-------------------------------------------
(SFM Ponies) Boneless Pizza - Duration: 1:04.
SUNSET SHIMMER: Bruh, I'm
deadass hungry right now.
(PHONE RINGING)
(PHONE RINGING)
TWILIGHT SPARKLE: Yeah, pizza, what you want?
SUNSET: Lemme get, uhhhhhhh...
BONELESS PIZZA
with a 2 litre of Coke.
TWILIGHT: Fuck kind of pizza?
And 2L MACHINE BROKE
We got 1L though.
SUNSET: Fuck you mean, B?
TWILIGHT: (SWALLOWING FOOD) SUNSET: (over phone) Aight, look.
Lemme get that pizza BONELESS.
TWILIGHT: Uhh, pizza don't got bone on it.
SUNSET: The fuck did I just say then?
TWILIGHT: You said LEMME GET IT BONELESS
(over phone) Like pizza got a damn bone in it.
SUNSET: Y'ALL GOT BONES IN YA SHIT THEN
TWILIGHT: Nah!
SUNSET: So what's the problem?
TWILIGHT: DICKHEAD
Name one pizza that got bone in it.
SUNSET: JUST DON'T PUT THEM SHITS IN MY PIZZA, BRUH
How many times I gotta say it?
TWILIGHT: Bruh, just explain to me how the fuck pizza can be boneless.
SUNSET: If it don't got bone in it,
it's BONELESS
TWILIGHT: Son, what school you go to?
SUNSET: Dog, I don't understand the problem.
Just make my shit BONELESS
DEADASS
TWILIGHT: I'M DEADASS NOT MAKING THIS PIZZA
(cutoff prevention)
-------------------------------------------
Monster School || minecraft funny videos cooking challenge - Minecraft Animatio videos - Duration: 3:57.
minecraft funny videos cooking challenge
-------------------------------------------
10 Habits To Be a More Likable Person - Duration: 5:30.
10 Habits To Be a More Likable Person
It is easy for people to convince themselves that they don't need to be likable.
The difficult truth is even the biggest introvert needs to be liked by at least one person otherwise,
it's a really lonely world out there.
If you find yourself not being included in work lunches or Friday evening plans, you
may want to do some things that you probably already do more often and with a conscious
thought process to make yourself more likable.
There are certain habits that people who are likable often have.
In our day to day lives usually we see the same people everyday.
There are people we like to be around and others we generally would rather avoid or
not see at all.
You see them coming towards you and you immediately start coming up with ways to avoid having
a conversation with them.
On the flip side, there are people you can't wait to see on a Monday morning to share details
of your weekend because they are just nice people to be around.
These people have really good social skills and they tend to be very likable.
Some of the habits noted below are things you may have noticed about people who are
likable.
They are habits that you may already have but need to do more often.
1.
You are not a know-it-all.
You don't jump into conversations and act like you know everything.
You listen to other people and you ask appropriate questions.
You tend to make people feel good about themselves.
People find themselves gravitating to you for advice or just small talk.
2.
You mind your own business.
You aren't a snob but you generally don't give your input where it is not needed.
It is quite annoying when you have a person in the office who eavesdrop on conversations
and provides their opinions when they aren't invited to do so.
You know when you are needed and when it is a good idea to keep a low profile.
3.
You don't hold grudges.
You let things go especially when the argument is inconsequential.
You have learned over time to be the bigger person which makes you win people's admiration.
People like you because they have a clean slate with you.
You are not a pushover because you let people know what they have crossed the line but you
also don't hold it against them in the long run.
4.
You are patient.
You give people opportunities, room to grow, and space to inherently make mistakes.
You know that everything in life has a learning curve and you give people around you a chance
to grow into themselves.
This makes you more likable because people can trust you.
You are often the person people come to for help around the office if something isn't
working.
5.
You give compliments.
You notice things about people which means you are not self centered.
Often people see you and they smile genuinely because they are happy to see you.
People subconsciously remember you said something nice about them which makes you more likable.
6.
You notice the good things about people.
Sometimes, it is difficult to work with people who have different personalities especially
when they are so different from our own.
You are able to see the good in people and focus more on it than on the bad which has
opened many opportunities for you because you are likable.
You are able to capitalize on the good things and people feel appreciated around you.
7.
You don't jump into conclusions.
There is nothing more annoying than someone who doesn't know all the facts forming an
inappropriate or unfair conclusion.
You take in the details and weigh all the facts.
That way you don't come of as unfair or biased.
People respect you and like you more because you take time to analyze issues before making
premature conclusions.
8.
You are genuine.
It is becoming harder to meet genuine people these days which makes you more likable.
You are not phony and you also don't entertain fake people.
You give constructive criticism and people often come to you when they have an issue
they need to resolve because they know you genuinely care about them.
Once you have built a reputation for being genuine, anything you say or do for them comes
from a good place.
When people need your help they know they can count on you to provide adequate support
without taking all the credit.
9.
You are generous.
You are not stingy with good things.
If you find a discount or deal, you share it with the people around you.
You are the type of person who brings snacks from the places you have been on vacation
to the office.
If there is something you can do to help someone you find a way to extend yourself which makes
people like you.
You help when needed without being overbearing.
10.
You are a confidant.
You can be relied on to keep people's secrets.
