Of the Atlantic, and now
when she hears them talking of railroads and inland cities where
there is no sea, things she cannot understand, it comes home to her
that her son is gone for ever. She often tells me how she used to
sit on the wall behind the house last year and watch the hooker he
worked in coming out of Kilronan and beating up the sound, and what
company it used to be to her the time they'd all be out.
The maternal feeling is so powerful on these islands that it gives a
life of torment to the women. Their sons grow up to be banished as
soon as they are of age, or to live here in continual danger on the
sea; their daughters go away also, or are worn out in their youth
with bearing children that grow up to harass them in their own turn
a little later.
There has been a storm for the last twenty-four hours, and I have
been wandering on the cliffs till my hair is stiff with salt.
Immense masses of spray were flying up from the base of the cliff,
and were caught at times by the wind and whirled away to fall at
some distance from the shore. When one of these happened to fall on
me, I had to crouch down for an instant, wrapped and blinded by a
white hail of foam.
The waves were so enormous that when I saw one more than usually
large coming towards me, I turned instinctively to hide myself, as
one blinks when struck upon the eyes.
After a few hours the mind grows bewildered with the endless change
and struggle of the sea, and an utter despondency replaces the first
moment of exhilaration.
At the south-west corner of the island I came upon a number of
people gathering the seaweed that is now thick on the rocks. It was
raked from the surf by the men, and then carried up to the brow of
the cliff by a party of young girls.
In addition to their ordinary clothing these girls wore a raw
sheepskin on their shoulders, to catch the oozing sea-water, and
they looked strangely wild and seal-like with the salt caked upon
their lips and wreaths of seaweed in their hair.
For the rest of my walk I saw no living thing but one flock of
curlews, and a few pipits hiding among the stones.
About the sunset the clouds broke and the storm turned to a
hurricane. Bars of purple cloud stretched across the sound where
immense waves were rolling from the west, wreathed with snowy
phantasies of spray. Then there was the bay full of green delirium,
and the Twelve Pins touched with mauve and scarlet in the east.
The suggestion from this world of inarticulate power was immense,
and now at midnight, when the wind is abating, I am still trembling
and flushed with exultation.
I have been walking through the wet lanes in my pampooties in spite
of the rain, and I have brought on a feverish cold.
The wind is terrific. If anything serious should happen to me I
might die here and be nailed in my box, and shoved down into a wet
crevice in the graveyard before any one could know it on the
mainland.
Two days ago a curagh passed from the south island - they can go out
when we are weather-bound because of a sheltered cove in their
island - it was thought in search of the Doctor. It became too rough
afterwards to make the return journey, and it was only this morning
we saw them repassing towards the south-east in a terrible sea.
A four-oared curagh with two men in her besides the rowers -
probably the Priest and the Doctor - went first, followed by the
three-oared curagh from the south island, which ran more danger.
Often when they go for the Doctor in weather like this, they bring
the Priest also, as they do not know if it will be possible to go
for him if he is needed later.
As a rule there is little illness, and the women often manage their
confinements among themselves without any trained assistance. In
most cases all goes well, but at times a curagh is sent off in
desperate haste for the Priest and the Doctor when it is too late.
The baby that spent some days here last year is now established in
the house; I suppose the old woman has adopted him to console
herself for the loss of her own sons.
He is now a well-grown child, though not yet able to say more than a
few words of Gaelic. His favourite amusement is to stand behind the
door with a stick, waiting for any wandering pig or hen that may
chance to come in, and then to dash out and pursue them. There are
two young kittens in the kitchen also, which he ill-treats, without
meaning to do them harm.
Whenever the old woman comes into my room with turf for the fire, he
walks in solemnly behind her with a sod under each arm, deposits
them on the back of the fire with great care, and then flies off
round the corner with his long petticoats trailing behind him.
He has not yet received any official name on the island, as he has
not left the fireside, but in the house they usually speak of him as
'Michaeleen beug' (i.e. 'little small-Michael').
Now and then he is slapped, but for the most part the old woman
keeps him in order with stories of 'the long-toothed hag,' that
lives in the Dun and eats children who are not good.
