THE MAN ON THE CRAIG.

Otago Witness, Issue 3804, 8 February 1927, Page 81

THE MAN ON THE CRAIG.

By

Mary E. Sleath.

“Do yon know, girls, they say there’s a man living on that island out there? Weird sort of idea, isn’t it?” Jack Morrison tossed the end of his cigarette up info the air, then 'watched it fall into the sparkling blue water beneath him. For the first time since they had come down to the Harbour Rocks that morning Joyce Morrison (always called JUI) evinced some interest in her hrothw’g conversation. Raising her head from her book, she shaded her eyes with her hand and gazed seaward. “Living on the Craig, Jack,” she repeated incredulously, “but there’s- no place to live. Are you sure?” “No, I’m not sure. I’m merely repeating what I was told.” . r “But what would be the good of staying there with nothing whatever to do? It looks absolutely barren—a bare rock.” “So it is,” agreed her brother. “But there’s no accounting for tastes. Perhaps he’& out for peace. ‘Put me on an island where the girls are few,’ ” lie sang with a merry glance from his sister to his fiance. • This was Jack all over—he had a habit of bursting into song at inconvenient moments. “Sounds exciting, though, doesn’t it, Jill?’ drawled Doris Hislop. “Wouldn’t you like to see the caveman in his cave?” “He’s not living in a cave, silly,” corrected Jack, pulling Doris’s ear gently. “He’s got some kind of tent erection on the far side of the island. I expect he’s some ultra-modern young man having a lark to himself.”

“Why ultra-modern, Jack ?” “Because the ultra-modern idea is to get back to the primitive, of course!” “And how do you know he’s young?” “I don’t know. I was only guessing. Report did not specify his age.” Jill had risen to her feet, a'nd was studying the Craig intently. It was a small island, lying about a mile off from the shore. Year after year, as she returned for her July holiday to North Berwick she had seen it out there in the Forth, but never had it aroused the slightest interest in her except as part of the scenery. It was a very ordinary', dull, insignificant island, inhabited only by a few rabbits -and seabirds. Yet today’, somehow, it appeared different. The gorgeous summer morning, the sapphire blue sky, the sun-kissed wavelets restlessly fretting the rocks, and perhaps most of all the wings of—her own imagination, made of it an enchanted island, a little world of untold romance. She turned slowly to her companions. “I vote we get a boat and row out there this afternoon,” she said. “Oh yes, let’s,” echoed Doris. “I suppose we’d be allowed to land.” “If we can find a landing place I don’t think anyone could stop vs,” returnedJack. “I’ll ask Dick Matthews to come, too —ch, Jill?’’ “You’ll do nothing of the sort,” came the quick decisive answer, a hot flash mantling Jill’s cheeks and brow. A lovely specimen of girlhood she presented—tall and slim, with waving, darkbrown hair, and clear grey eyes of such depths that many men had striven to probe the mysteries their long lashes concealed.' But Jill had remained, heartwhole. a“I can’t think what you can have against Dick Matthews,” her brother

grunted. “A decenter chap I never knew.” Jill shrugged her graceful shoulders. “I’ve nothing against him except that he bores me to tears.’’ “It seems to me that that’s the fault with all your swains.” “You’re quite right, replied candidly. “They are all too ordinary, too conventional, too "puffed up with their own little abilities and exploits. Give me a man, a real man, every time.” “Hear, hear! A Douglas Fairbanks, Ivor Novello, all rolled into one. That’s the stuff! That’s why you prefer the delectable company of your humble brother! Sister dear, I thank you.” Doris laughed aloud, whilst Jill studied her brother solemnly. He was very like his sister, though with darker hair and eyes, and a more decided mouth and chin. “xoti’re not so bad, Jack,” she said with sisterly candour. “Doris might have done much worse.” Doris, a fluffy little creature with fair hair and merry blue eyes, smiled happily and n-estled into the embrace of Jack’s arm. “Well, that’s settled,” said Jill. “We visit the Craig this afternoon. Meanwhile, let’s go and have our dip. The swimming pond will be quieter now, and we can practice graceful diving from the chute.” Taking up a little bundle—her bathing suit wrapped tightly within a towel—she tucked it under her arm, and began to pick her way across the rocks towards the swimming pond, Jack ant} Doris following. On the edge of the rocks they paused. Right below them lay the pond, a beautiful alluring pool of fresh sea water, flashing in the sunshine. A swimmer was performing stunts from the diving board, so they sat down for a moment to watch. Directly underneath the wall of rock were the little green chairs packed with visitors, who cam e there to view the fun. Jill was leaning forward eagerly to watch a special dive, when suddenly the bundle slipped from under her arm. Down it fell, plump on the neck of a man who was sitting underneath reading a newspaper. Then it unrolled itself a t his feet, displaying a green bathing costume artistically bordered with white. The man looked up quickly—surprise, then annoyance, manifesting themselves in Ins glance at the sight of the three laughing faces above him. Then bending down he slowly and deliberately rolled up the bundle, and pacing it on his knee, calmly resumed the interrupted reading of his newspaper. “Gee-whiz,” gasped Jack. ' “What are you going to do about it, Jill?” “Do go and get it from him, Jack—explain that it was an accident. He evidently thinks it was a put-up business.”

