The Boats of the Glen-Carrig | Page 2

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