Datasets:
Beifengdo
/
Python-Learning

Dataset card Data Studio Files
xet
 Community
text
stringlengths
0
73
there is a "brool" over the sea that sounds like some presage of doom.
Dark figures are on the beach here and there, sometimes half shrouded in
the mist, and seem "men like trees walking." The fishing-boats are
racing for home, and rise and dip in the ground swell as they sweep into
the harbour, bending to the scuppers. Here comes old Mr. Swales. He is
making straight for me, and I can see, by the way he lifts his hat, that
he wants to talk....
I have been quite touched by the change in the poor old man. When he sat
down beside me, he said in a very gentle way:--
"I want to say something to you, miss." I could see he was not at ease,
so I took his poor old wrinkled hand in mine and asked him to speak
fully; so he said, leaving his hand in mine:--
"I'm afraid, my deary, that I must have shocked you by all the wicked
things I've been sayin' about the dead, and such like, for weeks past;
but I didn't mean them, and I want ye to remember that when I'm gone. We
aud folks that be daffled, and with one foot abaft the krok-hooal, don't
altogether like to think of it, and we don't want to feel scart of it;
an' that's why I've took to makin' light of it, so that I'd cheer up my
own heart a bit. But, Lord love ye, miss, I ain't afraid of dyin', not a
bit; only I don't want to die if I can help it. My time must be nigh at
hand now, for I be aud, and a hundred years is too much for any man to
expect; and I'm so nigh it that the Aud Man is already whettin' his
scythe. Ye see, I can't get out o' the habit of caffin' about it all at
once; the chafts will wag as they be used to. Some day soon the Angel of
Death will sound his trumpet for me. But don't ye dooal an' greet, my
deary!"--for he saw that I was crying--"if he should come this very
night I'd not refuse to answer his call. For life be, after all, only a
waitin' for somethin' else than what we're doin'; and death be all that
we can rightly depend on. But I'm content, for it's comin' to me, my
deary, and comin' quick. It may be comin' while we be lookin' and
wonderin'. Maybe it's in that wind out over the sea that's bringin' with
it loss and wreck, and sore distress, and sad hearts. Look! look!" he
cried suddenly. "There's something in that wind and in the hoast beyont
that sounds, and looks, and tastes, and smells like death. It's in the
air; I feel it comin'. Lord, make me answer cheerful when my call
comes!" He held up his arms devoutly, and raised his hat. His mouth
moved as though he were praying. After a few minutes' silence, he got
up, shook hands with me, and blessed me, and said good-bye, and hobbled
off. It all touched me, and upset me very much.
I was glad when the coastguard came along, with his spy-glass under his
arm. He stopped to talk with me, as he always does, but all the time
kept looking at a strange ship.
"I can't make her out," he said; "she's a Russian, by the look of her;
but she's knocking about in the queerest way. She doesn't know her mind
a bit; she seems to see the storm coming, but can't decide whether to
run up north in the open, or to put in here. Look there again! She is
steered mighty strangely, for she doesn't mind the hand on the wheel;
changes about with every puff of wind. We'll hear more of her before
this time to-morrow."
CHAPTER VII
CUTTING FROM "THE DAILYGRAPH," 8 AUGUST
(_Pasted in Mina Murray's Journal._)
From a Correspondent.
_Whitby_.
One of the greatest and suddenest storms on record has just been
experienced here, with results both strange and unique. The weather had
been somewhat sultry, but not to any degree uncommon in the month of
August. Saturday evening was as fine as was ever known, and the great
body of holiday-makers laid out yesterday for visits to Mulgrave Woods,
Robin Hood's Bay, Rig Mill, Runswick, Staithes, and the various trips in
the neighbourhood of Whitby. The steamers _Emma_ and _Scarborough_ made
trips up and down the coast, and there was an unusual amount of
"tripping" both to and from Whitby. The day was unusually fine till the
afternoon, when some of the gossips who frequent the East Cliff
churchyard, and from that commanding eminence watch the wide sweep of
sea visible to the north and east, called attention to a sudden show of
"mares'-tails" high in the sky to the north-west. The wind was then
blowing from the south-west in the mild degree which in barometrical
language is ranked "No. 2: light breeze." The coastguard on duty at once
made report, and one old fisherman, who for more than half a century has
kept watch on weather signs from the East Cliff, foretold in an emphatic
manner the coming of a sudden storm. The approach of sunset was so very
beautiful, so grand in its masses of splendidly-coloured clouds, that
there was quite an assemblage on the walk along the cliff in the old
churchyard to enjoy the beauty. Before the sun dipped below the black
mass of Kettleness, standing boldly athwart the western sky, its
downward way was marked by myriad clouds of every sunset-colour--flame,
purple, pink, green, violet, and all the tints of gold; with here and
there masses not large, but of seemingly absolute blackness, in all
sorts of shapes, as well outlined as colossal silhouettes. The
experience was not lost on the painters, and doubtless some of the
sketches of the "Prelude to the Great Storm" will grace the R. A. and R.
I. walls in May next. More than one captain made up his mind then and
there that his "cobble" or his "mule," as they term the different
classes of boats, would remain in the harbour till the storm had passed.