As I advanced, I left all human sounds behind. The red town, piled high
on the cliff, grew dwarfed in the distance. I entered into a world of
nature and loneliness. Larks sprang from under my feet and rose into the
air caroling. Overhead the besom of the wind was busy, sweeping the
sky. From cliffs came the shy, old-fashioned fragrance of wall-flowers
nestling in crannies. Yellow furze ran like a flame through the bracken.
Far out from shore waves leapt and flashed, clapping their hands in
the maddening sunshine. My cheeks were damp and my lips were salt with
in-blown spray. It was one of those mornings of exultation which come to
us rarely and only in youth, when the joy of the flesh is roused within
us, we know not why, and every nerve is set tingling with health--and
the world, as seen through our eyes, clothes itself afresh to symbolize
the gay abandon of our mood.
The fluttering of something white, low down by the water’s edge, caught
my attention. Out of sheer idleness I became curious. It was about a
quarter of a mile distant when I first had sight of it. Just behind it
lay the battered hull of an old wreck, masts shorn away and leaning
over on its side. A sea-gull wheeled above the prow, flew out to sea and
returned again, showing that it had been disturbed and was distressed.
As I approached, I discovered the white thing to be the stooping figure
of a child; by her hair I recognized her. Her skirts were kilted up
about her tiny waist and she was bare-legged. I could see no one with
her, so I waited till she should look up, lest I should frighten her.
Then, “Hulloa, little ’un,” I shouted. “Going to let me come and play
with you?”
She spread apart her small legs, like an infant Napoleon, and brushed
back the curls from her eyes. Her cheeks were flushed with exertion. She
looked even prettier and more faery than she had on the previous night.
“Why, you ith the man what found me!” she cried.
She made such speed as she could across the pebbles to greet me. It was
hard going for her bare little feet. When she came opposite to me, she
halted with a solemn childish air of dignity. “I want to fank you,” she
said, “and tho doth Vi.”
She stood gazing at me shyly. When I bent down to take her hand in mine,
she pursed her mouth, showing me what was expected.
I asked her what she was playing. She shook her curls, at a loss for
words. “Jest thomething,” she said, and invited me to come and join.
I took her in my arms to save her the rough return journey. She showed
no fear of me. Soon we were chatting on the lonely beach, firm friends,
quite gaily together. She showed me the channel she had scooped out,
leading into the miniature harbor. Every time the surf ran up the shore
the harbor filled with water. In the basin was a piece of wood, which
floated when the surf ran in, and stranded when it receded.
“What’s that?” I asked her.
“That’s our thip.”
“What’s the name of our ship?”
“I fordet--it’s the big thip in what we came over.”
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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