You do not betray confidences and people trust you.
You know how sensitive information can be and you are keen to ensure that you don't
let the people that trust you down.
Well, that's the 10 Habits To Be a More Likable Person.
Really cool information isn't it.
Please do share your thoughts and experiences in the comments below!
Don't forget to give us account subs and watch other amazing videos on our channel.
Thanks for watching!
-------------------------------------------
[ Nightcore ] Harpuia - Kadenza ( NCS Release ) - Duration: 2:37.
For more infomation >> [ Nightcore ] Harpuia - Kadenza ( NCS Release ) - Duration: 2:37. -------------------------------------------
Colors Learn Paw Patrol Transforms Into superheroes iron man Finger Family Song Colors - Duration: 2:18.
Colors Learn Paw Patrol Transforms Into superheroes iron man Finger Family Song Colors
-------------------------------------------
Watch Live Now: Lee Jong Suk And Suzy's Drama "While You Were Sleeping" - Duration: 0:56.
Lee Jong Suk and Suzy's highly anticipated drama "While You Were Sleeping" is finally
here!"While You Were Sleeping" is the story of Nam Hong Joo (played by Suzy), who
can predict unfortunate events in her dreams, and Jung Jae Chan (played by Lee Jong Suk),
the prosecutor that works to stop her premonitions from becoming a reality.Haven't had the
time to check out the first two episodes yet?
Or want to re-visit all of the glorious moments?Lucky for you, Viki is holding a special live binge-watching
event on their YouTube channel right now! i will add the list in the description below.
You can watch the full 60-minute episodes and chat with other viewers.
In addition, you can try a 30-day free Viki Pass trial!"While You Were Sleeping" live
now on YouTube and chat with your fellow K-drama fans!
-------------------------------------------
Ghost Pepper Challenge - Duration: 8:20.
The amount of f******* prep we're doing and we didn't even wash the dishes...
I don't wanna, I don't wanna, I don't wanna. I don't wanna, I don't wanna
I don't wanna, I don't wanna
This guy has all the milk and everything right beside him...
Yeah, I got the Taro, I got the milk, I got the water, I got more milk. Uh uh, uh uh. And I'm not even eating a whole one.
It's on?
Can you see all of us?
Yeah
Ok, do you wanna introduce? Or.. do you wanna...
What's going on YouTube, it's your boys
Matt, Papa Brayden, and Griffin. We're back with another Minecraft Let's Play.
Alright, yeah you've read the title. Let's do it. Ok, ready?
No, you have to eat the whole thing.
No!
Get it to here.
I just wanna get this straight, we're not-I'M not eating the whole thing.
No, you have to eat to like... there!
That's like the whole thing.
Like that
A little more, a little more
Uh-uh
I can feel the f****** like, heat radiating man, it's like, complete placebo.
It's not actually but like, I can tell.
Ready?
Countdown!
WATCH YOUR FINGERS! DON'T RUB YOUR EYES OR YOUR DICKS!
I can actually, feel like, my intestines churning...
Ok, ok, ready?
Are you filming this?
Do you want me to count down?
Yeah
No...
K, ready? 3, 2, - hurry up! 1..... GO!
Just wait guys...
keep chewing...
Did you put the whole thing in your mouth?
Or half?
Holy shit you're done!
I'm spitting it out!
When you swallow it...
That's when it gets bad!
Yeah, its pretty f****** spicy, dude.
You just spat the whole thing out.
Yeah, when you swallow it...
Tha's why I'm not trying to swallow.
Spitters are for quitters
WOAH, WHAT ARE YOU DOING???
It's not actually as bad as I thought it was going to be...
Bite 2 boys!
It's not pleasant
Now you gotta just swallow it, just swallow
Uh-uh
Spitters are for-OH the seed touched my tongue!
Brayden has it down, Matt-- Don't swallow Griffin--Or don't spit!
mm-mm
Ew
Definitely spit
Oh, that's hitting me now!
It's terrible
As soon as you start coughing...
If you puke, tell me before!
You're not supposed to swallow milk
It's bad for your stomach
You're not supposed to swallow milk ever?!
No, not when you're... eating this shit!
This guy's done a lot of research
Eat another one!
THAT'S THE CLEAN SIDE!
There is no clean side...
You guys don't do dishes, I forgot.
It's getting worse!
That's what I'm saying it gets worse!
UGHH!
Tongue is in actual physical pain.
Now we should order pizza!
When you breath out, you actually feel like a f****** dragon!
You look like a dragon!
F*** me
I'm actually sweating
I can really see that!
Yeah
Glossy...
It's been like 10 minutes?
It's starting to, it's starting to settle down.
Mm-mm
Mhmm
It would be worse if you did it.
Doesn't seem that bad
Like it seems like it sucks but...
I mean, Liam... It f****** hurts!
I believe that it hurts, but I was hoping that- Like, I'm on the verge of shivering.
I think if we girls did it, we would be like-- I can't feel my tongue-- I WOULD DIE- freaking out, but you guys like, internalize
You're like, I got it, I got it, I got it. We'd be like, nah F*** THIS SHIT!
It hurts to talk, so, you wouldn't
My mouth is like, salivating so hard,
I couldn't do it, I couldn't do it.
I'm gunna run out of like, internal water, because I'm like salivating so much.
