The Willows | Page 5

enough to bother and perplex, and to rob a most
delightful camping-ground of a good portion of its charm. To my

companion, however, I said nothing, for he was a man I considered
devoid of imagination. In the first place, I could never have explained
to him what I meant, and in the second, he would have laughed stupidly
at me if I had.
There was a slight depression in the center of the island, and here we
pitched the tent. The surrounding willows broke the wind a bit.
"A poor camp," observed the imperturbable Swede when at last the tent
stood upright, "no stones and precious little firewood. I'm for moving
on early tomorrow--eh? This sand won't hold anything."
But the experience of a collapsing tent at midnight had taught us many
devices, and we made the cozy gipsy house as safe as possible, and
then set about collecting a store of wood to last till bed-time. Willow
bushes drop no branches, and driftwood was our only source of supply.
We hunted the shores pretty thoroughly. Everywhere the banks were
crumbling as the rising flood tore at them and carried away great
portions with a splash and a gurgle.
"The island's much smaller than when we landed," said the accurate
Swede. "It won't last long at this rate. We'd better drag the canoe close
to the tent, and be ready to start at a moment's notice. I shall sleep in
my clothes."
He was a little distance off, climbing along the bank, and I heard his
rather jolly laugh as he spoke.
"By Jove!" I heard him call, a moment later, and turned to see what had
caused his exclamation. But for the moment he was hidden by the
willows, and I could not find him.
"What in the world's this?" I heard him cry again, and this time his
voice had become serious.
I ran up quickly and joined him on the bank. He was looking over the
river, pointing at something in the water.

"Good heavens, it's a man's body!" he cried excitedly. "Look!"
A black thing, turning over and over in the foaming waves, swept
rapidly past. It kept disappearing and coming up to the surface again. It
was about twenty feet from the shore, and just as it was opposite to
where we stood it lurched round and looked straight at us. We saw its
eyes reflecting the sunset, and gleaming an odd yellow as the body
turned over. Then it gave a swift, gulping plunge, and dived out of sight
in a flash.
"An otter, by gad!" we exclaimed in the same breath, laughing.
It was an otter, alive, and out on the hunt; yet it had looked exactly like
the body of a drowned man turning helplessly in the current. Far below
it came to the surface once again, and we saw its black skin, wet and
shining in the sunlight.
Then, too, just as we turned back, our arms full of driftwood, another
thing happened to recall us to the river bank. This time it really was a
man, and what was more, a man in a boat. Now a small boat on the
Danube was an unusual sight at any time, but here in this deserted
region, and at flood time, it was so unexpected as to constitute a real
event. We stood and stared.
Whether it was due to the slanting sunlight, or the refraction from the
wonderfully illumined water, I cannot say, but, whatever the cause, I
found it difficult to focus my sight properly upon the flying apparition.
It seemed, however, to be a man standing upright in a sort of
flat-bottomed boat, steering with a long oar, and being carried down the
opposite shore at a tremendous pace. He apparently was looking across
in our direction, but the distance was too great and the light too
uncertain for us to make out very plainly what he was about. It seemed
to me that he was gesticulating and making signs at us. His voice came
across the water to us shouting something furiously, but the wind
drowned it so that no single word was audible. There was something
curious about the whole appearance--man, boat, signs, voice--that made
an impression on me out of all proportion to its cause.

"He's crossing himself!" I cried. "Look, he's making the sign of the
Cross!"
"I believe you're right," the Swede said, shading his eyes with his hand
and watching the man out of sight. He seemed to be gone in a moment,
melting away down there into the sea of willows where the sun caught
them in the bend of the river and turned them into a great crimson wall
of beauty. Mist, too, had begun to ruse, so that the air was hazy.