Wilson's Tales of the Borders and of Scotland, Volume 02
General
Wilson's Tales of the Borders and of Scotland, Volume 02
Scottish Borders (Scotland) -- Fiction
I had accomplished my object; it was evening, and a party of
countrymen were sauntering among the cliffs, waiting for nightfall and
the appearance of the lugger. There are splendid caverns on the coast of
Kirkoswald; and, to while away the time, I had descended to the shore by
a broken and precipitous path, with a view of exploring what are termed
the Caves of Colzean, by far the finest in this part of Scotland. The
evening was of great beauty; the sea spread out from the cliffs to the
far horizon, like the sea of gold and crystal described by the prophet;
and its warm orange hues so harmonized with those of the sky, that,
passing over the dimly-defined line of demarcation, the whole upper and
nether expanse seemed but one glorious firmament, with the dark Ailsa,
like a thunder-cloud, sleeping in the midst. The sun was hastening to
his setting, and threw his strong red light on the wall of rock which,
loftier and more imposing than the walls of even the mighty Babylon,
stretched onward along the beach, headland after headland, till the last
sank abruptly in the far distance, and only the wide ocean stretched
beyond. I passed along the insulated piles of cliff that rise thick
along the basis of the precipices--now in sunshine, now in shadow--till
I reached the opening of one of the largest caves. The roof rose more
than fifty feet over my head--a broad stream of light, that seemed
redder and more fiery from the surrounding gloom, slanted inwards, and,
as I paused in the opening, my shadow, lengthened and dark, fell athwart
the floor--a slim and narrow bar of black--till lost in the gloom of the
inner recess. There was a wild and uncommon beauty in the scene that
powerfully affected the imagination; and I stood admiring it in that
delicious dreamy mood in which one can forget all but the present
enjoyment, when I was roused to a recollection of the business of the
evening by the sound of a footfall echoing from within. It seemed
approaching by a sort of cross passage in the rock, and, in a moment
after, a young man, one of the country people whom I had left among the
cliffs above, stood before me. He wore a broad Lowland bonnet, and his
plain homely suit of coarse russet seemed to bespeak him a peasant of
perhaps the poorest class; but, as he emerged from the gloom, and the
red light fell full on his countenance, I saw an indescribable something
in the expression that in an instant awakened my curiosity. He was
rather above the middle size, of a frame the most muscular and compact I
have almost ever seen, and there was a blended mixture of elasticity and
firmness in his tread, that to one accustomed, as I had been, to
estimate the physical capabilities of men, gave evidence of a union of
immense personal strength with great activity. My first idea regarding
the stranger--and I know not how it should have struck me--was that of a
very powerful frame, animated by a double portion of vitality. The red
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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