Footprints on the Sea-Shore (From Twice Told Tales) Read online

stone, which the waves have gnawed awaypiecemeal, while the granite walls remain entire on either side. Howsharply, and with what harsh clamor, does the sea rake hack thepebbles, as it momentarily withdraws into its own depths! Atintervals, the floor of the chasm is left nearly dry; but anon, at theoutlet, two or three great waves are seen struggling to get in atonce; two hit the walls athwart, while one rushes straight through,and all three thunder, as if with rage and triumph. They heap thechasm with a snow-drift of foam and spray. While watching this scene,I can never rid myself of the idea that a monster, endowed with lifeand fierce energy, is striving to burst his way through the narrowpass. And what a contrast, to look through the stormy chasm, andcatch a glimpse of the calm bright sea beyond!

  Many interesting discoveries may be made among these broken cliffs.Once, for example, I found a dead seal, which a recent tempest hadtossed into the nook of the rocks, where his shaggy carcass lay rolledin a heap of eel-grass, as if the sea-monster sought to hide himselffrom my eye. Another time, a shark seemed on the point of leapingfrom the surf to swallow me; nor did I wholly without dread approachnear enough to ascertain that the man-eater had already met his owndeath from some fisherman in the bay. In the same ramble, Iencountered a bird,--a large gray bird,--but whether a loon, or a wildgoose, or the identical albatross of the Ancient Mariner, was beyondmy ornithology to decide. It reposed so naturally on a bed of drysea-weed, with its head beside its wing, that I almost fancied italive, and trod softly lest it should suddenly spread its wingsskyward. But the sea-bird would soar among the clouds no more, norride upon its native waves; so I drew near, and pulled out one of itsmottled tail-feathers for a remembrance. Another day, I discovered animmense bone, wedged into a chasm of the rocks; it was at least tenfeet long, curved like a cimeter, bejewelled with barnacles and smallshell-fish, and partly covered with a growth of sea-weed. Someleviathan of former ages had used this ponderous mass as a jawbone.Curiosities of a minuter order may be observed in a deep reservoir,which is replenished with water at every tide, but becomes a lakeamong the crags, save when the sea is at its height. At the bottom ofthis rocky basin grow marine plants, some of which tower high beneaththe water, and cast a shadow in the sunshine. Small fishes dart toand fro, and hide themselves among the sea-weed; there is also asolitary crab, who appears to lead the life of a hermit, communingwith none of the other denizens of the place; and likewise severalfive-fingers,--for I know no other name than that which children givethem. If your imagination be at all accustomed to such freaks, youmay look down into the depths of this pool, and fancy it themysterious depth of ocean. But where are the hulks and scatteredtimbers of sunken ships? where the treasures that old Oceanhoards?--where the corroded cannon?--where the corpses and skeletonsof seamen, who went down in storm and battle?

  On the day of my last ramble (it was a September day, yet as warm assummer), what should I behold as I approached the above-describedbasin but three girls sitting on its margin, and--yes, it is veritablyso--laving their snowy feet in the sunny water! These, these are thewarm realities of those three visionary shapes that flitted from me onthe beach. Hark! their merry voices, as they toss up the water withtheir feet! They have not seen me. I must shrink behind this rock,and steal away again.

  In honest truth, vowed to solitude as I am, there is something in thisencounter that makes the heart flutter with a strangely pleasantsensation. I know these girls to be realities of flesh and blood,yet, glancing at them so briefly, they mingle like kindred creatureswith the ideal beings of my mind. It is pleasant, likewise, to gazedown from some high crag, and watch a group of children, gatheringpebbles and pearly shells, and playing with the surf, as with oldOcean's hoary beard. Nor does it infringe upon my seclusion, to seeyonder boat at anchor off the shore, swinging dreamily to and fro, andrising and sinking with the alternate swell; while the crew--fourgentlemen, in round-about jackets--are busy with their fishing-lines.But, with an inward antipathy and a headlong flight, do I eschew thepresence of any meditative stroller like myself, known by his pilgrimstaff, his sauntering step, his shy demeanor, his observant yetabstracted eye. From such a man, as if another self had scared me, Iscramble hastily over the rocks, and take refuge in a nook which manya secret hour has given me a right to call my own. I would do battlefor it even with the churl that should produce the title-deeds. Havenot my musings melted into its rocky walls and sandy floor, and madethem a portion of myself?