WOAH!
If it's crazy I can't do it, if there's a little zing, I like it
And it depends too...
AHHH!
Well boys, we did it.
Another one?
Where's the pack?
I need more paper towel
There's more???
Yeah
You're doing another one???
No! Are you f****** high?
The more you talk, it just f****** comes back... AH
It's like your brain is not working, it's like 2 sections of your brain right now...
I'm trying not to talk
I wanna see what my tongue looks like...
There's still some more...
If you want some.
See you should've swallowed it Griffin. Your eyes aren't as redder as-- yeah-- You don't look you've been hit nearly as hard.
When you swallow it, your throat is just like...
Should I take another bite and swallow it?
Yeah
SURE!
Yeah?
It's worth it
Ferta?
Ferta
I'll do another bite, if you guys split the rest of this.
K, DO IT GRIFFIN DO IT!
No?
We did the full thing, so...
Just swallow, just swallow!
Stop chewing just swallow-- NO keep chewing!
OH!
OH! Yeah, way worse, instantly worse...
What a f****** idiot
EWWWW!!!
This guy: what a f****** idiot, makes me laugh and spit the milk out...
I'm done
Are you good now?
It's just my mouth is-- IT'S SO SHIT BECAUSE THE PEPPER DOESN'T EVEN TASTE F****** GOOD EITHER
IT'S NOT LIKE IT TASTES LIKE F****** CAKE, AND THEN IT'S JUST OHH, IT'S F****** SPICY AS SHIT!
Like, that'd be like a decent trade off...
I'm good!
That's pretty good that's like, almost like... 20 minutes ish?
Yeah, but our freaking butthole's going to feel it in the morning...
Oh yeah, I didn't think of that...
HAHA, We're all gunna wake up at like 3 o'clock, and then only 2 of us are going to make it to the bathroom
When you start talking, it actually comes back...
You think you're done, you're at like almost 10% of the spice...
I just always have water in my mouth
You start talking, and it gets up to like 30...
Is water code for something?
Yeah, dick
Always got water in your mouth...
You know me
I don't call you dad for nothing
It's like, I feel like I actually burnt the roof of my mouth
You know, when its like really tender?
And like, flakey?-- Yeah
Eww, I hate that feeling
I f****** downed the milk and the water there, both so fast.-- I honestly wasn't sure about the milk, I'm like, if i drink this my stomach is going to feel really gross
So, I'm like, I don't trust it...
I have so much milk and water in my stomach.
It comes back!
Matt's right!
You actually think it's gone, and it's not, it comes back!
Next...
Carolina Reaper!
The
-------------------------------------------
The Willows by Algernon Blackwood, Part 1 - Duration: 41:03.
The Willows
By ALGERNON BLACKWOOD
From The Listener, by Algernon Blackwood.
Published in America by E.P.
Dutton, and in England by Everleigh Nash, Ltd.
By permission of the publishers and Algernon Blackwood.
I
After leaving Vienna, and long before you come to Buda-Pesth, the Danube enters a region
of singular loneliness and desolation, where its waters spread away on all sides regardless
of a main channel, and the country becomes a swamp for miles upon miles, covered by a
vast sea of low willow-bushes.
On the big maps this deserted area is painted in a fluffy blue, growing fainter in color
as it leaves the banks, and across it may be seen in large straggling letters the word
Sümpfe, meaning marshes.
In high flood this great acreage of sand, shingle-beds, and willow-grown islands is
almost topped by the water, but in normal seasons the bushes bend and rustle in the
free winds, showing their silver leaves to the sunshine in an ever-moving plain of bewildering
beauty.
These willows never attain to the dignity of trees; they have no rigid trunks; they
remain humble bushes, with rounded tops and soft outline, swaying on slender stems that
answer to the least pressure of the wind; supple as grasses, and so continually shifting
that they somehow give the impression that the entire plain is moving and alive.
For the wind sends waves rising and falling over the whole surface, waves of leaves instead
of waves of water, green swells like the sea, too, until the branches turn and lift, and
then silvery white as their under-side turns to the sun.
Happy to slip beyond the control of stern banks, the Danube here wanders about at will
among the intricate network of channels intersecting the islands everywhere with broad avenues
down which the waters pour with a shouting sound; making whirlpools, eddies, and foaming
rapids; tearing at the sandy banks; carrying away masses of shore and willow-clumps; and
forming new islands innumerable which shift daily in size and shape and possess at best
an impermanent life, since the flood-time obliterates their very existence.
Properly speaking, this fascinating part of the river's life begins soon after leaving
Pressburg, and we, in our Canadian canoe, with gipsy tent and frying-pan on board, reached
it on the crest of a rising flood about mid-July.
That very same morning, when the sky was reddening before sunrise, we had slipped swiftly through
still-sleeping Vienna, leaving it a couple of hours later a mere patch of smoke against
the blue hills of the Wienerwald on the horizon; we had breakfasted below Fischeramend under
a grove of birch trees roaring in the wind; and had then swept on the tearing current
past Orth, Hainburg, Petronell (the old Roman Carnuntum of Marcus Aurelius), and so under
the frowning heights of Theben on a spur of the Carpathians, where the March steals in
quietly from the left and the frontier is crossed between Austria and Hungary.
