Foxholme Hall, and Other Tales

by William Henry Giles Kingston

That portion of the Pacific Ocean in which the Island of Gracia is situated was ruled over by a sea spirit of the name of Borasco. As he was not the king of any particular fish (indeed, he was superior in power to most of them), his appearance was a mixture of many. His body was covered with scales, and from his back mighty wings projected, to aid him in his flight across the ocean, while his feet were like those of a seal; his eyes were large, fierce, and glowing; his mouth had large tusks, and on either side were black bunches, like the feelers of a walrus. On his head grew masses of long hair, like seaweed, streaming in the wind; while his arms and hands had more the appearance of the claws of a shell-fish than of anything else; at the same time that his vast size, and the indistinctness which surrounded him, gave to his appearance a grandeur which partook more of the terrific than the hideous. Borasco had a palace which might vie in magnificence and beauty, though not in size, with that of Neptune. One day he sallied forth, and mounting his prancing steed, which was a huge wave with a foaming crest, he rode furiously off, as he was accustomed to do, over the ocean. The water roared and hissed, the mid wind howled, as, shouting loudly with a voice like thunder, onward he went in his fierce career; and these were the words he uttered:—

“I’m a wandering spirit where rolls the broad sea,
For no bonds, for no bonds, can e’er fetter me:
My steed is a wave, with a white crest of foam,
Which gallantly bears me wherever I roam;
Lashed to fury, he dashes the waters on high,
As bounding he lifts his proud head to the sky.
Oh! no charger of earth can so rapidly flee,
While no bonds, while no bonds, can e’er fetter me.
“I fly on the tempest while loud shrieks are heard,
And more shrilly I cry than the roaming sea-bird:
When rocks are resounding with ocean’s loud roar,
And forms are rebounding, pale waifs on the shore—
When barks are deserted to roam o’er the waves,
And mortals are hurled unprepared to their graves—
Then, then is the time I shriek loudest with glee,
And no bonds are so strong they can e’er fetter me.
“My hair, the thick mist or the wild-driving snow,
All wildly floats round when the northern blasts blow;
My breath’s in the whirlwind, my voice in the clouds,
And night, as a mantle, my stern visage shrouds.
The vivid fork’d lightnings which dart from mine eyes
Flash fearfully over the dark low’ring skies:
Oh! then my wild voice is heard shouting with glee,
As I ride o’er the boundless and fathomless sea.”

On, on he flew, terror before him, devastation in his rear; the footsteps of his steed, the dark furrows of the foaming waves; his track marked by the shattered wrecks of the hapless barks over which he passed, till at length he reached the Island of Gracia, his strength exhausted and his fury assuaged. He gazed, delighted, on its smooth yellow sands, sparkling in the beams of the sun, its cool and waving groves giving forth their rich perfumes, and resounding with the harmonious notes of their feathered denizens; its smiling hills, its green meadows, and the thousand beauties of the landscape before him. The light spray, tinted with the varied hues of the rainbow, played round his mysterious form, as his steed, with a loud roar with echoed from rock to rock, receding towards the ocean, left him standing on the shore.

Wildly throwing his arms around, he shook the water from his robe, which, as it fell, appeared like the spray from some mighty cataract, and then, reclining beneath the shade of an overhanging rock, he stretched forth his huge limbs, and, calmed by the fragrant air and the tranquillity of the scene, he slept.

Tempted by the beauty of the evening, after the fierce storm which had raged all day, the Princess Serena and a troop of youthful maidens took their way to the sea-shore. For a time they sang and sported in exuberance of spirits; then they formed a circle and danced around their mistress; then they bound her hair with bright flowers, and decked her neck with softly-tinted shells, and then, hand-in-hand, they ran towards the water; now they retired, and now advanced, uttering peals of laughter, as the bright waves rippled over their feet. At last one, more daring, rushed into the sea; others followed, and as they threw about the sparkling spray in mimic fight, the rocks and woods echoed with their merriment.

The sounds reached the ears of the sleeping Borasco. He awoke, and rising, listened, when, advancing from among the rocks which had hitherto concealed him, he suddenly appeared before the eyes of the astonished maidens. No sooner did they see the monster, than with shrieks of terror they fled into the woods, forgetting even the Princess—or, rather, they thought she was flying with them.

Instead of flying, however, she stood entranced with horror, her feet refusing to move, and her eyes fixed on the hideous being before her. Borasco gazed at the Princess with deep admiration. Neither on the sea nor under the sea had he ever in all his wanderings beheld anything to be compared to her in beauty. Feelings totally strange and new to him rushed like a torrent into his bosom.

The purest and most exalted love took possession of his soul; horror, disgust, and loathing, were the feelings most powerful in the breast of the Princess as she beheld him. At length, forgetting the hideousness of his shape, and the natural repugnance she must have felt for him, he advanced towards her to address her. “Beautiful creature!” he exclaimed in a voice as loud as thunder—“What are you? Whence come you?” No sooner did he speak than the spell was broken, and with a cry of fear she fled away from him as fleetly as a startled fawn.

Her voice and action would have convinced an ordinary mortal that he had no hope of gaining her affections. Not so the Spirit of the Storm.

“Stay, sweet being! oh, stay and listen to me!” he repeated, but the words only hastened her flight. He gazed after her till she disappeared, and when he found that it was useless to follow, and that there was not the remotest chance of her returning, he sat himself down on a rock which hung over the sea to consider what he should do. As he sat, the water became perfectly calm as a glass mirror; and looking into it, after some minutes’ deep meditation he beheld the reflection of his own monstrous form. He had been so long accustomed to look at Tritons, and other sea spirits as hideous as himself, that he was not aware how ugly he was. Now, with grief at his heart, he at once saw the difference between the Princess Serena and himself. His late exposure to the sun had not added to his beauty, for his hands and arms and the top of his head had become red, while the anguish he was suffering increased the wild expression of his countenance.