Good Reading: "Yule Horror" by H.P. Lovecraft (in England)

There is snow on the ground,
And the valleys are cold,
And a midnight profound
Blackly squats o'er the wold;
But a light on the hilltops half-seen hints of feastings un-hallowed and old.

There is death in the clouds,
There is fear in the night,
For the dead in their shrouds
Hail the sin's turning flight.
And chant wild in the woods as they dance round a Yule-altar fungous and white.

To no gale of Earth's kind
Sways the forest of oak,
Where the sick boughs entwined
By mad mistletoes choke,
For these pow'rs are the pow'rs of the dark, from the graves of the lost Druid-folk.

Tuesday's Serial "The Mystery of the Sea" by Bram Stoker (in English) - II

 

CHAPTER IV - LAMMAS FLOODS

When I got to Cruden it was quite dark. I had lingered by the way thinking of Gormala MacNiel and all the queer kind of mystery in which she seemed to be enmeshing me. The more I thought, the more I was puzzled; for the strangest thing of all to me was that I understood part of what seemed to be a mystery. For instance I was but imperfectly acquainted with the Seer-woman’s view of what was to be the result of her watching of Lauchlane Macleod. I knew of course from her words at our first conversation that in him she recognised a man doomed to near death according to the manifestation of her own power of Second Sight; but I knew what she did not seem to, that this was indeed a golden man. From the momentary glimpse which I had had in that queer spell of trance, or whatever it was which had come to me on the pier head, I had seemed to know him as a man of gold, sterling throughout. It was not merely that his hair was red gold and that his eyes might fairly be called golden, but his whole being could only be expressed in that way; so that when Gormala spoke, the old rhyme seemed at once a prime factor in the group of three powers which had to be united before the fathoming of the Mystery of the Sea. I accordingly made up my mind to speak with the Seer-woman and to ask her to explain. My own intellectual attitude to the matter interested me. I was not sceptical, I did not believe; but I think my mind hung in poise. Certainly my sympathies tended towards the mysterious side, backed up by some kind of understanding of the inner nature of things which was emotional or unintentional rather than fixed.

All that night I seemed to dream, my mind working eternally round the data of the day; hundreds of different relationships between Gormala, Lauchlane Macleod, Lammas-tide, the moon and the secrets of the sea revolved before me. It was grey morning before I fell asleep to the occasional chirping of the earliest birds.

As sometimes happens after a night of uneasy dreaming of some disturbing topic, the reaction of the morning carried oblivion with it. It was well into the afternoon when all at once I remembered the existence of the witch-woman—for as such I was beginning to think of Gormala. The thought came accompanied by a sense of oppression which was not of fear, but which was certainly of uneasiness. Was it possible that the woman had in some way, or to some degree, hypnotised me. I remembered with a slightly nervous feeling how the evening before I had stopped on the roadway obedient to her will, and how I had lost the identity of my surroundings in her presence. A sudden idea struck me; I went to the window and looked out. For an instant my heart seemed to be still.

Just opposite the house stood Gormala, motionless. I went out at once and joined her, and instinctively we turned our steps toward the sand-hills. As we walked along I said to her:

“Where did you disappear to last night?”

“About that which is to be done!” Her lips and her face were set; I knew it was no use following up that branch of the subject, so I asked again:

“What did you mean by those verses which you told me?” Her answer was given in a solemn tone:

“Them that made them alone can tell; until the time shall come!”

“Who made them?”

“Nane can now tell. They are as aud as the rocky foundations o’ the isles themselves.”

“Then how did you come to know them?” There was a distinct note of pride in her answer. Such a note as might be expected from a prince speaking of his ancestry:

“They hae come doon to me through centuries. Frae mither to dochter, and from mither to dochter again, wi’ never a break in the lang line o’ the tellin’. Know ye, young master, that I am o’ a race o’ Seers. I take my name from that Gormala o’ Uist who through long years foresaw the passing o’ mony a one. That Gormala who throughout the islands of the west was known and feared o’ all men; that Gormala whose mither’s mither, and mither’s mither again, away back into the darkness o’ time when coracles crept towards the sunset ower the sea and returned not, held the fates o’ men and women in their han’s and ruled the Mysteries o’ the Sea.” As it was evident that Gormala must have in her own mind some kind of meaning of the prophecy, or spell, or whatever it was, I asked her again:

“But you must understand something of the meaning, or you would not attach so much importance to it?”

“I ken naught but what is seen to ma een, and to that inner e’e which telleth tae the soul that which it seeth!”

“Then why did you warn me that Lammas-tide was near at hand?” The grim woman actually smiled as she replied:

“Did ye no hearken to the words spoken of the Lammas floods, which be of the Powers that rule the Spell?”

“Well, the fact is that I don’t know anything of ‘Lammas-tide!’ We do not keep it in the Church of England,” I added as an afterthought, explanatory of my ignorance. Gormala was clever enough to take advantage of having caught me in a weak place; so she took advantage of it to turn the conversation into the way she wished herself:

“What saw ye, when Lauchlane Macleod grew sma’ in yer een, and girt again?”