Racing along at twelve kilometers an hour soon took us well into Hungary, and the muddy
waters—sure sign of flood—sent us aground on many a shingle-bed, and twisted us like
a cork in many a sudden belching whirlpool before the towers of Pressburg (Hungarian,
Poszóny) showed against the sky; and then the canoe, leaping like a spirited horse,
flew at top speed under the gray walls, negotiated safely the sunken chain of the Fliegende Brücke
ferry, turned the corner sharply to the left, and plunged on yellow foam into the wilderness
of islands, sand-banks, and swamp-land beyond—the land of the willows.
The change came suddenly, as when a series of bioscope pictures snaps down on the streets
of a town and shifts without warning into the scenery of lake and forest.
We entered the land of desolation on wings, and in less than half an hour there was neither
boat nor fishing-hut nor red roof, nor any single sign of human habitation and civilization
within sight.
The sense of remoteness from the world of human kind, the utter isolation, the fascination
of this singular world of willows, winds, and waters, instantly laid its spell upon
us both, so that we allowed laughingly to one another that we ought by rights to have
held some special kind of passport to admit us, and that we had, somewhat audaciously,
come without asking leave into a separate little kingdom of wonder and magic—a kingdom
that was reserved for the use of others who had a right to it, with everywhere unwritten
warnings to trespassers for those who had the imagination to discover them.
Though still early in the afternoon, the ceaseless buffetings of a most tempestuous wind made
us feel weary, and we at once began casting about for a suitable camping-ground for the
night.
But the bewildering character of the islands made landing difficult; the swirling flood
carried us in-shore and then swept us out again; the willow branches tore our hands
as we seized them to stop the canoe, and we pulled many a yard of sandy bank into the
water before at length we shot with a great sideways blow from the wind into a backwater
and managed to beach the bows in a cloud of spray.
Then we lay panting and laughing after our exertions on hot yellow sand, sheltered from
the wind, and in the full blaze of a scorching sun, a cloudless blue sky above, and an immense
army of dancing, shouting willow bushes, closing in from all sides, shining with spray and
clapping their thousand little hands as though to applaud the success of our efforts.
"What a river!"
I said to my companion, thinking of all the way we had traveled from the source in the
Black Forest, and how we had often been obliged to wade and push in the upper shallows at
the beginning of June.
"Won't stand much nonsense now, will it?" he said, pulling the canoe a little farther
into safety up the sand, and then composing himself for a nap.
I lay by his side, happy and peaceful in the bath of the elements—water, wind, sand,
and the great fire of the sun—thinking of the long journey that lay behind us, and of
the great stretch before us to the Black Sea, and how lucky I was to have such a delightful
and charming traveling companion as my friend, the Swede.
We had made many similar journeys together, but the Danube, more than any other river
I knew, impressed us from the very beginning with its aliveness.
From its tiny bubbling entry into the world among the pinewood gardens of Donaueschingen,
until this moment when it began to play the great river-game of losing itself among the
deserted swamps, unobserved, unrestrained, it had seemed to us like following the growth
of some living creature.
Sleepy at first, but later developing violent desires as it became conscious of its deep
soul, it rolled, like some huge fluid being, through all the countries we had passed, holding
our little craft on its mighty shoulders, playing roughly with us sometimes, yet always
friendly and well-meaning, till at length we had come inevitably to regard it as a Great
Personage.
How, indeed, could it be otherwise, since it told us so much of its secret life?
At night we heard it singing to the moon as we lay in our tent, uttering that odd sibilant
note peculiar to itself and said to be caused by the rapid tearing of the pebbles along
its bed, so great is its hurrying speed.
We knew, too, the voice of its gurgling whirlpools, suddenly bubbling up on a surface previously
quite calm; the roar of its shallows and swift rapids; its constant steady thundering below
all mere surface sounds; and that ceaseless tearing of its icy waters at the banks.
How it stood up and shouted when the rains fell flat upon its face!
And how its laughter roared out when the wind blew upstream and tried to stop its growing
speed!
We knew all its sounds and voices, its tumblings and foamings, its unnecessary splashing against
the bridges; that self-conscious chatter when there were hills to look on; the affected
dignity of its speech when it passed through the little towns, far too important to laugh;
and all these faint, sweet whisperings when the sun caught it fairly in some slow curve
and poured down upon it till the steam rose.
It was full of tricks, too, in its early life before the great world knew it.
There were places in the upper reaches among the Swabian forests, when yet the first whispers
of its destiny had not reached it, where it elected to disappear through holes in the
ground, to appear again on the other side of the porous limestone hills and start a
new river with another name; leaving, too, so little water in its own bed that we had
to climb out and wade and push the canoe through miles of shallows!
And a chief pleasure, in those early days of its irresponsible youth, was to lie low,
like Brer Fox, just before the little turbulent tributaries came to join it from the Alps,
and to refuse to acknowledge them when in, but to run for miles side by side, the dividing
line well marked, the very levels different, the Danube utterly declining to recognize
the new-comer.
Below Passau, however, it gave up this particular trick, for there the Inn comes in with a thundering
power impossible to ignore, and so pushes and incommodes the parent river that there
is hardly room for them in the long twisting gorge that follows, and the Danube is shoved
this way and that against the cliffs, and forced to hurry itself with great waves and
much dashing to and fro in order to get through in time.