  It is a recess in the line of cliffs, walled round by a rough, highprecipice, which almost encircles and shuts in a little space of sand.In front, the sea appears as between the pillars of a portal. In therear, the precipice is broken and intermixed with earth, which givesnourishment not only to-clinging and twining shrubs, but to trees,that gripe the rock with their naked roots, and seem to struggle hardfor footing and for soil enough to live upon. These are fir-trees;but oaks hang their heavy branches from above, and throw down acornson the beach, and shed their withering foliage upon the waves. Atthis autumnal season, the precipice is decked with variegatedsplendor; trailing wreaths of scarlet flaunt from the summit downward;tufts of yellow-flowering shrubs, and rose-bushes, with their reddenedleaves and glossy seed-berries, sprout from each crevice; at everyglance, I detect some new light or shade of beauty, all contrastingwith the stern, gray rock. A rill of water trickles down the cliffand fills a little cistern near the base. I drain it at a draught,and find it fresh and pure. This recess shall be my dining-hall.And what the feast? A few biscuits, made savory by soaking them inseawater, a tuft of samphire gathered from the beach, and an apple forthe dessert. By this time, the little rill has filled its reservoiragain; and, as I quaff it, I thank God morn heartily than for a civicbanquet, that he gives me the healthful appetite to make a feast ofbread and water.

  Dinner being over, I throw myself at length upon the sand, and,basking in the sunshine, let my mind disport itself at will. Thewalls of this my hermitage have no tongue to tell my follies, though Isometimes fancy that they have ears to hear them, and a soul tosympathize. There is a magic in this spot. Dreams haunt itsprecincts, and flit around me in broad sunlight, nor require thatsleep shall blindfold me to real objects, ere these be visible. Herecan I frame a story of two lovers, and make their shadows live beforeme, and be mirrored in the tranquil water, as they tread along thesand, leaving no footprints. Here, should I will it, I can summon upa single shade, and be myself her lover. Yes, dreamer,--but yourlonely heart will be the colder for such fancies. Sometimes, too, thePast comes back, and finds me here, and in her train come faces whichwere gladsome, when I knew them, yet seem not gladsome now. Wouldthat my hiding-place were lonelier, so that the past might not findme! Get ye all gone, old friends, and let me listen to the murmur ofthe sea,--a melancholy voice, but less sad than yours. Of whatmysteries is it telling? Of sunken ships, and whereabouts they lie?Of islands afar and undiscovered, whose tawny children are unconsciousof other islands and of continents, and deem the stars of heaven theirnearest neighbors? Nothing of all this. What then? Has it talked forso many ages, and meant nothing all the while--No; for those ages findutterance in the sea's unchanging voice, and warn the listener towithdraw his interest from mortal vicissitudes, and let the infiniteidea of eternity pervade his soul. This is wisdom; and, therefore,will I spend the next half-hour in shaping little boats of drift-wood,and launching them on voyages across the cove, with the feather of asea-gull for a sail. If the voice of ages tell me true, this is aswise an occupation as to build ships of five hundred tons, and launchthem forth upon the main, bound to "far Cathay." Yet, how would themerchant sneer at me!

  And, after all, can such philosophy be true? Methinks I could find athousand arguments against it. Well, then, let yonder shaggy rock,mid-deep in the surf,--see! he is somewhat wrathful,--he rages androars and foams,--let that tall rock be my antagonist, and let meexercise my oratory like him of Athens, who bandied words with anangry sea and got the victory. My maiden speech is a triumphant one;for the gentlema
n in sea-weed has nothing to offer in reply, save animmitigable roaring. His voice, indeed, will be heard a long whileafter mine is hushed. Once more I shout, and the cliffs reverberatethe sound. O, what joy for a shy man to feel himself so solitary,that he may lift his voice to its highest pitch without hazard of alistener! But, hush!--be silent, my good friend!--whence comes thatstifled laughter? It was musical,--but how should there be such musicin my solitude? Looking upwards, I catch a glimpse of three faces,peeping from the summit of the cliff, like angels between me and theirnative sky. Ah, fair girls, you may make yourselves merry at myeloquence,--but it was my turn to smile when I saw your white feet inthe pool! Let us keep each other's secrets.

  The sunshine has now passed from my hermitage, except a gleam upon thesand just where it meets the sea. A crowd of gloomy fantasies willcome and haunt me, if I tarry longer here, in the darkening twilightof these gray rocks.