“Simply, that he seemed to be all at once a tiny image of himself, seen against a waste of ripe corn.” Then it struck me that I had not as yet told her or any one else of what I had seen. How then did she know it? I was annoyed and asked her. She answered scornfully:

“How kent I it, an’ me a Seer o’ a race o’ Seers! Are ma wakin’ een then so dim or so sma’ that I canna read the thochts o’ men in the glances o’ their een. Did I no see yer een look near an’ far as quick as thocht? But what saw ye after, when ye looked rapt and yer een peered side to side, as though at one lyin’ prone?” I was more annoyed than ever and answered her in a sort of stupor:

“I saw him lying dead on a rock, with a swift tide running by; and over the waters the broken track of a golden moon.” She made a sound which was almost a cry, and which recalled me to myself as I looked at her. She was ablaze. She towered to her full height with an imperious, exultant mien; the light in her eyes was more than human as she said:

“Dead, as I masel’ saw him an’ ’mid the foam o’ the tide race! An’ gowd, always gowd ahint him in the een of this greater Seer. Gowden corn, and gowden moon, and gowden sea! Aye! an’ I see it now, backie-bird that I hae been; the gowden mon indeed, wi’ his gowden een an’ his gowden hair and all the truth o’ his gowden life!” Then turning to me she said fiercely:

“Why did I warn ye that Lammas-tide was near? Go ask those that value the months and days thereof, when be Lammas and what it means to them that hae faith. See what they are; learn o’ the comin’ o’ the moon and o’ the flowin’ o’ the tides that follow!”

Without another word she turned and left me.

I went back to the hotel at once, determined to post myself as to Lammas-tide; its facts and constitutions, and the beliefs and traditions that hung around it. Also to learn the hours of the tides, and the age of the moon about the time of Lammas-tide. Doubtless I could have found out all I wanted from some of the ministers of the various houses of religion which hold in Cruden; but I was not wishful to make public, even so far, the mystery which was closing around me. My feeling was partly a saving sense of humour, or the fear of ridicule, and partly a genuine repugnance to enter upon the subject with any one who might not take it as seriously as I could wish. From which latter I gather that the whole affair was becoming woven into the structure of my life.

Possibly it was, that some trait, or tendency, or power which was individual to me was beginning to manifest itself and to find its means of expression. In my secret heart I not only believed but knew that some instinct within me was guiding my thoughts in some strange way. The sense of occult power which is so vital a part of divination was growing within me and asserting its masterdom, and with it came an equally forceful desire of secrecy. The Seer in me, latent so long, was becoming conscious of his strength, and jealous of it.

At this time, as the feeling of strength and consciousness grew, it seemed to lose something of its power from this very cause. Gradually it was forced upon me that[28] for the full manifestation of such faculty as I might possess, some kind of abstraction or surrender of self was necessary. Even a few hours of experience had taught me much; for now that my mind was bent on the phenomena of Second Sight the whole living and moving world around me became a veritable diorama of possibilities. Within two days from the episode at the Pier head I had had behind me a larger experience of effort of occult force than generally comes to a man in a lifetime. When I look back, it seems to me that all the forces of life and nature became exposed to my view. A thousand things which hitherto I had accepted in simple faith as facts, were pregnant with new meanings. I began to understand that the whole earth and sea, and air—all that of which human beings generally ordinarily take cognisance, is but a film or crust which hides the deeper moving powers or forces. With this insight I began to understand the grand guesses of the Pantheists, pagan and christian alike, who out of their spiritual and nervous and intellectual sensitiveness began to realise that there was somewhere a purposeful cause of universal action. An action which in its special or concrete working appeared like the sentience of nature in general, and of the myriad items of its cosmogony.

I soon learned that Lammas day is the first of August and is so often accompanied by heavy weather that Lammas floods are almost annually recurrent. The eve of the day is more or less connected with various superstitions.

This made me more eager for further information, and by the aid of a chance friend, I unearthed at Aberdeen a learned professor who gave me offhand all the information which I desired. In fact he was so full of astronomical learning that I had to stop him now and again in order to elucidate some point easily explainable to those[29] who understood his terminology, but which wrapped my swaddling knowledge in a mystery all its own. I have a sneaking friendliness even now for anyone to whom the word ‘syzygy’ carries no special meaning.

I got at the bases of facts, however, and understood that on the night of July 31, which was the eve of Lammas-tide, the moon would be full at midnight. I learned also that from certain astronomical reasons the tide which would ostensibly begin its flow a little after midnight would in reality commence just on the stroke. As these were the points which concerned me I came away with a new feeling of awe upon me. It seemed as though the heavens as well as the earth were bending towards the realisation or fulfillment of the old prophecy. At this time my own connection with the mystery, or how it might affect me personally, did not even enter my head. I was content to be an obedient item in the general scheme of things.

It was now the 28th July so, if it were to take place at the Lammas-tide of the current year, we should know soon the full measure of the denouêment. There was but one thing wanting to complete the conditions of the prophecy. The weather had been abnormally dry, and there might after all be no Lammas floods. To-day, however, the sky had been heavily overcast. Great black clouds which seemed to roll along tumbling over and over, as the sail of a foundered boat does in a current, loomed up from the west. The air grew closer, and to breathe was an effort. A sort of shiver came over the wide stretch of open country. Darker and darker grew the sky, till it seemed so like night that the birds in the few low-lying coppices and the scanty hedgerows ceased to sing. The bleat of sheep and the low of cattle seemed to boom through the still air with a hollow sound, as if coming from a distance. The intolerable stillness which[30] precedes the storm became so oppressive that I, who am abnormally susceptible to the moods of nature, could almost have screamed out.

Then all at once the storm broke. There was a flash of lightning so vivid that it lit up the whole country away to the mountains which encircle Braemar. The fierce crash and wide roll of the thunder followed with incredible quickness. And then the hot, heavy-dropped summer rain fell in torrents.