“No fear,” returned Jack. “Go and tackle him yourself. I don’t like that strong-silent-man look of his. I’m off to secure cubicles.” And running down the steps he left the girls alone. “I shall die of shame,” said Jill. “You come with me, Doris.” But Doris hung back as they approached the chair and its occupant, and Jill walked forward alone. The man behind the newspaper took no notice. She became more nervous than everT “May I have my bathing costume, please?” she said at last, addressing the newspaper screen. The newspaper was lowered, and Jill found herself looking into the bluest and most humorous eyes she had ever seen In a man. They positively twinkled at her. “Your bathing costume,” said an amused voice. “Why, if this is your bathing costume, madam, I’m tickled to death to know how it got here.” “Pm so sorry,” stammered Jill. “It fell.” The man rose to his feet. He was tall, and deeply tanned, was probably in the early thirties, and wore a light suit of plus fours. “A thousand apologies,” he said. “Permit me to return you your property.” . > And holding out the inelegant bundle as daintily as if it had been a bouquet of roses, he handed it over to Jill. Stammering confused thanks she turned and ran to where Jack and Doris were standing. But all the enjoyment of her morning’s swim was spoilt, for neither the comforting knowledge that she looked well in her bathing costume nor the assurance that she could ’oth swim and dive far better than most could rid her of the persistent, embarrassing feeling that the eyes of one man in the crowd of onlookers were rivetted on every movement of the slim figure in green and white.

It was three o’clock that afternoon when they hired one of the little boats That lay along the beach and rowed out to sea. The day remained fine, no clouds above, the water deep blue. Jack pulled vigorously and well. Soon this little town lay astern—gay, clean, and beautiful in the summer sunshine, the cool green of the golf links extending along the shore and contrasting pleasantly witlr the golden sands and red-roofed houses, whilst in the background, looking down complacently on the crowds of holidaymakers, its great green sentinel, the Law, kept silent watch and ward. It did not take long to reach the Craig, which reared above them—a solid, impregnable mass of rock far more imposing than they had ever imagined. “Let’s go round it once,” said Jill, “and look for a landing place.” Keeping as close to the rocky sides of the island as he dared, Jack rowed cautiously round, while the girls kept their eyes open ostensibly for a convenient spot to land, but really to try to discover signs of habitation or inhabitant. But not a glimpse of either did they see,