And during the fight our canoe slipped down from its shoulder to its breast, and had the
time of its life among the struggling waves.
But the Inn taught the old river a lesson, and after Passau it no longer pretended to
ignore new arrivals.
This was many days back, of course, and since then we had come to know other aspects of
the great creature, and across the Bavarian wheat plain of Straubing she wandered so slowly
under the blazing June sun that we could well imagine only the surface inches were water,
while below there moved, concealed as by a silken mantle, a whole army of Undines, passing
silently and unseen down to the sea, and very leisurely too, lest they be discovered.
Much, too, we forgave her because of her friendliness to the birds and animals that haunted the
shores.
Cormorants lined the banks in lonely places in rows like short black palings; gray crows
crowded the shingle-beds; storks stood fishing in the vistas of shallower water that opened
up between the islands, and hawks, swans, and marsh birds of all sorts filled the air
with glinting wings and singing, petulant cries.
It was impossible to feel annoyed with the river's vagaries after seeing a deer leap
with a splash into the water at sunrise and swim past the bows of the canoe; and often
we saw fawns peering at us from the underbrush, or looked straight into the brown eyes of
a stag as we charged full tilt round a corner and entered another reach of the river.
Foxes, too, everywhere haunted the banks, tripping daintily among the driftwood and
disappearing so suddenly that it was impossible to see how they managed it.
But now, after leaving Pressburg, everything changed a little, and the Danube became more
serious.
It ceased trifling.
It was halfway to the Black Sea, within scenting distance almost of other, stranger countries
where no tricks would be permitted or understood.
It became suddenly grown-up, and claimed our respect and even our awe.
It broke out into three arms, for one thing, that only met again a hundred kilometers farther
down, and for a canoe there were no indications which one was intended to be followed.
"If you take a side channel," said the Hungarian officer we met in the Pressburg shop while
buying provisions, "you may find yourselves, when the flood subsides, forty miles from
anywhere, high and dry, and you may easily starve.
There are no people, no farms, no fishermen.
I warn you not to continue.
The river, too, is still rising, and this wind will increase."
The rising river did not alarm us in the least, but the matter of being left high and dry
by a sudden subsidence of the waters might be serious, and we had consequently laid in
an extra stock of provisions.
For the rest, the officer's prophecy held true, and the wind, blowing down a perfectly
clear sky, increased steadily till it reached the dignity of a westerly gale.
It was earlier than usual when we camped, for the sun was a good hour or two from the
horizon, and leaving my friend still asleep on the hot sand, I wandered about in desultory
examination of our hotel.
The island, I found, was less than an acre in extent, a mere sandy bank standing some
two or three feet above the level of the river.
The far end, pointing into the sunset, was covered with flying spray which the tremendous
wind drove off the crests of the broken waves.
It was triangular in shape, with the apex upstream.
I stood there for several minutes, watching the impetuous crimson flood bearing down with
a shouting roar, dashing in waves against the bank as though to sweep it bodily away,
and then swirling by in two foaming streams on either side.
The ground seemed to shake with the shock and rush while the furious movement of the
willow bushes as the wind poured over them increased the curious illusion that the island
itself actually moved.
Above, for a mile or two, I could see the great river descending upon me: it was like
looking up the slope of a sliding hill, white with foam, and leaping up everywhere to show
itself to the sun.
The rest of the island was too thickly grown with willows to make walking pleasant, but
I made the tour, nevertheless.
From the lower end the light, of course, changed, and the river looked dark and angry.
Only the backs of the flying waves were visible, streaked with foam, and pushed forcibly by
the great puffs of wind that fell upon them from behind.
For a short mile it was visible, pouring in and out among the islands, and then disappearing
with a huge sweep into the willows, which closed about it like a herd of monstrous antediluvian
creatures crowding down to drink.
They made me think of gigantic sponge-like growths that sucked the river up into themselves.
They caused it to vanish from sight.
They herded there together in such overpowering numbers.
Altogether it was an impressive scene, with its utter loneliness, its bizarre suggestion;
and as I gazed, long and curiously, a singular emotion began stir somewhere in the depths
of me.
Midway in my delight of the wild beauty, there crept unbidden and unexplained, a curious
feeling of disquietude, almost of alarm.
A rising river, perhaps, always suggests something of the ominous: many of the little islands
I saw before me would probably have been swept away by the morning; this resistless, thundering
flood of water touched the sense of awe.
Yet I was aware that my uneasiness lay deeper far than the emotions of awe and wonder.
It was not that I felt.
Nor had it directly to do with the power of the driving wind—this shouting hurricane
that might almost carry up a few acres of willows into the air and scatter them like
so much chaff over the landscape.
The wind was simply enjoying itself, for nothing rose out of the flat landscape to stop it,
and I was conscious of sharing its great game with a kind of pleasurable excitement.
Yet this novel emotion had nothing to do with the wind.
Indeed, so vague was the sense of distress I experienced, that it was impossible to trace
it to its source and deal with it accordingly, though I was aware somehow that it had to
do with my realization of our utter insignificance before this unrestrained power of the elements
about me.
The huge-grown river had something to do with it too—a vague, unpleasant idea that we
had somehow trifled with these great elemental forces in whose power we lay helpless every
hour of the day and night.