All that afternoon the rain fell, with only a few brief intervals of glowing sunshine. All night, too, it seemed to fall without ceasing, for whenever I woke—which I did frequently with a sense over me of something impending—I could hear the quick, heavy patter on the roof, and the rush and gurgle of the overcharged gutters.

The next day was one of unmitigated gloom. The rain poured down ceaselessly. There was little wind, just sufficient to roll north-eastwards the great masses of rain-laden clouds piled up by the Gulf Stream against the rugged mountains of the western coast and its rocky islands. Two whole days there were of such rain, and then there was no doubt as to the strength of the Lammas floods this year. All the wide uplands of Buchan were glistening with runnels of water whenever the occasional glimpses of sunshine struck them. Both the Water of Cruden and the Back Burn were running bank high. On all sides it was reported that the Lammas floods were the greatest that had been known in memory.

All this time my own spiritual and intellectual uneasiness was perpetually growing. The data for the working of the prophecy were all fixed with remarkable exactness. In theatrical parlance ‘the stage was set’ and all ready for the action which was to come. As the hours wore on, my uneasiness changed somewhat and apprehension became merged in a curious mixture of[31] superstition and exaltation. I was growing eager to the coming time.

The afternoon of July 31 was fine. The sun shone brightly; the air was dry and, for the time of year, cool. It seemed as though the spell of wet weather was over and that fiery August was coming to its own again. The effects of the rainstorm were, however, manifest. Not only was every rill and stream and river in the North in spate but the bogs of the mountains were so saturated with wet that many days must elapse before they could cease to send their quota to swell the streams. The mountain valleys were generally lakes in miniature. As one went through the country the murmur or rush of falling water was forever in the ears. I suppose it was in my own case partly because I was concerned in the mere existence of Lammas floods that the whole of nature seemed so insistent on the subject. The sound of moving water in its myriad gamut was so perpetually in my ears that I could never get my mind away from it. I had a long walk that afternoon through roads still too wet and heavy for bicycling. I came back to dinner thoroughly tired out, and went to bed early.

 

CHAPTER V - THE MYSTERY OF THE SEA

I do not remember what woke me. I have a vague idea that it was a voice, but whether outside the house or within myself I know not.

It was eleven o’clock by my watch when I left the Kilmarnock Arms and took my way across the sandhills, heading for the Hawklaw which stood out boldly in the brilliant moonlight. I followed the devious sheep track amongst the dunes covered with wet bent-grass, every now and again stumbling amongst the rabbit burrows which in those days honeycombed the sandhills of Cruden Bay. At last I came to the Hawklaw, and, climbing the steep terraced edge near the sea, sat on the top to breathe myself after the climb.

The scene was one of exquisite beauty. Its natural loveliness was enhanced by the softness of the full yellow moonlight which seemed to flood the heavens and the earth alike. To the south-east the bleak promontory of Whinnyfold stood out stark and black as velvet and the rocks of the Skares were like black dots in the quivering sea of gold. I arose and went on my way. The tide was far out and as I stumbled along the rude path above the waste of boulders I had a feeling that I should be late. I hurried on, crossed the little rill which usually only trickled down beside the fishers’ zigzag path at the back of Whinnyfold but which was now a rushing stream—again the noise of falling water, the voice of the Lammas[33] floods—and took the cart track which ran hard by the cliff down to the point which looked direct upon the Skares.

When I reached the very edge of the cliff, where the long sea-grass and the deep clover felt underfoot like a luxurious carpet, I was not surprised to see Gormala seated, looking out seawards. The broad track of the moon lay right across the outmost rock of the Skares and falling across some of the jagged rocks, which seemed like fangs rising from the deep water as the heave of the waveless sea fell back and the white water streamed down, came up to where we stood and seemed to bathe both the Seer-woman and myself in light. There was no current anywhere, but only the silent rise and fall of the water in the everlasting movement of the sea. When she heard me behind her Gormala turned round, and the patient calmness of her face disappeared. She rose quickly, and as she did so pointed to a small boat which sailing up from the south was now drawing opposite to us and appeared to be making a course as close to shore as possible, just clearing the outer bulwark of the Skares.

“Look!” she said, “Lauchlane Macleod comes by his lanes. The rocks are around him, and his doom is at hand!”

There did not appear any danger in such a course; the wind was gentle, the tide was at the still moment between ebb and flow, and the smoothness of the water beyond the rock seemed to mark its great depth.

All at once the boat seemed to stand still,—we were too far off to hear a sound even on such a still night. The mast bent forward and broke short off, the sails hung limp in the water with the peak of the lug sail sticking up in a great triangle, like the fin of a mammoth shark. A few seconds after, a dark speck moved on the water which became agitated around it; it was evident that a[34] swimmer was making for the land. I would have gone to help him had it been of use; but it was not, the outer rock was half a mile away. Indeed, though I knew it was no use, I was yet about to swim to meet him when Gormala’s voice behind me arrested me:

