Stories told by the miller

by Violet Jacob

Now, as time went on her longing grew stronger and stronger: all the day she thought of the sea and the grey caves of the coast, and all night she sat on the wall, looking out eastwards and listening for any sound of water that might come inland. (It was at this time that the miller’s man saw her.) Why this happened to her I can’t tell, for I don’t know. Perhaps her relations were those sea-kelpies that haunt the Baltic.

Be that as it may, one night she crept out of the pool and followed the banks of the wet ditch by which it escapes, making for the river. It must have been a queer sight to see her as she went, with her wet garments clinging round her, running down the fields; I always used to fancy when I was a boy how she would look from side to side, afraid of being seen, and how she would stop here and there to listen for the sea. She reached the marshes and ran out till she felt the incoming tide about her feet. The steeple of the town and its lights were strange to her, but long before she got near them, the water was deep, and she swam under the bridge and out through the shipping in the harbour till she heard the surf and saw the white line over the bar.

Outside the sea was thundering and booming, and the salt spray flew in her face, for a rough night was setting in. Farther and farther she swam, and soon she felt the current running strong with her towards the cliffs that stand miles out and look towards Denmark. The gulls came swooping over her, but she did not care; she had seen them at times screaming behind the plough in the fields round the mill. But, as the wind rose and the waves lifted her up and tossed her, she grew frightened; for all she knew of waters was the stillness of the pool.

The storm was louder as night went on, and by morning she was so much buffeted about that she lay floating among the seaweed. She had no strength left to go one way or another, and at last she was cast up on a bit of sandy shore and sat under the cliffs wondering what to do, for the place was strange and she was afraid of all the world. A track wound upwards, so she followed it till it brought her out high above the sands. The size of the sea bewildered her and she gazed about for some place in which to hide.

Close by was a little circle of tumble-down wall; she looked over it into a tangle of weeds, and saw what seemed to her the strangest thing of all, for she did not know it was a deserted graveyard. If she had she would have been no wiser. The crosses leaned sideways out of the rank thistles and hemlock. Some of the stones lay flat, with only their carved corners sticking out and some had the shape of tables; some were no more than broken pieces. But one of the graves had once been a very grand place, with a little building over it to shelter the stone; its roof was battered in, but it had a helmet and strange words cut above the doorway. The Nix made her way to it through the hemlock; in she went and crouched against its farthest corner. It was the quietest spot she had seen. She was so weary that she did not know what to do, and the sun dazzled her, for it was growing strong and she was accustomed to dark places.

She had lain there some time when she heard steps not far off. Someone was coming along the ridge of the cliffs. In another minute a brown goat had jumped into a gap in the circle, and stood staring in as though it were counting the tombstones, moving its upper lip from side to side. Goats seldom passed the mill, and she was half scared at its beard and wagging ears and the horns above its solemn face. As she looked a boy appeared behind it—a rough-looking boy, with a shock of yellow hair and a switch in his hand to drive the beast with. When he saw her he set up a loud cry of terror, for he did not expect to find anyone in such a place, and he had never seen a Water-Nix in his life. Then he took to his heels, and the goat galloped after him, baaing as it went. The Nix lay quite still; she could not think why anyone should run away like that.

She curled herself closer into her refuge.

Presently she heard a noise like the beating of pots and pans and voices coming nearer. She crept to the wall and looked over. A whole crowd of boys was coming with sticks in their hands, shouting, and as they caught sight of her, they cried louder, brandishing them. Some even had the handles of old brooms and the goat-boy was at their head, beating a tin kettle. “There she is!” he cried.

Then the poor Nix understood that they had come out after her, and she climbed out of the graveyard on the side nearest the sea and began to run for her life. She rushed down a narrow path winding among great boulders, and, when she was exhausted, she crept behind one of them and lay there till the voices had died away and she thought her pursuers had given up the chase. When all was still she rose and went on, not knowing where to go for peace. Great tears stood in her eyes as she thought of the mill and the trees by the dam.

In time she came to a huge crag standing out into the waves and joined to the land by only a neck of rock no wider than the top of a wall. She had no fear of growing giddy, for she knew nothing of the uncomfortable things that happen to human beings, so she crossed it. The place looked so lonely that she was sure there could be nobody there. When she was over she turned the corner of a rock and found herself at the foot of a high wall, pierced by little shot windows and broken by a heavy iron door. In her astonishment she sprang back, for in front of it stood a tall man with a fierce face and eyes like a hawk. The Water-Nix turned and fled. Poor thing! she did not get far, for he bounded after her and caught her by the wrist. She struggled and fought, but it was no good; he seized her in his strong arms, and carried her in through the door.