For here, indeed, they were gigantically at play together, and the sight appealed to the
imagination.
But my emotion, so far as I could understand it, seemed to attach itself more particularly
to the willow bushes, to these acres and acres of willows, crowding, so thickly growing there,
swarming everywhere the eye could reach, pressing upon the river as though to suffocate it,
standing in dense array mile after mile beneath the sky, watching, waiting, listening.
And, apart quite from the elements, the willows connected themselves subtly with my malaise,
attacking the mind insidiously somehow by reason of their vast numbers, and contriving
in some way or other to represent to the imagination a new and mighty power, a power, moreover,
not altogether friendly to us.
Great revelations of nature, of course, never fail to impress in one way or another, and
I was no stranger to moods of the kind.
Mountains overawe and oceans terrify, while the mystery of great forests exercises a spell
peculiarly its own.
But all these, at one point or another, somewhere link on intimately with human life and human
experience.
They stir comprehensible, even if alarming, emotions.
They tend on the whole to exalt.
With this multitude of willows, however, it was something far different, I felt.
Some essence emanated from them that besieged the heart.
A sense of awe awakened, true, but of awe touched somewhere by a vague terror.
Their serried ranks growing everywhere darker about me as the shadows deepened, moving furiously
yet softly in the wind, woke in me the curious and unwelcome suggestion that we had trespassed
here upon the borders of an alien world, a world where we were intruders, a world where
we were not wanted or invited to remain—where we ran grave risks perhaps!
The feeling, however, though it refused to yield its meaning entirely to analysis, did
not at the time trouble me by passing into menace.
Yet it never left me quite, even during the very practical business of putting up the
tent in a hurricane of wind and building a fire for the stew-pot.
It remained, just enough to bother and perplex, and to rob a most delightful camping-ground
of a good portion of its charm.
To my companion, however, I said nothing, for he was a man I considered devoid of imagination.
In the first place, I could never have explained to him what I meant, and in the second, he
would have laughed stupidly at me if I had.
There was a slight depression in the center of the island, and here we pitched the tent.
The surrounding willows broke the wind a bit.
"A poor camp," observed the imperturbable Swede when at last the tent stood upright;
"no stones and precious little firewood.
I'm for moving on early to-morrow—eh?
This sand won't hold anything."
But the experience of a collapsing tent at midnight had taught us many devices, and we
made the cosy gipsy house as safe as possible, and then set about collecting a store of wood
to last till bedtime.
Willow bushes drop no branches, and driftwood was our only source of supply.
We hunted the shores pretty thoroughly.
Everywhere the banks were crumbling as the rising flood tore at them and carried away
great portions with a splash and a gurgle.
"The island's much smaller than when we landed," said the accurate Swede.
"It won't last long at this rate.
We'd better drag the canoe close to the tent, and be ready to start at a moment's notice.
I shall sleep in my clothes."
He was a little distance off, climbing along the bank, and I heard his rather jolly laugh
as he spoke.
"By Jove!"
I heard him call, a moment later, and turned to see what had caused his exclamation; but
for the moment he was hidden by the willows, and I could not find him.
"What in the world's this?"
I heard him cry again, and this time his voice had become serious.
I ran up quickly and joined him on the bank.
He was looking over the river, pointing at something in the water.
"Good Heavens, it's a man's body!" he cried excitedly.
"Look!"
A black thing, turning over and over in the foaming waves, swept rapidly past.
It kept disappearing and coming up to the surface again.
It was about twenty feet from the shore, and just as it was opposite to where we stood
it lurched round and looked straight at us.
We saw its eyes reflecting the sunset, and gleaming an odd yellow as the body turned
over.
Then it gave a swift, gulping plunge, and dived out of sight in a flash.
"An otter, by gad!" we exclaimed in the same breath, laughing.
It was an otter, alive, and out on the hunt; yet it had looked exactly like the body of
a drowned man turning helplessly in the current.
Far below it came to the surface once again, and we saw its black skin, wet and shining
in the sunlight.
Then, too, just as we turned back, our arms full of driftwood, another thing happened
to recall us to the river bank.
This time it really was a man, and what was more, a man in a boat.
Now a small boat on the Danube was an unusual sight at any time, but here in this deserted
region, and at flood time, it was so unexpected as to constitute a real event.
We stood and stared.
Whether it was due to the slanting sunlight, or the refraction from the wonderfully illumined
water, I cannot say, but, whatever the cause, I found it difficult to focus my sight properly
upon the flying apparition.
It seemed, however, to be a man standing upright in a sort of flat-bottomed boat, steering
with a long oar, and being carried down the opposite shore at a tremendous pace.
He apparently was looking across in our direction, but the distance was too great and the light
too uncertain for us to make out very plainly what he was about.
It seemed to me that he was gesticulating and making signs at us.
His voice came across the water to us shouting something furiously but the wind drowned it
so that no single word was audible.
There was something curious about the whole appearance—man, boat, signs, voice—that
made an impression on me out of all proportion to its cause.
"He's crossing himself!"
I cried.
"Look, he's making the sign of the cross!"
"I believe you're right," the Swede said, shading his eyes with his hand and watching
the man out of sight.
He seemed to be gone in a moment, melting away down there into the sea of willows where
the sun caught them in the bend of the river and turned them into a great crimson wall
of beauty.