“Do ye no see that gin ye meet him amid yon rocks, ye can, when the tide begins to race, be no help to any. If he can win through, ye may help him if ye bide here.” The advice was good and I stayed my feet. The swimmer evidently knew the danger, for he hurried frantically to win some point of safety before the tide should turn. But the rocks of the Skares are deadly steep; they rise from the water sheer everywhere, and to climb them from the sea is a hopeless task. Once and again the swimmer tried to find a chink or cranny where he could climb; but each time he tried to raise himself he fell back into the water. Moreover I could see that he was wounded, for his left hand hung idle. He seemed to realise the hopelessness of the task, and turning, made desperately for the part where we stood. He was now within the most dangerous spot in the whole region of the Skares. The water is of great depth everywhere and the needlepoints of rocks rise almost to the very surface. It is only when the waves are rough at low water that they can be seen at all, when the dip of the waves leaves them bare; but from the surface in calm weather they cannot be seen as the swirl of the tide around them is invisible. Here, too, the tide, rounding the point and having the current broken by the masses of the great rock, rolls with inconceivable rapidity. I had too often watched from the headland where my home was to be the set of the tide not to know the danger. I shouted as loudly as I could, but for some reason he did not hear me. The moments ere the tide should turn seemed like ages; and yet it was with a sudden shock that I heard the gurgle of moving water followed by the lap, lap, lap, getting quicker each second. Somewhere inland a clock struck twelve.

The tide had turned and was beginning to flow.

In a few seconds the swimmer felt its effects, though he did not seem to notice them. Then he was swept towards the north. All at once there was a muffled cry which seemed to reach slowly to where we stood, and the swimmer rolled over for an instant. It was only too apparent what had happened; he had struck his arm against one of the sunken rocks and injured it. Then he commenced a mad struggle for life, swimming without either arm in that deadly current which grew faster and faster every moment. He was breathless, and now and again his head dipped; but he kept on valiantly. At last in one of these dips, borne by the momentum of his own strength and the force of the current, he struck his head against another of the sunken rocks. For an instant he raised it, and I could see it run red in the glare of the moonlight.

Then he sank; from the height where I stood I could see the body roll over and over in the fierce current which made for the outmost point to the north-east of the promontory. I ran over as fast as I could, Gormala following. When I came to the rock, which here shelved, I plunged in and after a few strokes met by chance the body as it rolled upward. With a desperate effort I brought it to land.

The struggle to lift the body from the water and to bear it up the rock exhausted me, so that when I reached the top of the cliff I had to pause for a few seconds to breathe hard. Since the poor fellow’s struggle for life had begun I had never for an instant given the prophecy a thought. But now, all at once, as I looked past the figure, lying limp before me with the poor arms twisted unnaturally and the head turned—away past the moonlit sea and the great, golden orb whose track was wrinkled over the[36] racing tide, the full force of it burst upon me, and I felt a sort of spiritual transformation. The air seemed full of fluttering wings; sea and land alike teemed with life that I had not hitherto dreamed of. I fell in a sort of spiritual trance. But the open eyes were upon me; I feared the man was dead, but Briton-like I would not accept the conviction without effort. So I raised the body to my shoulders, determined to make with what speed I could for Whinnyfold where fire and willing hands could aid in restoration. As I laid the limp body across my shoulders, holding the two hands in my right hand to steady the burden whilst with the left I drew some of the clothing tight, I caught Gormala’s eye. She had not helped me in any possible way, though more than once in distress I had called to her. So now I said angrily:

“Get away woman! You should be ashamed of yourself never to help at such a time,” and I took my way unaided. I did not heed at the time her answer, spoken with a certain measure of deprecation, though it afterwards came back to me:

“Am I to wark against the Fates when They have spoken! The Dead are dead indeed when the Voice has whispered in their ears!”

Now, as I passed along with the hands of the dead man in mine—the true shell of a man whose spirit could be but little space away whilst the still blood in the veins was yet warm—a strange thing began to happen. The spirits of earth and sea and air seemed to take shape to me, and all the myriad sounds of the night to have a sentient cause of utterance. As I panted and struggled on, my physical effort warring equally with the new spiritual experience so that nothing remained except sentience and memory, I could see Gormala walking abreast me with even steps. Her eyes glared balefully with a fierce disappointment; never once did she remit the vigilant,[37] keen look which seemed to pierce into my very soul.

For a short space of time there was something of antagonism to her; but this died away imperceptibly, and I neither cared nor thought about her, except when my attention would be called to her. I was becoming wrapped in the realisation of the mightier forces around me.

Just where the laneway from the cliff joins Whinnyfold there is a steep zigzag path running down to the stony beach far below where the fishers keep their boats and which is protected from almost the wildest seas by the great black rock—the Caudman,—which fills the middle of the little bay, leaving deep channels on either hand. When I was come to this spot, suddenly all the sounds of the night seemed to cease. The very air grew still so that the grasses did not move or rustle, and the waters of the swirling tide ceased to run in grim silence on their course. Even to that inner sense, which was so new to me that the change in everything to which it was susceptible became at once noticeable, all things stood still. It was as though the spirits of earth and air and water were holding their breath for some rare portent. Indeed I noticed as my eye ranged the surface of the sea, that the moon track was for the time no longer rippled, but lay in a broad glistening band.

The only living thing in all the wide world was, it seemed to me, the figure of Gormala as, with lowering eyes and suspended breath, she stood watching me with uncompromising, persistent sternness.

Then my own heart seemed to stand still, to be a part of the grim silence of the waiting forces of the world. I was not frightened; I was not even amazed. All seemed so thoroughly in keeping with the prevailing influence of the time that I did not feel even a moment of surprise.

