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 goodbye, and hobbled
off. It all touched me, and upset me very much.
I was glad when the coastguard came along, with his
spyglass 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 tomorrow.”
CUTTING FROM “THE DAILYGRAPH”, 8 AUGUST
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 neighborhood 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 the 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 northwest. The wind was then
blowing from the south-west in the mild degree which
in barometrical language is ranked ’No. 2, light
breeze.’