Mist, too, had begun to rise, so that the air was hazy.
"But what in the world is he doing at nightfall on this flooded river?"
I said, half to myself.
"Where is he going at such a time, and what did he mean by his signs and shouting?
D'you think he wished to warn us about something?"
"He saw our smoke, and thought we were spirits probably," laughed my companion.
"These Hungarians believe in all sorts of rubbish: you remember the shopwoman at Pressburg
warning us that no one ever landed here because it belonged to some sort of beings outside
man's world!
I suppose they believe in fairies and elementals, possibly demons too.
That peasant in the boat saw people on the islands for the first time in his life," he
added, after a slight pause, "and it scared him, that's all."
The Swede's tone of voice was not convincing, and his manner lacked something that was usually
there.
I noted the change instantly while he talked, though without being able to label it precisely.
"If they had enough imagination," I laughed loudly—I remember trying to make as much
noise as I could—"they might well people a place like this with the old gods of antiquity.
The Romans must have haunted all this region more or less with their shrines and sacred
groves and elemental deities."
The subject dropped and we returned to our stew-pot, for my friend was not given to imaginative
conversation as a rule.
Moreover, just then I remember feeling distinctly glad that he was not imaginative; his stolid,
practical nature suddenly seemed to me welcome and comforting.
It was an admirable temperament, I felt: he could steer down rapids like a red Indian,
shoot dangerous bridges and whirlpools better than any white man I ever saw in a canoe.
He was a grand fellow for an adventurous trip, a tower of strength when untoward things happened.
I looked at his strong face and light curly hair as he staggered along under his pile
of driftwood (twice the size of mine!), and I experienced a feeling of relief.
Yes, I was distinctly glad just then that the Swede was—what he was, and that he never
made remarks that suggested more than they said.
"The river's still rising, though," he added, as if following out some thoughts of his own,
and dropping his load with a gasp.
"This island will be under water in two days if it goes on."
"I wish the wind would go down," I said.
"I don't care a fig for the river."
The flood, indeed, had no terrors for us; we could get off at ten minutes' notice, and
the more water the better we liked it.
It meant an increasing current and the obliteration of the treacherous shingle-beds that so often
threatened to tear the bottom out of our canoe.
Contrary to our expectations, the wind did not go down with the sun.
It seemed to increase with the darkness, howling overhead and shaking the willows round us
like straws.
Curious sounds accompanied it sometimes, like the explosion of heavy guns, and it fell upon
the water and the island in great flat blows of immense power.
It made me think of the sounds a planet must make, could we only hear it, driving along
through space.
But the sky kept wholly clear of clouds, and soon after supper the full moon rose up in
the east and covered the river and the plain of shouting willows with a light like the
day.
We lay on the sandy patch beside the fire, smoking, listening to the noises of the night
round us, and talking happily of the journey we had already made, and of our plans ahead.
The map lay spread in the door of the tent, but the high wind made it hard to study, and
presently we lowered the curtain and extinguished the lantern.
The firelight was enough to smoke and see each other's faces by, and the sparks flew
about overhead like fireworks.
A few yards beyond, the river gurgled and hissed, and from time to time a heavy splash
announced the falling away of further portions of the bank.
Our talk, I noticed, had to do with the far-away scenes and incidents of our first camps in
the Black Forest, or of other subjects altogether remote from the present setting, for neither
of us spoke of the actual moment more than was necessary—almost as though we had agreed
tacitly to avoid discussion of the camp and its incidents.
Neither the otter nor the boatman, for instance, received the honor of a single mention, though
ordinarily these would have furnished discussion for the greater part of the evening.
They were, of course, distinct events in such a place.
The scarcity of wood made it a business to keep the fire going, for the wind, that drove
the smoke in our faces wherever we sat, helped at the same time to make a forced draught.
We took it in turn to make foraging expeditions into the darkness, and the quantity the Swede
brought back always made me feel that he took an absurdly long time finding it; for the
fact was I did not care much about being left alone, and yet it always seemed to be my turn
to grub about among the bushes or scramble along the slippery banks in the moonlight.
The long day's battle with wind and water—such wind and such water!—had tired us both,
and an early bed was the obvious program.
Yet neither of us made the move for the tent.
We lay there, tending the fire, talking in desultory fashion, peering about us into the
dense willow bushes, and listening to the thunder of wind and river.
The loneliness of the place had entered our very bones, and silence seemed natural, for
after a bit the sound of our voices became a trifle unreal and forced; whispering would
have been the fitting mode of communication, I felt, and the human voice, always rather
absurd amid the roar of the elements, now carried with it something almost illegitimate.
It was like talking out loud in church, or in some place where it was not lawful, perhaps
not quite safe, to be overheard.
The eeriness of this lonely island, set among a million willows, swept by a hurricane, and
surrounded by hurrying deep waters, touched us both, I fancy.
Untrodden by man, almost unknown to man, it lay there beneath the moon, remote from human
influence, on the frontier of another world, an alien world, a world tenanted by willows
only and the souls of willows.
And we, in our rashness, had dared to invade it, even to make use of it!
Something more than the power of its mystery stirred in me as I lay on the sand, feet to
fire, and peered up through the leaves at the stars.
For the last time I rose to get firewood.
