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Updated: May 4, 2025
They neither of them spoke nor heard very much but the pounding of their own hearts. Wayland gazed out in the dark at the shiny flood-tides of the river. She had not meant she had meant always to be free; she had not meant to mingle her life currents in the destiny of others. The door opened suddenly. It was old Calamity, red-shawled and stooping.
We drove about three miles, and were turned out at last on a road-side, where lanterns and some red-shawled phantoms were glimmering about. We sat in rows for some time, while officers took our names, and sorted us into medical and surgical classes. Then a friendly orderly shouldered my kit and led me into this tent.
Lough Altan, a wild tarn, lies between Errigal and Aghla More. The peasants we met stared at us curiously, but, were very civil, even at a place bearing the ominous name of Bedlam, against which Mr. Burke had warned us as the most troublesome on the way. All the countryside was there attending a fair, and we drove through throngs of red-shawled, barelegged women, ponies, horses, cattle, and sheep.
As we were going ashore, my red-shawled companion carefully gathered her pail and jug under her shawl at each side of her, and hurried to bury herself in the crowd. The inspector followed closely, and as he took hold of the pail to see what she had hanging on her arm, in her effort to get away from him it fell on the cabin carpet.
Daily thereafter did Aaron Kastrinsky establish his gay green push-cart outside the school door set apart for the very little boys and drive a half hour's bustling trade ere the children were all housed. And daily two naughty small boys were convoyed to the door by a red-shawled, dark-eyed sister.
There were red-headed lasses, yellow-chy-headed and black-headed, blue-shawled and red-shawled lasses; boots on every one of them, stockings almost as common, the skirt kilted up for the present, but down it should go when they were in the thick of things, and then it must take care of itself. All were solemn and sheepish as yet, but wait a bit. The first-known face our three met was Corp.
It is our Sahara, our Morocco, our Algeria; and we have not yet had sense enough to discover it in its beauty. Red-shawled women pattered down the trail from the hillside pueblo of Laguna, or marched back up from the yellow pools of the San José River, jars of water on their heads; figures in bronze, they might have been, or women of the Ganges.
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