THE banks of the river Sax. From the shore on which I stood I gazed across the narrow stretch of water. On the opposite shore the rocky cliffs of the Elsa Craig rose up in towering majesty, casting many grotesque reflections in the thick inky water beneath. Many boats of all shapes and sizes were drawn up on the shore. I was impatient, my friend H—— was also impatient. We were rubbering for a boatman to take us over to the Craig. A cracked voice spoke, "At your service, your honour." I looked in the proper direction and saw the replica of the ancient mariner. "Can you take me across to the Craig, can you row the boat?" Answering, the man spake. "No sir, I cannot row the boat, but my brother John has a large black dog." "You and your brother John be jiggered." "Yes sir." "Go to the devil." "Yes sir." And he turned slowly and walked away. I stood pondering. The whole matter was very shortly cleared up. One man and one dog soon appeared. The dog was black. The man spake, "I will take you over sir." We all jumped into the boat. There was a small arrangement of a machine at the stern of the boat. The dog hopped over to the machine and began to turn a crank. The boat moved slowly and headed for the Elsa Craig. When we were half way across we suddenly heard low dull rumbling sounds which were soon succeeded by sharp crackles. The dog yelped. The man spake, "Hear that sir?" Those rumbles, those tumbles. The Pocket of the Tumbling Bump. Look up at the cliffs of the Elsa Craig. I could see a dark big lump of rock rolling down the cliff. There was a flash through the air, a peculiar whiz, then a hollow crunch. Black smoky dust blew up. The boatman spake, "There will be another tumble shortly. We always have plenty of bumps here whenever a comet happens to strike the earth. We were visited by a comet last night. The fiery visitor was particularly plucky, must have been on the war path, actually hit against the top of Ben Nevis. The whole thing looks portentous. I hope we are not going to have the crack of doom just now; I mean the general conflagration. I was married last night sir, my fifth adventure. One more wedding and I will be the equal of Henry the Eighth." And thus the garrulous guy kept on. Hark! another rumble, another bump. "Another County heard from," said the boatman. Another moment we drew up to the landing. The dog wagged his tail. We stepped ashore. I gave the boatman the exact fare. The boatman muttered something blasphemous. The dog licked my hand. The boatman kicked the dog. Says I, "My friend, do you wish to go to perdition?" "Yes," said he. "All right then, go to Hell." The boatman gave a sign to the dog. The dog began to work the machine. The paddle began to turn, and the boat began to recede from the shore. One last glimpse of the boatman. He was shaking his fist at me and kicking the dog. He was going through with a species of  double action. We turned away from the landing. We were confronted by a sign tacked on to a tree. "Private estate of his Grace the Laird of Nax." "We are on the correct path now," said my friend H——. Then answering I says, says I, "This Laird of Nax, last year he was just plain Ivan Van Scrubb, Taxidermist, otherwise stuffer of quadrupeds, bipeds, fish, snakes and insects." There was a stone archway, and on the keystone overhead some irreverent ribald had rudely traced in chalk. Abomination of desolation. Beyond the archway the zigzag path led up the slopes of the craggy Elsa Craig.

Prev Next