grew less violent, andher head sank upon his shoulder. Morris put one arm round her waist tosave her from slipping into the water at the bottom of the boat,making shift to steer with the other. Thus, for a while they ploughedforward--whither he knew not, across the inky sea, for there was nomoon, and the stars were hidden, driven on slowly by the biting breathof the winter wind.
Presently she awoke, lifted her head, and spoke, saying:
"We can't last much longer in this cold and wet. You are not afraid, areyou?"
"No, not exactly afraid, only sorry; it is hard to go with so much to bedone, and--to leave behind."
"You shouldn't think like that," she answered, "for what we leave mustfollow. She will suffer, but soon she will be with you again, whereeverything is understood. Only you ought to have died with her, and notwith me, a stranger."
"Fate settles these things," he muttered, "and if it comes to that,maybe God will give her strength. But the dawn is near, and by it we maysee land."
"Yes, yes,"--now her voice had sunk to a whisper,--"the dawn is alwaysnear, and by it we shall see land."
Then again Stella's head sank upon his shoulder, and she slept heavily;nor, although he knew that such slumbers are dangerous, did he think itworth while to disturb her.
The invisible seas hissed past; the sharp wind bit his bones, and overhim, too, that fatal slumber began to creep. But, although he seldomexercised it, Morris was a man of strong will, and while any strengthwas left he refused to give way. Would this dreadful darkness never end?For the fiftieth time he glanced back over his shoulder, and now, he wassure of it, the east grew ashen. He waited awhile, for the November dawnis slow in breaking, then looked again. Heaven be thanked! the cold windhad driven away the clouds, and there, upon the edge of the horizon,peeped up the fiery circle of the sun, throwing long rays of sicklyyellow across the grey, troubled surface of the waters. In front of himlay a dense bank of fog, which, from its character, as Morris knew well,must emanate from the reeking face of earth. They were near shore, itcould not be doubted; still, he did not wake his companion. Perhaps hemight be in error, and sleep, even a death-sleep, is better than thecheatings of disappointed hope.
What was that dim object in front of him? Surely it must be the ruina mile or so to the north of Monksland, that was known as the DeathChurch? Once a village stood here, but the sea had taken most of it;indeed, all that remained to-day was this old, deserted fane, which,having been built upon a breast of rising ground, still remained,awaiting its destruction by the slow sap of the advancing ocean. Evennow, at times of very high tide, the sea closed in behind, cutting thefabric off from the mainland, where it looked like a forsaken lighthouserather than the tower and chancel of a church. But there, not much morethan a mile away, yes, there it was, and Morris felt proud to think howstraight he had steered homewards through that stormy darkness.
The sea was still wild and high, but he was familiar with every inch ofthe coast, and knew well that there was a spot to the south of the DeadChurch, just where the last rood of graveyard met the sand, upon whichhe could beach the boat safely even in worse weather. For this nookMorris headed with a new energy; the fires of life and hope burnt up inhim, giving him back his strength and judgment.
At last they were opposite to the place, and, watching his chance, heput the helm down and ran in upon the crest of a wave, till the boatgrounded in the soft sand, and began to wallow there like a dying thing.Fearing lest the back-wash should suck them off into the surf again, herolled himself into the water, for jump he could not; indeed, it wasas much as he could do to stand. With a last effort of his strength heseized Stella in his arms and struggled with her to the sandy shore,where he sank down exhausted. Then she woke. "Oh, I dreamed, I dreamed!"she said, staring round her wildly.
"What?" he asked.
"That it was all over; and afterwards, that I----" and she broke offsuddenly, adding: "But it was all a dream, for we are safe on shore, arewe not?"
"Yes, thank Heaven!" said Morris. "Sit still, and I will make the boatsecure. She has served us a good turn, and I do not want to lose herafter all."
She nodded, and wading into the water, with numbed hands he managed tolift the little anchor and carry it ashore in his arms.
"There," he said, "the tide is ebbing, and she'll hold fast enough untilI can send to fetch her; or, if not, it can't be helped. Come on, MissFregelius, before you grow too stiff to walk;" and, bending down, hehelped her to her feet.
Their road ran past the nave of the church, which was ruined andunroofed. At some time during the last two generations, however,although the parishioners saw that it was useless to go to the cost ofrepairing the nave, they had bricked in the chancel, and to within thelast twenty years continued to use it as a place of worship. Indeed,the old oak door taken from the porch still swung on rusty hinges in thepartition wall of red brick. Stella looked up and saw it.
"I want to look in there," she said.
"Wouldn't it do another time?" The moment did not strike Morris asappropriate for the examination of ruined churches.
"No; if you don't mind I should like to look now, while I remember, justfor one instant."
So he shrugged his shoulders, and they limped forward up the rooflessnave and through the door. She stared at the plain stone altar, at theeastern window, of which part was filled with ancient coloured glassand part with cheap glazed panes; at the oak choir benches, mouldy andbroken; at the few wall-slabs and decaying monuments, and at the roofstill strong and massive.
"I dreamed of a place very like this," she said, nodding her head. "Ithought that I was standing in such a spot in a fearful gale, and thatthe sea got under the foundations and washed the dead out of theirgraves."
"Really, Miss Fregelius," he said, with some irritation, for thesurroundings of the scene and his companion's talk were uncanny, "do youthink this an occasion to explore ruins and relate nightmares?" Thenhe added, "I beg your pardon, but I think that the cold and wet haveaffected your nerves; for my part, I have none left."
"Perhaps; at least forgive me, I did so want to look," she answeredhumbly as, arm-in-arm, for she needed support, they passed from thealtar to the door.
A grotesque imagination entered the numbed mind of Morris. Their slowand miserable march turned itself to a vision of a bridal processionfrom the altar. Wet, dishevelled, half-frozen, they two were thebride-groom and the bride, and the bride was a seer of visions, and thebridegroom was a dreamer of dreams. Yes, and they came up together outof the bitter sea and the darkness, and they journeyed together to avault of the dead----
Thank Heaven! they were out of the place, and above was the sun shining,and, to the right and left, the grey ocean and the purple plough-lands,cold-looking, suggesting dangers and labour, but wholesome all of them,and good to the eye of man. Only why did this woman see visions, and whydid he dream dreams? And what was the meaning of their strange meetingupon the sea? And what----
"Where are we going?" asked Stella after a while and very faintly.
"Home; to the Abbey, I mean, where your father lies. Now it is not muchmore than a mile away."
She sighed; her strength was failing her.
"You had better try to walk, it will warm you," he urged, and shestruggled on.
It was a miserable journey, but they reached the house at length,passing first through a street of the village in which no one seemed tobe awake. A wretched-looking couple, they stumbled up the steps intothe porch, where Morris rang the bell, for the door was locked. The timeseemed an age, but at last steps were heard, the door was unbarred,and there appeared a vision of the lad Thomas, yawning, and clad in anightshirt and a pair of trousers, with braces attached which dangled tothe floor.
"Oh, Lord!" he said when he saw them, and his jaw dropped.
"Get out of the way, you young idiot," said Morris, "and call the cook."
Stella Fregelius: A Tale of Three Destinies Page 12