Christ in Flanders | Page 5

"Thank you kindly, Thomas," the old woman had said. "I will say two
/Paters/ and two /Aves/ for you in my prayers to-night."
The skipper blew his horn for the last time, looked along the silent
shore, flung off the chain, ran along the side of the boat, and took up
his position at the helm. He looked at the sky, and as soon as they were
out in the open sea, he shouted to the men: "Pull away, pull with all
your might! The sea is smiling at a squall, the witch! I can feel the
swell by the way the rudder works, and the storm in my wounds."
The nautical phrases, unintelligible to ears unused to the sound of the
sea, seemed to put fresh energy into the oars; they kept time together,
the rhythm of the movement was still even and steady, but quite unlike
the previous manner of rowing; it was as if a cantering horse had
broken into a gallop. The gay company seated in the stern amused
themselves by watching the brawny arms, the tanned faces, and
sparkling eyes of the rowers, the play of the tense muscles, the physical
and mental forces that were being exerted to bring them for a trifling
toll across the channel. So far from pitying the rowers' distress, they
pointed out the men's faces to each other, and laughed at the grotesque
expressions on the faces of the crew who were straining every muscle;
but in the fore part of the boat the soldier, the peasant, and the old
beggar woman watched the sailors with the sympathy naturally felt by
toilers who live by the sweat of their brow and know the rough struggle,
the strenuous excitement of effort. These folk, moreover, whose lives

were spent in the open air, had all seen the warnings of danger in the
sky, and their faces were grave. The young mother rocked her child,
singing an old hymn of the Church for a lullaby.
"If we ever get there at all," the soldier remarked to the peasant, "it will
be because the Almighty is bent on keeping us alive."
"Ah! He is the Master," said the old woman, "but I think it will be His
good pleasure to take us to Himself. Just look at that light down
there . . ." and she nodded her head as she spoke towards the sunset.
Streaks of fiery red glared from behind the masses of crimson-flushed
brown cloud that seemed about to unloose a furious gale. There was a
smothered murmur of the sea, a moaning sound that seemed to come
from the depths, a low warning growl, such as a dog gives when he
only means mischief as yet. After all, Ostend was not far away. Perhaps
painting, like poetry, could not prolong the existence of the picture
presented by sea and sky at that moment beyond the time of its actual
duration. Art demands vehement contrasts, wherefore artists usually
seek out Nature's most striking effects, doubtless because they despair
of rendering the great and glorious charm of her daily moods; yet the
human soul is often stirred as deeply by her calm as by her emotion,
and by silence as by storm.
For a moment no one spoke on board the boat. Every one watched that
sea and sky, either with some presentiment of danger, or because they
felt the influence of the religious melancholy that takes possession of
nearly all of us at the close of the day, the hour of prayer, when all
nature is hushed save for the voices of the bells. The sea gleamed pale
and wan, but its hues changed, and the surface took all the colors of
steel. The sky was almost overspread with livid gray, but down in the
west there were long narrow bars like streaks of blood; while lines of
bright light in the eastern sky, sharp and clean as if drawn by the tip of
a brush, were separated by folds of cloud, like the wrinkles on an old
man's brow. The whole scene made a background of ashen grays and
half-tints, in strong contrast to the bale-fires of the sunset. If written
language might borrow of spoken language some of the bold figures of
speech invented by the people, it might be said with the soldier that
"the weather has been routed," or, as the peasant would say, "the sky
glowered like an executioner." Suddenly a wind arose from the quarter
of the sunset, and the skipper, who never took his eyes off the sea, saw

the swell on the horizon line, and cried:
"Stop rowing!"
The sailors stopped immediately, and let their oars lie on the water.
"The skipper is right," said Thomas coolly. A great wave caught up the
boat,