The Willows | Page 8

of
unfamiliarity grew upon me as I stood there watching. We touched the
frontier of a region where our presence was resented. For a night's
lodging we might perhaps be tolerated; but for a prolonged and
inquisitive stay--No! by all the gods of the trees and wilderness, no!
We were the first human influences upon this island, and we were not
wanted. The willows were against us.
Strange thoughts like these, bizarre fancies, borne I know not whence,
found lodgment in my mind as I stood listening. What, I thought, if,
after all, these crouching willows proved to be alive; if suddenly they
should rise up, like a swarm of living creatures, marshaled by the gods
whose territory we had invaded, sweep towards us off the vast swamps,
booming overhead in the night--and then settle down! As I looked it
was so easy to imagine they actually moved, crept nearer, retreated a
little, huddled together in masses, hostile, waiting for the great wind
that should finally start them a-running. I could have sworn their aspect
changed a little, and their ranks deepened and pressed more closely
together.
The melancholy shrill cry of a night-bird sounded overhead, and
suddenly I nearly lost my balance as the piece of bank I stood upon fell

with a great splash into the river, undermined by the flood. I stepped
back just in time, and went on hunting for firewood again, half
laughing at the odd fancies that crowded so thickly into my mind and
cast their spell upon me. I recalled the Swede's remark about moving
on next day, and I was just thinking that I fully agreed with him, when I
turned with a start and saw the subject of my thoughts standing
immediately in front of me. He was quite close. The roar of the
elements had covered his approach.

II
"You've been gone so long," he shouted above the wind, "I thought
something must have happened to you."
But there was that in his tone, and a certain look in his face as well, that
conveyed to me more than his usual words, and in a flash I understood
the real reason for his coming. It was because the spell of the place had
entered his soul too, and he did not like being alone.
"River still rising," he cried, pointing to the flood in the moonlight,
"and the wind's simply awful."
He always said the same things, but it was the cry for companionship
that gave the real importance to his words.
"Lucky," I cried back, "our tent's in the hollow. I think it'll hold all
right." I added something about the difficulty of finding wood, in order
to explain my absence, but the wind caught my words and flung them
across the river, so that he did not hear, but just looked at me through
the branches, nodding his head.
"Lucky if we get away without disaster!" he shouted, or words to that
effect; and I remember feeling half angry with him for putting the
thought into words, for it was exactly what I felt myself. There was
disaster impending somewhere, and the sense of presentiment lay
unpleasantly upon me.

We went back to the fire and made a final blaze, poking it up with our
feet. We took a last look round. But for the wind the heat would have
been unpleasant. I put this thought into words, and I remember my
friend's reply struck me oddly: that he would rather have the heat, the
ordinary July weather, than this "diabolical wind."
Everything was snug for the night; the canoe lying turned over beside
the tent, with both yellow paddles beneath her; the provision sack
hanging from a willow-stem, and the washed-up dishes removed to a
safe distance from the fire, all ready for the morning meal.
We smothered the embers of the fire with sand, and then turned in. The
flap of the tent door was up, and I saw the branches and the stars and
the white moonlight. The shaking willows and the heavy buffetings of
the wind against our taut little house were the last things I remembered
as sleep came down and covered all with its soft and delicious
forgetfulness.
Suddenly I found myself lying awake, peering from my sandy mattress
through the door of the tent. I looked at my watch pinned against the
canvas, and saw by the bright moonlight that it was past twelve
o'clock--the threshold of a new day--and I had therefore slept a couple
of hours. The Swede was asleep still beside me; the wind howled as
before; something plucked at my heart and made me feel afraid. There
was a sense of disturbance in my immediate neighborhood.
I sat up quickly and looked out. The trees were swaying violently