“For when they had gone to seek Murdoch that Hogmanay night, they came upon him away from his sheep. But this was what they saw. There was a black rock that stood out in the moonshine, with the water all about it; and on this rock Murdoch lay naked, and laughing wild. An’ every now and then he would lean forward and stretch his arms out, an’ call to his dearie. An’ at last, just as the watchers, shiverin’ wi’ fear an’ awe, were going to close in upon him, they saw a—a—thing—come out o’ the water. It was long an’ dark, an’ Ian said its eyes were like clots o’ blood; but as to that no man can say yea or nay, for Ian himself admits it was a seal.
“An’ this thing is true, an ainm an Athar! they saw the dark beast o’ the sea creep on to the rock beside Murdoch, an’ lie down beside him, and let him clasp an’ kiss it. An’ then he stood up, and laughed till the skin crept on those who heard, and cried out on his dearie and on a’ the dumb things o’ the sea, an’ the Wave-Haunter an’ the Grey Shadow; an’ he raised his hands, an’ cursed the world o’ men, and cried out to God, ‘Turn your face to your own airidh, O God, an’ may rain an’ storm an’ snow be between us!’
“An’ wi’ that, Deirg, his collie, could bide no more, but loupit across the water, and was on the rock beside him, wi’ his fell bristling like a hedge-rat. For both the naked man an’ the wet, gleamin’ beast, a great she-seal out o’ the north, turned upon Deirg, an’ he fought for his life. But what could the puir thing do? The seal buried her fangs in his shoulder at last, an’ pinned him to the ground. Then Murdoch stooped, an’ dragged her off, an’ bent down an’ tore at the throat o’ Deirg wi’ his own teeth. Ay, God’s truth it is! An’ when the collie was stark, he took him up by the hind legs an’ the tail, an’ swung him round an’ round his head, an’ whirled him into the sea, where he fell black in a white splatch o’ the moon.
“An’ wi’ that, Murdoch slipped, and reeled backward into the sea, his hands gripping at the whirling stars. An’ the thing beside him louped after him, an’ my father an’ Ian heard a cry an’ a cryin’ that made their hearts sob. But when they got down to the rock they saw nothing, except the floating body o’ Deirg.
“Sure it was a weary night for the old man, there on Bac-Mòr by himself, with that awful thing that had happened. He stayed there to see and hear what might be seen and heard. But nothing he heard—nothing saw. It was afterwards that he heard how Donncha MacDonald was on Bac-Mòr three days before this, and how Murdoch had told him he was in love wi’ a maighdeann-mhara, a sea-maid.
“But this thing has to be known. It was a month later, on the night o’ the full moon, that Ian Finlay and Ian Macarthur and Sheumais Macallum were upset in the calm water inside the Sound, just off Port-na-Frang, and were nigh drowned, but that they called upon God and the Son, and so escaped, and heard no more the laughter of Murdoch from the sea.
“And at midnight my father heard the voice of his eldest son at the door; but he would not let him in. And in the morning he found his boat broken and shred in splinters, and his one net all torn. An’ that day was the Sabbath; so, being a holy day, he took the Scripture with him, an’ he and Neil Morrison the minister, having had the Bread an’ Wine, went along the Sound in a boat, following a shadow in the water, till they came to Soa. An’ there Neil Morrison read the Word o’ God to the seals that lay baskin’ in the sun; and one, a female, snarled and showed her fangs; and another, a black one, lifted its head and made a noise that was not like the barking of any seal, but was as the laughter of Murdoch when he swung the dead body of Deirg.
“And that is all that is to be said. And silence is best now between you and any other. And no man knows the judgments o’ God.
“And that is all.”