Up the steep path came a silent procession of ghostly[38] figures, so misty of outline that through the grey green of their phantom being the rocks and moonlit sea were apparent, and even the velvet blackness of the shadows of the rocks did not lose their gloom. And yet each figure was defined so accurately that every feature, every particle of dress or accoutrement could be discerned. Even the sparkle of their eyes in that grim waste of ghostly grey was like the lambent flashes of phosphoric light in the foam of moving water cleft by a swift prow. There was no need for me to judge by the historical sequence of their attire, or by any inference of hearing; I knew in my heart that these were the ghosts of the dead who had been drowned in the waters of the Cruden Skares.

Indeed the moments of their passing—and they were many for the line was of sickening length—became to me a lesson of the long flight of time. At the first were skin-clad savages with long, wild hair matted; then others with rude, primitive clothing. And so on in historic order men, aye, and here and there a woman, too, of many lands, whose garments were of varied cut and substance. Red-haired Vikings and black-haired Celts and Phoenicians, fair-haired Saxons and swarthy Moors in flowing robes. At first the figures, chiefly of the barbarians, were not many; but as the sad procession passed along I could see how each later year had brought its ever-growing tale of loss and disaster, and added more and faster to the grim harvest of the sea. A vast number of the phantoms had passed when there came along a great group which at once attracted my attention. They were all swarthy, and bore themselves proudly under their cuirasses and coats of mail, or their garb as fighting men of the sea. Spaniards they were, I knew from their dress, and of three centuries back. For an instant my heart leapt; these were men of the great Armada, come up from the wreck of some lost galleon or patache to visit once[39] again the glimpses of the Moon. They were of lordly mien, with large aquiline features and haughty eyes. As they passed, one of them turned and looked at me. As his eyes lit on me, I saw spring into them, as though he were quick, dread, and hate, and fear.

Hitherto I had been impressed, awed, by the indifference of the passing ghosts. They had looked nowhere, but with steady, silent, even tread had passed on their way. But when this one looked at me it was a glance from the spirit world which chilled me to the very soul.

But he too passed on. I stood at the head of the winding path, having the dead man still on my shoulders and looking with sinking heart at the sad array of the victims of the Cruden Skares. I noticed that most who came now were seamen, with here and there a group of shoresmen and a few women amongst them. The fishermen were many, and without exception wore great sea boots. And so with what patience I could I waited for the end.

At length it came in the shape of a dim figure of great stature, and both of whose arms hung limp. The blood from a gash on his forehead had streamed on to his golden beard, and the golden eyes looked far away. With a shudder I saw that this was the ghost of the man whose body, now less warm, lay upon my shoulders; and so I knew that Lauchlane Macleod was dead. I was relieved when I saw that he did not even look at me; though as I moved on, following the procession, he walked beside me with equal steps, stopping and moving as I stopped and moved.

The silence of death was upon the little hamlet of Whinnyfold. There was not a sign of life; not a dog barked as the grim procession had moved up the steep path or now filed across the running stream and moved along the footpath toward Cruden. Gormala with eager eyes kept watching me; and as the minutes wore on I[40] began to resume my double action of thought, for I could see in her face that she was trying to reason out from my own expression something of what I was looking at. As we moved along she now began to make suggestions to me in a fierce whisper, evidently hoping that she might learn something from my acquiescence in, or negation of, her thought. Through that ghostly silence her living voice cut with the harshness of a corncrake.

“Shearing the silence of the night with ragged edge.”

Perhaps it was for the best; looking back now on that awful experience, I know that no man can say what his mind may suffer in the aftertime who walks alone with the Dead. That I was strung to some amazing pitch was manifested by the fact that I did not seem to feel the great weight which lay upon my shoulders. I have naturally vast strength and the athletic training of my youth had developed it highly. But the weight of an ordinary man is much to hold or carry for even a short time, and the body which I bore was almost that of a giant.

The path across the neck of land which makes the Skares a promontory is flat, with here and there a deep cleft like a miniature ravine where the water from the upland rushes in flood time down to the sea. All these rills were now running strong, but I could hear no sound of murmuring water, no splash as the streams leapt over the edge of the cliff on the rocks below in whitening spray. The ghostly procession did not pause at any of these streams, but moved on impassively to the farther side where the path trends down to the sands of Cruden Bay. Gormala stood a moment watching my eyes as they swept the long line passing the angle so that I could see them all at once. That she guessed something was evident from her speech:

“They are many; his eyes range wide!” I started,[41] and she knew that she had guessed aright. This one guess seemed to supply her with illimitable data; she evidently knew something of the spirit world, though she could not see into its mysteries. Her next words brought enlightenment to me:

“They are human spirits; they follow the path that the feet o’ men hae made!”

It was so. The procession did not float over the surface of field or sand, but took its painful way down the zigzag of the cliff and over the rocky path through the great boulders of the foreshore. When the head of it reached the sand, it passed along the summit of the ridge, just as every Sunday night the fishermen of Whinnyfold and Collieston did in returning to their herring boats at Peterhead.

The tramp across the sands was long and dreary. Often as I had taken that walk in rain or storm, with the wind almost sweeping me off my feet whilst the sand drift from the bent-covered hills almost cut my cheeks and ears, I had never felt the way to be so long or so hard to travel. Though I did not realise it at the time, the dead man’s weight was beginning to tell sorely upon me. Across the Bay I could see the few lights in the village of Port Erroll that were to be seen at such a time of night; and far over the water came the cold grey light which is the sign of the waning of the night rather than of the coming of the morning.

When we came to the Hawklaw, the head of the procession turned inward through the sandhills. Gormala, watching my eyes, saw it and an extraordinary change came over her. For an instant she was as if stricken, and stood stock still. Then she raised her hands in wonder, and said in an awed whisper:

“The Holy Well! They gang to St. Olaf’s well! The Lammas floods will aye serve them weel.”

