Blair Collection > Celtic magazine > Volume 5

92 THE CELTIC MAGAZINE.
Chapter IV.
The sun appears in the west, after the steps of his brightness have
moved behind a storra. —Ossian.
In the morning, when the storm had passed aAvay, a solitary figure
stood on the brow of a cliff that overlooked the sea. Throwing back the
wet, dishevelled hair from his pale brow, wistfully he stood gazing afar
down the rocks towards the shore, and away across the glittering expanse
of water to the mountains of JMorven and Mull, as they flashed from their
peaks the beams of the rising sun. A great cloud swept midway across
the heavens like a phantasmal chariot on wheels of burnished gold, and
drawn by steeds of scorching flame. The sun glared like a red disk on a
fiery background. Away to the south and west a few tangled masses of
curling, vapoury cloud lay steeped in the rose and saflPron tints of the
horizon ; while far above the burning hues of the eastern heavens the
sky deepened into a brilliant blue, and stretched away to the north in
shimmering grandeur behind the great, solemn mountains of the main-
land.
For a while Cyril, who stood basking in the splendours of this glori-
ous scene, was wrapt and speechless with emotion. Day after day
he had gone to the top of the highest rock in Eathland to see the same
sun lift his head above the sea and mountains of his native land, but
never before had he felt the same thi'illing sensations tingle in every vein
as he watched the sun rise over the land of the stranger^ from this solitary
cliff among the isles of the "Western Highlands.
The sea was still very turbulent, and the great waves breaking in
sparkling, silvery crests sung out loudly on the beach; but stdl and
harmless they looked when the last night's storm and all its hideous ac-
companiments were brought to memory — the dreadful darkness, the
frightfid, gleaming lights, the mountainous waves, the plunging, groaning
hulk, the despair of strong and warlike men, the howling of the slaves,
and that wild crash on the rocks when the cries of drowning men rose in
shrieks above the noise of wind and waves.
Every soul had apparently perished but himself. How he had man-
aged to escape was altogether a mystery. Clinging to a log of wood he
drifted about for a while, until a great wave carried him gently ashore,
and left him high and dry on the beach. He could scarcely believe, how-
ever, that everyone had perished, and carefully he scanned the length of
rocky shore to see if no one still lingered in life about the scene of the
wreck. His son had been lashed to a raft by his own hands, but not a
sail or speck was to be seen on the heaving bosom of the ocean. A few
flocks of wailing sea-birds were the only signs of life.
Eousing himself from his painfid reverie, and turning his eyes land-
ward, Cyril perceived that he was cast upon an island which appeared to
be about five miles long and three broad. Towards the north the hiUs
ran down in grassy and heathery slopes to the sea. A narrow streak of
water ran between the island and the mainland, and a number of dark
spots at the mouth of a glen in the distant landscape had the appearance
of inhabited huts.
Cyril resolved upon striking inland for the purpose of obtaining rest