and it was Jack who found the landing place. This was just a-flhelving ledge of rock, against which he was able to keep the boat stationery while Jill scrambled ashore with the mooring rope. Jack and Doris followed her, and the boat was quickly made secure. It seemed quite a big island now that they were actually on it. There was no path, and the rough broken rock made their going slow. In the rock cups and crannies, xiarse grasses, clumps of seeding sea-pinks, and a few stunted shrubs and wild flowers’ were growing. All at once, in a sheltered hollow on the far side from North Berwick they came upon an old brown canvas erection, so skilfully camouflaged with greenery and stones that they were not surprised at having missed it from the sea. But still no sign of any inhabitant. “Let’s go back,” said Jill suddenly. “There’s nothing doing here. Besides, it does seem awful cheek to come prying into another person’s business like this, doesn’t it?” “Well, I like that! Who suggested it, I wonder,” cried Jack. “That’s all the thanks We get, Doris, for allowing her to play gooseberry.” And opening his lips, he made the echoes ring and hundreds of sea-birds rise from the cliffs as he gave full voice to the “Merrie England” chorus he was so fond of singing when he specially wanted to tease her:—Oh what a life, throw her a bene, Never a wife, Jill-all-alone. Suddenly as if he had appeared out of the earth, a man rose up before them on a mound about thirty yards away, his figure outlined against the blue sky. Jack’s song died away in his throat, Doris clung to his arm as the man strode menacingly down to meet them. As for Jill—her vision was obscured by a passing dizziness. For the blue eyes that were how glaring down on them with such hostility and fury were the same as had looked into hers with such twinkling amusement at the swimming pond that morning. He was jacketless, being dressed in a khaki shirt arid cord breeches —in one hand he held a pair of prism binoculars, the case for which was slung round his shoulders. Bareheaded, his thick fair hair glowing in the sunlight, he came to a halt right in front of them. “What the deuce do you want here?” he demanded.

“We’re not wanting anything in particular,” said Jack. “We came to see the island,” said Jill. “Then I hope you’re satisfied. It may gratify you to know that you’ve completely spoiled for me the work of days.” “How on earth could we have done that? We haven’t been here 10 minutes,” protested Jack. “By your confounding interfering curiosity—your noisy caterwauling.” Jill tossed a defiant head. “If you want to keep this island to yourself why don’t you stick up a notice to warn off unsuspecting individuals who may take it into their heads to land?” she asked. The man eyed her coolly. “I shall give that recommendation my very careful consideration, madam,” he said quietly. “Come on, Jill, let’s clear out of this” —from Jack —“Very sorry to have butted in, Mr—Caveman —very sorry indeed.” It was not until they had reached their boat again that the trio gave vent to their feelings. “Of all the boors I ever met, that one certainly takes the biscuit,” growled Jack. “Did you notice who he was?” asked Jill. _• “Never saw him before in my life, and never want to again, I reckon.” For- a moment Jill "was silent. Then, “It was the man on whom I dropped my bathing costume this morning” she said quietly. “Well, he didn’t take the second encounter as well as the first, anyhow.” “Wasn't he angry,” put in Doris. “Wonder what he could have been doing,” said Jack. “Why don't you speak, Jill?” “I was just thinking he must have been doing something jolly important to get so irritated at our interruption. 'No wonder he was angry if we spoilt the work of days for him.” “Rubbish!” returned Jack. “That was just his bluff. I shouldn’t wonder if it was all a plan just to get his own back on you for your escapade of the morning!” At the memory of which Jill blushed hotly and fell into silence. “What about going up to Fidra this afternoon,” said Jill a couple of mornings later. “It’s too hot for tennis or golf, and we'va been loafing about all the morning.” “Righto. I’ll book seats in the motor boat,” said Jack. “Can’t we get a boat and row up?” suggested Doris. ..“And give me all the donkey work to do as usual.” “Well, what fun would there be going ■with a crowd in the motor boat?” persisted Doris. “I’d rather we went ourselves. What do you say, Jill?” “I agree. Look here, Jack, I’ll take an oar and we’ll set off early and pull easily. We can take as long as we like, for mother won’t mind if we’re late for tea.” . - “Thought you’d have had enough of visiting islands,” grunted Jack, with fraternal candour. “You don’t expect to unearth another cave-man on Fidra, do you ?” “Oh, be quiet, Jack,” returned Jill. “We’ll give the Craig a wide berth, anyway. The very sight of it now makes me hot all over.”

