The Blue Lagoon Part 5

"Divil mend them I b'lave that was the long-boat shoutin'."

He took to his oars again and pulled vigorously.

"Paddy," came d.i.c.k's small voice, apparently from nowhere, "where are we now?"

"Sure, we're in a fog; where else would we be? Don't you be affeared."

"I ain't affeared, but Em's s.h.i.+vering."

"Give her me coat," said the oarsman, resting on his oars and taking it off. "Wrap it round her; and when it's round her we'll all let one big halloo together. There's an ould shawl som'er in the boat, but I can't be after lookin' for it now."

He held out the coat and an almost invisible hand took it; at the same moment a tremendous report shook the sea and sky.

"There she goes," said Mr b.u.t.ton; "an' me old fiddle an' all. Don't be frightened, childer; it's only a gun they're firin' for divarsion. Now we'll all halloo togither--are yiz ready?"

"Ay, ay," said d.i.c.k, who was a picker-up of sea terms.

"Halloo!" yelled Pat.

"Halloo! Halloo!" piped d.i.c.k and Emmeline.

A faint reply came, but from where, it was difficult to say. The old man rowed a few strokes and then paused on his oars. So still was the surface of the sea that the chuckling of the water at the boat's bow as she drove forward under the impetus of the last powerful stroke could be heard distinctly. It died out as she lost way, and silence closed round them like a ring.

The light from above, a light that seemed to come through a vast scuttle of deeply m.u.f.fed gla.s.s, faint though it was, almost to extinction, still varied as the little boat floated through the strata of the mist.

A great sea fog is not h.o.m.ogeneous--its density varies: it is honeycombed with streets, it has its caves of clear air, its cliffs of solid vapour, all s.h.i.+fting and changing place with the subtlety of legerdemain. It has also this wizard peculiarity, that it grows with the sinking of the sun and the approach of darkness.

The sun, could they have seen it, was now leaving the horizon.

They called again. Then they waited, but there was no response.

"There's no use bawlin' like bulls to chaps that's deaf as adders,"

said the old sailor, s.h.i.+pping his oars; immediately upon which declaration he gave another shout, with the same result as far as eliciting a reply.

"Mr b.u.t.ton!" came Emmeline's voice.

"What is it, honey?"

"I'm 'fraid."

"You wait wan minit till I find the shawl--here it is, by the same token!--an' I'll wrap you up in it."

He crept cautiously aft to the stern-sheets and took Emmeline in his arms.

"Don't want the shawl," said Emmeline; "I'm not so much afraid in your coat." The rough, tobacco-smelling old coat gave her courage somehow.

"Well, thin, keep it on. d.i.c.ky, are you cowld?"

"I've got into daddy's great coat; he left it behind him."

"Well, thin, I'll put the shawl round me own shoulders, for it's cowld I am. Are ya hungray, childer?"

"No," said d.i.c.k, "but I'm direfully slapy?"

"Slapy, is it? Well, down you get in the bottom of the boat, and here's the shawl for a pilla. I'll be rowin' again in a minit to keep meself warm."

He b.u.t.toned the top b.u.t.ton of the coat.

"I'm a'right," murmured Emmeline in a dreamy voice.

"Shut your eyes tight," replied Mr b.u.t.ton, "or Billy Winker will be dridgin' sand in them.

'Shoheen, shoheen, shoheen, shoheen, Sho-hu-lo, sho-hu-lo.

Shoheen, shoheen, shoheen, shoheen, Hush a by the babby O.'"

It was the tag of an old nursery folk-song they sing in the hovels of the Achill coast fixed in his memory, along with the rain and the wind and the smell of the burning turf, and the grunting of the pig and the knickety-knock of a rocking cradle.

"She's off," murmured Mr b.u.t.ton to himself, as the form in his arms relaxed. Then he laid her gently down beside d.i.c.k. He s.h.i.+fted forward, moving like a crab. Then he put his hand to his pocket for his pipe and tobacco and tinder box. They were in his coat pocket, but Emmeline was in his coat. To search for them would be to awaken her.

The darkness of night was now adding itself to the blindness of the fog. The oarsman could not see even the thole pins. He sat adrift mind and body. He was, to use his own expression, "moithered." Haunted by the mist, tormented by "shapes."

It was just in a fog like this that the Merrows could be heard disporting in Dunbeg bay, and off the Achill coast. Sporting and laughing, and hallooing through the mist, to lead unfortunate fishermen astray.

Merrows are not altogether evil, but they have green hair and teeth, fishes' tails and fins for arms; and to hear them walloping in the water around you like salmon, and you alone in a small boat, with the dread of one coming floundering on board, is enough to turn a man's hair grey.

For a moment he thought of awakening the children to keep him company, but he was ashamed. Then he took to the sculls again, and rowed "by the feel of the water." The creak of the oars was like a companion's voice, the exercise lulled his fears. Now and again, forgetful of the sleeping children, he gave a halloo, and paused to listen. But no answer came.

Then he continued rowing, long, steady, laborious strokes, each taking him further and further from the boats that he was never destined to sight again.

CHAPTER VI

DAWN ON A WIDE, WIDE SEA

"Is it aslape I've been?" said Mr b.u.t.ton, suddenly awaking with a start.

He had s.h.i.+pped his oars just for a minute's rest. He must have slept for hours, for now, behold, a warm, gentle wind was blowing, the moon was s.h.i.+ning, and the fog was gone.

"Is it dhraming I've been?" continued the awakened one.

"Where am I at all, at all? O musha! sure, here I am. O wirra! wirra! I dreamt I'd gone aslape on the main-hatch and the s.h.i.+p was blown up with powther, and it's all come true."

"Mr b.u.t.ton!" came a small voice from the stern-sheets (Emmeline's).

"What is it, honey?"