With an instinct of curiosity strong upon me I hurried on so as to head the procession. As I moved along the rough path amongst the sandhills I felt the weight of the burden on my shoulders grow heavier and heavier, so that my feet dragged as do the feet of one in a night-mare. As I moved on, I looked round instinctively and saw that the shade of Lauchlane Macleod no longer kept pace with me, but retained its place in the procession. Gormala’s evil eye was once more upon me, but with her diabolical cunning she guessed the secret of my looking round. She moved along, not with me but at the rate she had been going as though she liked or expected to remain in juxtaposition to the shade of the dead man; some purpose of her own was to be fulfilled.

As I pressed on, the shades around me seemed to grow dimmer and dimmer still; till at the last I could see little more than a film or haze. When I came to St. Olaf’s well—then merely a rough pool at the base of the high land that stretches back from the Hawklaw—the ghostly mist was beginning to fade into the water. I stood hard by, and the weight upon my shoulders became dreadful. I could hardly stand; I determined, however, to hold on as long as I could and see what would happen. The dead man, too, was becoming colder! I did not know whether the dimming of the shadows was from this cause, or because the spirit of the man was farther away. It was possibly both, for as the silent, sad procession came on I could see more distinctly. When the wraith of the Spaniard turned and looked at me, he seemed once more to look with living eyes from a living soul. Then there was a dreary wait whilst the rest came along and passed in awesome stillness down into the well and disappeared. The weight upon my shoulders now became momentarily more intolerable. At last I could bear it no longer, and half bending I allowed the body[43] to slip to the ground, I only holding the hands to steady the descent. Gormala was now opposite to me, and seeing what I had done leaped towards me with a loud cry. For one dim moment the wraith of the dead man stood above its earthly shell; and then I saw the ghostly vision no more.

At that instant, just as Gormala was about to touch the dead body, there was a loud hiss and murmur of waters. The whole pool burst up in a great fountain, scattering sand and water around for a wide space. I rushed back; Gormala did the same.

Then the waters receded again, and when I looked, the corpse of Lauchlane Macleod was gone. It was swallowed up in the Holy Well.

Overcome with physical weariness and strange horror of the scene I sank down on the wet sand. The scene whirled round me.... I remember no more.

Monday's Illustrated Word: Untitled Story by Unknown Writer (in English) - I

  art by Al Camy - Zip Comics#23 - Archie, February 1942.

You can read the conclusion of this story here.

 

 

Sermon on the Cure of the Centurion’s Servant by St. Vincent Ferrer (translated into English)

Mt 8:5-8 Douay trans.

5 And when he had entered into Capharnaum, there came to him a centurion, beseeching him, 6 And saying, Lord, my servant lieth at home sick of the palsy, and is grievously tormented. 7 And Jesus saith to him: I will come and heal him. 8 And the centurion making answer, said: Lord, I am not worthy that thou shouldst enter under my roof: but only say the word, and my servant shall be healed.

 

 “I will come and heal him,” (Mt 8:7). It is a general teaching in holy theology that in every conversion of a sinner from an evil life to a good one, and from sin to grace, from vice to virtue, in that conversion, if it be true, God is always first present, through grace. The power of any creature is insufficient for that conversion, of man or of angel, because “Without me you can do nothing,” (Jn 15:5). It is a conclusion of all the theologians. And this conclusion can be declared through a rule for the general conversion and redemption of the world, for which God himself principally comes. No one else was able or sufficient for this work. It is like in a large hospital in which many sick people are lying, suffering from an incurable illness, where it is necessary that a great doctor must come to cure them. We all are lying in the hospital of this world, with the great illnesses of sins. For this reason the great doctor comes from his office in paradise to practice, and cure the sick. And so Augustine on the text of Matthew 9:13: “For I am not come to call the just, but sinners,” says “The great doctor comes to us from heaven, because the whole world lies sick.” It is clear therefore that for universal redemption his coming was necessary.

So I say that in the conversion of the sinner, it is principally necessary for him to come, because no one else would be sufficient. And so David understanding this conclusions in the spirit of prophecy, and the teaching about his coming, thanking God, says to his soul in Ps 102: “Bless the Lord, O my soul: and let all that is within me bless his holy name.  Bless the Lord, O my soul, and never forget all he has done for you. Who forgives all your iniquities: who heals all your diseases,” (Ps 102:1-3). And so when that Centurion about whom today’s gospel speaks, pleads with Christ, that he would go to cure his servant, Christ responds, “I will come and heal him,” (Mt 8:7).

But why does he say “I will come,” because he did not go, nor intended to go. Did he not tell a lie? I reply, according to the teachers, that when God cured something in the body, he also cured in the soul, because the work of God is perfect. And so he said, he would make the whole man healthy, “I have healed the whole man,” (Jn 7:23), the whole, i.e. in body and soul.   And unless he comes through grace, no soul can be cured, and so because of this he says, “I will come,” – not by bodily presence but through spiritual grace – “and heal him,” (Mt 8:7).

Since, therefore Christ is the proper and immediate doctor of the soul of the sinner, let us see how he might cure the sick soul. This matter is very subtle, and so I shall explain it to you through a comparison to a physical doctor, who in curing the body does seven things. For a good doctor first wishes to examine the patient, who generally is lying in his closed room, hidden. Second, the doctor lights a lamp and looks at his face, in the light of which he recognizes his interior condition.