It was a delightful row up to Fidra, the curiously shaped island with its lighthouse that lies -nearly three miles up the Forth from North Berwick. They chattered and sang with the bubbling gladness of youth as Jack rowed. But the long pull home had hardly begun when Jack’s face grew anxious. -A sudden chill came into the atmosphere. “Look at the Law, girls,” he cried. And hovering over the summit of the hill they saw gathering a night-cap of mist. “I hope we’re not going to be caught in one of those sudden fogs that come down here after an intense heat,” he continued. “That would be pretty dreadful,” said Jill, who had been sitting in the stern with Doris, “ilete, let me take an oar, and we’ll pull as hard as we can. Perhaps jve’H- be able to reach the harbour before it falls.” Hardly had they got under way again before the hoar descended like a thick blanket, blotting out the sun, the shore, everything. They could see about a dozen yards ahead—no more. “Whatever are we to do?” cried Jill. “I think we’d better pull ahead slowly. When we’re a bit nearer home we can shout. Meanwhile, keep your eyes skinned for any of those reefs that lie about. Perhaps the fog will not be long in lifting.” “Isn’t it cold?” said Doris, beginning to shiver.

“I’m getting fearfully nervous, Jack,” said Jill. They crawled along in silence for a time. ■- “Look, there's something ahead—it must be the harbour rocks at last,” cried Jack. “Let’s yell!” ' ' ■ A great black shadow had loomed up in front. They began to shout, but their voices seemed ghostly echoes flung back to them through the screen of fog. “Hello there! Help!” cried Jack. “Help, help!” echoed the girls. At length came an answering shout — a man’s. Slowly they pulled towards the voice. “Be careful,” it called. “Pull close in. I’ll help you to land.” Suddenly a great rock reared up before them. They crept close in to its shelter. A man was bending down to steady the boat— a man dressed in oilskins, but with humorous blue eyes that twinkled as they met Jill’s. She began to laugh a little hysterically. “Why, it’s the man on the Craig!” she cried. A whimsical smile played round the' man’s mouth as he heard her. “If it isn’t this blessed trio again!” he said jocularly. He helped them land, then made fast the boat. “You must be shivered to death,” he said. “Come along to my shanty and I’ll make you some coffee.” “Coffee!” cried Jill, her eyes smiling up into his. “That will be heavenly!” In a few minutes they were sitting in his tent round an oil stove, drinking the steaming coffee he had prepared. Their spirits returned, their adventure appearing now as a huge joke. “We seem to be always bumping into you,” said Jill shyly. “It must be Fate,” he answered with a smile. They were sitting side by side in the tent door. He had removed his oilskins and Ipoked so fresh, clean, and handsome. Jack and Doris, sitting behind, were absorbed in each other. “It’s frightfully decent of you to treat us like this,” Jill continued. “I did not expect it—after our last encounter.”He gave her a long, direct look, his expression suddenly (serious. For a moment Jill feared her remark had been indiscreet > but almost at once his eyes twinkled, his face softened, and he laughed merrily. “Oh, yes,” he said, “I was angry. 1 don’t think I’ve ever been so angry in my life. I never felt more like murder than that afternoon.” x “Why, you are a cave-man, after all,” laughed Jill. He looked at her with a tender, wistful expression that to Jill felt exactly like a caress.

“Hardly that,” he said; “though sometimes I envy them their privileges.” Jill looked away out of the tent door. The fog-horn on the Bass was booming mournfully, eerily; there came the lone, desolate cry of a kittiwake; the mist enveloped them thicker than ever. A queer feeling came over Jill —she felt she wanted to sit there for hours. She no longer minded the fog or the damp;--she gave not a thought as to how or when they were to get home. She was in an enchanted, mournful land.' The glamour of the situation had seized her. “What were you doing that afternoon,” she asked suddenly, “that we should have upset you so thoroughly?” “I was-- keeping watch on a bird—a peregrine falcon. It has a nest on the crag edge. It is a very difficult bird to photograph, and I had waited patiently for days; then, just when I seemed about to succeed, you folks came along and frightened it off—” “Oh dear, I’m so sorry!” said Jill penitently. “No wonder you were angry. Is that why you are staying on the Graig ?” . “Yes. I’m studying the birds.” “Don’t you find it very monotonous?” “It’s my job.” For a little they sat in silence. Jill gave a slight shiver. Immediately he rose, took a coat from a hanger, and held it out to her. ~ “Put this on,” he said. “I’m a fool not to have thought of it before.”