"When this has burnt up," I said firmly, "I shall turn in," and my companion watched me
lazily as I moved off into the surrounding shadows.
For an unimaginative man I thought he seemed unusually receptive that night, unusually
open to suggestion of things other than sensory.
He too was touched by the beauty and loneliness of the place.
I was not altogether pleased, I remember, to recognize this slight change in him, and
instead of immediately collecting sticks, I made my way to the far point of the island
where the moonlight on plain and river could be seen to better advantage.
The desire to be alone had come suddenly upon me; my former dread returned in force; there
was a vague feeling in me I wished to face and probe to the bottom.
When I reached the point of sand jutting out among the waves, the spell of the place descended
upon me with a positive shock.
No mere "scenery" could have produced such an effect.
There was something more here, something to alarm.
I gazed across the waste of wild waters; I watched the whispering willows; I heard the
ceaseless beating of the tireless wind; and, one and all, each in its own way, stirred
in me this sensation of a strange distress.
But the willows especially: for ever they went on chattering and talking among themselves,
laughing a little, shrilly crying out, sometimes sighing—but what it was they made so much
to-do about belonged to the secret life of the great plain they inhabited.
And it was utterly alien to the world I knew, or to that of the wild yet kindly elements.
They made me think of a host of beings from another plane of life, another evolution altogether,
perhaps, all discussing a mystery known only to themselves.
I watched them moving busily together, oddly shaking their big bushy heads, twirling their
myriad leaves even when there was no wind.
They moved of their own will as though alive, and they touched, by some incalculable method,
my own keen sense of the horrible.
There they stood in the moonlight, like a vast army surrounding our camp, shaking their
innumerable silver spears defiantly, formed all ready for an attack.
The psychology of places, for some imaginations at least, is very vivid; for the wanderer,
especially, camps have their "note" either of welcome or rejection.
At first it may not always be apparent, because the busy preparations of tent and cooking
prevent, but with the first pause—after supper usually—it comes and announces itself.
And the note of this willow-camp now became unmistakably plain to me: we were interlopers,
trespassers, we were not welcomed.
The sense of unfamiliarity grew upon me as I stood there watching.
We touched the frontier of a region where our presence was resented.
For a night's lodging we might perhaps be tolerated; but for a prolonged and inquisitive
stay—No! by all the gods of the trees and the wilderness, no!
We were the first human influences upon this island, and we were not wanted.
The willows were against us.
Strange thoughts like these, bizarre fancies, borne I know not whence, found lodgment in
my mind as I stood listening.
What, I thought, if, after all, these crouching willows proved to be alive; if suddenly they
should rise up, like a swarm of living creatures, marshaled by the gods whose territory we had
invaded, sweep towards us off the vast swamps, booming overhead in the night—and then settle
down!
As I looked it was so easy to imagine they actually moved, crept nearer, retreated a
little, huddled together in masses, hostile, waiting for the great wind that should finally
start them a-running.
I could have sworn their aspect changed a little, and their ranks deepened and pressed
more closely together.
The melancholy shrill cry of a night bird sounded overhead, and suddenly I nearly lost
my balance as the piece of bank I stood upon fell with a great splash into the river, undermined
by the flood.
I stepped back just in time, and went on hunting for firewood again, half laughing at the odd
fancies that crowded so thickly into my mind and cast their spell upon me.
I recall the Swede's remark about moving on next day, and I was just thinking that I fully
agreed with him, when I turned with a start and saw the subject of my thoughts standing
immediately in front of me.
He was quite close.
The roar of the elements had covered his approach.
"You've been gone so long," he shouted above the wind, "I thought something must have happened
to you."
But there was that in his tone, and a certain look in his face as well, that conveyed to
me more than his actual words, and in a flash I understood the real reason for his coming.
It was because the spell of the place had entered his soul too, and he did not like
being alone.
"River still rising," he cried, pointing to the flood in the moonlight, "and the wind's
simply awful."
He always said the same things, but it was the cry for companionship that gave the real
importance to his words.
"Lucky," I cried back, "our tent's in the hollow.
I think it'll hold all right."
I added something about the difficulty of finding wood, in order to explain my absence,
but the wind caught my words and flung them across the river, so that he did not hear,
but just looked at me through the branches, nodding his head.
"Lucky if we get away without disaster!" he shouted, or words to that effect; and I remember
feeling half angry with him for putting the thought into words, for it was exactly what
I felt myself.
There was disaster impending somewhere, and the sense of presentiment lay unpleasantly
upon me.
We went back to the fire and made a final blaze, poking it up with our feet.
We took a last look round.
But for the wind the heat would have been unpleasant.
I put this thought into words, and I remember my friend's reply struck me oddly: that he
would rather have the heat, the ordinary July weather, than this "diabolical wind."
Everything was snug for the night; the canoe lying turned over beside the tent, with both
yellow paddles beneath her; the provision sack hanging from a willow stem, and the washed-up
dishes removed to a safe distance from the fire, all ready for the morning meal.
We smothered the embers of the fire with sand, and then turned in.
The flap of the tent door was up, and I saw the branches and the stars and the white moonlight.
The shaking willows and the heavy buffetings of the wind against our taut little house
were the last things I remembered as sleep came down and covered all with its soft and
delicious forgetfulness.
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