 

First his face is examined. [facies eius inspicitur]

Second his pulse is taken, [pulsus tangitur]

Third his urine is inspected, [urina attenditur]

Fourth a diet is prescribed, [dieta praecipitur]

Fifth, a medicine is given, [syrupus immittitur]

Sixth a purgation is performed, [purgatio tribuitur]

Seventh, dining is allowed. [refectio conceditur]

 

Christ the heavenly doctor, observes all these things, in order, in curing a sinner’s soul.

 

FACE EXAMINED

First he wants to see his face, i.e. the disposition of the sinner, because he lies in the dark room of guilt, on the bed of sin, nor does he see the danger of the demons who are watching him. Because if the sinner could see clearly the good which he lost through sin, and the evil which he incurred, and the danger which he is in, he would immediately flee from sin. And so David says, speaking of sinners in Ps 81: “They have not known nor understood: they walk on in darkness,” (v. 5). Note, when he says “They have not known,” good things, namely those which they have lost, “nor understood,” the evil things which they have incurred, “they walk on in darkness,” not seeing the danger in which they are, of falling into hell if they were then to die.   But when Christ comes he lights the lamp of his mercy, which he sets before his face, i.e. the conscience of the sinner, lighting it up, so that he might recognize his sins. When the religious says, “O wretched me, for so many years I was…” etc. Same for a clergyman and layman.  He is then enlightened by the ray of divine mercy, when he recognizes his evil life, and the sins which he committed. So scripture says, “The spirit of a man is the lamp of the Lord, which searches all the hidden things of the bowels,” (Prov 20:27), that is, of the mind.

Christ observes this practice, and it served in the cure of St. Peter, who on the night of his passion, when he denied him, in the first denial did not recognize sin, because he was lying in a dark room, nor in the second, nor in the third, but the text says that the cock crowed. “And the Lord turning looked on Peter. And Peter remembered the word, which Jesus said to him: “Before the cock crows, you shall deny me three times. And Peter going out, wept bitterly,” (Lk 22:61-62). Note that Christ did not look at Peter in his first denial, nor in the second, but after the third, after the cock crowed. But why did he look at him more then than before?

St. Gregory says in his “Moralibus” that the cock crowing signifies the preacher for two reasons. First because the cock, before he crows, excites himself, when he strikes himself with his wings. So the preacher should first excite himself, exciting himself with two wings, and striking himself: first he ought to free himself from sin, second he should maintain a good life. Because if one wished to preach humility, he should see that he is not proud, and so for the rest. And so the Apostle says, “For I dare not to speak of any of those things which Christ works not by me,” (Rom 15:18). And, “I chastise my body, and bring it into subjection: lest perhaps, when I have preached to others, I myself should become a castaway,” (1Cor 9:27).

The second reason is, because the rooster crows stronger and more often at the end of the night as day approaches. So the preacher should preach stronger and more often now ,at the end of the night of this life, with the day of judgment approaching. And note here how God poses many questions to Job, among which were these, saying, “Who has put wisdom in the heart of man? or who gave the cock understanding?” (Job 38:36). He isn’t speaking of the rooster, the animal, but the “rooster” spiritual preacher who ought to have the wisdom of avoiding sins and clinging to a good life, and the understanding of preaching, especially now, at the end of night, so that the people might awaken from their sins. When, therefore the rooster crows – the preacher by preaching – then Christ gazes at us by enlightening us. Then you come to a recognition and remembrance of your sins. Behold the first procedure of the medicinal cure by Our Lord Jesus Christ.

 

TAKING THE PULSE

The second work of a physical doctor is to take a pulse. So too Christ, in the contrition of the heart. For contrition is a certain medicinal touch of the hand of Christ on the artery of the heart. Like a doctor he takes the pulse with his whole hand, but one finger especially senses. So also Christ, takes the pulse with the hand of his mercy, which hand has five fingers, i.e. five motives for contrition. And the first is fear of eternal damnation, which is like the thumb, because commonly sinners begin contrition from this motive, from fear. Second is the pain of damnation, because from sins he lost all his merit, so much so that if he died then nothing of his good deeds would count for him. And so he weeps, like a merchant who lost everything. Third is the pain of loss, because he lost his inheritance of paradise. How he would be devastated. It would be like the pain of the prince, the king’s firstborn, who because of his guilt would lose the inheritance of the kingdom. Fourth is most important, when you think that by sinning you have offended your creator, who has given you so many good things. Fifth by thinking how you by your sins have made yourself an enemy of the angels and all the citizens of heaven, as if all of this city would be your archenemies; that friendship has deteriorated. It is clear then that true contrition is nothing other than a certain medicinal touch of the divine hand. About this scripture has, “…and I went away in bitterness in the indignation of my spirit,” and so, “the hand of the Lord was with me, strengthening me,” (Ez 3:14), giving contrition and a purpose of not returning to sins. And so confessors, at the end of a confession ought to ask, “Do those sins displease you, and do you have a purpose of not returning to them?” If he says, “No,” he ought not to be absolved.

 

EXAMINING THE URINE

Third, the urine is examined. For in the water a doctor recognizes illness and the disposition of the body. Behold, here, oral confession, for through confession is revealed and shown the interior disposition of the sinner. Confession is like a urinal, in which the stinking urine of the sinner, existing within him, is revealed to the confessor, and there the illnesses of the soul are recognized. But it is required that the urine be clear, i. e. that his sins be confessed clearly.   Note, against those who minimize and excuse themselves, confessing by accusing others. It is necessary indeed to show clearly the urine of a bad life to the confessor, by accusing oneself, bravely telling the truth. And so I give this counsel, lest you make your confession with those “confessionals” [possibly handbooks of sins for the penitent], well ordered and not heartfelt, because there is a double error. First, accusing yourself of sins which you have not committed is a mortal sin, of lying in confession. Second because through those generalities many sins are glossed over. Those confessions [or “confessionals”] are only for remembering sins, but not for confessing them.

