While it wasn't really
cold the force of the gale made it seem so and I was wet in the
extreme. The rain was driven horizontal and it even tasted salty,
there was so much spray in it.
Miserable as my condition seemed, I was
exhausted and I must have dozed for a while. When I woke, which
might just as easily have been a fleeting moment or two or a much
longer period, the wind had shifted a little and my boulder was not
protecting me as much. I crawled to the lee side of it and found
not only less wind but more of an overhang and two sheep
sheltering. I crawled in behind the sheep and felt a bit warmer as
we snuggled up together. Beyond the rock the wind was more than a
gale. It tore small bushes up by the roots and flattened the grass;
it drove rain and sand before it like a solid wall and a regular
little stream ran down the side of the rock. With better shelter
and a little warmth I was more comfortable. I scraped a little
hollow in the sandy ground for my hip and fell into a fitful
sleep.
I woke once with thirst which I quenched from
the water streaming down by the rock and again as the sky
lightened. I thought the storm had eased a little, but the wind
still howled like a boar in agony, trying to raise the dead from
their graves. I thought I would stay in the shelter a bit longer,
and must have fallen asleep again.
When the elements had calmed still further
and the wind dropped to something like a mere gale, I crawled out
from the shelter and began to walk somewhat stiffly along the shore
of the high island. I knew there was a village close to the beach
on the sheltered side, I had even been there a time or two. I hoped
I could find it now.
The waves were still angrier than I had ever
seen them, white topped, grey and rasping viciously on the shore. I
wondered that I had survived them and thought that few would have
done likewise. I walked on. Walked is an inadequate word,
suggestive of a stroll on a sunny day. The wind had dropped only
slightly and the rain was still a torrent. I struggled, stumbled,
fought, staggered, lurched, limped in a near stupor.
At length I came to the village. I almost
missed it but for the smoke from only one house and the lowing of
some cattle down in the byre.
I was so glad to get underground and away
from the storm that I didn't notice at first how empty it was. I
just went into the first house and there she was, keeping a fire
burning high, the girl who had been my mate in the great
marriage.
"Come under the blanket and warm up," she
said practically, "You must be frozen as well as drenched."
I stripped off my sodden clothes and climbed
into the bed with her. She may have sounded practical when she
invited me to warm myself, but she was other things too. Afterwards
I slept in the dark warmth.
I was woken by the smell of cooking - a stew
and some cakes of bread - and realised I was starving. I was part
way through the meal before it struck me how quiet the village was.
With five or more nursing mothers and several young children it
should not have been so silent and still.
"Where are the others?" I asked her.
"Gone." she answered, not, I thought, very
helpfully. "I knew you would come here so I waited in the
village."
"Gone where?" I wanted to know.
"They saw the fires you started in the big
people's settlement. They saw it burn and celebrated your victory.
Then they thought it was safe to return."
"But I didn't send for them. What they saw
was just a distraction."
"They were distracted," she said with a flat
simplicity.
I wondered whether they got back to land
before the storm and whether they had survived the elements if they
had made it over the water. I was not at all sure of the little
ones and the oldest ones.
"When did they leave?" I asked.
"Just before the storm," she said. "I doubt
if they landed before the worst of it."
My heart sank. There was little chance that
they would have survived. She was practical about it.
"I am young. With luck I can bear
cold the force of the gale made it seem so and I was wet in the
extreme. The rain was driven horizontal and it even tasted salty,
there was so much spray in it.
Miserable as my condition seemed, I was
exhausted and I must have dozed for a while. When I woke, which
might just as easily have been a fleeting moment or two or a much
longer period, the wind had shifted a little and my boulder was not
protecting me as much. I crawled to the lee side of it and found
not only less wind but more of an overhang and two sheep
sheltering. I crawled in behind the sheep and felt a bit warmer as
we snuggled up together. Beyond the rock the wind was more than a
gale. It tore small bushes up by the roots and flattened the grass;
it drove rain and sand before it like a solid wall and a regular
little stream ran down the side of the rock. With better shelter
and a little warmth I was more comfortable. I scraped a little
hollow in the sandy ground for my hip and fell into a fitful
sleep.
I woke once with thirst which I quenched from
the water streaming down by the rock and again as the sky
lightened. I thought the storm had eased a little, but the wind
still howled like a boar in agony, trying to raise the dead from
their graves. I thought I would stay in the shelter a bit longer,
and must have fallen asleep again.
When the elements had calmed still further
and the wind dropped to something like a mere gale, I crawled out
from the shelter and began to walk somewhat stiffly along the shore
of the high island. I knew there was a village close to the beach
on the sheltered side, I had even been there a time or two. I hoped
I could find it now.
The waves were still angrier than I had ever
seen them, white topped, grey and rasping viciously on the shore. I
wondered that I had survived them and thought that few would have
done likewise. I walked on. Walked is an inadequate word,
suggestive of a stroll on a sunny day. The wind had dropped only
slightly and the rain was still a torrent. I struggled, stumbled,
fought, staggered, lurched, limped in a near stupor.
At length I came to the village. I almost
missed it but for the smoke from only one house and the lowing of
some cattle down in the byre.
I was so glad to get underground and away
from the storm that I didn't notice at first how empty it was. I
just went into the first house and there she was, keeping a fire
burning high, the girl who had been my mate in the great
marriage.
"Come under the blanket and warm up," she
said practically, "You must be frozen as well as drenched."
I stripped off my sodden clothes and climbed
into the bed with her. She may have sounded practical when she
invited me to warm myself, but she was other things too. Afterwards
I slept in the dark warmth.
I was woken by the smell of cooking - a stew
and some cakes of bread - and realised I was starving. I was part
way through the meal before it struck me how quiet the village was.
With five or more nursing mothers and several young children it
should not have been so silent and still.
"Where are the others?" I asked her.
"Gone." she answered, not, I thought, very
helpfully. "I knew you would come here so I waited in the
village."
"Gone where?" I wanted to know.
"They saw the fires you started in the big
people's settlement. They saw it burn and celebrated your victory.
Then they thought it was safe to return."
"But I didn't send for them. What they saw
was just a distraction."
"They were distracted," she said with a flat
simplicity.
I wondered whether they got back to land
before the storm and whether they had survived the elements if they
had made it over the water. I was not at all sure of the little
ones and the oldest ones.
"When did they leave?" I asked.
"Just before the storm," she said. "I doubt
if they landed before the worst of it."
My heart sank. There was little chance that
they would have survived. She was practical about it.
"I am young. With luck I can bear
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