Obediently she slipped her arms into it, and he fastened the collar round her neck with fumbling fingers, yet carefully and tenderly. Don t you think we might know each other’s names?” he suggested. Jill laughed happily. Why, of course. It never struck me. We seem to have known each other for ages.” “Since the beginning of time,” he said. “I’m Joyce Morrison, always Jill, because my brother there is Jack. His fiancee, Doris Hislop. And you?” - “My name's Fraser—Laurence Fraser,” he said. • “Will you be living on the Craig long?” “That depends. I want to get that photograph, and this fog may hold things up. I’m not always here, you know—just a night or two at a time.” There came the toot of a motor horn out of the fog, the chug-chug of an engine. “What’s that?” ejaculated Jill. That’s a motor boat—probably come to look for you. They’ve missed you—or at least the boatman has missed his boat.” He sprang to his feet, and went out. They heard him shouting in the distance, heard the tooting of the motor horn, the sound of the engines coming nearer. Presently he returned. Jack - had scrambled out of the tent door to meet him. “It’s the pilot boat. They’ll take you aboard and tow your boat ashore. No, you must keep on that coat—and you’ll put on-this, Miss Hislop,” and he flung a blanket round Doris’s shoulders. “Otherwise you’ll be chilled to death.” “You’ll come with us?” from Jill. He shook his head. I can t just now. I have some work to finish,” and taking Jill’s arm he hurried her across the rocks. “But you can’t stay here in a fog like this,” she persisted. “I’ll be all right. The pilots are to come back for me if the fog doesn’t lift. Don’t worry about me—little Jill.” They had come to the edge of the rocks. The pilot boat was lying a few yards off. Jack and Doris were already in their rowing boat. Yet still Jill lingered. “But we’ll see you again,” she said quickly. “Mother will want to thank you for all you’ve done for us. Won’t you come up to-morrow night and get your coat?” She mentioned the address. “I’ll be delighted—to-morrow night!” He helped her into the boat, then pushed it off, and a moment later the fog had swallowed him up. A few strokes of the oars and they were alongside the pilot boat. A couple of blue-jacketed men helped them aboard. “Lucky for you Mr Fraser was on the Craig.” said one, addressing Jill. “Who is he?” asked Jill. “Who is he?” repeated the man. “Why, I thought everybody had heard of Mr Fraser. He’s a naturalist—a writer. Writes those nature stories in the magazines—adventures of birds and animals. Great stuff. I. never miss one of Mr Fraser’s stories when I get a chance to read them. He has rooms at the Marine Hotel. Oh, he’s some toff, Mr Fraser, though you mightn’t think so!” Jill’s heart sank. A dreary sadness fell upon her. Almost she wished that the pilot had withheld his information.

Next morning the fog had lifted. As she looked across the blue, sunlit water to the Craig, Jill’s mind was full of strange unrest, wondering whether Laurence Fraser would come as he had promised, or whether yesterday’s experience would prove for him as transient as the fog. But he came, and. Jill radiant, blushing, expectant, received him. The evening that followed was one of the happiest she had known. It was as she was bidding him goodnight at the gate that she murmured shyly: “I have often wondered what you thought of me that morning' my bundle .fell on your neck.” “Would you really like to know?” There was no twinkle in his blue eyes as thev regarded her pensivelv, seriouslv. "I would really.” “I thought you were adorable,” he said, softlv. Jill looked at him startled. “Of course, you felt bound to say some silly thing like this,” she parried. “And f think so still,” he added. Jill averted her head, but her heart was beating so loud that she felt he must surely hear it. At once he began to speak rapidly. “I got that photograph this morning,” he said. “That means my work here is finished for a bit. I must get back to London to-morrow, I think.” The light died out of Jill’s eyes. “I’m so sorry,” she said. “Just when wo were going to be friends ” Suddenly she felt arms around her that clasped her fiercely, possessively. “Do you really care, little ‘ Jill ?” he whispered. “Tell me, does it matter to you ?” Her answer, soft a net low though it was, must have satisfied him, for a moment later his lips”were on hers. “You will marry me, little Jill?” he murmured. And six months later Jill did.—-The Weekly Scotsman.