Literature -- Collections; Mystery fiction; Short stories
"I could n' help thinkun o' Brigus an' them I'd laved in it, an'
then I prayed for 'em; an' I could n' help cryun a'most; but then
I give over agen, an' would n' think, ef I could help it; on'y
tryun to say an odd psalm, all through singun-psalms an' other, for
I knowed a many of 'em by singun wi' Patience, on'y now I cared
more about 'em: I said that one,--
'Sech as in ships an' brickle barks
Into the seas descend,
Their merchantun, through fearful floods,
To compass an' to end:
They men are force-put to behold
The Lard's works, what they be;
An' in the dreadful deep the same
Most marvellous they see.'
An' I said a many more (I can't be accountable how many I said), an'
same uns many times, over: for I would keep on; an' 'ould sometimes
sing 'em very loud in my poor way.
"A poor baste (a silver fox 'e was) comed an' looked at me; an'
when I turned round, he walked away a piece, an' then 'e comed
back, an' looked.
"So I found a high piece, wi' a wall of ice atop for shelter, ef
it comed on to blow; an' so I stood, an' said, an' sung. I knowed
well I was on'y driftun away.
"It was tarrible lonely in the night, when night comed; it's no
use! 'T was tarrible lonely: but I 'ould n' think, ef I could help
it; an' I prayed a bit, an' kep' up my psalms, an' varses out o'
the Bible, I'd a-larned. I had n' a-prayed for sleep, but for wakun
all night, an' there I was, standun.
"The moon was out agen, so bright; an' all the hills of ice shinun
up to her; an' stars twinklun, so busy, all over; an' No'ther'
Lights goun up wi' a faint, blaze, seemunly, from th' ice, an'
meetun up aloft; an' sometimes a great groanun, an' more times
tarrible loud shriekun! There was great white fields, an' great
white hills, like countries, comun down to be destroyed; an' some
great bargs a-goun faster, an' tearun through, breakun others to
pieces; an' the groanun an' screechun,--ef all the dead that ever
was, wi' their white clothes--But no!" said the stout fisherman,
recalling himself from gazing, as he seemed to be, on the far-off
ghastly scene, in memory.
"No!--an' thank 'E's marcy, I'm sittun by my own room. 'E tooked
me off; but 't was a dreadful sight,--it's no use,--ef a body'd
let 'e'sself think! I sid a great black bear, an' hard un growl;
an' 't was feelun, like, to hear un so bold an' so stout, among
all they dreadful things, an' bumby the time 'ould come when 'e
could n' save 'e'sself, do what 'e woul'.
"An' more times 't was all still: on'y swiles bawlun, all over.
Ef it had n' a-been for they poor swiles, how could I stan' it?
Many's the one I'd a-ketched, daytime, an' talked to un, an' patted
un on the head, as ef they'd a-been dogs by the door, like; an'
they'd oose to shut their eyes, an' draw their poor foolish faces
together. It seemed neighbor-like to have some live thing.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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