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Updated: May 8, 2025
At last a thinks to mysel' a can't get free o' t' line, and t' line is fast to t' harpoon, and t' harpoon is fast to t' whale; and t' whale may go down fathoms deep wheniver t' maggot stirs i' her head; an' t' watter's cold, an noane good for drownin' in; a can't get free o' t' line, and a connot get my knife out o' my breeches pocket though t' captain should ca' it mutiny to disobey orders, and t' line's fast to t' harpoon let's see if t' harpoon's fast to t' whale.
Look, Dave," cried Dick, swinging up the big basket he carried, "pork-pie, bread and cheese, and a lump of bacon, and " Dave's face twitched as he listened, but he did not speak, only waited; till, after waiting awhile to whet the man's anxiety, Dick added: "And a big bottle of beer." "Oh, I don't want no beer!" grumbled Dave. "Watter's good enough for me."
"The Lord preserve 's!" cried Jean Mavor, with uplifted hands, when she saw them enter the kitchen. "He'll dee that, mem," returned Janet, with a smile. "But what can he dee? Gien ye be droont oot o' the hills, what's to come o' hiz i' the how? I wad ken that!" said Jean. "The watter's no up to yer door yet," remarked Janet.
"When the watter's down, my lad." "It's low enough now. There are plenty of places where you can spread your nets." "Ay, but plenty of places don't suit me, my lad. You wait a bit and we'll see. Get John Warren to tek you ferreting." "Yes, that will do," cried Tom. "When are you going, John?" The man addressed shook his head. "Rabbuds don't want no killing off. Plenty on 'em drownded."
"It would spoil all the fun." "Hah!" ejaculated Dave, as his yellow face puckered up with a dry smile, and in a furtive way which fitted with his fox-skin cap he turned and gave John Warren a peculiar look. "When may we come over to the 'coy, Dave?" "When you like, lads. Soon as the watter's down low enough for us to work it." "It's sinking fast, Dave," said Tom.
"Gin the watter be i' the hoose, there's no ootgang. It'll be doon afore the mornin'. Lie still." Annie lay down again, and Tibbie resumed: "Gin we be i' the watter, the watter's i' the how o' his han'. Gin we gang to the boddom, he has only to open's fingers, an' there we are, lyin' i' the loof o' 's han', dry and warm. Lie still."
They were lying half-covered with it. Tibbie broke out singing. Annie had never heard her sing, and it was not very musical. "Saviour, through the desert lead us. Without thee, we cannot go. Are ye waukin', lassie?" "Ay," answered Annie. "I'm terrible cauld, an' the watter's up to my throat. I canna muv, I'm sae cauld. I didna think watter had been sae cauld." "I'll help ye to sit up a bit.
'Theer's my grandfeyther, said 'Lias, almost in a whisper, 'an owd Needham an his two brithers, an yoong Jack Needham's woife her as losst her babby an yoong lads an lasses fro Clough End, childer awmost, and t' coonstable, an Passon Maine Ay ay yo've doon it! Yo've doon it! She'll mak naw moor mischeef neets she's gay quiet now! T' watter's got her fasst enough!
And Annie lay so still, that in a few minutes more she was asleep again. Tibbie slept too. But Annie woke from a terrible dream that a dead man was pursuing her, and had laid a cold hand upon her. The dream was gone, but the cold hand remained. "Tibbie!" she cried, "the watter 's i' the bed." "What say ye, lassie?" returned Tibbie, waking up. "The watter's i' the bed." "Weel, lie still.
"Do you hear the watter?" said Annie. "Wha cares for that watter!" she answered, in a tone of contempt. "Do ye think He canna manage hit!" But there was a jabble in the room beside them, and Annie heard it. The water was yelping at the foot of the bed. "The watter's i' the hoose!" cried she, in terror, and proceeded to rise. "Lie still, bairn," said Tibbie, authoritatively.
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