Also it is required that the door of the urinal be closed, lest in confession you might reveal the sin of another. For example if someone has sinned with a sister or daughter, he should turn away, so he might seek out a confessor who does not know his sister or daughter, lest the sin be revealed. If however he does not find such a confessor he ought so to say, “Father I have sinned with one very close to me.” This is the mind of St. Thomas in IV Sent. Dist. 16, namely to preserve the good name of another in confession.

A figurative example of confession is found in scripture: “Joshua said to Achan: My son, give glory to the Lord God of Israel, and confess, and tell me what you have done, hide it not.  And Achan answered Joshua, and said to him: Indeed I have sinned against the Lord the God of Israel, and thus and thus have I done,” (Jos 7:19-20). Note when it is said, “My son,” here confessors have an example of how they should speak gently to the sinner. And so the Apostle speaks to confessors: “If a man be overtaken in any fault, you, who are spiritual, instruct such a one in the spirit of meekness,” (Gal 6:1). Second [Joshua] says, “give glory to the Lord God of Israel,” because honor which is given to the confessor, is given to God, because the confessor takes the place of God. Note, this is against those who come to confession very casually, as if they were dancing, etc.

 

DIET IS PRESCRIBED

Fourth, a diet is prescribed, having recognized the illness, and this happens in the restriction of life and abstinence from the occasion of sins. For example, For a diet which Christ gives by means of the confessor, to the proud, the vain, the pompous, is that they be humbled. Same for a vain woman, and so for the other sins of lust and greed etc. Note, this is against some confessors who know only to give a diet of masses, to each sick person. They prescribe the same medicine. Note also against those who prefer not to keep to the diet given by the confessor for the health of their soul, but would well keep a diet given by a medical doctor for the health of their body. And so the Apostle Peter: “Dearly beloved, I beseech you as strangers and pilgrims, to refrain yourselves from carnal desires which war against the soul,” (1Pet 2:11).

 

MEDICINAL SYRUP IS SWALLOWED

Fifth, the medicine [syrupus] is swallowed. This happens in grace and devout prayer. Syrup is sweet; so prayer is sweet. Would it not seems to you sweet, if at any hour you could speak with the king or the Pope?   In devout prayer a man is speaking with Christ the King, and Pope. And he replies in his own way by giving consolation, illuminations, good resolves, and things like that. But many are deaf, and do not hear. But David the prophet heard, and so he said in prayer in Ps. 118: “How sweet are your words to my palate! more than honey to my mouth,” (v. 103).

Second the syrup-medicine is taken in the morning and in the evening, in a certain measure; so many Our Fathers and so many Hail Marys, etc.

Third the syrup-medicine is taken mixed with warm water. So also when in prayer God grants you some tears, etc. about which it is said, “…and give us for our drink tears in measure?” (Ps 79:6).   About this Christ said, ” we ought always to pray,” morning and evening, “and not to faint,” (Lk 18:1).

 

PURGATION IS PERFORMED

Sixth, purgation is performed.   This happens in the restitution of things taken, and the forgiveness of injuries. Purgation expels bitter corrupt humors, superfluous, and it expels them. Purgation is used against cholera, and it signifies that we should forgive injuries for God’s sake, close our eyes to them. Say whatever you wish. It is necessary to rehabilitate the unjust. You, robber, if you have something at home which you stole, or you loan-sharks, or you slave drivers, you judge, you lawyer, you merchant, you cleric, if you obtained your position by bribery, the purgation of restitution is necessary if you wish to be saved. So it is said, “The sin is not remitted, unless the stolen is returned.” It is a rule of the theologians, and the jurists, 14, q. 6 Si res.   Certainly one says that this purgation is hard. Other medicines please me more. A remedy against this bitterness is to taste the sting in one bite of a bitter red apple. This happens by thinking of the bitterness of eternal damnation and death, through which, either by force or voluntarily it is necessary for you to give up everything which you have. Better to give it up now, by meritoriously restoring. Whence Jerome, to Paulinus, last chapter, “It is easy to despise everything, who always thinks that he is about to die. With the remedy of this thought purgation of restitution is easily accepted. So the Apostle Paul, “Render therefore to all men their due… Owe no man any thing,” (Rom 13:17-16).

 

DINNER IS PERMITTED

Seventh, dining is permitted, when for building up strength, meat is offered – not beef or veal, but chicken. And this happens in Holy Communion, because, restitution having been made, man can receive communion, and eat the Lamb, the Son of that blessed ewe, the Virgin Mary. The meat is most delicate, and wine is drunk, his blood, which is contained in the host. So he himself said, “For my flesh is meat indeed: and my blood is drink indeed. He who eats my flesh, and drinks my blood, abides in me, and I in him,” (Jn 6:56-57). Just as the body of a sick person is strengthened by eating, so the soul in worthy communion. But just as for the sick person it would be deadly to eat meat before purgation, so would it be for the sinner, to receive communion before making restitution. See therefore why he says, “I will come and heal him,” (Mt 8:7), which is the theme. Thanks be to God.