Summary

Portrait of Arthur Conan Doyle Arthur Conan Doyle My friend the murderer, and other mysteries and adventures (1893)

The last two exclamations were shot out of the honest miner’s bosom as if they were impelled by some irresistible force, and he took a couple of steps backward in sheer amazement. There at the other side of the fallen man, and half shrouded in the darkness, stood what appeared to Abe’s simple soul to be the most beautiful vision that ever had appeared upon earth. To eyes accustomed to rest upon nothing more captivating than the ruddy faces and rough beards of the miners in the Sluice, it seemed that that fair, delicate countenance must belong to a wanderer from some better world.
Source: Gutenberg

Portrait of Arthur Conan Doyle Arthur Conan Doyle My friend the murderer, and other mysteries and adventures (1893)

They were men who might have swayed the fate of empires, yet who squandered away their lives in many a lone wild fight with native and bushranger, where nothing but a mouldering blue-ragged skeleton was left to tell the tale.
It was a glorious sunset. The whole western sky was a blaze of flame, throwing a purple tint upon the mountains, and gilding the sombre edges of the great forest which spreads between Trafalgar and the river Wawirra. It stretched out, a primeval, unbroken wilderness, save at the one point where a rough track had been formed by the miners and their numerous camp-followers.
Source: Gutenberg

Portrait of Arthur Conan Doyle Arthur Conan Doyle My friend the murderer, and other mysteries and adventures (1893)

But when the gray waves toss their heads in anger, and the wind screams above them, goading them on to madder and more tumultuous efforts, then the darkest-minded of men feels that there is a melancholy principle in Nature which is as gloomy as his own thoughts. When it was calm in the Bay of Mansie the surface would be as clear and bright as a sheet of silver, broken only at one spot, some little way from the shore, where a long black line projected out of the water, looking like the jagged back of some sleeping monster.
Source: Gutenberg

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